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/       1 


TAIT'S 

M  AG  AZINE 

I 


FOR 


1842. 


VOLUME   IX. 


X 


EDINBUEGH: 
"WILLIAM  TAIT,  107,  PHiNCE'S  STREET; 

SiaiPKJX,  UABSUALL,  &  CO.,  LONDON;  AND  JOHN  GUMMING,  DUBLIN, 

MDCCCXLII. 


n 


•  •••  •    •, 

•  «  •  •   • . 

•  *••  •   •" 

'  •  •  •    •  •  •  • 


•  •  • 


PUBLIC  Ll^\.^r 


EDINBURGH : 
From  the  Steam-Prete  of  Wiluam  Tait,  Printer,  107,  Prinee*s  Street 


x^ 


INDEX, 


AMii«|0,tiid  Man^y-Lender ;  »  Tale,  by  Mrs. 

Gore,  143*,  205,  277,  345,  429,  489,  561,  693,  762 
Aftin  of  Honour,  .        •        •        •        .        454 

A^kuntu, 270,344 

AMa,Stiiyieni ;  Moftii's  Soenes  in;  revieieed,  528,  597 

AgncaltmllBterestyThe 843 

AirialtOTe,  ....  68,*140,204,271, 344 
Aaerict ;  Bnckingfaam's  Tonr  in  the  Slave  States  of,  303 

Aaoka,  Duggms*  Impiesaions  of, 329 

Amaiak ;  Joeeph  Stnige's  Visit  to,  in  1841,  .  .  363 
.Vaeiiaa;  Diekena's  Notes  on;  reriewed^  •  •  737 
Aadenon's  Guide  to  the  Highlands ;  reviewed^  .  486 
AniTensries,  Thoughts  on,  ....      75 

Aoisband  Gift  Books,  for  1848  ;  retietoed,  .  814 
Afiti-Gofn-Law  Conferences,         .  ,        .137 

Ajtni  (James)  on  the  Priyate  Business  of  the 

(WiBonw,  554 

Bfeliie,nie;  Letters  from;  by  a  Lady,  •  •  37 
Biaiii's  Father  Connell;rtfri0te«(^,  .  .  .  458 
Bnin,  Tales  and  Sketches  by,  231,  289,  369 

BvjThe,  139 

Bcuett  (Dr.)  on  the  Theology  of  the  Early  Church,  261 
Bodbam;  Memoirs  and  Corxespondence  of,       443,  509 

Bentlam's  Table  Talk, 509 

Bettiae  Brentano  and  Caroline  Yon  Qunderode,  Cor- 
respondence between,    157 

Bbdde  (Profe»or)  on  the  Study  of  Languages,  747 
Blanny  and  Mottoes,  .....    227 

Bmycastle's  Newfoundland  in  1842;  revieteed,  819 
RwiiDg'a  Memoirs  of  Bentham;  r&tiewed,  .    443 

firemer's  Excursions  in  Russia,  &c.;  retievDed,  118 
Brewster's  Chartist  and  Military  Discourses;  r^.  822 
Baekingham's  Tonr  in  the  Slaye  States  of  America,  303 
ftilwer'sZanoni;  r<rrt««Mf,  ....     215 

30007*3  (Miss)  Diary  and  Letters,     .       183, 246, 385 

Cbi^s  Memorials  of  the  Ciyil  Wars ;  r<;«ttft(?a2,  .  195 
Gitliii's  North  American  Lidians ;  reviewd,  .  106 
CSiBrtiitB,  The,  and  the  other  Reformers,  .  .411 
CkiaaandAilt^haiii8tan,the  Warsin,   .     203,270,344 

QmBtmas;  Cracknels  for, 800 

GbU  Water  Cure;  Claridge  on  the ;  refiewed,      .    379 

CiQien  and  Comeries, 375 

CB!t.Lawi,The,  ....  66,137,202,342 
Comspondence    between   Bettine  Brentano  and 

Caroline  yon  Gunderode,  .  .  .  .157 
Cbekaels  (br  Christmas,      •        .        .        «        »    800 

Bickns'  Notes  on  America;  revmcedf  .       •    737 

BiMBting  Ministers  at  Edinburgh,  Conference  of,  67 
Dirtitta  of  the  Country,  .  .  2,68,80,137,421 
BiBumker's  Diary,  A  London,  ....  709 
Breaiaaken,  London,  Miserable  Condition  of,    27,  709 

fctipped  Piper,  A, 20 

Bagsias' Impressioai  of  America,  .329 

BrMd'a  Easays  on  the  Principles  of  Morality,  .    621 

Eja^Adrice  to  the  Bilious;  reviewed,  .        .      61 

^ott*!  (Ebenezer)  Lectures  on  Poetey,  .  221,  357 
™tt  (Ebenezer)  on  Cowpcr  and  Bums,  .  .  357 
™tt  (Hbeneierjon  Robert  Nicoll  and  his  Poems,  545 
^  (Mrs.)  The  Daughters  of  England  ;  reviewed,  265 

S^WJ, 2,270 

^y»on ;  or  a  Family  Party  of  Olympus,  50 

g|*faa,Leayesfirom;  by  the  Rev.  H.  Street  ;r<!t'.  819 
"""l>  Howard  ;  a  novel ;  retiewed,    .        .        ,    796 


Page 

Fashionable  Senators,          •       •       •       •  .    647 

Feastof  the  Poets,  for  1842,         .        .        .  ,605 

Fisher's  Drawing-Room  Scrap-Book,  for  1843,  •    814 

Forest  Life,  in  the  Far  West  of  America,     •  .617 

Frederick's  Tall  Regiment ;  A  Story  of       .  ,85 

Friendship's  Offering,  for  1843  ;  reviewed,    •  .814 

Furze  Cutters,  The,  by  the  O'Hara  Family,  .    231 

Gange  ;  Story  of  the  Marquise  de,  •  .  ,  %Z 
Garston's  Greece  Reyisited,  and  Sketches  in  Bgjpi, 

Sic,  reviewed, 402 

Glasgow  Mortality  Bill,  The  ;  for  1840,  .  .  86 
Gore's  (Mrs.)   Abednego   the    Money-lender;   a 

Noyel,  143*,  205, 277, 345,  429,  489, 561,  693,  762 
Grain,  Consumption  of,  in  the  United  Kingdom,         65 

Iietheji6,l!he;  reviewed,  *  .         •       .    478 

He  shall  be  a  Soldier  ;  a  Prussian  Tale,  .  ,  85 
Holland  ;  Laing's  Notes  of  a  Trayeller,  on  ;  rev.,  169 
Honour,  Affairs  of,  .....    454 

Hood's  Comic  Annual  for  1842  ;  reviewed,  .      59 

Hope,  The  late  Lord  President,  .        .        .    270 

House  of  Commons  ;  Private  Business  of  the,  .  554 
Hewitt's  (Mary)  Translation  of  "The  Neighbours,"  779 
Hewitt's  (W.)  Visits  to  Remarkable  Places;  reviewed,  8 
Hudson's  Parent's  Hand-book ;  reui«io«i,  .  .817 
Hume  (Mr.)  and  the  Montrose  Burghs,  ,  «  344 
Hydropathy,  or  the  Cold  Water  Cure,  ,       .    879 

Income-Tax,  The ;  ....  269,271,342 
Indians,  Catlin's  North  American ;  reviewed,  .  106 
Lrish  Treason  in  Paris ;  by  the  O'Hara  Family,  289, 369 
Italy ;  Mrs.  Trollope's  Visit  to ;  reviewed,     .        .    725 

James' (Mr.)  Morley  Emstein ;  r<f«w«?,  •  .513 

Jeannette  the  Fearless ;  a  Romantic  Tale,  .  .      30 

Jesse's  Travels  in  Russia ;  revMtvM^,     .  .  .118 

Jovial  Priest's  Confession ;  The,  ,  ,  .54 

Keppel,  Admiral ;  Life  of, 64 1 

Ki]*,The, 67,843 

La  Bella  Beatrice;  a  Tale  of  Venice,  ...  6 
Labouring  Population;  Sanitary  Condition  of  the,  649 
Laing's  Notes  of  a  Trayeller;  r«9i«io^,  .  .169 
Languages,  On  the  Study  of;  by  Professor  BlacUe,  747 
Lauder  (Sir  T.  Dick)  and  Price  on  the  Picturesque,  398 

Lays  of  Loyalty, 721 

Letters  firom  the  Baltic;  by  a  Lady,  ...  37 
Lifein  the  West  of  America;  rc«i«iwrf,  ,  .  754 
Life  of  General  Mackay,  and  **  Blind  Mr.  Mackay,"  426 
Lights  and  Shadows  of  London  Life,     .        .        .21 

Line  Bergmann's  Lovers, 661 

Literary  Register,  56,  I3I,  195,  261,  339, 402, 484, 550 
,      ,      ,         ,        ,  617,686,754,814 

London  Legendary  Lore;  by  a  Templar,  .  17,  573 
London  Life;  Lights  and  Shadows  of,  .        ,21 

London;  the  Crossings,  the  Gin  Palaces,  Ac.,  .  17 
Lower  on  English  Surnames;  reviewed,        .        .    484 

Macaulay's  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome;  reviewed,  ,  809 
Machinery,  The  Regulation  of,  .  .  .  .80 
Mackay,  General,  Life  of;  reviewed,  .  .  .  426 
Mcpherson's  Two  Years  in  China;  reviewed,  .     820 

Madden's  History  of  the  United  Irishmen;  renewed,  578 
Mapes'  (Walter)  Joyial  Priest's  Confession,         .      54 


INDEX. 


Page 
MarchioneBs,  The;  a  Novel;  retUwed,  .  .  475 
Marquise  de  Gange;  The  Story  of  the^  .  .  293 
Marryat'fl  (Captain)  Percival  Keene,  .        .    670 

Modem  Romanoe,  Specimens  of,  .        .    6,  50,  78 

Moffibt's  Missionary  Labours,  and  Scenes  in  Southern 

Africa, 528,697 

Money-Lender,  The;  a  Noyel  by  Mrs.  Gore,  143*,  205, 
277,  345,  429,  489,  561,  693,  762 
Monkey  Island  ;  a  Yankee  Yam,  ...  78 
Montgomery's  Luther,  a  poem  ;  retieiDed,  .  .341 
Morley  Emstein  ;  by  Mr.  James  ;  reviewed^  .  513 
Music  of  the  Church,  by  T.  Hirst ;  reriewed^  .  196 
Musings  in  the  Wen  ;  by  a  Templar  ;  '17,  573 

National  Distress ;  Tory  Remedies  for  the,  2,  80, 269, 

271,  421 
Neighbours,  The  ;  a  Swedish  Romance  ;  reviewed,  779 
New  Novels,  .  63,  215, 267,  407,  468,  613,  670,  779 
Next  Move  of  the  Reformers  ;  The,  ...  73 
Nicoll,  Robert,  and  his  Poems ;  by  Ebenezer  Elliott,  545 

Parks  near  Cities, 65 

Parliament ;  The  Meeting  of,       .        .        .      65, 202 

Peel  Mystery  ;  The,  141* 

Petitioning  ;  The  Right  of, 342 

Poets,  Feast  of  the;  for  September  1842,  .  .  605 
Poets  of  the  day;  Mr.  Twaddell*s ;  reviewed,        .    237 

Political  Postscripts, 271,411 

Political  Register,  .  .  65,  137, 202,  269,  342 
Population  of  Great  Britain,  ....  65 
Price  on  the  Picturesque,  by  Lauder ;  reviewed,  .  398 
Pulpit ;  The  Modem, 704 

Chen's  Visit  to  Scotland;  The,  ....  625 
keen's  Visit  to  Scotland ;  Poems  on,        631,  680,  721 

Railway  to  England ;  (^ctftsMf,  ,  67,138 
Reformers ;  Next  Move  of  the,  ....  73 
Reminiscences  of  College  Life,  at  Dublin,  .  .681 
Report  on  the  Sanitary  Condition  of  the  Labour- 
ing population  of  Britain;  r09t«iM<2,  .  .  649 
Rodger's  (Simdy)  Stray  Leaves  from  Alisander,  &c  ; 
reviewed, 822 


Pa«« 
Romance,  Modem;  Specimens  of,         .     6, 50,  78,  774 

Rural  Police  ;  The, 67 

Russia;  Recent  Travellers  in;  r^vttftrei,       .        .118 

Scott's  Tour  to  Waterloo  and  Paris;  reviewed,     .    404 

Senators;  Fashionable, 647 

Sheridan,  Billy;  at  Tnnity  College,  Dublin,  .    681 

Socialist  Remedies  for  the  National  Distress,  .    . 
Specimens  of  Modem  Romance,    .        .    6,  50,  78,  774 
Stephen's  Notes  of  Travel  in  Russia;  reviewed,     .    118 
Story  of  the  Marquise  de  Gange,  .        .        .    203 

Strickland's  Lives  of  the  Queens  of  England,  339,  686 
Sturge's  Visit  to  the  United  States  in  1841 ;  rev,,  363 
Summer  Reading ;  The  New  Novels,  .  .  458,513 
Switzerland;  Laing's  Notes  of  a  Traveller  on,      .    171 

Tariff;  Petitions  against  the  New,  .  .  .343 
Taylor's  (Dr.  W.  C.)  Notes  of  a  Tour  in  the  Manu- 

focturing  Districts  of  Lancashire;  revitfieec/,  .  557 
Templars;  Addison's  History  of  The;  rtff^tfW,  .  56 
Templar;  Musings  in  the  Wen,  by  a,  .  .  17,  575 
Tennyson's  Poems;  reviewed,  ....  502  . 
Thompson's  (Colonel)  Exercises,  Political,  &c.,  rev,  690 
Thomton's  (Mrs.)  The  Marchioness ;  reviewed,  .  475 
Thoughts  on  An^versaries  ;  by  a  Middle-aged  Gen- 
tleman,   75 

Tory  Budget;  The, 269 

Tory  Remedies  for  the  National  Distress,       2,  80, 269, 

271,  421 
Trade  and  Manufactures,  68, 140, 204,  271,  344 

Trollope's  (Mrs.)  Visit  to  Italy  ;  reviewed,  .    725 

Twaddell's  (David)  Poets  of  the  Day  ;  rwitfiwrf,  .  237 
Tytler's  History  of  Scotland,  Vol.  VIII.,  reviewed,     314 

United  Irishmen,  Madden's  History  of  the,       .        578 

Vaughan's  (Dr.)  The  Modem  Pulpit;  reviewed,  704 
Vestiarium  Scoticum,  or  the  Book  of  Tartans;  rev,,  482 
Von  RoUeck's  Genenl  History  of  the  World;  rev,,  816 

Wardlaw's  Lectures  on  Female  Prostitution;  rev,,  815 
Wen;  Musings  in  the;  by  a  Templar,  17,573 

Wordsworth's  Poems  of  Early  Years;  reviewed,  .  407 
Williams,  Rey.  John;  Pr.  Campbell  on  the,         .    200 


POETRY. 


A  Decide  for  the  Cholera,  .       .    Gw 
Address  from  the  Spirit  of  Ancient 
Philosophy  to  the  Students  of 
the  Monti  Philosophy  Class, 
St  Andrew's,        .        .        .611 
AffffhanirtaU — ^Pro  and  Con,        .    442 
A  Kevolutionaiy  Ode,         .        .    799 
A  Serenade,        ....    616 
Certain  OmisMons  in  the  recent 

Gazette.  ....  64 
Chint  of  an  Old  Edinburrii  Student,  457 
Hymn ;  by  Ebenezer  ElUott,  .  429 
Hymn  to  Reason,  .  .  .  610 
Kilmaveonaig,  .  .  .  .615 
Lavs  Of  ScotTiah  History,  .  168,  501 
Lilt  to  the  Rising  Sun,  .  .614 
Lines  addressed  to  a  Lady,  .  .  648 
Lines  on  the  Birth  of  the  Heir- 
Apparent;  by  Mrs.  Gore,  .  1 
Lines  to  Circftssia,      .        .        •    117 

Madge, 614 

Madrigal, 616 

More     Sweet    than    Flattery   is 
Truth  ;     by    Major    Calder 
C&mpbell,    ....     168 
Moss-Trooper  Will,    .        .        .807 

Music, 512 

Not  Words,  but  Flowers;  by  Spen- 
cer Hall,      ....    609 


Paire 
On  the  Queen's  Visit  to  Scotland,  68U 
O,  Stanehive  is  a  Bonnie,  Bonnie 

Toun,  .        .        .        .614 

On  Wordsworth's  Sonnet  on  West- 
minster Bridge,  .        .        .    457 
Sabbath  Profanation,  ...    292 

Satiety, 302 

Sonnet, 544 

Sonnet^To  a  Poet,   .        .        .616 
Sports  of  the  Saints,  .        .    648 

Stanzas  to  a  Still-bom  In&nt,     .    608 
Stanzas  to  Fancy,        .        .        ,    616 

The  Auld  Scots  Springs,  .  .  616 
The  Brothers,  ....  572 
The  Clever  Young  Advocate,  .  605 
The  Emigrant's  Revisit,  .  .  614 
The  Emigrant's  Song,  .  .  607 
The  Gathering,  .  .  .631 
The  Grandame ;  a  fragment,  .  609 
The  Hungei^Fiend,  .  .  .  143» 
The  Lusty  Pen,  ....  606 
The  Modem  Crusader,  .  .  549 
The  Old  and  the  New,  .  .  230 
The  Old  Oak  Tree,  ...  560 
The  Petrified  Wedding ;  a  Somer- 
set Legend,  ....  612 
The  Poet's  Inspiration,        .        .  669 


The  Poor,    .... 
The  Prayer  of  Ram-Mohnn-Roy, 
The  Recovered  Maniac's  Last  Let- 


Pago 
167 
773 


ter  to  his  Beautiful  Physician,  29 
The  RevivaUst;  a  Portrait,  .  .  605 
The  Remonstrance  of  the  Lowly,  368 
The  Rivals,  .        .        .        .615 

The  Songp  of  the  Months,     5,  74,  142* 

261,  288,  356,  425,  527-628,  577 
625,  7.W,  762 
The  Spy- Informer ;  by  the  O'Hara 

Family,  .  .  .  .374 
The  Student's  Grave,  .  .  .607 
The  Vale  of  Glenmalure,  at  Sunset,  724 
The  Vision  of  King  Malcolm,  .  718 
The  Wish,  .         ...    612 

The  Wee  Voyacer,  .  .  .614 
To  an  Actress ;  by  Calder  Campbell,  617 
To  a  Swallow,  .        .        .616 

To  Miss  Ellen  Tree,  as  «  JuUet,"  328 
To  the  Com  Lords,     ...    230 

Wilt  Thou  Remember,        .        .    608 
Written  after  Reading  **  The  Pre- 
sent A^,"  a  Lecture  by  Dr. 
Channing,  .        .        .    778 

Written  in  a  Glade    in    Epping 
Forest.    By  Calder  Campbell,  616 


TAIT'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


JANUARY,  1842, 


LINES  ON  THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  HEIR-APPARENT. 


BY  MBS.  GORE. 


6t  oUier  lips  be  lofty  Psans  sung, 

By  other  knees  lowly  allegiance  paid  ; 
A  word  of  warning  trembles  on  my  tongue, 
That  may  not  be  nnsaid  ! 

Tet  welcome,  welcome,  Babe !  as  though  a  star 

Betcon'd  tiiy  cradle,  as  in  Bethlehem, 
To  tdl  the  nations  One  was  bom  afar, 
A  sacrifice  for  them  ! 

For,  trdaoos  is  thy  mission,  royal  boy ! 
Not  unto  thee  soificeth,  by  thy  smile 
To  tii^  with  rainbow-hnes  the  tears  of  joy 
A  mother  s  pangs  beguile  ! — 

ThoQ  cam*6t  not  here  to  sport  with  childish  glee  ; 
With  thy  first  breath  the  task  of  care  began  : 
Pupk  and  pall  oppress  thine  infancy. 
For  thou  art  horn  a  man  ! 

TbomlesB,  as  fortune  favours  theirs  or  them, 
Maj  proye  the  wreath  of  roses  that  adorns 
Another  brows ; — ^the  regal  diadem 
Must  be  a  crown  of  thorns ! 

Kor  ^tarkling  dews,  nor  glowing  noontide  flame 

Xnst  mar  the  calmness  of  thy  youth  sedate ; 
ShumiDg  temptation,  lest  in  Frailty's  shame 
The  throne  participate ! 

5o  wOd  exploit,  no  pleasant  midnight  chimes, 

Must  the  severer  cares  of  State  relieve  ; 
The  faults  of  subjects  darken  into  crimes. 
Worn  on  a  prince's  sleeve. 

Stem,  as  the  statue  on  its  pedestal,-— 

Pore,  as  the  silvery  clouds  of  moonlit  skies, 
Sboalibe  the  Royal  One,  whose  actions  all 
Survey  with  jealous  eyes. 

l^the  defiloments  of  their  temples  moved, 
Tbe  Heathen,  school'd  by  Nature's  mystic  spell, 
xcm.— TOL.  IX, 


Struck  down  the  altars  of  the  gods  he  loVd, 
And  mock'd  their  oracles. 

And  thou !  0  happier  Alfred,  from  whose  lands 

Are  swept  the  beast  of  prey,  and  man  of  blood ; 
ELnow  that  a  nation  great  and/ree,  demands 
A  monarch  great  and  good  ! 

He,  in  whose  breast  abides  the  subjects'  breath. 

Spotless  as  truth,  should  keep  the  heart  within : 
And  thrice  accursed  the  king  who  dooms  to  death. 
Yet  dares  to  live  in  sin ! — 

Therefore,  oh !  therefore,  those  who  love  thee  best. 
E'en  while  they  swell  the  triumph  of  this  hour, 
Fair  human  child  ! — rejoice  with  trembling,  lest 
Thy  task  exceed  thy  power. 

Yet  with  that  fear,  what  glorious  hopes  unite ! — 
Lovd  of  a  nation's  heart ! — ^what  prayers  ascend 
For  thee  to  Heaven's  eternal  throne  of  light, 
As  for  a  future  friend ! — 

Vast  as  thy  cares,  thy  virtues'  scope  is  wrought ! — 

One  noble  impulse  of  thy  heart  may  bless 
The  fate  of  millions,— one  bright  moment's  thought 
Secure  an  age's  happiness ! — 

England  hath  put  away  her  childish  things ; 
And  thine  may  be  the  name  predestinate 
To  shine,  as  wisest  of  the  mightier  kings 
Who  glorify  her  state. 

For  this  we  pray ! — with  great  ones  hand  in  hand, — 
But  with  the  poor  and  humble,  heart  in  heart, — 
Oh !  may'st  thou  live  and  prosper, — and  the  land 
Bear  in  thy  grace  a  part ! — 

So,  though  the  nation's  triumph  in  thy  birth 

Be  but  a  tribute  to  old  England's  throne. 
When  we  resign  thee  to  thy  parent  earth. 
Its  tears  shall  be  thine  own  \ 

B 


TORY  REMEDIES  FOR  NATIONAL  DISTRESS— EMIGRATION, 


DuKiNO  the  sitting  of  Parliamenty  the  Toiy 
leaders  affected  not  to  believe  that  any  great 
distress  existed  in  the^  country ;  and  certain  partial 
returns  of  the  receipts  and  payments  of  Savings 
Banks  were  confidently  appealed  to,  in  order  to 
establish  the  prosperity  of  the  working-classes/ 
Since  Parliament  rose,  however,  the  destitution  has 
become  too  widely  spread,  and  too  severe,  to  be 
longer  denied ;  and  the  fact,  that  the  last  crop  has 
turned  out  greatly  deficient,  conjoined  with  the 
renewed  activity  of  the  Corn-law  repealers,  has 
alarmed  the  Ministry.  There  seems  no  reason  to 
doubt,  that  any  attempt  even  to  modify,  in  however 
inconsiderable  a  degree,  the  laws  against  the  impor- 
tation of  food,  must  lead  to  the  destruction  of  the 
present  Administration ;  and  to  avoid,  or  at  least  de- 
lay, this  catastrophe,  the  scheme  of  an  extensive  sys- 
tem of  emigration  has  been  taken  into  the  serious 
consideration  of  Grovemment.  Whether  such  a 
scheme  b  likely  to  relieve  the  existing  distress^  is 
the  first  matter  we  propose  to  consider. 

It  is  too  obvious  for  argument,  that  unless 
emigration  be  carried  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
exceed  the  daily  increase  of  population,  it  can  have 
no  efiect  in  alleviating  the  existing  distress ;  emi- 
gration of  an  equal  or  smaller  amoimt  can  merely 
tend  to  prevent  the  distress  frbm  becoming  more 
severe.  Now,  the  population  of  the  United  King- 
dom, as  shown  by  the  last  census,  increases  at  the 
rate  of  about  dOO,000  a-year  ;  and  unless  tnore  than 
this  number  of  persons  be  annually  sent  out  of  the 
country,  emigration  will  have  no  effect  in  diminish- 
ing distress.  It  appears  from  parliamentary  returns, 
that,  of  late  years,  the  emigrants  to  all  our  colonies 
and  the  United  States,  very  seldom  exceed  100,0CM) 
a-year,  and  have  often  been  under  20,000.  The 
average  may  be  taken  at  50,000 ;  and  it  is  impor- 
tant, in  passing,  to  remark,  that  from  one-half  to 
one-third  of  the  emigrants  go  directly  to  the  United 
States,  while  it  is  not  improbable  that  of  the 
emigrants  to  British  America — ^forming  one-half 
of  the  total  number— a  very  great  proportion 
ultimately  settle  in  the  United  States.  To  produce 
any  perceptible  eff^t,  therefore,  the  emigrants 
must  be  increased  by  sixfold  in  number,  in  com- 
parison with  those  who  hitherto  have  voluntarily 
left  this  country ;  and  it  will  be  observed,  that 
every  encouragement  has  been  given  to  emigration, 
not  only  by  Grovemment,  but  by  several  of  our 
colonies  applying  a  great  proportion  of  the  price 
received  for  land  sold,  to  take  out  emigrants  f^  of 
expense.  Considering  the  natural  propensity  of 
men  to  remain  where  they  have  been  bom,  the 


*  An  appeal  to  the  Savings  Banks  is  a  most  fidlacioos 
test  of  the  wellbeing  of  the  working-classes;  l^e  majo- 
rity of  the  depositors  being  persons  of  a  very  different 
description;  such  as  petty  shopkeepers,  clerks,  hoase- 
seryants  of  all  sorts;  schoolmasters,  female  teachers, 
foremen,  half-pay  officers,  and  small  annuitants,  and 
many  others,  who  thus  place  part  of  their  dividends,  or 
savings,  for  temporary  safety  and  to  obtain  the  oorrent 
interest^  in  the  Savings  Banks.  This  sort  of  evidence  of 
prosperity  is,  therefore,  not  to  be  relied  on.—^.  T,  Jf, 


love  of  country,  and  the  peril  and  uncertainty 
of  a  settlement  on  a  distant  and  unknown  shore,  it  is 
exceedingly  improbable  that  300,000  persons  could 
be  prevailed  on  annually  to  leave  this  kingdom,  for 
any  inducement  it  is  possible  to  hold  out.  We  have 
no  doubt  that  many  who  look  to  emigration  as  a 
remedy  for  distress,  will  be  surprised  to  hear  it  main- 
tained, that  emigration  must  be  yearly  repeated  ; 
but  there  is  sufficient  reason  to  establi^,  that  any 
drain  made  in  this  way,  is  speedily  replenished. 
By  the  returns  made  to  Dr.  Webster,  in  the  year 
17^5,  the  Isle  of  Skyecontained  11,252  inhabituits: 
by  those  to  Sir  John  Sinclair,  between  1791  and 
1794,  14^470.  From  1770  to  1791,  4000  persons 
emigrated,  and  during  the  same  period  at  least 
8000  left;  the  island  for  the  low  country,  yet  the 
population  in  1794  was  larger  than  in  1756  :  and 
al&CFugh  great  numbers  have  continued  to  emigrate 
to  America,  though  the  kelp  manufactory  has 
been  annihilated,  no  new  branch  of  industry  been 
created,  and  the  island  is  ill  adapted  for  agriculture, 
the  population  had  increased,  in  1821,  to  20,627> 
and  in  1881,  to  22,796.  Many  similar  instances 
could  be  mentioned  :  but  it  is  unnecessary ;  as  it  is 
a  fact  well  established,  and  of  which  abundant 
evidence  may  be  found  in  writers  on  Population, 
that  marriages  and  births  are  in  proportioh  to  the 
deaths,  or  other  causes  of  removal.  Thus  the 
necessity  of  an  annual  or  periodical  emigration, 
when  once  this  remedy  is  resorted  to  as  a  cure  for 
over-population,  is  apparent. 

With  regard  to  the  expense  which  is  necessary 
for  transporting  great  bodies  of  men,  little  experi- 
ence has  yet  been  had.  On  two  or  three  occasions^ 
however.  Government  has  advanced  money  for  the 
transportation  of  emigrants.  In  1819,  £50,000 
were  advanced  to  assist  5000  persons  to  proceed  to 
the  Cape  of  Grood  Hope.  Whether  the  aid  given  was 
insufficient,  or  whether  it  arose  from  other  causes, 
this  experiment  in  colonization  proved  anything  but 
succes^.  In  1823and  1825,  two  bodies  of  emigrants 
were  located  on  lands  in  Canada,  at  the  public  ex- 
pense. The  emigrants  of  1825,  consisted  of  2024  per- 
sons ;  and,  independently  of  the  value  of  the  Lmds 
given  them,  the  expense  of  settling  cost  £48,145 ; 
rather  more  than  £20  for  each  person.  In  1828, 
568  Irish  emigrants  were  settled  at  the  rate  of  £22 
for  each  person.  We  are  well  aware  that  esti- 
mates of  tiie  expense  of  transporting  and  locating 
settlers,  have  been  made  at  a  much  lower  rate :  but 
we  prefer  the  results  of  actual  experience  to  hypo- 
thetical estimates.  Assuming,  then,  that  £20  a- 
head,  is  the  expense  of  removing  an  emigrant  to, 
and  settling  him  in  Canada — we  ask  how  six  mil- 
lions are  annually  to  be  raised,  merefy  for  the  pur- 
pose of  keeping  our  popukOion  (U  Us  present  nwn- 
boTy  and  preventing  the  increasing  severity  of  dii^ 
tress  arising  from  the  daily  augmentation  of  num- 
bers. This  has  always  been  felt  by  the  advo- 
cates of  emigration,  as  the  great  difficulty  :  for  it 
has  been  clearly  seen,  that  tiie  attempt  to  raise  an 
additional  tax  for  a  purpose  which  has  never  been 


TORY  REMEDIES  FOR  NATIONAL  DISTRESS. 


popnlip— the  transporting  of  our  fellow-sobjects 
to  wild  and  distant  lands — ^wonld  effectually  put 
an  end  to  tJie   scheme.    The  only  proposition, 
Ikerefer^  that  is  at  all  practicable  or  worthy  of 
eoMidenti(m,  is  that  of  which  Mr.  K  G.  Wak^eld 
is  tile  aathoTy  and  which  has  heeaa.  in  operation  in 
•one  of  our  Australian  colonies  for  a  few  years. 
JBtat  as  this  new  plan  of  colonization  has  been  ear- 
ned into  effect  in  the  most  complete  manner,  in 
Kew  Zealand,  we  shall  explain  it  by  showing  how 
it  operates  there. 
It  may  be  pwmised,  that  formerly  our  Govem- 
;  gare  grants  of  waste  lands  in  our  colonies 
as  much  as  five  hundred  thousand  acres 
8ometime8  granted  to  a  single  individual. 
lUs  was  not  only  a  fertile  source  of  jobbing,  but^ 
«i  the  fiiTOured  holders  of  these  extensiye  grants 
wgn  noTer  able  to  cultivate  any  considerable  por- 
tmi  <rf  their  grants  the  result  was,  that  the  grants, 
if  not  sold,  remained  an  uncultivated  desert,  which 
wparated  the  cultivated  districts  of  the  country 
from  each  other,  and  kept  the  population  in  an 
isolated  and  barbarous  state.    A  new  plan  was, 
theiefoie,  suggested  to  the  Government,  viz.,  the 
eelfiiig  of  all  lands  at  a  low  rate,  but  at  the  same 
tine  at  sach  a  price  as  would  check  individuals 
from  teqairing  right  to  great  tracts  of  country.   In 
fintherance  of  this  newsy8tem,the  present  NewZea- 
land  LusdCompany  was  formed  in  1889.  Theypur- 
dttsed  a  tract  of  land  from  the  natives,  and  besides 
tk  purchase-money  paid,  one-tenth  of  the  whole 
had  sold  is  reserved  for  the  use  of  the  natives — 
vhidi  teath.  must  necessarOy  yearly  become  more 
viioaUe.     The  first  colony  cousisted  of  1100  town 
seres,  and  110t,000  country  acres  at  Port  Nichol- 
tto.   These  were  sold  at  208.  an  acre,  and  realized, 
tfier  deducting  the  native  reserves,  about  £100,000. 
Of  this  sum,  three-fourths  were  set  apart  to  form 
n  emigration  fund,  to  be  employed  in  conveying 
cnigrants  to  the  colony;  thereby  increasing  the 
nfaw  of  the  lands  already  sold,  ^e  purchasers  of 
iud  were  entitled  to  claim  the  three  fourths  of 
ihai  purchase-money,  either  in  the  shape  of  free 
pnsiges  lor  themselves  and  families,  or  for  their 
nrants  and  labourers ;  and  where  the  daim  was 
Bot  made,  the  money  was  expended  by  the  Com- 
ply in   conveying   labourers  to  the   country. 
Aaotber  settlement  called  Nelson,  is  now  in  course 
ef  iiarmation,   from  which  it  is  anticipated  that 
Xm,000  will  be  realized  by  the  price  of  allot- 
Bcott:  butonlyonehalf  of  this  sum  is  to  be  appro- 
priated for  conveying  labourers  to  the  country. 
We  oonfiesB,  we  see  no  objection  to  this  system ;  but 
bsvever  boieficial  it  may  be  to  the  colonies  which 
idopt  it,  it  is  easy  to  show  that  it  must  prove  total- 
Ij  inoperative  in  removing  the  distrras  or  diminish- 
ing^ in  any  aTailable  degree,  the  population  of  the 
Uflited  Kingdom.     From  July  1839  to  July  1841 
—two  years,  tiie  total  number  of  emigrants  con- 
vcyed  by  the  Compan/s  ships,  has  been  3469.   Of 
tee,  a  oondderable  proportion,  no  doubt,  paid  their 
««a  expenses ;  but  as  we  have  no  means  of  ascer- 
^vuof  the  proportion,  we  shall  assume  that  they 
vne  aU  carrial  out  at  the  Company's  expense. 
^«w,  the  Company  had,  previously  to  the  sailing 
>f  tke  first  veswl,  realized  £100,000  by  the  sale  of 


the  allotments  at  Port  Nicholson, — £75,000  of 
which  were  set  aside  for  conveying  labour  to  the 
colony,  so  that  each  emigrant  appears  to  have  cost 
£21  for  mere  conveyance ;  and  while  the  popula- 
tion of  the  United  Kingdom  increased  600,000, 
the  Company  removed  only  3469.     But  to  show 
that  Mr.  Wakefield's  plan  would  give  little  relief  to 
this  country,  even  if  carried  to  the  greatest  extent, 
we  have  only  to  advert  to  the  circumstance,  that 
to  carry  it  through  efiFectively,  only  a  particular 
class  must  be  selected — ^that  is,  the  flower  of  our 
population ;  for  the  emigration  fund  must  be  expend- 
ed in  carrying  out  equal  proportions  of  both  sexes, 
between  certain  ages,  say  18  and  35.    Mr.  Wake- 
field remarks  : — "  lliere  a/re  great  ol^ections  to  any 
but  young  people;  I  will  not  say  the  narrow  class 
to  which  I  have  adverted.    Children  suffer  immensefy 
in  being  removed  :  they  suiFer  on  board  ship,  they 
suffer  from  confinement ;  and  when  they  arrive 
in  the  Colony,  they  are  either  n^lected,  or  are  a 
great  encumbrance.     Old  people  suffer  much  more 
firom  being  removed  from  the  scenes  to  which 
they  are  attached,  and  they  are  also  less  able  to 
bear  the  fatigues  which  necessarily  attend  upon 
a  long  voyage."    However  beneficial  therefore,  Mr. 
Wakefield's  system  may  be  to  the  colonies  which 
adopt  ii-y  we  cannot  help  thinking  it  cannot  be  ad- 
vantageous to  the  mother-country  to  remove  the 
people  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  to  leave  the  old 
men  and  women  to  be  supported,  and  the  children 
to  be  brought  up,  at  the  expense  of  the  mother- 
country,  tfll  they  are  fit  to  be  i-emoved  to  the  co- 
lonies.   Such  a  system  of  emigration,  instead  of  re- 
lieving the  distress  and  lessening  poor  rates,  would 
increase   both ;    because,  for    every    able-bodied 
man  removed,  probably  two  old  or  feeble  persons 
would  be  left  to  be  supported.     This,  indeed,  is 
the  evil  of  all  emigration ;  it  takes  away  the  ac- 
tive, strong,  and  enterpiising,  and  leaves  the  lazy, 
weak,  and  indolent.    Another  evil  of  Mr.  Wake- 
field's scheme  is,  that  it  tends  to  draw  capital  from 
Britain  to  be  invested  in  the  colonies,  whereby  the 
fund  necessary  for  the  employment  of  labour  at 
home  is  dimiidshed.    Only  a  small  portion  of  the 
price  of  lands  to  be  sold  can  be  expected  to  be 
raised  in  the  colonies  themselves  ;  the  great  bulk 
of  it  must,  as  hitherto,  be  drawn  from  the  mother- 
country.     It  is  obvious  that,  if  capital  be  sent 
abroad  in  as  great  a  proportion  as  population,  no 
benefit  will  be  derived  at  home,  from  emigration, 
at  least  for  many  years  to  come.    The  chief  cause 
of  the  welfare,  and  of  the  advance  of  the  prosperity 
of  any  country,  is  the  increase  of  capital  at  a 
greater  rate  than  population.    We  really  believe, 
therefore,  that,  in  as  far  as  relief  from  the  present 
distress  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  chief  object  for  en- 
couraging emigration,  it  would  be  much  better  to 
raise  the  whole  money  by  a  tax,  and  expend  it 
either  in  employing  the  hands  who  are  out  of  work 
in  some  useful  labour  at  home,  till  the  present 
crisis  is  over, — or,  if  that  plan  be  objectionable,  on 
account  of  the  additional  produce  and  competition 
it  would  necessarily  create — ^to  employ  it  directly  in' 
conveying  away  our  population,  than  to  draw  it  from 
our  capitalists  in  the  shape  of  price  of  lands  at  the 
other  side  of  the  globe,  and  then  indirectly  return 


TORY  REMEDIES  FOR  NATIONAL  DISTRESS. 


only  one  lialf  of  it  to  be  expended  for  the  same 
purpose.  It  is  unnecessary,  however,  to  consider  the 
subject  further;  for  could  the  quantity  of  land  sold 
annually,  be  increased  one  htmdred  fold,  the  price 
of  it  would  not  remove  our  yearly  additional  popu- 
lation. 

But  perhaps  the  greatest  objection  toemigrationis, 
that  it  would  not  relieve  the  classes  among  whom  the 
distress  chiefly  prevails.  These  are,  the  hand-loom 
weavers,  the  spinners,  and  others  employed  in  the 
cotton,  woollen,  and  silk  trades,  the  workers  of  iron, 
printers,  &c.  While  population  in  our  pastoral 
and  agricultural  counties  has  hardly  increased  at 
all  during  the  last  thirty  years,  that  of  the  manu- 
facturing districts  has  doubled.  We  have  also  a 
much  greater  number  of  professional  men  of  all 
sorts— clergymen,  lawyers,  and  medical  men,  as  well 
as  clerks,  governesses,  and  other  educated  persons, 
than  can  find  adequate  employment.  For  all  these 
there  is,  in  reality,  no  opening  in  the  colonies.  In 
the  East  and  West  Indies,  in  all  the  settlements  in 
New  Holland,  and  even  in  New  Zealand,  the  ware- 
houses are  filled  with  British  commodities  and 
manufactures,  to  an  amount  utterly  beyond  the 
demand  ;  they  can,  consequently,  be  bought  at  a 
less  price  than  they  cost  in  Britain.  Nobody  ima- 
gines that  manufacturers  of  cloth,  of  any  sort, 
could  be  employed  at  all  in  our  colonies.  They 
must,  whatever  their  age,  whatever  their  strength 
or  state  of  health  be,  relinquish  the  pursuits  of 
their  whole  lives — sacrifice  all  the  knowledge  and 
skill  which  they  have  acquired — sink  into  the 
lowest  class  of  labourers — and  be  contented  to  be 
ranked  in  the  same  order  as  the  New  Zealanders, 
or  the  late  slaves  in  the  West  Indies.  A  person 
accustomed  solely  to  in-door  labour,  in  such  work 
as  weaving  and  spinning,  is  indeed  of  less  value  in 
New  Zealand  than  the  natives  themselves.  To  send 
such  people  to  our  colonies  is  merely  to  send  them 
to  starve  abroad,  instead  of  starving  at  home.  The 
colonies  do  not  want  such  labour.  Were  it,  indeed, 
proposed  to  export  them  in  tens  of  thousands, — 
and  in  smaller  numbers  emigration  is  useless  for  the 
purpose  in  view,— the  colonies  would  resort  to  every 
expedient  to  prevent  the  emigrants  settling  among 
them.  Notwithstanding  the  almost  boundless  ex- 
tent of  the  United  States,  and  the  immense  demand 
for  labour,  by  the  construction  of  theirextended  and 
numerous  canals,  railways,  (of  each  of  which  they 
have  made,  within  a  few  years,  nearly  4000  miles,) 
and  other  public  and  private  works,  there  is  a  con- 
stant complaint  in  the  newspapers  of  the  Eastern 
States,  of  the  insupportable  influx  of  Irish  immi- 
grants, who  are  almost  daily  thrown  on  their  shores ; 
although  these  are  the  very  class  most  fitted  for 
tlie  works  continually  in  progress,  and  without 
whose  aid  these  works  could  either  not  be  com- 
pleted at  all,  or  at  an  expense  greatly  larger  than 
that  which  they  have  hitherto  cost. 

The  only  classes  fitted  for  an  extensive  emigra- 
tion are,  farm-servants,  shepherds,  and  mechanics 
of  all  sorts  ;  though  the  number  of  the  two  former 
to  the  latter  ought  probably  to  be  in  the  propor- 
tion of  at  least  100  to  1.  In  country  parishes  in 
Scotland,  of  1000  or  1600  inhabitants,  it  is  unusual 
to  find  more  than  two  or  three  wrights,  smiths. 


shoemakers,  tailors,  &c.,  employing  two  or  three 
journeymen  and  apprentices  each.  What  is  the 
value  of  weavers,  and  other  in-door  operatives,  when 
employed  in  country  labour,— every  one  must  have 
observed,  who  has  seen  them,  in  perbds  of  distress^ 
at  such  work.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that 
one  labourer  will  do  five  times  the  work  of  such 
men  at  out-door  labour  ;  and  hence  the  classes  who 
are  most  distressed  are  the  very  last  our  colonists 
would  be  inclined  to  assist  to  remove. 

And  although  means  could  be  found  to  trans* 
port  our  working  population  in  tens  of  thousands, 
what  is  likely  to  be  the  result  ?  From  the  great 
length  and  consequent  expense  of  the  voyage  to 
Australia,  British  North  America  must  be  fixed 
on  as  their  place  of  destination.  We  have  seen 
that  already  half  .of  our  emigrants  either  sail 
directly  for,  or  find  their  way  indirectly  into,  the 
United  States.  Is  it  likely  that  industrious  spin- 
ners of  cotton  and  silk,  and  skilful  mechanics, 
would  contentedly  clear  the  forests  in  the  back 
settlements  of  Canada  or  Nova  Scotia,  among  frost 
and  snow,  when  by  a  few  days'  journey  they 
would  receive  constant  employment  and  higher 
wages  than  ever  they  got  at  home,  in  the  United 
States?  It  is  wonderful,  indeed,  to  mark  how 
rapidly  the  views  of  our  rulers  change  upon  such 
subjects  as  that  of  which  we  are  treating.  Half  a 
century  ago,  the  proposal  to  export  any  part  of 
our  people,  and  the  bare  notion  that  we  could 
have  too  many  people,  would  have  been  scouted 
from  the  throne  to  the  cottage.  In  earlier  times, 
no  one  was  allowed  to  leave  the  kingdom  without 
the  king's  license  ;  for  the  king  was  held  to  have 
such  a  right  to  the  services  of  his  subjects  for  the 
defence  of  the  realm,  that  he  could  not  be  deprived 
of  it  without  his  own  consent.  To  this  day,  the 
king  may  prevent  any  one,  by  the  writ  ne  exeat 
regno,  from  leaving  the  kingdom.  So  far,  again, 
from  compelling,  or  even  permitting,  artisans  to 
settle  abroad,  they  were  expressly  proliibited  from 
emigrating, — and  upon  this  law  two  convictions 
actually  took  place  at  the  Old  Bailey  in  1809 :  the 
one  of  a  master  who  had  offered  an  artificer  ad- 
vantageous terms  to  emigrate  to  the  United  States, 
and  the  other  of  the  artificer,  who,  having  no  work 
at  home,  had  accepted  of  these  terms.  The  judge, 
who  tried  the  case,  commended  highly  its  policy, 
and  dwelt  at  great  length  on  the  mischievous 
crime  with  which  the  prisoner  stood  charged,  as 
deservedly  severely  punishable  by  law.  All  this 
was  certainly  absurd ;  for  the  industry  of  an  arti- 
ficer is  his  only  inheritance,  and  to  prevent  him 
from  disposing  of  it  to  the  best  advantage,  is  an 
unwarrantable  act  of  power;  but  it  is  at  least 
equally  unwarrantable,  by  imposing  restrictive 
laws  on  the  importation  of  food  for  the  supposed 
benefit  of  a  particular  class,  to  compel  him  to  de- 
part from  his  native  land,  and  to  spend  his  days  in 
a  foreign,  and  perhaps  an  unhealthy,  climate,  among 
people  whose  feelings,  manners,  and  habits,  are 
totally  at  variance  with  those  to  which  he  has  been 
accustomed.    And  now  we  come  to  the  point : — 

The  Emigration  scheme  has  evidently  been  set 
on  foot  to  meet  the  Corn-law  agitation ;  for  the 
numbers,  intelligence,  and  independence  of  the 


TORY  REMEDIES  FOR  NATIONAL  DISTRESS, 


norldog^dasBtt  have  become  troublesome,  and  in- 
deed aUrming,  to  the  aristocracy.  It  is  not  for 
tlie  £stic«  80  iiniTerBally  spread  over  the  country 
that  oar  niiera  have  any  sympathy, — ^they  care 
not  &r  the  staiyation  and  misery  of  the  thousands, 
—to  they  fear  that  they  will  not  die  quietly. 
They  are  not  ignorant  that  all  new  settlers  are 
opoeed  to  great  hardships  and  dangers.  The  first 
eoloaists  in  the  United  States  almost  all  perished, 
or  dOO  settlers  taken  out  by  Mr.  Peel  to  Swan 
Rifer,  in  1896,  a  number  perished,  and  all  were 
dispersed  in  leas  than  six  months.  After  suffering 
the  greatest  distress,  the  survivors  returned  to 
Swin  River,  and  would  have  put  Mr.'  Peel  to 
detth,  had  he  not  run  away  and  secreted  himself 
tfll  they  were  carried  off  to  Van  Dieman's  Land, 
fiat  what  sonifies  thirty  or  forty  thousand  weavers 
dying  at  the  Antipodes ! 

In  the  best  and  most  favourable  view,  the  whole 
ywttionis,  TFTkeikertke  food  shall  hetranaported  to  the 
pnpli,  or  the  people  to  the  food.  Nothing  is  so  expen- 
ift  to  remove  as  man ;  and  therefore  it  b  not  only 
the  most  eiq)edient,  but  the  cheapest  mode  of  allevi- 
tting  the  existing  distress,  to  bring  the  food  to  the 
peo^.  If  money  must  be  raised,  let  it  be  spent, 
-HuC  in  exporting  our  population  as  lumber,  but 
in  Ibding  them  work  here :  by  thb  means,  the 
BMther  country,  instead  of  distant  colonies,  will  be 
doidicd.  Their  allegiance  may  be  of  very  tempo- 
nij  duration,  and  we  never  wUl  derive  any  repay- 
iMBt  from  advances  to  them  in  the  way  of  reve- 
ne ;  for  by  a  statute  passed  shortly  after  the  Ame- 
rican war  of  independence,  all  our  colonies  were 
freed  from  ocmtribnting  to  the  revenue  of  the  mother 
cmntiy.  Of  the  value  of  colonies,  in  any  shape, 
redoubt.  Our  trade  with  the  United  States  of 
America  is  now  ten  times  greater  than  before  their 
^dependence.  The  more  colonies  we  have,  the 
IRater  the  risk  of  quarrels  and  wars,  the  larger 
nait  be  our  navy,  and  the  larger  our  army,  to  de- 
fcnd  them ;  not  one  fiirthing  of  the  expense  of  which, 
^  H  remembered,  is  ever  defrayed  by  our  colonies, 
bitmnat  be  paid  by  the  over-taxed  population  of 
Britain.  If  the  landowners  are  apprehensive  that 
the  vnemployed  operatives  wiU  increase  the  poor- 
i>tei,  let  them  reflect,  that  property  has  duties  as 
^  as  rights,  that  it  is  merely  the  creation  of  po- 
■^  law,  and  that  the  ground  on  which  that  law 
>sti»  18  the  promoUon  of  the  public  good,  and  the 


increase  of  human  happiness.  Hence  it  may  be 
modified  or  altogether  changed  by  the  same  autho- 
rity by  which  it  was  established,  if  the  objects  it 
has  in  view  can  be  otherwise  more  completely 
attained. 

We  utterly  deny  that  there  is  any  surplus  popu- 
lation in  thb  kingdom.  Even  with  the  defective 
agriculture  of  nearly  the  whole  of  England  and 
Ireland,  and  of  a  great  part  of  Scotland,  we,  for  se- 
veral years  recently,  grew  a  sufficient  quantity  of 
food  to  support  our  entire  population ;  very  little 
foreign  grain  having  been  entered  for  home  con- 
sumption for  four  or  five  years  together.  The 
prices  of  food  were  then  low — approaching  the 
continental  rates.  There  was  no  want  of  work, 
and  surplus  population  and  emigration  schemes 
were  equally  imheard-of.  Our  working-classes 
were  then  regarded  as  a  blessing — ^not  as  a  curse, 
as  they  now  are.  Between  1SQ5  and  1838,  all 
years  of  low  prices,  nearly  1000  new  factories 
for  the  manufacture  of  cotton,  wool,  flax,  and 
silk,  were  opened  in  Britain,  and  about  70,000  addi- 
tional hands  were  engaged.  What  is  to  prevent 
such  times  returning,  and  full  employment  being 
afforded  to  every  one  who  is  disposed  to  work? 
Nothing  but  the  factitious  high  price  of  food  main~ 
tained  for  the  benefit  of  the  landowners. 

But,  admitting  for  a  moment  that  the  population 
of  thb  country  b  excessive,  the  question  arises, 
Who  ought  to  be  dismissed  ?  The  answer  is  obvi- 
ous. Not  surely  the  industrious  and  productive, 
but  the  idle  and  spendthrift  class.  God  gave  the 
land  equally  to  the  whole  human  race,  and  all  have 
the  same  natural  right  to  its  possession.  Ifthereisto 
be  a  transportation  of  part  of  the  population,  let  the 
fox-hunters  and  sportsmen  go  first,  as  they  are  a 
nuisance  here,  and  will  be  useful  for  keeping  down 
vermin  in  the  colonies  ;  then  let  the  other  useless 
part  of  the  aristocracy  follow,  especially  those  who 
at  present  are  not  content  to  reside  and  spend  their 
revenues  within  Britain,  but  who  draw  their  rents 
from  a  highly-taxed  and  starving  population,  to 
spend  them  on  the  continent,  and  thus  escape  their 
fikir  contribution  for  the  protection  of  the  property 
they  leave  behind  them.  Finally,  let  not  the  people 
be  deceived  and  be  transported,  *^  to  please  their 
lairds ;"  but,  on  the  contrary,  let  them  insbt  for 
Free  Trade,  beginning  first  with  the  repeal  of  the 
Com  Laws. 


THE  SONGS  OP  THE  MONTHS. 

NO.  I. — THE  SONO  OF  JANUARY, 

Coem  hMricaane  toe  mee,  loteby  toe  ye, 
Chaimte  y  longee  of  moine  pleasannte  fiunyle : 
Moan  bee  joore  fennes  whilganuihe  oure  gle, 
Mirthlene  ment  benizon  fyttaallie. 

Johannet:  Prior  of  Broomwkkom.' 


R*  it  gvne-the  Year  I— I  am  f^ !  am  f^  I 
nrtvtl  igain  in  my  ni^esty. 
^thebMir  of  hb  birth  I  hastened  forth 
'^  ay  crystal  haUs  in  the  gelid  north, 
^  tke  ton  looked  pale  at  each  frozen  gem] 
*  ny  ewn  imperial  diadem : — 
"«  be  bath  email  power  with  me.-^ 


And  I  pranked  it  rare,  for  I  chiUed  the  skief, 
And  the  crowded  hearths  of  the  human  stye?. 
And  blistered  with  kibes  both  the  Scholar  and  Sage^ 
And  stopped  the  thin  blood  in  the  veins  of  A^e. 
And  I  pinched  the  Queen  in  her  chair  of  state. 
And  perished  a  miser  by  empty  grate, 
So  hungry  for  riches  was  he  I 


€ 


THE  SONGS  OF  THE  MONTH. 


And  I  whipi  through  their  ng»  to  the  couch  of  the  poor, 
While  they  dreamed  they  were  spamed  from  their  own 

wretched  door. 
And  I  silenced  the  voice  of  the  choristers — all, 
The  ingle>side  cricket,  and  the  dog  in  the  hall ; 

For  none  shall  compete  with  the  glee 
Of  the  donhle-faced  Wizard  who  deigns  to  appear^ 

And  swaddle  the  limbs  of  the  infant  year. 

2. 
He  is  gone — the  Year  !  He  is  dead  !  is  dead  1 
To  the  tomb  of  past  ages  gathered, — 
I  will  pile  him  a  cairn  of  drifted  snow, 
And  chain  np  the  water-fiUrs  headlong  flow. 
While  the  North  flings  a  thousand  rockets  up, 
And  the  wassailers  drain  the  deep  cordial  cap 
And  replenish  it  merrily. 


Then  reyel  again :  I  will  bite  the  toes 
Of  the  pulpited  priest ;  and  tweak  his  nose. 
I  will  blister  and  gash  his  hearers'  lips, 
And  bury  sharp  pangs  in  the  labourer's  hips. 
The  brooks  I  will  charm,  and  harden  the  field, 
Till  the  plough-share  bright  may  not  burrow  concealed. 
Though  so  yaliant  a  knight  is  he. 
I  will  bum  your  Yule  logs,  and  with  light  arabesque 
All  your  windows  will  fbirnish ;  and  figures  grotesque 
I  will  hang  from  your  eayes :  and  your  boi^  shall  be 

burdened 
With  all  that  is  choicest,  then  I  shall  be  guerdoned. 

For,  who  half  so  jolly  can  be, 
As  the  double-fkced  Wizard  who  deigns  to  appear. 
And  swaddle  the  limbs  of  the  in&nt  year  f 

J.A.O. 


SPECIMENS    OP    MODERN   ROMANCE. 

KO.  t.*-— THE  lKTl£lf8E;  OB,  MTTBBEROTTS  SBNTDCElfTiLL.* 

lA  BELLA  BEATRICE:  A  TALE  OP  VENICE. 


Italy,  beautiful  Italy,  thou  land  of  love 
And  loye^  impassioned  trance ; 

Thy  sunny  skies  so  golden  bright  abOTf 
Thy  dark-eyed  danghten*  glance : 


CHAPTER  I. 


It  was  within  half  an  honr  of  midnight,  and 
the  Piazza  di  San  Marco  was  nearly  deserted  by 
the  gay  throng  of  revellers  who  had  but  lately 
made  its  arches  ring  with  the  jocund  strains  of  a 
hundred  hurdygurdies.  The  moon,  cloudless  and 
unspotted  as  a  maiden's  virgin  thoughts,  was 
shining  full  into  the  square.  Near  the  hrazen 
statue  of  the  Centaur  Nessus,  Chizellini's  Capo 
d'Opere,  two  figures  might  have  been  seen,  en- 
gaged in  close  conversation,  and  occasionally 
emerging  from  behind  the  shadow  of  the  statue, 
as  if  to  look  for  some  one,  whose  approach  they 
were  expecting. 

*^  Cente  maledizioni  I "  exclaimed  one  of  the 
figures,  "/Sb»'  dannatOy  if  I  wait  any  longer.  My 
Giulietta  is  dying  for  me,  and  I  promised  to  be 
with  her  by  twelve." 

"  Tacey  Gasparo ;  you're  always  in  some  infernal 
amour  or  another.  Surely  you  might  attend  to 
business,  and  leave  the  girls  alone  for  one  night  ? 
The  signor  is  past  his  time,  no  doubt,  but  we'll 
charge  it  in  the  bill,  you  know,"  said  the  other 
figure,  sharpening,  as  he  spoke,  the  edge  of  his 
stiletto  upon  the  pavement. 

**Carpo  di  Caio  Mario,  charge  it  in  the  bill! 
And  what  answer  will  that  be  to  my  Giulietta? 
Do  you  know  the  risk  I  run?  'Cod,  she  would 
think  as  little  of  dropping  me  a  settler  of  Aqua 
Tofana  in  my  next  cup,  as  she  would  of  eating 
garlic  in  her  soup !  I'll  cut  a  throat,  Poniardo, 
upon  any  reasonable  consideration,  but,  hang  me, 
if  I  peril  my  soul  for  any  man  I " 

*  For  a  specimen  (ajid  a  fkmous  one,  we  venture  to 
think)  of  the  modem  dattic  school  of  romance,  we 
^  r  to  Endymion,  page  50,  of  this  Number. 


Meet  emblems  are  they  of  the  fieiy  hate, 
That  with  love^  warmeet  paarion  still  doth  mate 
In  thee,  thou  glorious  land, 
Where  jealousy  can  buy  the  dark  assassin^s  brand ! 
Jfo/y.    By  Jolm  Jone$, 

^^  Ecoo  lo  qvdl  Here  comes  the  Signor  di 
Aquavita  at  last,"  replied  Poniardo,  pointing  to  a 
figure  shrouded  in  an  ample  cloak,  that  was  now 
seen  striding  towards  them  across  the  Piazaa. 

^Bwma  notte,  tiffnor!"  said  Grasparo  and  Po« 
niardo  at  once,  as  the  figure  came  up  to  where 
they  stood.    "  We  wait  the  signor  s  orders." 

"  You  know  young  Giovanni  Beltesta?" 

Gasparo  and  Poniardo  assented. 

''He  crosses  the  Pont^  dei  Sospiri  to-morrow 
night,  at  twelve.  Your  stilettoes  have  a  sure  aim^ 
I  have  been  told.  You  know  my  meaning.  This 
purse  contains  a  hundred  scudi.  Dispose  of  Bel- 
testa,  and  you  shall  have  another  of  twice  the 
amoimt." 

At  this  moment^  the  organ  of  the  adjacent 
church  of  San  Marco  was  hesjxl,  blending  with  the 
voices  of  the  choristers,  as  they  chanted  the  vesper 
hymn  to  the  Virgin.  Awed  by  the  sacredness  of 
the  appeal,  to  which  the  moonlight  and  the  silence 
gave  redoubled  power,  the  Signor  di  Aquavita, 
Gasparo,  and  Poniardo  dropped  on  their  knees, 
where  they  remained,  in  devout  contemplation,  till 
the  service  ended*  They  then  rose,  and  left  the 
place. 

CHAPTER  II. 

It  is  a  stately  room  in  one  of  the  noblest  palaces 
of  Venice.  Rich  damask  from  "far  Cathay" 
adorns  the  walls  ;  and  here  and  there  some  noble 
work  of  the  divine  Tiziano,  then  in  the  zenith  of 
his  fame,  shows  that  the  proprietor  of  the  pal&zzo 
is  as  liberally  endowed  wiUi  taste  as  with  the 
wealth  which  it  ennobles.  A  room  it  is,  where 
elegance  conspires  with  luxury  to  build  a  fairy- 
home  for  beauty  to  surround  with  golden  visions, 
and  weave  her  rare  enchantments  in. 


LA  BELLA  BEATMOE :  A  TALE  OF  VENICE. 


And  wbo  is  she,  the  fair  Daessa  of  that  princely 
diamber?    'Tis  the   rose  of  Venice, — ^the  wor- 
ihi|^  of  her  nohle  comftm,— the  chanted  of 
htrimmortal  poets^ — ^La  Bella  Beatrice.    She  was, 
indeed,  a  theme  to  gire  a  painter's  pencil  inspira- 
tioa,— there,  as  she  lay  redined  upon  a  conch,  her 
mtdiless  fona  robed  in  the  costly  silks  of  distant 
l^aognisUn,  and  her  fair  brow  softened  with  an 
air  (xP  sadness,  as  she  perased  the  sonetH  of  the 
dhrine  Petrarca,  which  she  held  lightly  in  her  deli- 
ate  fingers.    Is  she  reading,  or  are  her  thoughts 
mndeiing  with  him  to  whom  she  hath  o£Fered  up 
the  incense  of  her  young  and  passionate  heart? 
Who  may  tell? 

She  has  dropped  the  book,  and  half  raised  her- 
•df  upon  the  conch,  to  listen ;  for  beneath  the 
wbdow,  which  is  open,  a  yoice  is  singing  to  the 
notes  of  the  mandolin. 

Soft  moonligbt  is  silently  streaming 

Over  the  muimnring  sea, 
Hien  wftke,  lore,  O  wake,  from  thy  dreaming^ 
Td  ifaine  fir  an  hour,  loye,  on  me. 
On  me,  lore,  on  me ; 
Pot  loTe,  withont  thee, 
Biee,  my  beloved,  my  own  Beatrice, 
lo  no  Bon',  no  son'  feHee  ! 
*T^  he— my  Gioyanni — ^my  beautiful,  my  own 
(Boranni !"  die  exclaimed,  as,  starting  from  her 
coieh,  she  rushed  tathe  window,  and,  leaning  over 
it,kisRd  her  hand  to  a  figure  that  stood  in  a  gon- 
dola in  the  lagune  which  washed  the  walls  of  the 
pilazzo.    Gioyanni  continued  his  song : 

Hiuhed  are  the  wakeftil  in  slumber. 
And  tiiere  are  none,  love,  to  see; 
fkt  Stan  diine  in  rad^t  number. 
But  they  tell  not  of  thee,  loTe>  and  me ; 
Of  thee,  loTe,  and  me ; 
Then  place  me  with  thee — 
Tbee,  my  belorld,  my  own  Beatrioe, 
Ed  io  son,  io  son  felice  I 

•My  poetrloTBT,— my  peerless  Gioyanni, — ^hy 
Beabiee  has  no  joy,  no  h^piness  but  with  thee. 
Qaete  thee,  sweetest,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  dropped 
^Bm  the  window  a  silken  ladder,  that  indispens- 
t^ie  i^urtenance  of  a  Venetian  balcony,  ^^  haste 
tiwe,  my  dearest  Giovanni." 

In  another  moment  the  graoeftil  Gioyanni  had 
^Hmdfid  up  the  ladder,  vaulted  over  the  balcony, 
od  was  standing  in  the  room. 

"Dearest  Beatrice ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  folded 
Wr  to  his  breast. 

"(Ml,  my  own  beautiful  Gioyanni,"  she  mur- 
iWKd,a8  die  yielded  to  his  repeated  kisses,  "what 
ifij  Mce  more  to  hold  you  in  my  arms — Eii  hello 
-«<2wmo/    Dtpiaeermibaigailcor!" 

*^Dmpiu>  son,  tu  non  m'in^anni  9  dtmqt^io  son 
f^r  passionately  replied  the  youth ;  and  again 
lie  teined  her  to  his  bosom,  again  he  pressed  her 

•But  you  mnst  go,  my  own  CHoyanni.  My 
JttJww  Icid  win  be  here  anon.  At  every  sound  I 
^n  thought  'twas  he  aspending  the  staircase. 
%}  dearat,  you  must  go.  He  was  to  be  home 
^twelfe,  and  *tis  now  within  a  few  minutes  of 
whour." 

dUmenotcmdl    Tbw  kiiowwt,  loie,  ttot 


did  it  lie  with  myself,  I  should  never  bid  thee 
adieu.  But  should  he  find  thee  here,  'twere  death 
to  both  of  us  1" 

"  Addio,  then,  hel  idol  mio  /*' 

**  You  will  not  forget  me,  Giovanni?**  said  the 
beauty,  as  she  hung  upon  his  shoulder,  and  gazed 
at  him  with  eyes  moist  with  the  sadness  dF  too 
eager  love. 

"  Forget  thee  I  I  have  no  thought  that  is  not 
given  to  thee, — no  hope,  but  that  of  once  more 
folding  thee  to  my  arms.  Addio  I — And  till  I  see 
thee  again, 

11  oor  mi  dice, 
Io  no  son',  no  son'  feUoe  !^ 

A  violent  knocking  was  heard  at  the  outer  gate. 
Giovanni  dropped  into  the  gondola,  and  rowed  off. 
Beatrice  resumed  her  seat  upon  the  couch,  and 
the  Sonetti  of  Petrarca. 

OHAPTES.  in. 

"Stand  back  into  the  shadow  of  that  buttress,'' 
said  Poniardo  to  his  friend.  *^  Here  is  the  young 
springaldathist!'' 

They  were  upon  the  Pont^  dei  Sospiri,  and 
midnight  was  pealing  frrom  the  lofty  Campanile  of 
San  Marco.  Giovanni  Beltesta  advanced  with  the 
unsuspecting  gaiety  of  youth,  singing,  as  he  went, 

O  Beatrice,  il  cor  mi  dice 
Chi'  io  no  son',  no  son'  folioe  I 

He  stumbled,  and  fell  forward  with  a  groan« 
The  stUettoes  of  the  two  ruffians  had  met  within 
his  gentle  heart  t 

^  Let  us  chuck  him  into  the  lagune !"  said  Po« 
niardo,  lifting  the  bloody  body  by  the  shoulders. 

^Bravely  said,  mio  hon  eamarado/^  responded 
Gasparo,  as  he  seized  the  legs. 

A  splash  was  heard,  and  the  smooth  surfoce  ^ 
the  l^^une  was  broken  for  a  moment.  It  passed 
away,  and  the  moon  was  once  more  shioing  upon 
the  water  s  unbroken  mirror. 

That  night  the  Signer  Aquavita  swallowed 
poison.  'Twas  said  that  the  fingers  of  La  Bella 
Beatrice  had  mingled  it  with  his  evening  cup ;  but 
on  this  a  veil  of  tie  deepest  mystery  rests. 

In  a  lonely  cell  of  San  Lazaro  is  a  lovely 
female.  See  her  raven  tresses  streaming  over  a 
throat  and  neck  that  might  shame  the  marble  of 
Antiparos  I  Her  laughing  eyes  are  bright  with 
the  lustre  of  a  more  than  natural  fire.  'Tis  La 
Bella  Beatbice.  She  speaks  but  of  one — ^her 
beautiful  Giovanni  ;  and  in  the  dead  of  night  she 
is  heard  singing,  in  tones  of  the  most  plaintive 
sadness,  the  words  that,  with  a  foreboding  spirit, 
had  been  spoken  by  her  lover  at  parting, 
il  poT  mi  dice, 
Io  no  son',  no  son'  fBlice ! 

A  romance  so  pure  in  its  morals,  so  original  in 
its  incidents,  so  remarkable  for  the  dramatic  indi- 
viduality of  its  characters,  forms  *  *  [Here 
the  manuscript  and  moral  abruptly  break  off. 
Through  the  same  channel  we  expect  the  conclu- 
sion of  Bulwer's  sentimental  and  preternatural  tale 
of  Zicci;  now  in  a  state  of  suspended  animation  for 
several  years ;  provided  the  gifted  author  does  not 
finish  it  right  speedily  l|imself.] 


HOWITT'S  VISITS  TO  REMARKABLE  PLACES.* 


Right  glad  are  we  to  meet  Mr.  Howitt  once  more 
with  his  foot  upon  the  green  sward  of  England,  ram- 
bling at  his  own  good  Uking,  by  the  bright,  rock- 
bedded  streams  of  the  North ;  threading  its  secluded 
valleys,  wandering  in  its  ancient  woods  ;  now  mus- 
ing under  the  towers  of  Branoepeth,  Raby,  or  Lum- 
ley ;  and  anon  exploring  the  ruins  of  many  an  edifice 
of  mighty  name,  the  chiefless  strongholds  of  the 
Nevilles,  the  Delavals,  or  the  Hiltons, — ^fjELmilies  of 
far-descent,  of  whose  fame  and  prowess  small  trace 
will  shortly  remain,  save  such  traditions  as  are 
preserved  in  ballads  and  in  storied  pages  like  those 
of  Mr.  Howitt  and  hb  contemporaries.  But  who 
are  his  contemporaries?  The  delightful  walk 
in  literature  which  he  occupies  is  at  present  all  his 
own.  To  the  eye  of  philosophy,  or  Uie  keener  orb 
of  practical  utility,  his  may  not  seem  the  highest 
sphere  of  lettered  wisdom,  or  creative  art ;  but  it 
is  undeniably  that  in  which  a  successful  writer 
largely  promotes  "  the  greatest  enjoyment  of  the 
greatest  number "  of  readers.  This  is  surely  no 
small  achievement. 

To  those  familiar  with  the  previous  volume 
of  this  work,  it  may  be  unnecessary  to  say  that 
this  one  is  framed  upon  exactly  the  same  plan' ; 
one  of  entire  freedom,  embracing  in  its  wide  range 
every  beautiful  object  and  pleasure-raising  emo- 
tion ;  whatever  the  painter  has  sketched,  the  poet 
sung,  or  the  local  antiquary  narrated,  of  fact, 
legend,  and  tradition.  Anecdotes  illustrative  of 
manners,  snatches  of  family  history,  and  all  kinds 
of  agreeable  gossip  give  zest  to  the  sketches ;  nay, 
tales  of  somewhat  superannuated  scandal,  either 
slightly  known,  or  long  since  forgotten,  are  revived, 
and  wUl,  for  many  readers,  possess  novelty  as  well 
as  piquancy. 

Mr.  Howitt's  rambles  at  this  time  have  been 
principally  in  the  counties  of  Durham  and  North- 
umberland, though  he  proceeded  the  length  of 
Berwick,  and  made  a  raid  intoLiddesdale.  His  field 
is  thus  "  The  North  Countrie," — the  storied  Border 
land  of  daring  adventure,  battle,  and  ballad.  Though 
he  examined  every  scene  for  himself,  and  in  mea- 
suring the  ground,  generally  made  his  own  legs  his 
compasses,  he  has  enriched,  and  greatly  enhanced 
the  value  of  his  work,  by  a  diligent  perusal  of 
county  histories,  memoirs,  and  chronicles;  the 
works  of  that  prince  of  local  antiquaries  and  pic- 
turesque tourists,  Pennant;  of  Surtees,  Hutchin- 
son, Grose,  and  a  host  of  men  of  smaller  note,  who 
are,  however,  prophets  in  their  own  country.  With 
all  this,  the  entire  body  of  northern  legendary  bal- 
lad poetry  was  at  his  finger's  end.  So  many  fine 
original  elements,  together  with  no  mean  skill  in 
the  art  of  combining  and  arranging  them,  could 
not  fail  to  produce  an  exceedingly  agreeable  book. 
But  not  resting  on  literary  merit  alone,  the  re- 
sources of  art  also  have  been  called  in  to  accom- 

*  Visits  to  Remarkable  Places,  Old  Halls,  Battle 
Fields,  and  Scenes  illustratiye  of  Striking  Passages  in 
Poetry  and  History,  &c.  &c.  By  William  Howitt,  royal 
8to^  cloth,  pp.  610  :  Longman  &  Co. 


plish  the  charms  of  the  work.  It  is  beautifully 
illustrated  with  numerous  vignettes  and  tail-pieces, 
either  actual  representations  of  the  finest  scenes 
and  places  described,  orpoeticaUy  in  harmony  with 
their  character.  So  that  the  Visits  to  Remarkable 
Places  forms  one  of  the  most  elegantly  embellished 
books  of  the  present  season.  To  heighten  the 
charm  of  the  designs,  they  are  all  from  the  pencils 
of  eminent  northern  artists  ;  men  of  talents,  full  of 
enthusiasm  for  the  natural  beauty  and  ancient 
fame  of  their  native  region. 

The  Tourist,  or  Rambler,  whose  steps  seem  to 
have  been  almost  as  eccentric  as  his  fancies — ^^^  wan- 
dering at  his  own  sweet  will,"  starts  with  a  visit 
to  the  city  of  Durham,  with  which  locality  he  is 
enraptured,  and  fairly  enchants  the  reader.  The 
annals  of  the  different  towns  which  he  visited  fall 
within  Mr.  Howitt's  scheme;  and  the  past  and 
present  history  of  this  city,  and  of  Newcastle  and 
Berwick-upon-Tweed,  are  accordingly  given,  with 
amplitude  sufficient  to  satisfy,  we  should  imagine, 
even  the  citizens  of  those  places;  and  to  make  the 
work  of  peculiar  interest  to  them,  from  its  saying 
so  much  about  themselves.  In  describing  these 
towns,  Mr.  Howitt  has  done  full  justice  to  their 
respective  and  relative  claims.  The  most  zealous 
for  the  beauty  of  the  venerable  and  picturesque 
city  of  St.  Cuthbert,  among  the  inhabitants  of 
Durham,  must  be  not  merely  satisfied,  but  grateful, 
and  proud  of  the  lengthened  descriptive  eulogy  of 
which  this  is  a  specimen : — 

There  is  this  charaoteristio  of  most  of  onr  cathedral 
towns,  that  they  have  changed  less  in  their  outward 
aspect  than  others  ;  and  you  would  imagine  that  Durham 
had  not  changed  at  all 

Whichever  way  you  approach  Durham,  yon  are  first 
struck  with  the  great  central  tower  of  the  cathedral 
peeping  over  the  hills  that  envelop  the  city.  It  looks 
colossal,  massy,  and  silent.  Anon  you  lose  sight  of  it ; 
but  again  you  mark  it,  solemnly  breasting  the  green 
heights,  like  some  Titan  watcher,  and  it  well  prepares 
the  mind  for  the  view  of  the  whole  great  pile,  which 
presently  opens  upon  you.  Every  traveller  must  be 
sensibly  impressed  with  the  bold  beauty  of  Durham  in 
the  first  Tiew.  As  he  emerges  from  some  defile  in  those 
hills  which,  further  off,  hid  from  him  all  but  that  one 
great  tower,  he  sees  before  him  a  wide,  open  valley,  in 
the  centre  of  which  a  fine  mount  stands  crowned  with 
the  ancient  clustered  houses  of  Durham  ;  the  turrets  and 
battlements  of  its  old  and  now  restored  castle  rising 
above  them  ;  and  again,  above  all,  soaring  high  into  tbo 
air,  the  noble  towers  and  pinnacles  of  its  Norman 
minster.  Around  recede  in  manifold  forms,  the  higher 
hills,  as  if  intended  by  nature  to  give  at  once  beauty  and 
retirement  to  Ais  splendid  seat  of  ancient  religion. 
From  various  points  of  these  hills,  the  city  looks  qnite 
magnificent.  The  old  town,  with  its  red  rooft,  runs 
along  the  ridges  of  the  lower  hills,  and  these  higher  ones 
are  thrown  into  knolls  and  deUs,  with  thefar  green  crofts 
and  wooded  clumps  and  lines  of  trees.  The  whole  sur- 
rounding scenery,  in  fibct,  is  beautiftil.  My  visit  there 
was  in  the  middle  of  May.  The  grass  had  a  delicious 
freshness  to  the  eye  ;  the  foliage  of  the  trees  was  of 
spring's  most  delicate  green ;  and  the  bluebells  and 
primroses,  which  the  hot  weatiier  in  April  had  entirely, 
a  month  before,  withered  up  in  the  south,  were  there  in 
abundance  in  all  their  denvj  and  friigrant  beauty. 
Through  all  the  finer  seasons  of  the  year,  however,  the 
environs  of  Durham  are  delightfti). 


HOWITTS  VISITS  TO  REMARKABLE  PLACES. 


9 


TioB  w?  consider  a  favourable  specimen  of  Mr. 
Howttt's  most  studied  manner,  though  we  are  not 
tme  t2iat  this  manner  is  hi^  best.  Durham  possesses 
nn  sdrantages  orer  many  of  the  English  towns, 
in  tbe  extent,  beauty,  and  accessibility  of  its  pub- 
lic wilks: — 

l^ifike  the  condition  of  many  a  beautiful  neighbour- 
tftd  in  mMBj  a  part  of  Englaud,  where  you  may  peep 
mU  paradisey  bat  may  not  enter ;  here  ahnost  whereyer 
tbe  aJliuements  of  tbe  scene  draw  you,  yoa  may  follow. 
Fsotpaths  in  all  imaginable  directions  strike  across  these 
ifffeiy  crofU.  Yon  may  climb  hills,  descend  into  woody 
drib,  follow  tbe  course  of  a  little  stream,  as  its  bright 
wUen  and  i&owery  banks  attract  you,  and  never  find 
jeinelves  out  of  Uie  way.  In  all  directions,  as  lines 
ra<fiadDg  from  a  centre,  deep  old  lanes  stretch  off  from 
tbe  dty,  along  which  yon  may  wander,  hidden  from  view 
of  ererfthing  but  the  high  bosky  banks,  and  overhanging 
trees,  and  intervening  sky.  OUier  lanes,  as  deep,  and  as 
sweetly  rastie  and  secluded,  wind  away  right  and  left, 
kadiag  yon  to  some  peep  of  antiquated  cottage,  or  old 
■uD,  or  glance  over  hollow  glades  to  fkr-off  hUls,  and 
efcr  and  anon  bringing  you  out  on  the  heights  to  a  fresh 
and  striking  view  of  that  clustered  city,  its  castled 
toiets,  and  majestic  cathedral.  It  would  seem  as  if  the 
aBcnitiM  of  this  sweet  neighbourhood  had  from  earliest 
tiaes  been  fdlly  felt,  and  that  the  jealousies  and 
iciCrictiotts  of  property  had  here  never  dreamed  of 
Wiiigi»g  the  public  out  from  them. 

The  inhabitants  are  duly  sensible  of  their  high 
privileges  ;  and  accordingly  in  fine  weather,  on 
Sundays,  these  beautiful  walks  have  ^  a  gay  and 
lodal  aspect,"  from  the  number  of  decently  dressed 
people,  who  are  taking  the  air,  and  enjoying  the 
scenery,  without  any  reproach  in  the  eyes  of  Mr. 
Howi^  He  seems  to  think  that  the  pious  and 
vcDerahle  Barnard  Gilpin,  the  Apostle  of  the  north, 
onployed  the  Sunday  afternoons  exceedingly  fitly 
and  welly  when  he  gathered  the  poor  of  his  fiock 
around  him  at  his  hospitable  table,  and  fed  while 
he  taught  them,  on  the  Sabbath-day. 

ToHoughton-le-Spring,  the  residence  and  burial- 
pUoe  of  the  apostolic  Gilpin,  the  tourist  repaired 
with  the  same  feelings  which  lead  a  pilgrim  to  a 
dirine,  or  to  the  tomb  of  a  saint ;  those  of  enthu- 
■astic  love  and  veneration.  The  Life  and  Acts  of 
the  A|K>8tIe  of  the  North  fill  a  few  pages  most  de- 
lightfully. They  overflow  with  true  wncfion.  If  the 
clergy  win  learn  thesecretoftumingmentoGod;  of 
being  bdoved  and  adored  by  their  parishioners,  and 
RTored  by  the  pious  and  the  good  of  all  sects,  let 
them  follow  the  steps  of  this  primitive  apostle. 

Ififl  hospitable  manner  of  living  was  the  admiration  of 
fte  whole  country ;  and  strangers  and  travellers  met 
wA  a  cheerfril  reception.  Even  their  beasts  had  so 
uch  care  taken  of  them,  that  it  was  humorously  said, 
tf  a  hone  was  turned  loose  in  any  part  of  the  country,  it 
wmld  iiBBiediately  make  its  way  to  the  rectory  of 
Honglitoii.  Erery  Sunday,  from  Michaelmas  to  Easter, 
WK  a  sort  of  pnbUc  day  with  him  ;  that  is,  through  the 
worst  part  of  the  year,  when  such  comforts  were  the 
BOit  needed.  During  this  season,  he  expected  to  see 
Us  paririiloiierB  and  their  frunilies  ;  whom  he  seated, 
auidiug  to  their  ranks,  at  three  tables ;  and  when 
ihMat  from  home,  the  same  establishment  was  kept  up. 
Lnd  Borleigh,  when  Lord  Treasurer,  unexpectedly 
viiited  him  on  his  way  into  Scotland,  but  the  economy  of 
Kr.  Gilpfa's  house  was  not  easily  disconcerted  ;  and  he 
«tertanied  tbe  statesman  and  his  retinue  in  such  a 
■aaer,  as  made  him  acknowledge  he  could  hardly  have 
TffTtf^  more  at  Lambeth.  Lord  Burleigh  made  him 
mu  eiSRS  of  advancement,  which  he  respectfdlly  but 
nlj  dsdised,  feelii^  persuaded  that  he  was  in  a  frur 


more  usefhl  sphere  than  a  bishopric.  On  looking  back 
from  an  eminence,  after  he  left  Houghton,  Burleigh 
could  not  help  exclaiming,  ^  There  is  the  enjoyment  of 
life,  indeed  !  Who  can  blame  that  man  for  not  accepting 
a  bidiopric  t  What  doth  he  want  to  make  him  greater, 
happier,  or  more  usefiil  to  mankind  f ' 

His  charities  were  large  ; — ^he  visited  the  jails ; 
though  we  do  not  hear  of  him  sending  any  one  to 
those  dismal  abodes,  either  for  the  recovery  of  tithes 
or  for  ecclesiastical  discipline. 

Externally,  the  scene  of  Gilpin's  labours  has 
not  improved.  Neither  mining  nor  steam  are  good 
landscape  painters ;  and  they  often  even  mar  the 
mellowing  and  beautifying  effects  of  Time  on  the 
Dead  and  the  Past.  But  if  there  is  not  much  ac- 
tually to  see  at  Houghton,  the  tourist  is  one  of 
those  possessed  of  the  happy  faculty  of  being  able 
to  conjure  up  long  trains  of  images  of  faded 
beauty,  and  hallowed  remembrances  of  departed 
excellence.  His  fancy  was  naturally  excited  while 
he  gazed  upon  Barnard  Gilpin's  once  secluded 
abode,  now  almost  approached  by  railway  omni- 
buses. 

The  parsonage  is  a  good  parsonage,  with  ample  and 
pleasant  grounds.  It  is  occupied  by  the  present  rector, 
a  nephew  of  old  Chancellor  Thurlow,  but  has  no  single 
monument  of  Gilpin  left  about  it.  Some  splendid  old 
hawthorns  on  the  lawn  may,  perhaps,  be  considered  as 
the  most  legitimate  relics  of  his  time.  But  one  would 
fain  enter  these  old  and  twilight  rooms  where  he  lived 
and  studied ;  where  he  renewed  his  knowledge  of  the 
classical  labours  of  his  youth,  and  indulged  in  '^musio 
and  poetry,  in  which  he  excelled ;''  where  he  prepared 
his  heart-warm  addresses  to  his  people  ;  where  he  prayed 
for  them,  as  he  rose  up  and  lay  down,  who  in  their  own 
humble  habitations,  far  and  wide,  on  many  a  wild 
mountain,  and  in  many  a  hidden  dale,  blessed  him  daily 
in  their  hearts  before  G^od.  We  would  fain  see  that 
ample,  if  rude,  hall,  in  which  fh>m  Michaelmas  to  Easter, 
every  Sunday,  the  tables  were  spread  for  all  his  flock  ; 
and  where,  no  doubt,  as  they  sate  together  at  meat, 
many  a  discourse  passed — many  a  question  was  asked 
of  the  doings  and  sufferings  of  simple  life,  and  many  a 
quaint  relation  was  made,  that  it  would  do  one's  heart 
good  to  hear  now.  One  would  like  to  see,  in  one's  mind's 
eye,  those  ^  four  and  twenty  scoUers,"  sitting  at  their 
place  at  table  by  him,  ^whom  in  his  own  house  he 
boarded  and  kept,  sometimes  fewer,  but  seldom  ;  the 
greater  part  poor  men's  sonnes,  upon  whom  he  bestowed 
meat,  drink,  and  cloth,  and  education."  One  would  like 
to  see  where  that  great  pot  hung,  ^  which  he  took  order 
should,  every  Thursday,  throughout  the  yeare,  be  pro- 
vided fiill  of  boyled  meat,  for  the  poor  of  Houghton." 
One  would  like  to  image  where  and  how  sate  and  looked 
the  great  statesman  Burleigh,  and  his  train,  with  that 
venerable  Apostle  at  the  head  of  the  table,  which 
astonished  Burleigh,  '^  who  took  of  such  diligence  and 
abundance  of  all  things,  and  so  compleat  service  in  the 
entertainment  of  so  great  a  stranger,  and  so  unlooked-for 
a  guest."  **  His  parsonage,"  says  his  protege  and 
biographer,  George  Carleton,  bishop  of  Chichester,  from 
whom  we  quote,  "  seemed  like  a  bishop's  pallace  ;  nor 
shall  a  man  lightly  find  one  bishop's  house  among  many, 
worthy  to  be  compared  to  this  house  of  his,  if  he  consider 
the  variety  of  buildings,  and  neatness  of  the  situation. 
Within,  Ids  house  was  like  a  monasterie,  if  a  man  con- 
sider a  monasterie  such  as  were  in  the  time  of  St. 
Augustine,  where  hospitality  and  economy  vrent  hand  in 
hand,  and  the  doors  were  always  open  to  the  poor  and 
the  stranger."  What  a  thousand  pities  that  modem 
taste  has  swept  all  this  away  1 

Gilpin's  school,  which  stands  near  his  church, 
has  escaped  the  hand  of  Time ;  but  nothing  worth 
taking  can  in  England  escape  less  hallowed  and 
greedier  dutches.     This   Beminary^   which   the 


10 


HOWITTS  VISITS  TO  REMARKABLE  PLACES. 


founder  intended  for  the  children  of  the  poor  as 
well  as  the  rich,  has  long,  in  common  with  nearly 
every  foundation  of  the  kind,  heen  diverted  from 
the  original,  benevolent,  and  useful  purpose. 

In  some  turret,  tower,  or  niche  of  every  old 
church  or  deserted  castle,  Mr.  Howitt  always 
found  a  sort  of  howlet  in  the  shape  of  a  very  old 
woman,  the  custodier  and  chronider  of  the  spot. 
The  guardian  genius  of  Gilpin's  church  knew  little 
about  the  most  illustrious  of  its  many  incumbents ; 
but  she  has  a  touching  human  story  of  her  own, 
which  IB  well  brought  out. 

Such  ancient  crones,  vagrants,  caaual  wayfarers, 
and  mendicants,  or  lady-like  housekeepers  of  the 
old  school,  contribute  by  their  gossip  to  enliven  the 
narrative.  The  tourist  was,  however,  fortunate  in 
occasionally  meeting  with  intelligencers  of  a  higher 
order  in  the  course  of  his  desultory  rambles, — ^with 
obliging  and  well-informed  persons,  fitted  by  their 
local  knowledge  and  connexions,  as  well  as  by  their 
acquirements,  to  enrich  Ms  note-books,  and  who 
often  participated  in  his  enthusiasm  in  the  pursuit 
of  the  varied  objects  of  his  pilgrimage.  Of  this 
number  were  the  daughters  of  Bewick,  the  cele- 
brated wood-engraver,  whose  genius  has  kindled 
the  passion  for  natural  history  in  not  a  few 
minds ;  and  in  many  more  a  higher  feeling — ^the 
love  of  all  that  b  most  beautiful  and  true  in  the 
rural  scenery  which  lies  in  and  around  every 
one's  daUy  path.  Bewick's  daughters  accompa- 
nied Mr.  and  Mrs.  Howitt  to  Cherrybum,  the  cot- 
tage and  little  farm  where  their  father  was  bom, 
and  where  he  spent  his  boyhood.  None  of  the 
rambles  described  is  more  delightful  than  the  ex- 
cursion to  this  sweet  spot,  which — ^lying  about  ten 
miles  from  Newcastle,  and  once  deeply  secluded — 
is  now  brought  into  the  town  by  the  Carlisle  rail- 
way. 

It  is  a  single  house,  standmg  on  the  south  side  of  the 
Tyne,  and  at  some  distance  from  the  river.  A  little 
rustic  lane  leads  you  up  to  it,  and  you  find  it  occupying 
a  rather  elevated  situation,  commanding  a  pleasant  view 
over  the  vale  of  the  Tyne.  The  house  is  now  a  modest 
farm-house,  still  occupied  by  Ralph  Bewick,  a  nephew 
of  the  artist's  ;  and,  as  Miss  Bewick  observed  on  ap- 
proaching the  dwellhig — **  May  the  descendants  of  the 
present  possessor  continue  there  in  all  time  to  come." 

The  house,  in  the  state  in  which  it  was  when  Thomas 
Bewick  passed  his  boyhood  in  it,  was  as  humble  a  rural 
nest  as  any  son  of  genius  ever  issued  from.  It  was  a 
thatched  cottage,  containing  three  apartments,  and  a 
dairy  or  milkhouse  on  the  ground-floor,  and  a  chamber 
above.  The  east  end  of  this  was  lately  pulled  down, 
and  the  rest  is  now  converted  into  stables.  Bewick  was 
very  fond  of  introducing  his  native  cottage  into  his 
vignettes,  and  often  used  to  talk  of  ^  the  little  window 
at  his  bed-head."  Which  room  this  was,  however,  none 
of  the  &mily  knew. 

We  have  dted  this  passage,  by  no  means  to  the 
disparagement  of  the  sumptuous  and  luxurious 
rooms  and  galleries  of  Lambton  castle,  or  of  the 
magnificence  and  grandeur  of  the  saloons  of  Raby, 
and  of  many  other  gorgeous  and  far-famed  resi- 
dence, but  simply  because  it  b  more  rare  and 
choice  in  its  own  department,  and  not  less  illus- 
trious than  those  stately  abodes. 

Many  of  the  older  feudal  residences  of  the  north 
now  possess  the  romantic  charm  of  being  deserted, 
and  partly  dilapidated.    Among  these  is  Lumley 


Castle,  which  we  select  in  preference  to  any  other^ 
in  a  locality  where  the  ancient  seats  of  English 
nobility  are  as  'Aplenty  as  blackberries."  The 
Lumleys  were  a  very  ancient,  and  also  a  brave  and 
gallant  race,  and  among  the  most  illustrious  of  the 
Saxon  families  which,  distinguished  long  before 
the  Conquest^  survived  the  oppression  of  the  Nor- 
mans, and  became  fBunous  during  the  Crusades. 
They  were  entitled  to  the  nobler  praise  of  being 
often  found  among  the  champions  of  freedom ;  if 
the  resistance  of  the  turbulent  nobility  to  the  en- 
croachments of  the  crown  upon  the  privileges  of 
their  order  deserve  so  high  a  name.  But  the  be- 
lief, that  among  this  stanch  Saxon  family  cham- 
pions of  popular  right  were  found,  may  give  more 
interest  to  the  view  of  their  deserted  feudal  hold. 

A  very  aged  housekeeper  was  the  sole  inmate  of 
Lumley  castle  when  Mr.  Howitt  visited  it, — ^the 
exact  counterpart  of  her  who,  in  Mrs.  Radclifib's 
and  kindred  romances,  hobbles  after  the  orphan 
heroine,  carrying  a  bunch  of  keys,  and  shows 
the  picture  gallery ;  among  the  portraits  of 
which  is  discovered,  by  instinct,  the  lovely,  mur- 
dered mother  of  the  beautiful  Adeline  or  Emmeline. 
An  eerie  abode  the  old  lady  must  have  had ;  yet 
she  was  cheerful  and  hospitable;  and  though  it 
might  detract  somewhat  from  the  romance  of  the 
situation,  we  hope  that  she  had  some  tidy  counr 
try-girl  to  keep  her  company,  and  put  her  snug 
apartments  in  order.  It  is  diverting  to  contrast 
the  simple  and  rather  awkward  reception  of  Mr. 
Howitt  at  this  grand  old  place,  with  the  high- 
sounding  descriptions  of  such  events  which  one 
usually  finds  in  novels  and  histories.  The  castle 
is  a  large  and  massive  structure.  The  Wear  winds 
round  tiie  green  slopes  above  which  it  stands,  but 
is  half-hidden  by  groups  and  avenues  of  lofty 
lime-trees.  The  views  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try are  fine  and  wide ;  and  in  the  distance  rise  the 
roofs  and  spires  of  Chester-le-Street.  As  Mr.  Howitt^ 
revolving  the  memories  of  other  days,  stood  late  in 
the  day  before  this  enchanted  solitary  pile,  wrapt  in 
romance  and  admiration,  no  living  thing  was  in 
sight ;  and  though  he  had  been  warned  that  the 
keeper  was,  though  no  giant,  a  gru£f  or  querulous 
old  lady,  he  resolutely  pursued  Uie  adventure. 

The  silence  of  the  place  was  only  broken  by  the 
rattling  of  windows  in  the  castle  front,  for  the  wind  was 
considerably  strong  ;  I  rang  the  bell,  and  presently  heard 
a  feeble  footstep  approaching  within.  A  female  voice 
demanded  who  was  there,  and  giving  for  answer,  a 
stranger  from  the  south,  there  immediately  commenced 
a  drawing  of  bars,  a  dropping  of  bolts,  and  lugging  at 
the  huge  and  lofty  door.  **  Push,  there,  if  you  please,^ 
cried  the  voice  from  within ;  ^  for  I  cannot  open  the 
door  myself."  I  pushed  accordingly,  and  at  once  inward 
turned  the  door,  and  with  the  force  of  the  wind,  drove 
the  old  lady  backwards,  for  it  was  she.  I  had  now  to 
help  to  close  it  again,  the  wind  seeming  to  defy  both  our 
endeavours,  and  even  when  we  had  acoomplished  it, 
rattling  and  roaring  at  it  as  if  it  would  tear  it  loose.  I 
was  too  much  struck  with  the  view  of  this  noble  and 
unique  hall  to  be  able  to  take  my  eyes  from  surveying  it 
for  some  time,  when  I  found  the  old  housekeeper  stanc^g 
patiently  by  me,  and  on  teUing  her  I  was  sorry  to 
trespass  on  her  at  so  late  an  hour  of  tiie  day,  but  that  I 
was  going  from  London  into  the  North,  and  wished  to 
have  a  peep  at  the  castle,  this  good  dame,  who  had  been 
represented  to  me  as  so  wayward,  said  with  the  greatest 
cheerftUness— 0>  oertain,  yoa  can  soon  see  it^-the  main 


HOWITTS  VISITS  TO  REMARKABLE  PLACES. 


11 


tkisf  ii  tUt  baU.  Ill  tell  you  all  about  these  pictures, 
and  then  you  can  go  where  you  like.  I  see  you're  a 
gestkaun :  youll  find  the  doors  open  ;  and  when  you 
hare  Ws  where  you  will,  here  is  my  room/'  said  she, 
Aaiwiag  dw  way  into  a  nice,  snug,  well-oarpeted  room 
IB  tke  north-western  tower  just  by,  with  a  good  fbe 
Utmg  on  walls  adorned  with  some  yery  interesting 
ftaOy  portraits.  ^  I  cannot  stand  long,**  she  said ;  ^  at 
■J  age  my  legs  soon  fail  me  ;  but  if  you  want  to  know 
aijthing,  you  can  come  and  ask  me,  and  I'll  go  any- 
vbere,  and  explain  if  necessary ;  and  when  you  have 
doae,  here  is  a  room  or  two  here,  near  mine,  with  some 
paintings  m.  111  show  you."  With  this  roving  commis- 
MB I  again  entered  the  great  hall. 

This  18  quite  a  hall  to  enchant  a  heraldic  anti- 
quary ;  but  the  mere  catalogue  of  half  its  treasures 
would  be  far  too  much  for  us ;  and  we  are,  be- 
lidei,  more  interested  by  the  romantic  situation  of 
the  adventurous  explorer,  who,  like  a  knight  of 
old  romance,  traTersed  a  vast  wUdemess  of  mighty 
Tooms ;  finding  all  the  doors  fly  open  before  him ; 
aitd  at  dusk  stood  thus : — 

Sooetimes  I  was  gliding  carefUly  over  floors  of 
pelidied  oak,  that  echoed  to  the  tread,  and  threatened 
to  tbow  me  down  at  every  step ;  then  I  came  to  a 
fturcaK  that  led  me  up  into  other  stories,  or  down  into 
■kenanean  passages,  vaults,  and  offices  of  various 
(faiwiiplions  ;  onoe,  no  doubt,  busy  enough  vrith  servants 
lad  their  concerns,  but  small,  diunp,  chill,  empty,  and 
^Molate.  Then  again,  I  looked  out  of  the  front  windows, 
iaiing  myself  gazing  over  a  wide  twilight  landscape,  or 
caeMntering  those  dark  masses  of  woods  that  stretch 
iimg  the  western  ade,  and  rendered  more  solemn  by 
tke  ibadows  of  night,  and  the  hoarse  brawling  of  the 
ftream  in  ^e  deep  glen  below.  Then  I  was  at  a  window 
Itoking  into  the  inner  area,  where  all  was  gloomy,  silent, 
and  ftdl  of  the  spirit  of  the  past.  Opposite  to  me,  in  the 
veit  centre,  stood  a  turreted  gateway,  on  which  was 
carred  two  long  perpendicular  fines  of  armorial  shields, 
trer  one  of  which,  in  an  escutcheon,  showed  the  lily,  and 
9m  the  other  the  rose.  The  shields  themselves,  having 
fte  true  air  of  anoient  baronial  state,  as  they  were  wont 
U  be  eablaxoned  on  the  front  of  martial  halls,  were  in 
tnth  proud  shields,  testimonies  of  many  a  high  alliance. 
The  dexter  line,  Lomley  and  Northumberland  ;  Lumley 
ad  Hesilden  ;  Lnmley  and  Daudre  ;  Lumley  and 
Tkereny ;  Lumley  and  Neville  ;  Lumley  and  Harring- 

tea;  Lunley  and  Plantagenet,  &c Above, 

la  the  turrets,  some  ancient  heraldio  beasts,  hons  or 
nas,  seemed  to  range  in  the  twilight,  and  threaten,  as 
fte  night  advanced,  to  become  instinct  with  life,  and 
fiepued  to  play  strange  gambols  through  these  old  wild 
leoBs.  In  the  dusk  below,  were  dimly  visible  the  remains 
<f  ancient  marble  fountains.  As  the  gathering  gloom 
^'iraedme,  I  turned  from  the  window,  and  began  to 
Rtiace  my  way  through  the  house.  Nothing  could  be 
•ore  disinaL  The  vrind  now  thundered  round  the  whole 
falirie,  Staking  the  windows,  many  of  which  presented 
villoat  the  view  of  iron  bars,  as  of  a  prison.  In  the 
coort-yard,  the  huge  watch-dog  barked  in  deep,  and 
WMfiMis,  and  measured  notes,  and  his  hoarse  voice  was 
edieed  by  the  dusky  buildings.  The  wildness  and  gloom ; 
tfce  balf-seen  forms  of  things,  as  I  steered  dubiously  my 
vay  tfanmgh  unknown  passages  and  empty  rooms,  were 
vwtky  of  one  of  Mrs.  Radclifie's  most  fearful  castles  of 
v^oder  and  dread.  I  at  one  moment  found  myself  in  a 
fcw  rooms  fitted  up  for  the  temporary  sojourn  of  the 
ttd  when  he  came  there,  and  thought  that  I  had  much 
nA»  he  occupied  Uiem  than  myself.  It  was,  in  fact, 
Vite  pfeaaant  to  reach  once  more  the  housekeeper's  snug 
iftttBent,  and  find  a  cheerfhl  fire,  and  candles  casting 
w  social  light  all  over  it 

This  u  sorely  famous  reading  for  a  gusty  De- 
"■ker  night  in  the  country.  The  polite  ancient 
"**»»  of  the  representatiyes  of  the  Lxmileys  pro- 
^otdhtt  cake  and  wine.    She  was  pleasant  and 


chatty,  and  had  a  number  of  stories  to  tell  of  the 
former  lords  of  the  domain,  and  their  family  con- 
nexions ;  and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  family 
portraits. 

She  dwelt  with  natural  interest  on  the  splendour  of 
the  house  ere  it  was  stripped ;  on  all  the  rooms,  with 
their  fine  paintings,  silk  hangings  and  ''lovely  f^r- 
nitur ;"  every  room  having  its  great  pier  glasses  that 
reached  to  the  ceiling.  She  related  how  after  the  house 
had  been  stripped,  the  earl  and  countess  came,  and  how 
much  they  lamented  over  it.  *'  Let  us  fit  the  old  castle 
up  again,"  said  the  countess.  ^  Nay,  my  dear,"  replied 
the  earl,  with  a  sigh,  **  that  can  never  be  done  ;  it  would 
take,  if  it  took  a  penny,  £50,000  ;  and  then,  my  dear," 
said  he,  '^  you  don't  take  into  account  that  our  house  at 
Sandbach  is  stripped  too."  ''Sandbach,"  added  Mrs. 
Chandler,  *^  is  fitted  up  again,  but  this  has  never  been, 
and  I  reckon  never  vrUl  now."  She  went  on  to  inform 
me  that  her  mother  had  been  housekeeper  at  Glenter's 
Hall,  a  seat  of  Lord  Scarborough's  in  Lincolnshire,  and 
came  here  to  be  housekeeper  fifty-three  years  ago.  She 
came  with  her,  a  young  woman,  and  had  lived  here  ever 
since,  being  now  eighty-four.  That  the  gentry  of  the 
neighbourhood  came  sometimes  in  summer,  and  had 
archery  parties  on  the  lavm  in  ftt>nt  of  the  castle,  and 
took  luncheon  in  the  hall,  and  sometimes  had  a  dance 
there ;  the  only  circumstance,  except  the  occasional 
arrival  of  a  curious  stranger,  that  now  seems  to  connect 
this  house  of  many  ages  with  the  living  world. 


The  night  had  now  settled  darkly  down.  This  grand 
old  castle  front,  with  all  its  projecting  towers,  gloomy 
gateway,  ancient  shields,  with  grim  and  uncouth  heads 
of  beasts  and  homed  prophets,  and  its  lofty  battlements, 
fh>wned  solemnly  and  sternly  upon  me.  Below,  deep  in 
its  glen,  brawled  and  muttered  along  the  stream;  and 
vast  woods  extending  right  and  left,  spread  a  deeper 
blackness  around,  and  sent  fh>m  their  wind-stirred 
depths,  dreary  sighings,  such  as  seem  to  belong  only  to 
night  and  to  woods.  I  thought  if  ever  there  was  scene 
calculated  to  create  a  belief  in  haunted  halls,  and  in  the 
tales  and  creatures  of  ancient  romance,  it  was  this;  and 
as  I  hastened  away  to  cross  the  river  and  regain  my  inn, 
I  often  turned  and  saw  vrith  a  peculiar  pleasure  the 
ancient  towers  of  the  Lumleys  looming  nu^estically 
through  the  gloom. 

Lambton  castle,  with  its  modem  luxuries,  fol- 
lows, as  if  chosen  for  the  purpose  of  contrast;  and 
a  fair  occasion  is  found  to  bring  in  the  legend  of 
the  Lambton  Worm,*  which,  if  somewhat  worn 
with  long  use,  is  at  least  as  pleasant  in  a  book  as 
the  elegant  boudoirs  and  rich  dressing-rooms  of 
Lambton,  save,  perhaps,  to  their  noble  owners. 

Another  pilgrim  shrine  was  Jarrow,  the  abode, 
some  thousand  and  a  few  more  years  since,  of  the 
learned  and  venerable  Bede  ;  from  whose  writings 
alone  we  know  how  Christianity  was  first  intro- 
duced into  our  island  ;  and  who,  long  after  he 
wrote,  found  a  translator  in  King  Alfred,  who 
turned  his  Ecclesiastical  History  into  the  vernacu- 
lar Saxon  of  his  own  age.  It  was  no  ordinary 
event  to  contemplate  the  spot  on  which  this  pious 
and  learned  man  lived  and  died,  and  near  which 
he  was  bom.  Little  is  known  of  his  life  ;  but  Mr. 
Howitt,  by  the  aid  of  imagination,  fills  up  the 
meagre  outline  of  the  history  of  this  early  light  of 
British  literature,  and  contrasts  the  Jarrow  of  his 
days  with  the  locality  as  it  is  now  seen.  He  ima- 
gines that  the  venerable  scholar  would  not  have 
approved  of  many  of  the  visible  signs  of  the  march 
of  improvement. 


*  See  Tait's  Magazine  for  July,  1840,  page  446. 


12 


HOWITPS  VISITS  TO  REMARKABLE  PLACES. 


Exactlj  opposite  to  his  window  he  would  see  the 
dragoHs  of  steam  mnning  too  on  dry  land,  and  sending 
their  screams  farther  and  more  piercingly  than,  soon 
after  his  time,  the  flying  Saxons  sent  their  outcries  at 
the  onset  of  the  Danes,  who  came,  and  twice  laid  his 
beloTed  cell  in'ashes.  He  would  see — where  the  Tyne 
then  looked  on  its*  pleasant  hanks  in  one  long  summer 
Sabbath  of  quietness,  on  its  overhanging  trees,  on  its 
solitary  angler — now  huge  ranges  of  ballast-hills  ;  that 
is,  hills,  and  almost  mountains  of  sand,  that  ships  coming 
fh>m  the  south  of  England,  and  the  continent,  have 
brought  as  ballast,  and  emptied  here  ;  and  upon  these 
hills,  now  grown  over,  in  a  great  degree,  with  grass,  and 
even  grazed  by  cattle,  a  blue,  bearded,  and  amphibious 
race,  with  their  hands  in  their  trouser  pockets  and  quid 
in  mouth,  rolling  along,  and  a  motley  crew  of  keelmen, 
boatmen,  ship-carpenters,  cokers,  and  diggers  of  railway 
Hues,  more  intently  busy  than  even  he  himself  in  his  life 
of  St.  Cutiibert,  and  the  records  of  the  ancient  church. 
Instead  of  the  smell  of  the  unsullied,  wild,  and  sweeping 
sea,  what  smells  would  there  not  reach  him  !  tar  and 
sulphur,  coal  and  smoke,  and  arsenic,  and  all  ^the  nasty 
poisons  which  kill  everything  but  their  own  makers." 

But  Bede  would  never  visit  the  spot  again  if  he  could. 
Not  only  is  it  now  engulphed  in  that  Pandemonium  of 
scenes  and  sounds  just  mentioned,  but  the  neighbouring 
district  is  become  an  actual  region  of  railroads.  .  .  . 
The  air  thrills  with  the  shriekhig  of  steam  whistles,  and 
the  rush  of  iron  wheels  catches  your  ear  even  where  some 
little  hollow  would  persuade  you  that  you  had  reached  a 
solitude.  The  green  headland  of  Jarrow  looking  out 
pleasantly  amid  such  incongruous  scenes  ;  its  shattered 
monastery  ;  its  old  Norman  church,  and  its  ample,  quiet 
burial-ground,  thickly  studded  with  tombs,  serve  only 
to  show  the  grand  contrast  between  the  England  of  his 
day  and  the  England  of  ours.  He  would  cast  one 
approving  glance,  if  he  ventured  anywhere  within  sight 
of  the  place,  at  a  school  which  they  are  building  at  the 
eastern  end  of  the  ruins  ;  and  then  retire  to  Monkton, 
his  native  village,  about  a  mile  off,  where  his  Well  still 
flows  into  a  green  winding  valley,  and  where  women 
still  bring  their  children  to  be  dipped  in  it  for  the  cure 
of  various  diseases,  first  dropping  in  a  crooked  pin  ;  and 
after  every  immersion  lading  out  the  water,  and  suffering 
it  to  re-fill  before  they  plunge  a  fresh  patient. 

Bede,  if  he  did  return,  might  perhaps  perceive 
the  utility  of  these  nuisances,  and  forgive  them  ; 
on  the  same  principle  that  a  Bucolick  poet  over- 
looks a  compost  dunghill. 

The  castle  of  Hilton,  in  this  richly-castled  re- 
gion,  is,  though  in  a  very  dilapidated  state,  still  a 
magnificent  place.  It  boasts  an  antiquity  almost 
coeval  with  Bede.  The  Hyltons  are  said  to  have 
been  settled  here  three  hundred  years  before  the 
Conquest.  They,  however,  sided  with  William  of 
Normandy,  who,  in  consequence,  granted  them 
very  large  possessions  on  the  Wear.  The  ancestral 
fame  of  this  family  was  resplendent  in  their  own 
county. 

Surtees  states,  that  even  when  the  fortunes  of  the 
house  were  fallen,  the  gentry  of  the  North  continued  to 
testify  their  respect  for  them,  and  to  acknowledge  them 
as  '^the  highest  noblesse  of  the  North  without  the 
peerage."  The  name  of  Hilton,  he  adds,  always  stands 
first  in  every  episcopal  commission.  In  1669,  Mr. 
Arden,  complaining  to  Miles  Stapleton,  Esq.,  of  the 
unseemly  pride  of  Dean  Carleton  and  his  daughters, 
adduces,  as  a  superlative  instance  of  it,  that  the  Dean 
had  seated  himself  above  Baron  Hilton  at  the  quarter 
sessions,  to  the  great  disgust  and  reluctancy  of  the 
country  gentry ;  and  that,  moreover,  the  young  Lady 
Carletons  had  crowded  themselves  into  a  pew  in  the 
cathedral  before  Baron  Hilton's  daughters. 

The  Hiltonsy  at  one  period,  possessed  eight  manors 
in  the  county  of  Durham,  two  in  Yorkshire,  and 


two  in  Northumberland  ;  and  rich  church  livings. 
The  civil  wars  completed  their  ruin  which  expen- 
sive law-suits  had  begun. 

The  Barons  of  Hilton  sunk  lower  and  lower,  till  the 
last  of  the  family,  a  widow  and  her  daughter,  lived  on 
the  Windmill  Hill,  Gateshead  ;  the  husband  and  father 
— the  last  of  the  direct  Hiltons — ^having  been,  it  is  sup- 
posed, a  woollen-draper.  Such  were  the  strange  fortunes 
of  that  family  before  whose  ancestral  house  I  now  stood. 

What  is  this  decay,  after  all,  to  the  numerous 
descendants  of  the  **  ould  ancient  Kings  of  Ire- 
land," who  are  now  acting  as  porters  on  the  quays 
of  Dublin  or  Cork,  and  as  hewers  of  wood  and 
drawers  of  water  in  all  the  cities  of  their  conquer- 
ors, or  on  the  spot  where  their  ancestors  were  sove- 
reign princes.  The  chieiiess  pile  of  Hilton,  now 
the  dwelling  of  a  poor  family  of  field-labourers, 
was  the  haunt  of  one  of  the  last  IroumieSy  or  gob- 
lins, known  in  English  family  traditions.  Apropos 
to  Hilton,  Mr.  Howitt  revives  an  equally  wild  tale 
in  those  adventures  of  the  Countess  of  Strathmore, 
and  her  infamous  husband,  Stoney  Robinson,  or 
Bowes,  which  amused  the  tea-tables  of  our  grand- 
mothers. The  story  would  make  a  capital  ground- 
work for  a  modem  novel,  with  the  addition  of  a 
few  more  mysteries,  and  at  least  one  fair  murder, 
if  it  had  not,  as  we  believe,  done  duty  of  this  kind 
already. 

A  romantic  or  poetical  antiquary  could  no  more 
pass  the  towers  of  Brancepeth  and  Raby,  than  a 
Quaker  the  town  of  Darlington,  sung  by  us,  as — 

The  darling  town  of  schism 
and  of 

Tectw  and  plenty. 
Darlington  is  the  residence  of  many  respectable  and 
wealthy  families  of  Friends.  Their  co-disciple — if 
they  allow  him  the  honour— comparesthem  with  the 
priests  who  formerly  held  their  place  in  this  loca- 
lity, and  indeed  monopolized  every  rich  and  beau- 
titul  spot  that  had  not  been  pounced  upon  by  the 
feudal  barons,  and  makes  this  broad  and  important 
distinction  between  the  ancient  and  modem  lords 
of  Darlington :— - 

The  clergy  since  have  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  rmd4; 
the  Friends,  on  the  contrary,  have  been  bom  in  the 
enlightened  modem  times,  when  phrenology  did  exist, 
and  have  added  to  these  other  organs,  the  one  discovered 
by  this  science  as  very  large  in  modem  heads-— a^^ntti- 
tiveneay — and  they  have  accordingly,  most  of  them,  made 
their  fortunes  by  their  own  right  hands.  It  must  be 
allowed  at  the  same  time  that  the  Friends,  and  amongst 
them  conspicuously  the  Darlington  Friends,  have  been 
as  f^ee  to  distribute  their  weal^  for  the  public  good,  as 
to  acquire  it  for  their  own.  They  are  active  in  tJl  works 
of  public  interest  and  improvement,  though  in  this  par- 
ticular it  may  shrewdly  be  said  that  they  find  such 
matters  by  no  means  inimical  to  their  own  interests. 

From  a  rather  full  account  of  Newcastle,  ancient 
and  modem,  and,  among  others  of  its  live  elements, 
the  colliers^  we  extract  the  following  passage,  for 
different  reasons.  It  is,  in  the  first  place,  the  pic- 
ture of  a  peculiar  class  not  much  known  beyond 
their  own  districts ;  and,  secondly,  one  b  at  pre- 
sent doubly  glad  of  the  relief  of  contemplating  any 
section  of  the  labouring  population  of  England  that 
still  command  a  fair  share  of  those  comforts  which 
they  all  toil  so  hard  and  industriously  to  obtain. 

There  are  commonly  as  many  houses  erected  near  each 


HOWITT»S  VISITS  TO  REMARKABLE  PLACES. 


13 


(•Uiery  ii  lerre  the  whole  of  the  workmen,  and  each 
oae  is  tUawvd  %  small  plot  of  ground  for  the  growth  of 
p9i-M)i,  potatoes,  &c.  They  are  fond  of  good  living, 
it  wtiA  \kej  freely  indnlge,  whenever  their  circum- 
staaos  wOl  allow  them.  Pies,  dumplings,  and  puddings, 
wkh  tbc  beet  of  beef  and  mutton,  &c.,  are  their  common 
fm.  Tbey  have  a  great  liking  for  kneaded  cakes  baked 
•a the  girdle,  which  with  them  are  called  singing-Aitini^s, 
lad  UkIt  propensities  for  blaek-puddings  is  notorious. 
Ui  Bazket^lays, 

For  Uack  puddinn,  long  measure, 

They  go  to  Tile  TruUika^^'s  stand, 
And  away  bear  the  f  los^  rich  treasure, 

With  joy,  like  curled  bugles  in  hand. 

Af  the  colliers  form  a  distinct  body  of  men,  and  seldom 
iModate  with  others,  they  entertain  strong  feelings  of 
matial  attadunent.  When  they  combine,  or  ttiek,  for 
the  poipoae  of  raising  their  wages,  they  are  said  to  spit 
cpoB  I  stone  together,  by  way  of  cementing  their  con- 
M^ncj.  This  appears  to  be  a  very  old  custom,  the 
erigia  <rf  which  is  lost  in  the  remoteness  of  time. 

T1»ir  diversions  are  bowling,  foot-racing,  hand-balls, 
fMMts,  nrds,  and  sometimes,  in  places  where  they  dare 
fvsK  it,  hunting  and  fowling.  Cock-fighting  used  to 
be  a  great  diversion  before  it  was  forbidden  by  the  law. 
Wkn  they  have  Uielr  bowling  matches,  they  usually 
tffm  to  a  level  piece  of  ground  on  a  moor  or  common. 
A  certain  number  of  throws  is  agreed  upon,  and  the 
gas  is  won  by  the  party  who,  to  use  their  own  phrase, 
"oeuores  out  the  greatest  length  of  ground."  Some  of 
tk«  bowlers  can  throw  to  an  incredible  distance.  Many 
of  then  will  venture  the  full  amount  of  their  fortnight's 
»ap»— for  they  are  paid  only  once  a  fortnight — on  a 
Uwfiig  match,  and  often  to  the  great  embarraasment  of 
tUirfiaily  affiurs. 

T»  tbe  amiaal  public  feasts,  vulgarly  called  happings, 
h  tbe  watheni  parts  of  the  oounty,'great  numbers  of  the 
ctOkn  resort.  Here  some  of  them  display  their  buf- 
fmaj  in  grinning  for  a  parcel  of  tobacco,  which  is 
coBooly  dther  hung  on  the  sign-post  of  a  public-house, 
esaepended  at  the  end  of  a  stick  projected  from  one  of 
tki  vindows  for  that  purpose.  The  competitors  exhibit 
IwBcaUi,  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  precious  prize, 
1^  ia  the  reward  of  him  who  assumes  the  most 
irigbtfal  countenance.  They  also  at  these  places  show 
tkit  activity  in  playing  at  the  hand-ball,  in  dancmg,  and 
M-raemg ;  and  he  who  outstrips  his  fellows  in  the 
a<^  if  presented  with  a  coarse  woollen  hat  of  about 
tbee  or  four  shillings  value. 

b  the  &milie8  of  colliers  there  are  frequent  inter- 

Mmages. 

Ia  thenr  dress  they  often  affect  to  be  gaudy,  and  are 
Saad  of  clothes  of  flaring  colours.  Their  holiday  vniist- 
tm^  called  by  them  votey  jackeUyhre  frequently  of  very 
oiioas  patterns,  displaying  flowers  of  various  dyes ;  and 
Aeir  stockings  mostly  of  blue,  purple,  pink,  or  mixed 
»J«fr«.  A  great  part  of  them  have  their  hair  very  long, 
■^  on  work-days  is  either  tied  in  a  queue,  or  rolled 
^  it  curis ;  but  when  dressed  in  their  best  attire,  is 
**B]i<nily  spread  over  their  shoulders.  Some  of  them 
•««  two  or  three  narrow  ribbons  round  their  hats, 
P^Mcd  at  equal  distances,  in  which  it  is  customary  with 
t^  to  insert  one  or  more  bunches  of  primroses  or  other 
fleweis. 

I^OK  who  have  been  long  employed  in  pits  where  the 
F'^get,  or  head-^eayt,  are  very  low  and  confined,  con- 
**ct  a  partial  deformity  of  shape.  In  such  subjects, 
^  bteast  is  more  than  usually  prominent,  and  the  body 
*tW  twisted ;  others  are  crooked  in  the  legs. 

The  Methodists,  the  first  reformers  of  the  unhappy 
^^*»,  abandoned  by  their  more  fortunate  fellow- 
*i»ns  and  completely  neglected  by  their  clergy, 
**d  Utteriy  the  Temperance  Societies,  have  made 
""oie  broads  on  the  old  usages  of  the  colliers, 
^^^ong  the  young,  many  now  neither  fight  nor 
•"iok  on  Sundays;  thus  flying  directly  in  the  face 
*^  wirfoni  of  their  ancestors.    There  is  quite 


enough  of  the  magical  transformations  of  Mr* 
Grainger  in  this  book,  save  for  those  who  have 
profited  by  them ;  and  after  all  that  has  been  ac~ 
complished,  there  still  appears  an  abundant  field 
in  Newcastle  for  one  who,  in  civilized  communi- 
ties, ought  to  precede,  or  at  all  events  keep  pace, 
with  the  ornamental  architect — namely,  the  sca- 
venger. This,  however,  is  not  the  fault  of  Mr. 
Grainger. 

A  visit  to  Seaton-Delaval  affords  scope  for  a  long 
history  of  the  exploits  of  that  eccentric  rouS — 
(blackguard  is  the  plain  English  word) — Sir  Francis 
Delaval,  the  founder  of  that  school  for  clever  and 
agreeable  rakes,  which  was  perfected  by  Sheridan. 
A  noble  marqub,  who  figures  as  frequently  in  the 
reports  of  the  police  as  in  the  House  of  his  peers,  is 
maternally  descended  from  the  Delavals,  and  cer- 
tainly shows  the  blood.  From  the  Delaval  family 
the  Marquis  of  Waterford  inherits  Ford  castle,  famed 
in  Border  wars  and  Border  legends ;  at  which 
rumour  lately  bruited  that  he  was  to  keep  up  the 
customs  of  chivalry  so  sublimely  revived — ^from  the 
sublime  to  the  ridiculous  being  but  a  step-— at 
Eglinton  castle.  But  tournaments  are  costly  toys ; 
and  the  marquis  is  not  quite  so  extravagant  as  his 
notorious  kinsman  Sir  Francis,  who,  after  running 
through  hb  own  large  fortune  in  a  course  of  pro- 
fligate extravagance  and  low  vice,  by  base  arts 
swindled  a  poor  woman  out  of  her  hand,  and  a  for- 
tune of  ^90,000,  which  was  quickly  sent  the  same 
road.  He  was,  in  short,  one  of  those  gentlemen  of 
great  talents,  great  family,  and  far  descent,  who, 
if  half  the  stories  of  his  friends  and  panegyrists 
be  authentic,  eminently  deserved  the  tread-mill. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  follow  Mr.  Howitt,  to 
Mitford,  Warkworth,  Alnwick,  Bamborough,  and 
other  celebrated  places,  in  Northumberland,  though 
we  can  promise  those  who  do  so,  fine  descrip- 
tion, storied  lore,  and  a  vast  fund  of  entertainment. 
Nay,  we  shall  not  be  tempted  even  by  Grace  Dar- 
ling, who  is  compared  with  Jeanie  Deans,  whom 
she  certainly  may  resemble  in  simplicity  of  man- 
ners, prudence,  and  modesty.  But,  obeying  the 
natural  impulse  of  humanity,  even  in  the  face  of 
great  danger,  is  one  thing,  and  the  moral  heroism 
of  Jeanie  Deans  another.  There  are  many  Grace 
Darlings  to  be  found  among  the  sex  in  all  parts  of 
the  world,  and  in  all  ranks ;  but  we  suspect  there  are 
very  few  Helen  Walkers  to  be  met  with  anywhere. 
It  wrongs  the  cause  of  truth  to  speak  of  Jeanie 
Deans  as  the  creation  of  a  novelist.  She  was  the 
genuine  woman  which  a  happy  nature,  and  the 
fire-side  religious  education,  and  high  moral  feel- 
ings, of  the  peasantry  of  Scotland  had  made  her.  It 
was  easier  to  invent  a  Rebecca  or  a  Minna  Troil, 
than  this  sober-minded  but  high-souled  country 
girl.  To  Scott  belongs  the  honour  of  adopting  her, 
and  embellishing  her  modest  virtue  with  a  thou- 
sand beauties.  Grace  Darling  herself  cannot  be 
persuaded  that  she  did  anything  so  very  unusual 
or  wonderful.  She  is  perfectly  right ;  and  entitled 
to  more  respect  for  the  general  modesty  and  pro- 
priety of  her  conduct  and  demeanour,  after  so  many 
people  have  been  trying  to  turn  her  head,  (when 
their  own  was  a  little  touched,)  than  for  her  noble 
but  yet  simple  act.    She  deserves  yet  higher  praiso 


14 


HOWITT'S  VISITS  TO  REMARKABLE  PLACES. 


for  having  refused  £20  a-night  to  appear  on  a  Lon- 
don stage,  merely  seated  in  a  boat,  or  on  a  rock,  and 
saying  nothing.  Assuredly  Jeanie  Deans  would 
have  done  the  same,  and  have  far  preferred  to  earn, 
by  milking  her  cows,  the  half  of  twenty-^nce 
a-day.  like  Jeanie  Deans,  Grace  Darling  has  a 
Duke  and  Duchess  for  friends  and  protectors,  and 
the  liegewoman  of  the  Duke  of  Northumberland 
is  not  to  marry  without  his  approbation. 

His  stately  castle  draws  forth  the  warm  admira- 
tion of  Mr.  Howitt.  Among  its  multitudinous 
beauties  and  rarities,  we  find  nothing  more  interest- 
ing than  the  dairy,  nor  amusing  than  the  late 
Duke's  wooden  steed — named  Velocipede,  dam. 
Elm-tree, — sire,  the  Village  Carpenter ;  now  laid 
up  for  the  gratification  of  posterity.  Of  this  horse, 
it  is  told  here— 

The  Doke  and  his  phTsician  used  to  amuse  themselveB 
with  careermg  on  these  steeds  about  the  grounds ;  but 
one  day,  being  somewhere  on  the  terrace,  his  Griuce's 
Trojan  steed  capsized,  and  rolled  over  and  over  with  him 
down  the  green  bank,  mnch  to  the  amusement  of  a  troop 
of  urchins  who  we];e  mounted  on  a  wall  by  the  road  to 
witness  this  novel  kind  of  racing.  On  this  accident  the 
velocipede  was  laid  up  in  lavender,  and  a  fine  specimen 
of  the  breed  it  is.  I  asked  the  old  porter  if  the  story 
was  true,  but  he  only  smiled,  and  said, "  Mind !  I  did  not 
tell  you  that.  Don't  pretend  to  say,  if  you  write  any 
account  of  this  place,  that  yon  had  that  f^om  me."  .  .  . 

But  the  one  object  which  marks  the  rural  taste  and 
affluence  of  our  English  nobility  as  much  as  anything 
connected  with  their  country  estates,  is  a  dairy ;  and 
here  is  one,  the  Duchess's  Dairy,  with  which  few  in 
England  can  compare.  It  is  a  cottage  building,  standing 
in  a  beautiAil  shrubbery  garden  on  the  banks  of  the 
Aln.  The  building  without  has  a  projecting  roof,  is 
surrounded  by  a  veranda,  or  rustic  colonnade,  and  over 
its  walls  clambers,  and  clusters,  and  blossoms  luxuriantly, 
the  Ayrshire  rose.  The  colonnade  is  neatly  paved  with 
different  coloured  pebbles.  Within,  the  floor  is  of  alter- 
nate squares  of  black  and  white  marble.  The  walls,  the 
ceiling,  the  windows,  everything  about  it  is  of  the  most 
exquisite  and  delicate  cleanness.  In  the  centre  stands  a 
massy  slab  of  marble,  nearly  white,  of  from  five  to  six 
inches  thick,  of  more  than  three  yards  long,  and  a  yard 
and  a  half  wide.  On  this,  stand  the  two  last  meals  of 
the  milk  unskimmed,  and  in  white  earthenware  milk- 
pans.  Around  the  walls  run  two  shelves  of  marble, 
bearing  other  pans  ;  and  on  the  upper  shelf  a  luxurious 
assortment  of  old  china  bottles,  dishes,  vases,  &c.  The 
cows  which  supply  this  beautifully  managed  dairy  are 
twenty-eight  in  number.  At  this  early  period  of  the 
season,  when  many  of  them  were  not  giving  milk,  the 
produce  was  50  pounds  of  butter  per  week ;  when  they 
are  most  of  them  milkers,  it  amounts  often  to  more  than 
120  pounds.  The  skimmed  milk  goes  to  feed  a  large 
family  of  pigs  which  are  kept  in  an  adjoining  piggery, 
of  which  the  arrangements  and  animals  themselves  are 
equally  remarkable.  The  dairy  gardens  are  as  delightful 
as  you  can  imagine.  They  are  indeed  a  sort  of  fairyland 
region,  lying  along  the  banks  of  the  Aln,  and  literally 
flowing  with  milk  and  honey. 

Not  one  of  the  many  magnificent  seats  and  vast 
feudal  castles  described,  charm  us  so  much  as  this 
glimpse  of  the  old  English  Manor-house  of  Mitford. 

Its  battlemented  tower,  with  large  mullioned  windows 
boarded  up,  and  converted  into  a  dovecote ;  the  arched 
entrance  below,  with  the  family  escutcheon  over  it,  and 
the  beehives  seen  within  it ;  the  broken  waUs ;  the  old 
yew  trees  about  it ;  the  part  converted  into  a  tenement 
covered  with  ivy,  with  its  ancient  porch  supported  on  two 
stone  pillars  ;  the  simple  garden ;  the  orchard ;  the  walks 
clean  swept ;  the  lofty  trees  overhanging, — ^realized  all 
that  the  poetry  of  runl  life  has  feigned  or  imaged  forth 
from  such  beautify  realities  as  this.    ....    It  was 


a  Boene  that  belonged  to  England,  and  to  En|^nd  only 
— a  portion  of  that  deep,  rich,  and  perfect  rural  beauty, 
that,  from  the  love  of  our  poets,  has  become  as  much 
part  of  our  literature  as  of  nature  itself.  Aronnd  was 
the  sound  of  rooks,  those  attendants  only  of  English 
country  houses,  which  still  cling  with  strong  attachment 
to  the  old  manor-house  rookery  ;  of  daws  and  starlings 
which  haunt  the  ruins  of  the  manor-house  and  the  castle ; 
and  the  notes  of  the  various  birds  which  build  in  the 
orchard  trees,  added  a  great  cheerfulness  to  the  spot 

But  peacefully  beautiful  as  this  scene  is  now,  it  has 
seen  many  a  stem  warrior  its  lord,  and  stood  the  brunt 
of  many  a  fierce  blast  of  war. 

After  exhausting  Northumberland,  coastwise  and 
central,  and  leavmg  Berwick,  Mr.  Howitt  com- 
menced, what  he  cails,  a  Stroll  along  the  Borden, 
and  made  a  plunge  into  the  Cheviots.  It  is  so 
difficult  to  get  off  macadamized  roads  now-a-days, 
even  in  the  most  ardent  pursuit  of  the  picturesque, 
that  we  gladly  embrace  whatever  slender  opportu- 
nity offers  of  obtaining  a  view  of  Nature  in  all  the 
undress  in  which  she  can  now  be  caught,  in  any 
quarter  of  this  tamed  island.  For  this  purpose  we 
follow  our  tourist  from  Rothbury,  dear  to  Church- 
men 1  up  the  valley  of  the  Coquet,  by  a  track  not  yet 
altogeAer  hacknied.  After  spending  a  fine  June 
night  at  the  Three  Moons,  in  tliis  Goshen  of  the 
clergy,  our  traveller  starts  off  thus : — 

My  way  up  the  valley  to  Elsden  and  Otterbume 
became  every  step  wilder,  and  to  me  therefore  more 
attractive.  It  was  a  glorious  day,  at  once  sunny  and 
breezy.  The  way  laid  along  the  foot  of  the  high  craggy 
fells  on  the  one  hand,  here  and  there  stretching  out  into 
cultivated  uplands ;  and  on  ihe  other  side  of  the  valley 
rose  the  stem  and  dark  mountains  of  Simonside.  When 
about  half-way — ^it  was  twelve  miles — the  roads  became 
very  bad  indeed.  .  .  .  .  As  I  proceeded  I  had  to 
cross  and  recross  with  the  windings  of  the  stream,  the 
valley  becoming  more  solitary,  wild,  and  desolate. 
Alpine  bridges,  such  as  they  have  in  Scotland,  composed 
of  two  poles  and  a  little  turf,  or  at  least  the  remains  of 
them,  were  now  the  means  of  transit,  and  as  these  were 
at  least  a  dozen  feet  above  the  stream,  they  were  pretty 
good  testimony  of  the  height  to  which  floods  rise  in  this 
valley.  I  learned  afterwards  that  it  was  the  great 
rainy  time  of  last  harvest  that  had  raised  the  river  so  as 
to  carry  away  all  these  bridges  together ;  and  that  the 
river  will  sometimes  rise,  rapidly,  twenty  feet  above  its 
ordinary  channel.  Indeed,  the  vast  shoals  of  gravel  and 
huge  stones  that  are  lying  here  and  there  in  the  bed  of 
the  river,  and  the  river  itself  running  like  a  silver  thread, 
amid  a  wide  expanse  of  this  debris,  between  its  shaggy 
banks,  show  the  fiiry  of  ihe  waters  that  sometimes  pass 
along  here. 

About  two-thirds  of  the  way  I  came  to  an  old  park^ 
which  occupies  the  bottom  of  the  valley  and  ihe  sides  of 
the  hills  for  a  large  compass ;  its  old  gray  walls  mnnin^ 
over  the  black  stony  fellls,  and  through  the  thick  copses 
which  fill  the  hollows.  Its  old  gates,  wilh  large  stone 
gate-posts,  peeped  out  close  to  me  unawares,  amongst 
the  alders  in  the  bottom  of  the  vale  up  which  I  was 
advancing,  and  deer  and  black  cattle  showed  themselves 
on  the  distant  slopes.  It  was  one  of  the  most  lovely 
things  I  ever  beheld  :  there  is  no  house  belonging  to  it  ; 
the  gloomy  cragged  summits,  and  brown,  heathery,  and 
stony  wastes  of  Simonside,  expanded  themselves  into  the 
sky  on  the  opposite  ridge  of  the  valley  ;  and  on  my  side, 
high  fells  also,  and  long  deep  glens  filled  with  bushes 
showed  themselves  over  the  alder  wood,  through  which 
I  wended,  along  the  river  bank.  All  in  the  distance  was 
silent  and  basking ;  all  about  me  were  the  scents  of  the 
woodland,  and  fresh  green  of  young  leaves  and  youn^ 
grass,  of  primroses  peeping  under  the  boughs,  and  blue- 
bells in  their  first  beauty,  not  as  vrith  us  in  the  south, 
worn  out  vnth  the  old  age  of  a  fbw  warm  weeks,  but  as 
if  fled  hither  with  the  cuckoo,  and  smiling  at  our  southern 


HOWITT'S  VISITS  TO  REMARKABLE  PLACES. 


15 


MtiMi  M  tbey  were  deuL  This  putk  belongs  to  & 
lotlaBis  who  resides  at »  distance— Mr  Qrd  of  Nnn- 
nykiik,  aid  being  a  general  appurtenance  to  a  large 
boese,  tad  yet  fixed  ^re  where  no  such  house  is  to  be 
ibaid,  it  has  Uie  air  of  an  enchanted  domain,  watched 
orer  hj  tarn  mtisible  hunters.  But  I  dare  say,  did  we 
TMttre  to  gire  ofaase  to  one  of  its  deer>  a  substantial 
keiptf  would  soon  issue  from  some  hidden  hut  in  a 
vwdynook! 

A  dismal  narration  is  given  of  a  murder  com- 
mitted bj  tinkers,  at  a  solitary  peel-house  on 
Wluskershields  Common,  in  this  neighbourhood, 
about  fifty  years  since ;  for  which  two  women 
iod  one  man  were  executed,  and  the  latter  hung 
in  chains  on  the  spot.  The  subject  is  reconmiend- 
fd,  by  our  author,  **  to  Mr.  Ainsworth,  and  his 
Koondrel-admiring  disciples.'* 

Mr.  Howitt  crossed  the  country  from  this  place, 
and  so  to  speak,  threaded  ihe  Cheviots,  keeping  as 
£ir  away  from  high  roads  as  possible,  until  he  found 
himaelf  upon,  what  he  calls.  Dandle  Dinmont's 
£um;  ^umgh  certainly  not  the  true  Charley's 
Ho|)e. 

A  kng  wade  through  deep  heather, — a  single  shop- 
bod  going  his  round  barefoot,  and  a  woman  or  two 
kokiag  out  from  a  lonely  hut,  as  I  passed,  where  perhaps 
10  stranger  is  seen  twice  in  a  life, — and  I  found  myself 
CB— Dandie  Dinmont's  Farm. 

T«s !  I  was  now  at  the  head  of  Liddesdale,  once  the 
g»d  retreat  of  Border  thieves — the  land  of  the  Arm- 
stmgs  and  Elliotts — and  on  the  very  ground  which 
sappbed  Scott  wi^  the  prototype  of  one  of  the  most 
geujae  rough  diamonds  of  humanity  which  his  own  or 
aiy  works  have  presented  to  public  admiration.  The 
fiiB-bonse  Uet  on  the  Jedburgh  road,  not  far  from  the 
?iitBH>f-the<^te.  It  is  called  Hendley  Farm.  James 
Ikmuk  was  tiie  hearty  fellow's  name,  whose  character 
ni  »  well  known,  and  so  exactly  touched  off  by  Scott, 
tkat  ererybody  immediately  recognised  it,  and  he  bore 
tk  aaae  as  if  it  were  really  lus  own. 

Mr.  Howitt  falls  into  some  inaccuracies  here,  and 
elsewhere,  from  adopting  popular  editions  of  cur- 
Teat  stories ;  but  they  are  of  little  consequence. 
He,  however,  commits  a  worse  and  a  wilfnl  fault,  in 
octaabnally  reporting  conversations  which  he  him- 
rif  invited,  and  whidi  must  hurt  the  feelings,  and, 
periiape^  the  interests,  of  the  persons  so  unguardedly 
giring  him  their  confidence.  Such  are  the  cautious 
oW  farmer,  near  Berwick ;  and  thfe  clergyman  who 
»aa  met  at  Warkworth ;  both  of  whom  were  civil 
<ad  kind  to  the  stranger,  and  neither  of  whom 
««W  ever  expect  to  see  their  "loose  cracks"  set 
kmn  against  him  in  a  great  book.  The  practice, 
v^ether  Yankee  or  English,  deserves  to  be  checked 
«ad  rdmked.  But  Mr.  Hewitt's  book  was  printed 
viule  he  was  abroad.  Had  he  seen  pages  415-16, 
«»i  e^jedally  489,  staring  him  in  the  fece,  in  a  proof- 
Aert,  he  would  probably  have  scored  out  what  we 
wwider  objectionable.  Things  look  very  diflfer- 
atly  in  print  and  in  manuscript.   In  brief,  when — 

A  chleld  's  anang  us  ticking  notes, 
be  iliould  either  give  us  some  warning  intimation, 
w  exercise  that  discretion— of  which  good  taste  is 
^itepawnt. 

AoecdoteB  like  the  following  do  not  fall  under 
^  eensore,  and  they  illustrate  points  of  character 
*»d  itetes  of  popular  feeling. 

At  fk  Note-of-the-6ate,  where  I  stopped  some  time 
^»  real,  the  old  man  and  woman  were  a  right  hearty 


old  couple.  When  they  heard  over  what  a  moorland  I 
had  steered  my  course,  they  were  astonished  that  I  bad  * 
OTcr  found  the  way  ;  and  said  that  I  must  be  dreadfully 
tired  and  hungry.  They  would,  therefore,  cook  me  a 
rasher  of  bacon,  and  soon  produced  good  white  bread, 
and  equally  good  beer.  But  it  was  their  conversation 
that  was  the  most  refreshing.  They  were  so  keenly 
curious  of  news,  and  so  humorous  in  their  observations 
on  it.  When  I  said  I  came  frrom  London — ^  Eh  !  London, 
that's  a  gran'  place  !  Ye're  wise  folk  at  London,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  How  so !"  I  asked.  **  Why,  ye  ha'  just 
noo  fetched  a  callant  out  o'  a  frirrin  country  to  be  the 
queen's  husband,  and  gein  him  thritty  thousand  pounds 
a-year  for  it ;  and  there's  many  a  braw  chiel  here  wad 
ha'  takken  the  job  for  noothing,  and  done  it  weel  too. 
It  was  a  great  shame,"  he  added,  ^  that  a  woman  should 
rule  aU  the  men  in  England,  and  find  none  of  them  good 
enough  for  her  into  the  bargain." 

While  exploriiig  in  this  direction,  where  all  was 
new  to  the  traveller,  (however  familiar,  Hermitage 
Castle,  and  the  grave  of  the  Cout  of  Keeldar  may  be 
to  many,)  and  which  will  be  not  only  new  but  wel- 
come to  the  great  bulk  of  his  readers,  Mr.  Howitt 
had  the  good  fortune  to  stumble  upon  the  annual 
celebration  of  the  Liddesdale  Grames,  at  Castleton. 
These  he  describes,  with  great  animation ;  for  he 
appears  to  have  entered  completely  into  the  spirit 
of  the  scene  ;  and  to  have  viewed  everything  with 
the  lively  feelings  of  first  impressions,  and  the  poetry 
of  old  association.  For  him  the  old  Border  times 
were  for  the  moment  revived. 

At  Keeldar  Castle  occurred  the  last,  and  one  of  the 
most  pleasant  of  his  adventures.  This  solitary  moun- 
tain hold  is  A  hunting  seat,  belonging  to  the  Duke  of 
Northumberland,  who  has,  we  believe,  opposed  the 
scheme  of  opening  a  public  road  through  the  do- 
main ;  though  sudi  a  line,  it  is  imagined,  would  be 
of  great  utility  to  the  whole  kingdom,  as  well  as  to 
the  particular  district,  by  shortening  distance  and  fa- 
cilitating communication.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the 
Duke's  objections  will  give  way  before  much  higher 
considerations,  than  the  pleasure  of  an  individual, 
of  whatever  rank,  opposed  to  the  convenience  and 
interests  of  a  conmiunity.  In  the  meanwhile,  we 
are  glad  that  no  such  road  was  opened  before  Mr. 
Howitt  stood  at  ghamin  under  the  battlements  of 
Keeldar  Castle.  He  had  visited  Mangerton  Tower, 
the  original  hold  of  the  redoubted  Johnnie  Arm- 
strong, on  the  evening  after  the  games,  and^thus 
continues  :— 

I  now  hastened  back  over  the  Borders  into  Northum- 
berland. My  course  was  over  high,  green  mountains, 
without  track  and  without  tree.  The  moorcocks  rose 
noisily  from  the  grass  around  me  as  I  went  on;  the  sheep 
fled  like  wild  deer  as  I  approached ;  and  far  and  wide 
nothing  could  be  seen  but  green  and  naked  hilU.  So 
lonely,  so  pathless  was  the  whole  region,  that  had  the 
Brown  Man  of  the  Moors  started  up,  I  should  scarcely 
haye  felt  it  stranger  than  seemed  the  whole  unusual 
scenery  about  me.    My  directions  fr^m  a  countryman, 

however,  were  to  steer  south 

^At  length  I  caught  sight  of  the  gray  battlements  of 
the  castle,  and  entered  £e  open  gates  of  its  court  with 
some  caution,  lest,  as  a  stranger  at  that  time  of  night, 
I  might  be  set  upon  by  some  large  dogs.  I  now  heard 
the  merry  sound  of  bagpipes  within,  and  approaching  a 
door  whence  a  light  came — for  nobody  was  in  the  court- 
yard, nor  could  I  see  a  bell — I  discerned  a  large  kitchen, 
with  a  famous  peat  fire,  and  before  it  a  woman  with  a 
child  on  her  knees.  This  was  Mrs.  Dagg,  the  wife  of 
the  Duke  of  Northumberland's  head  keeper  here,  and 
mistress  of  the  house.    I  explained  to  her  that  I  wished 


16 


HOWITTS  VISITS  TO  REMARKABLE  PLACES. 


to  Tisit  the  scene  of  the  ancient  abode  of  the  Cont  of 
Keeldar,  and  that  I  was  afraid  that  I  most  petition  for 
a  night's  lodging,  as  I  understood  that  there  was  no  inn 
within  eleven  miles.  Mrs.  Dagg,  who  was  a  tall  and 
intelligent-looking  woman,  looked  rather  strange  at  this 
proposition,  but  said  that  she  was  expecting  her  husband 
every  moment  from  the  Liddesdale  Grames,  and  she  had 
no  doubt  he  would  accede  to  my  request.  She  then 
asked  me  to  sit  down,  and  begged  to  know  my  name.  I 
told  her  my  name  would  be  quite  strange  to  her,  as  I 
came  from  London,  and  never  was  there  ^fore,  but  that 
it  was  Hewitt  "  Hewitt  t"  said  she,  ^  that  is  a  name 
very  familiar  to  me.  Pray  are  you  at  all  related  to  the 
lady  of  that  name  who  writes  sufth  beautiful  poetry  V* 
I  told  her  that  it  gave  me  equal  surprise  and  pleasure, 
in  that  secluded  region,  to  find  that  my  wife's  poetry  was 
so  well  known  to  her.  "Here,  Janet!"  she  cried, 
rising  up,  ^  take  the  bairn.  Pray  come  this  way,  sir ;  I 
am  delighted  to  see  you,  and  so  will  my  husband  be." 
She  speedily  led  the  way  into  a  handsome  parlour; 
asked  what  I  would  take  ;  made  tea  for  me,  and  again 
expressed  her  delight  in  seeing  the  husband  of  Mary 
Hewitt.  While  she  made  tea,  she  inquired  if  anything 
had  been  cleared  up  about  the  mysterious  fate  of  poor 
L.  E.  L.,  talked  of  her  poetry,  and  of  Mrs.  Hemans',  and 
was  impatient  for  the  arrival  of  her  husband.  Presently, 
two  young  men  entered,  who  seemed  well  acquainted 
with  books  ;  and  we  sate,  most  unexpectedly  to  me, 
talking  of  literature,  and  the  legends  and  histoiy  of 

the  border,  till  twelve  o'clock 

The  first  thing  which  I  saw  on  looking  out  of  my  window 
the  next  morning,  was  a  man  in  front  of  the  castle,  with 
one  child  on  his  shoulder,  another  on  his  arm,  and  two 
or  three  pulling  at  the  skirts  of  his  coat.  '^  That,"  said 
I,  **  is  Mr.  Dagg,  and  the  very  man  for  me !  One  is 
sure  of  a  hospitable  welcome  in  the  house  of  such  a  child's 
playfellow  as  that."  Accordingly  when  I  came  down,  he 
hastened  to  me,  gave  me  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand,  a 
hearty  welcome  to  his  house,  and  to  breakfast,  which 
was  waiting.  I  found  Dagg  a  thorough  Dandie  Din- 
mont.  Dandie  he  used  to  know ;  and  Hogg,  he  knew ; 
and  he  had  all  the  hearty  frankness  and  bluutness  of 
Dandie.  He  was  fond  of  hares,  of  hunting,  and  all  field 
sports ;  was  frill  of  the  games  where  he  had  been  the  day 
before  as  an  umpire,  and  where  he  used  often  to  clear  off 

the  prizes  himself  in  running  and  leaping 

Mr.  Dagg  said  his  father  aud  grandfather  had  held  the 
same  post  as  himself  there  before  him.  Besides  this,  he 
was  an  extensive  farmer.  How  few  men  are  more  to 
be  envied  than  such  a  one  as  tliis  Dandie  Dinmont  of  the 
Northumbrian  Border.  With  a  wide  scope  for  all  his 
strong  country  tastes,  and  a  wife  frll  of  intelligence  and 
a  love  of  reading,  to  make  his  fireside  as  cheerful  as  his 
own  spirit  seems  to  be  constitutionally. 

Mr,  Howitt  now  steered  his  course  down  the 
north  vale  of  Tyne,  by  Falstonc,  Charlton,  the  seat 
of  the  Charltons,  an  old  and  powerful  Tjnedale 
family,  Bellingham,  Chipchase,  and  other  places  of 
historical  note, — until  he  came  to  the  Roman  wall 
at  Cheaters,  above  Hexham,  where,  in  a  howlet- 
haunted  tower,  he  found  yet  another  old  woman 
and  her  spinning-wheel. — And  thus  closes  this  en- 
tertaining record  of  a'  very  charming  ramble,  from 
which  Mr.  Howitt  must  have  derived  much  plea- 
sure ;  while  he  has  for  life  laid  up  a  store  of  delight- 
ful images  and  remembrances,  and  composed  a  work 
which  will  impart  enjoyment  of  the  purest  and 
most  humanizing  kind  to  thousands. 

The  remainder  of  the  volume  is  occupied  with 
an  account  of  the  Derwentwater  family,  apropos  to 
Dilston  HaUy  one  of  their  seats.  It  is  written  by 
the  modem  lady  of  the  hall.  Its  interest  is  of  a 
different  character  from  the  rest  of  the  book ;  but 


it  communicates  some  new  and  authentic  facts, 
regarding  tlie  last  unfortunate  Earl  of  Derwent- 
water. 

Among  the  many  snatches  of  old  ballads  and 
metrical  chronicles  which  enliven  the  work,  there 
is  a  Wanderer's  song^  written  by  the  author,  which 
is  absolutely  the  best  lyric  he  has  ever  produced. 
We  cannot  resist  so  apt  a  conclusion : — 

A  jolly  life,  my  own  sweet  wife ! 

A  jolly  life 's  the  wanderer's  still. 
Though  all  alone  I  travel  on. 

O'er  many  a  Norland  moor  and  hill. 

I  rise  not  with  the  sun,  not  I ; 

I  let  him  mount  his  tow'r  and  call 
The  lark  into  the  Ust'ning  sky. 

The  ousel  to  the  waterfall. 

Then  up  I  spring,  my  window  fling 

Wide  to  the  sca^s  delicious  roar. 
The  breakers  white,  the  sails  in  sight. 

These  call  me  to  my  tramp  once  more. 

The  yellow  broom  nods  as  I  pass  ; 

The  gorse  breathes  orange  odours  sooth  ; 
The  flowers  on  banks  of  dewy  grass, 

Bring  back  Spring  mornings  from  my  youth. 

By  sandy  shore  I  list  the  sound 
Of  rushing  waves  ;  I  strip,  and  dash 

Amid  the  billows  as  they  bound. 
With  shout  of  joy  and  giddy  splash ! 

Again  I  reach  the  moor-track  dim  ; — 
The  world  of  wanderers  all  is  out ; — 

The  pitman  grim,  the  damsel  slim, 
The  jolly  boatman  short  and  stout. 

The  Bondager  is  in  the  flelds  ; 

The  tramper  stays  to  call  the  town ; 
And  I  alone  wend  gladly  on, 

Until  the  sun  himself  go  down. 

I  cross  the  brook  ;  I  mount  the  hill ; 

Gare  o'er  the  cliff  where  sea-birds  throng ; 
Where  light  skiffs  sweep,  and  broad  sails  fill, 

And  busy  steamers  beat  along. 

The  mined  castle  beckons  me, 

The  abbey  hoar,  the  forest  dell ; 
By  ancient  halls  I  wander  free, 

And  by  the  hermit's  shattered  cell. 

A  jolly  life,  my  own  sweet  wife ! 

A  jolly  life  *s  the  wanderer's  still. 
Though  all  alone  I  journey  on. 

O'er  dusty  road  and  Norland  hill. 

The  cottage  dame  would  know  my  name  ; 

The  sturdy  yeoman  noddeth  free ; 
The  stooping  beggar  makes  his  claim. 

And  talks  of  battle  and  of  sea. 

I  meet  the  brats,  I  hear  the  wail 

Of  woman  loaded  like  a  bee, 
Who  trudges  fast  o'er  hill  and  dale. 

But  halts  with  tears  to  beg  of  me. 

But  lo !  the  pleasaut  way-side  inn, — 

I  fling  my  knapsack  on  the  floor. 
Feel  tired  of  tramp,  as  saints  of  sin. 

And  vow  that  1  will  budge  no  more. 

The  beef-steak  smokes — a  glorious  sight ! 

The  port  new  life  the  heart  sends  through  ;— 
The  bread  is  white,  the  ale  is  bright, — 

The  post  brings  letters.  Love,  from  you ! 

What  were  the  vows  I  made  just  now. 
When  faint  and  weary,  worn  and  chill? —    . 

A  jolly  life,  my  own  sweet  vnfe, 
A  jolly  life  *s  the  wanderer's  still ! 


17 


MUSINGS  IN  TH£  WEN* 
tBS,  CROSSINGS,  1?H£  GlN-PAlACiBS,  io. 


BT  ATBHFLAB. 


Crossew  the  fe^;ent'8  CSrtus  W  Stiiiday,  I 
ohexred  ibftl  at  each  of  the  four  crossings  of  that 
Itttle  circle^  there  was  a  sweeper.  Between  the 
Grnu  tod  the  Haymarket,  I  counted  tWo  iheii 
swe^ing  croBshigB  in  Coveniiy  Street.  Down  fte- 
gentStreetjin  the  direction  of  Waterloo  Place,  were 
two  more ;  <me  was  busily  sweeping  across  Regent 
SMty  in  front  of  the  County  Fire  Office,  and 
anoiber  from  the  same  comer,  at  right  angles  to 
bim,  across  the  lower  end  of  the  Quadrant ;  and 
ftbDg  Piccadilly  sweepers  were  to  he  seen  *^  in 
nnmbft  nomberless^^'  at  the  end  of  every  stiteet 
tkt  opened  into  it  hetween  the  Ciftus  ahd  St. 
James'a.  There  were  upwards  ot  twenty  of  them 
in  a  £sta&oe  not  exceeding  that  hetween  the  Kegis- 
ter  0&»  and  tianoTer  Street^  and  the  top  of  the 
Mould  and  the  comer  of  Geoige  an4  Hanover 
Streets.  Fokmtary  labourers  are  they,  in  the  task 
of  keeping  clean  the  paths  which  have  already  been 
maieitr^ght.  They  lift  their  brooms  or  lay  them 
down  tt  suits  their  inclinations — ^they  drive  no 
lar§UD,  beforehimd  with  those  for  whom  they  open 
an  mobstructed  way — and  yet  they  must  find  their 
KcoQfit  in  it,  as  the  task  can  scarcely  be  plied  for 
nitiement.  In  their  beautiful  practical  faith  in 
tbe  sense  of  the  conoduunity,  that  the  labourer  is 
*wt]iy  ci  his  hire,  the  bishop,  who  rolls  smoothly 
•Ing  between  his  purple-liveried  coachman  and 
feetman,  might  read  a  usefdl  lesson. 

hi  another  respect^  the  prelate  might  allege^  their 
example  is  scarcely  so  edifying.  On  working 
^jsUieir  number  is  mUch  reduced  t  it  is  only  on  the 
Sibbath  that  they  are  to  be  found  hanging  in  such 
^like  clustetB  alotag  the  street.  Tlie  cause  is 
^innM ;  there  are  not  so  mA^y  balance  to  be 
fi^sd  1^  on  ^week  days.*^  The  income  of  the 
(**9sr  flows  ^m  the  poorer  of  the  middle- 
^MBB,  or  from  tiiose  who  are  only  above  (if  above) 
hnidf  in  drcumstances.  Kich  people  never  carry 
^Bffen,  and  do  not  like  to  give  away  silver.  They 
1^  1^^  the  swe^ier,  as  they  pass  by  the  post  against 
*^  bis  broom  b  reclined,  while  he  is  beating 
^  urns  aoroiB  his  body  to  wArm  himself.  It  is 
^  MTint  maids^  shop  or  errand  bovs,  small 
^^Bxtei^  and  the  like^  that  ne  anticipates  thechance 
y^^CBBy ;  and  it  bonly  when  they  are  out  mak- 
Bg  botidiky  that  these  classes  have  any  balance 
J*  ?WB.  Their  holidays  are  the  sweeper's  harvest. 
|j*b  otber  people,  wise  in  their  generation,  he 
*iiakflihay  while  tiie  sun  shines.'*^  If  dieir  mas- 
1^  ^  nktiesna  would  allow  them  to  make 
■*^  on  any  otheir  day^  he  would  not  **  desecrate  '* 
^Mibifthfrwn  sheer  love  of  the  act;  but  as  it  is^ 
^*^Wftb^]iinaaelf.  Besides,  among  the  twenty 
^  bave  8et  my  fancy  a-gadding,  there  are  at  least 


JIT^"*  and  thc^  of  coune  observe  a  Sabbath 
>MBni#-Toi»  fin. 


lliere  b,  howetet,  A  fck«  of  eveiy^&y  s^^reepert, 
^0  seem  to  ihake  it  the  buMness  of  their  lites. 
'they  are  inoi'd  thinly  sotm  than  the  Sundfty 
sweepers;  btit  evely  clay,  **  frotti  morli  till  dewy 
eve,*'  yoU  Md  them  Itt  iheit  **  accustomed '*  cross^ 
ing,  as  regular  as  the  hero  of  (Jray'd  ^legf.  They 
are  A  |>eo|)le  apart^  And  hdve  a  ^nsuetuditiary  code 
of  their  o  wii :  ttiey  regard  each  other^s  tight  (rf  pro* 
pefiy  ih  tileit  respective  crossings.  Sotnetiifies 
casesof  disputed  possession  dccut^  and, as  there  6eetn 
to  be  tio  recognised  tribunals  In  their  common- 
wealth, the  pleadiiigd  are  interminable.  Like  the 
Jews  of  old,  abd  the  Arabs  of  the  present  day,  they 
ate  apt  to  lay  hold  of  the  first  passenger  who  wiU 
lend  an  e&r  to  them,  &h.A  say  to  him,  '^Do  thou  be 
judge  between  lis."  A  Mght  of  Appeal  to  the  next 
fif ood  easy  mail  who  wHl  allow  himself  to  be  stopped^ 
is  asseirt^d  by  the  p&Hy  against  Whom  judgment  Is 
given ;  and  a  sequence  of  such  appeals  renders  their 
litigations  almost  as  interminable  as  a  suit  ill 
Chancery. 

One  &:ie  autumnal  morniflg,  as  I  W&s  loitering 
about  one  of  the  subili'bs,  tWo  of  these  disputants, 
arguing  froih  my  leisurely  and  tliicertaiii  pace, 
seized  upon  me  as  a  *  waif  or  stray  **  cast  on  their  do- 
main, and  installed  me  high  arbiter  between  them. 
It  was  owing  to  this  chance  that  I  obtained  a  gauge 
of  the  crossings-sweeper^s  sUUus  in  society,  I  might 
hever  otherwise  have  ei^oyed.  Without  entering 
into  all  the  details  of  the  olntions  pro  and  A>n,  it 
will  be  sufficient  to  observe  that  the  claimant  com- 
plained of  the  possessor's  baring  obtruded  him- 
self into  die  crossing  while  he  was  laid  up  with  a 
fever  in  the  Middlesex  Hospital;  while  the  defen- 
dant maintained,  that  though  that  might  be  true, 
the  gentlefolks  could  not  go  with  their  crossing 
unswept,  and  that  the  plaintitf  mighty  now  he  was 
recovered,  take  up  some  unoccupied  one.  From 
the  abstract  question  of  righty  both  diveiged  into 
appeals  to  my  humanity;  and  1  learned  from  the 
plaintiff  (what  the  other  could  not  deny)  that  he 
had  nothing  but  his  brooms  and  his  crossing  to 
maintain  himself  and  three  motherless  children, 
whilst  the  other,  besides  being  a  much  more  hale 
and  hearty  man^  earned  a  shilling  almost  eveiy 
night  as  supernumerary  at  the  English  Opera. 
It  was  indeed  evident  that  the  stage  education  of  the 
latter  had  not  been  thrown  away  uponhim :  there  was 
an  air  of  sentiment  in  his  mute  standing  at  a  dis- 
tanoe  from  the  passengers,  and  allowing  a  little 
boy,  rather  roruCely  dressed,  to  apply  to  them  for 
their  gmftH  cbange.  Many  a  tender-hearted  mil- 
liner has  doubtless  set  him  down  for  one  who  had 
seen  better  days^  and  still  endeavoured  to  keep  his 
child  tidy,  regardless  of  the  seediness  of  his  own 
appareh  These  little  revelations  seemed  to  bring 
the  rival  sweepera  within  the  pale  of  the  **re- 


18 


MUSINGS  IN  THE  WEN. 


spectable**  classes.  It  was  clear  that  their  profes- 
sion could  ensure  a  liyelihood  to  a  steady  man  of 
regular  habits ;  and  it  was  equaUj  clear  that  there 
were  men  of  genius  in  it,  who  aspired  to  make  it 
do  more.  The  supernumerary  of  the  English 
Opera  belongs  to  the  same  dass,  though  moving  in 
an  humbler  sphere^  as  the  nominal  merchant  who 
speculates  upon  opening  a  trade  with  Circassian  or 
in  settlements  on  the  coast  of  Central  America ;  or 
as  the  "  literary  ^erUleman'*  who  obtains  the  ap- 
plause of  a  small  circle  by  his  avowed  writings^ 
and  adds  to  his  income  by  anonymously  puffing  or 
cutting  up  the  works  of  others,  whidiever  pays 
best — ^the  dirty  work  of  literature. 

But  crossings-sweepers  are  not  the  only  profes- 
sional gentlemen  (or  ladies)  in  London  who  drive 
a  steady  regular  trade  in  what  might  appear  to  the 
casual  observer  mere  chance  employment.  From 
the  cabman  who  hires  his  horse  and  vehicle  from 
some  proprietor  by  the  day,  down  to  the  mud-lark 
who  picks  up  coals  at  low-water  in  the  bed  of  the 
Thames,  you  find  in  each  scrambling  pursuit  many 
who,  by  persevering  adherence  to  the  same  poor 
employment,  from  day  to  day  and  from  year  to 
year,  contrive  not  only  to  supply  immediate  crav- 
ings, but  to  lay  up  a  trifle.  The  class  of  cabmen 
named,  and  the  watermen  at  coach-stands,  form 
the  connecting  link  between  the  drivers  of  the 
anomalous  and  anonymous  trades  under  considera- 
tion, and  those  recognised  by  **  society"  as  legiti- 
mate pursuits  with  distinguishing  names.  The 
mud-larks  verge  upon  the  more  precarious  livers 
who  depend  for  subsistence  upon  what  they  can 
pick  up,  without  inquiring  too  curiously  as  to 
whether  it  has  an  owner,  or  whether  that  owner  is 
inclined  to  dispense  with  it.  The  mud-larks  and 
cinder-rakers  of  London  are  much  on  a  par  with 
the  gleaners  of  the  rural  districts;  with  such 
^Mamnable  iteration'*  does  Nature  i«peat  her- 
self under  such  varying  forms.  It  b  not  safe  to 
allow  the  mud-lark  to  creep  too  near  a  coal  barge 
lest  she  make  more  coals  fall  out  than  would  natu- 
rally do  so :  and  we  believe  reapers  and  overseers 
are  jealous  of  gleaners  treading  too  closely  on  their 
heels.  The  gleaner  with  her  accompanimenta— 
blue  skies  with  high  white  clouds  straggling  across 
them — ^the  rustle  of  the  unreaped  com,  and  tiie  con- 
trast between  the  golden  stubble-field  and  the  trees 
yet  brightly  green— may  suggest  more  pleasing 
images  to  the  painter  or  poet ;  but  the  mud-lark, 
as  i^e  emerges  from  the  ooze  of  the  Thames,  (like 
the  heroes  of  the  Dunciad  emerging  from  their 
dive  in  Fleet-ditch,)  is  not  a  whit  more  apt  to  over- 
step the  narrow  limits  which  divide  meum  from 
tuum;  and  it  is  ten  to  one  that  she  is,  in  her  depart- 
ment, a  much  more  civilized  and  sociable  being 
than  the  other.  At  all  events,  the  Ruths  of  Lon- 
don are  good  enough  for  the  Boazes  of  Houndsditch 
and  HoUywell  Street.  Cowper,  no  eulogist  of 
town  life,  has  drawn  a  picture  of  the  vegetable 
souls  of  the  rural  poor,  to  which  no  large  town  can 
produce  a  parallel,  llie  veriest  outcast  there  finds 
associates,  and  b  humanized  by  their  intercourse. 

The  class  of  which  we  are  speaking — the  Laza- 
ruses  who,  from  the  abundance  of  rich  men  with 
well-spread  tables,  are  enabled|  in  London,  to  ele- 


vate the  picking  up  of  crumbs  to  the  dignity  of  a 
profession — the  voluntary  occupants  of  odd  cor- 
ners of  the  great  field  of  employment,  which  labour 
on  a  larger  scale  leaves  untilled— are  perhaps  as 
refined  in  their  feelings  and  deportment  in  this 
metropolis  as  in  any  city  in  the  world.  The  emis- 
saries of  statistical  societies,  and  other  curious  in- 
quirers, who  have  of  late  endeavoured  to  learn  the 
numbers  of  these  people,  and  the  appearance  of 
their  homes,  bear  unvarying  testimony  to  the 
civility  with  which  they  have  been  received,  while 
going  from  house  to  house,  taking  their  unautho- 
rized census.  They  are  a  community  sufficiently 
numerous  and  wealthy  to  have  drawn  upon  them- 
selves the  attention  of  speculators.  The  gin-pa- 
laces are  built  and  kept  up  out  of  their  earnings. 
The  artisan,  and  the  unskilled  labourers  who  do 
the  rough  work  under  him,  have  their  pint  of  beer 
with  their  meals,  or  may  occasionally  take  or  give 
a  glass  at  their  house  of  calL  Of  late  they  have 
been  getting  fonder  of  the  Temperance  Coffee- 
houses. The  regular  customers  of  the  gin-palaoe 
are  the  toilers  in  these  squalid  unhealthy  pursuits 
which  lie  on  the  extreme  verge  of  the  r^dm  of  in- 
dustry—in the  "  debateable  land"  between  WorJb^ 
damtjid  Thiefdam. 

It  is  worth  while  for  the  snug  merchant  or 
other  member  of  what  ought  to  be  tiie  comfortable 
classes  in  a  land  like  ours,  to  step  into  a  gin-palaoe 
occasionaUy,  as  he  returns  home  from  the  Uieatre 
or  his  club.  In  one  comer  he  will  see  some  veteran 
out-pensioner,  who  has  encountered  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, sunk  down  to  this  class,  and,  for  the 
sake  of  former  days,  has  stepped  in  to  take  a  glass. 
The  old  hero  has  perhaps  been  at  Astley's  or  some 
minor  theatre,  and  is  eloquent  about  the  absurd 
manner  in  which  the  storming  of  the  fort,  amid  s 
blaze  of  blue  or  red  light,  was  got  up  ;  no  general 
ever  dreamed  of  mounting  a  breach  with  cavalry. 
Near  these  gossips  stand  a  group  of  dustmen,  with 
a  stray  dmnney-sweep  amongst  them,  puffing  at 
enormously  long  tobacco-pipes.  These  are  the 
more  select  portion  of  the  assemblage ;  the  vest- 
ments of  the  remainder  are  indescribable — sex, 
age,  and  shape,  are  scarcely  distinguishable.  They 
are  ragged  as  if  worn  for  centuries,  and  filthy  as 
if  gathered  from  the  lay-stalls.  They  are  shoul- 
dering and  pushing  to  the  counter, — all  tongues 
are  loosed,  and  loud  and  incoherent  is  their  clatter. 
But,  with  the  exception  of  brief  angiy  bursts,  all 
b  good  nature.  The  g^-palace  b  a  city  of  re- 
fuge, within  which  the  policeman  does  not  in- 
tmde,  so  long  as  the  noise  b  not  very  excessive :  the 
inmates  know  the  precarious  tenure  of  their  sanc- 
tuary, and  have  acquired  the  habit  of  respecting 
its  conditions.  Still,  the  scene  b  not  over-edify- 
ing ;  and  those  veiging  on  dishonesty  are  brought 
into  perilous  contact  with  those  who  have  already 
sunk  into  the  quagmire.  And  yet  everyone  of 
the  inmates,  if  remonstrated  with  for  their  indul- 
gence in  «  Old  Tom,*'  or  «  Cream  of  the  Valky,»» 
might  urge,  and  witid  more  reason,  the  plea  which 
Scott  has  put  into  the  mouth  of  Maggie  Mucdde- 
backet. 

Since  we  have  got  to  the  gin-palaoe,  we  may  as 
well  hover  about  a  littie,  for  the  sake  of  watching 


MUSINGS  IN  THil  WfiN. 


19 


tkKvliokiter  round  its  doors  of  a  Sunday  morn- 
ing.  The  street-sweeper  is  the  only  one  whose  in* 
iadtj  CBeroscbes  on  the  rest  of  the  Sabbath ;  and 
erca  is  ^  caset,  the  bulk  of  the  labourers  are 
cMttl-HDere  Simday  sweepers,  as  has  already 
been  Botieed.    For  the  rest^  howeyer,  Sunday  is 
I  noe  cessation  from  toiL    They  haye  become 
90  innied  to  their  haunts  that  they  cannot  leare 
dtOB.     The  bashfnlness  of  bad   clothes  keeps 
then  from  emeiging  into  the  airy  and  open  spaces 
of  the  town ;  and  to  wander  beyond  its  limits  is  an 
otopiiae  of  which  they  seem  as  incapable  as  the 
&h  of  taking  a  walk  on  shore.    Their  rest  la  a 
waiimme  efibrt;  and  to  dull  their  sense  of  it, 
thij  iqwir  for  a  doze  to  the  gin-palace,  and  then 
Imgt  apathetically  about  its  door,  rdieved  for 
iht  time  from  the  tedium  of  their  own  existence. 
This  is  the  true  picture  of  the  pariah  caste  of  Lon- 
doa— the  lowest  grade  of  honesty.    They  are  more 
ooDTcnihie  than  the  same  class  elsewhere,  because 
thejaie  tamed  by  being  accustomed  to  society.  It 
is  mere  taming :  the  human  being  is  not  raised 
abore  its  animal  condition.    The  delusiye  represen- 
tatioQ  of  some  popular  writers  conveys  a  totally 
nooeoas  impression  of  this  class,  wMch  has  the 
pietSRsqne  of  grotesqueness,  and  nothing  more. 
Stntfing  adventures  are  as  rare  in  it  as  in  any 
otkr ;  Uie  police  keeps  it  within  the  bounds  of  com- 
M^aee.    The  quaint  smart  sayings  attributed 
to  iu  members  are  mostly  inventions  of  a  higher 
dm,  which  they  learn  and  repeat  by  rote.    The 
nblle  of  London  is  as  void  of  inventive  wit  as  ihe 
nbUe  of  any  other  place.    Whoever  would  trace 
to  their  source  the  Cockney  witticisms  which  gave 
^  hint,  (and  no  more,)  expanded  into  the  Weller 
fidget,  must  go  to  anotiier  fountain-head.    Flash 
ngB  and  fla^  tales,  convey  about  as  accurate 
aaotioii  of  the  street  Cockney  as  Dibdin's  songs 
doof  the  real  Jack  tar,  orthe  Donald  of  the  Opera- 
hsase  of  a  goraine  Highlander.    They  are  com- 
pond  by  a  dass  of  mimics  and  song-writers  not 
^em  enough  for  the  minor  theatres,  (^  in  the 
fcw«t  de^  a  lower  depth,")  who  exert  their  most 
mt  voioes,  and  practice  their  last  compositions, 
^  the  edification  of  clerks,  shopmen,  and  country 
Miea,  in  the  Cider  Celliurs,  the  Adelphi  Shades, 
od  mnilar  places  of  midnight  rendezvous.    It  is 
^KnfBid  these  wit-feasts,  caught  up  by  stray 
^■BAocion  of  omnibuses,  and  bandied  from  one  to 
Mother  in  passing  from  behind  their  respective 
T^idea,  that  are  in  time  picked  up  by  the  class 
^  whom  they  are  by  some  supposed  to  originate, 
it  is  probably  out  of  place  to  moralise  on  such 
tnbjcct.    In  their  uncultivated  state,  these  men 
ctaonlybe  susceptible  of  animal  pleasures.  Their 
9  theb  pot,  and  their  glass  of  gin  they  must 
f  when  they  can  get  it.     And  somebody  must 
^paid  for  providing  them  with  it.    So  any  man, 
)  is  inclined  to  trade  in  this  way,  may  say  to 
mil,  «*  If  I  don't,  another  wiU," — an  argument 
>7^1uch  men  can  reconcile  themselves  to  many 
*^>=»iga  actions.    This  is  fair  enough ;  but  when 
^inda  eminoit  patriots,  before  Committees  of 
^^^^Bse  of  Commons,  attempting  to  persuade 
'■flMiiiaUij  Members  that  they  have  been  induced 
*  **  *i  gin-pahKies,  by  an  idea  that  they  tend* 


ed  to  promote  morality — ^because  their  publicity^ 
and  the  want  of  benches  to  sit  down  upon,  prevent 
men  from  sitting  and  soaking— one  cannot  help 
feeling  sick  and  sad  at  such  coxcombry. 

Some  such  dass  as  this  will  probably  always 
exist  so  long  as  men  and  the  world  continue  what 
they  are.  Human  nature  can  soar  high,  but  it 
cannot  always  keep  on  wing,  and  at  each  new  flight 
it  must  spring  upwards  from  the  ground.  ^  We 
stand  in  the  dirt  while  we  look  at  tibe  stars,"  is  an 
old  proverb ;  uid  some  portion  or  other  of  sodety 
must  be  smirched  by  the  mud  with  which  it  comes 
in  contact.  There  are  mmds  too  unergetic  to  learn 
or  labour  skilfully  :  there  are  dregs  in  sodety  as 
well  as  in  liquor — we  may  flne  and  rack  as  we 
please,  but  some  will  remain.  But  this  is  no  rea^ 
son  why  we  should  not  try  to  make  it  as  pure  as 
possible  :  let  men  have  education — ^if  they  reject  it^ 
then  the  fault  b  their  own.  And,  above  all,  let  us 
struggle  against  all  laws  which  have  a  tendency  to 
drive  down,  into  the  dass  I  have  been  describing, 
minds  whidi,  but  for  them,  would  have  struggled  to 
keep  above  it.  The  questionables  are  not  numer- 
ous in  a  healthy  state  of  society,  and  they  can  then 
be  easily  kept  in  check.  But  when  rulers  and 
lawgivers  take  upon  them  to  be  wiser  than  Grod 
Almighty,  and  imdertake  to  dedde  what  industry 
profits  a  country  and  what  must  be  abstained  from 
— ^like  the  farmer  in  the  fable,  who  prayed  to  have 
the  distribution  of  the  weather  in  his  own  hands- 
then  does  their  bungling  bankrupt  and  beggar  the 
intelligent  and  industrious  on  all  hands.  Men  who 
have  struggled  year  after  year,  gradually  sinking 
in  the  scale  of  sodal  comfort,  at  last  lose  hope,  and 
allow  themsdves  to  sink  to  the  bottom.  But  they 
do  not  acquiesce  in  their  fate  with  the  equanimity 
of  those  who  fed  themselves  in  their  natural  posi- 
tion. They  are  seared  by  misfortune,  and  envious 
of  all  who  are  or  seem  more  successful  than  them- 
sdves. They  are  the  materials  out  of  which  rioters 
are  made,  when  some  acddent  breaks  in  upon  the 
ordinary  current  of  sodety. 

Let  our  rulers  look  to  it :  what  they  call  their 
^  policy ''  is  fearfiiUy  swelling  the  numbers  of  this 
dass.  Every  moment  they  put  ofiF  attending  to  the 
growing  clamour  for  bread,  is  pr^^nant  witii  dan« 
ger.  ^The  needy  man  who  hath  known  better 
days,"  has  been  noted,  from  the  time  of  Shakspeare, 
as  eminently  liable  to  the  seduction  of  evil  promp- 
ters. ^I  will  do  such  things — ^what  they  are  I 
yet  know  not,"  says  poor  Lear.  When  Jaffier  saw 
Ms  doors  hedged  round  by  ^  gaping  creditors,''  and 
knew  he  had  not  "  twenty  ducats  in  the  world,** 
then  it  was  that  Pierre  found  him  in  a  mood  to 
dream  he  could  redress  the  wrongs  of  society  by 
the  dagger.  It  is  those  who  are  seared,  by  feding 
themsdves  driven  down  to  an  dement  of  which 
they  are  not  native,  that  are  what  a  modem  writer 
terms  ^the  dangerous  daases  in  large  towns." 
The  natural  mob,  or  rabble,  or  whatever  they  may 
be  called,  are  too  torpid,  and  too  devoid  of  inven- 
tion, to  do  much  misdiid^  Effective  riotem— even 
where  there  is  least  apology— are  cast-off  copying- 
derks,  dissipated  apprentices  who  have  enlisted 
and  been  drummed  out  of  the  regiment,  and  such 
like.    Society  has  enough  to  do  to  guard  itsdf 


so 


MUSINGS  IN  THE  W»r. 


against  Uda  ragged  i«^;imei&t  tinctor  any  oiromn- 
stencM ;  but  wken  itii  niunben  are  swelled  with 
men  who  can  lay  tiie  flattering  nnotion  to  their 
souls,  that  the  ttiifgotmuflfeBt  <rf  dthws,  more  than 
their  own  misdeeds,  hsiro  made  them  what  thej 
lue-i^-iheB^  indeed^  ^iheio  is  danger  in  ihem," 


which,  ^  let  thy  wisdom  fear."  Our  hders  may 
rest  assured,  that  if  evil  come  of  it,  many  have 
deeply  sworn,  that,  cost  what  it  may,  they  whose 
hearUesB  apaUiy  has  caused  the  mischief  shail  sofier 
most* 
MnmiiH  T2ifn.E|  November^ 


A  DROPPED  PAPER. 

TO  TH£  EDITOR  OF  tAlT^S  MAGAZINE 


Mb.  £DlTon,-^t  have  long  had  a  ereat  ambition 
to  see  some  lucubration  of  my  own  figuring  in  the 
fair  printed  double  columns  of  your  magazine. 
Being  a  stanch  l^ory,  I  could  not  promise  myself 
that  pleasure  from  the  inditing  a  political  diatribe 
against  these  Reforming  Times,  and  hallooing,  at 
the  top  of  my  voice,  that  there  has  been  a  tremen- 
dous *otog  xaro)  ever  since  the  passing  of  the  Heform 
Bill.  Therefore  I  tried  a  sonnet  in  the  manner 
of  Havnes  fiayley ;  studded  with  plaintive  lamenta- 
tions for  a  fair  girl  with  blue  eyes  ahd  flaxen  hair, 
and  snowy  neck,  and  half-a-dozen  etceteras,  whom 
I  met  plucking  flowers  somewhere  in  the  south  of 
Utopia.  But  the  oensor  to  whom,  with  a  panting 
heart,  I  brought  the  efinsion,  just  muttered  some- 
thing, of  which  I  only  caught  the  ominous  sounds, 
*^  Atorta  Minerva.^'  Dashing  the  sonnet  into  the 
nre — an  ofl&ce  which  my  tutor  kindly  performed 
himself  to  all  my  Latin  verses  in  more  juvenile 
days — t  put  on  my  hat  with  a  dignified  air,  told  my 
tutor  he  was  an  ass,  and  stalked  into  the  t'arlia- 
ment  House.  The  Court  had  risen;  but  I  walked 
up  to  that  weary  corner,  where  so  many  gentlemen, 
clothed  with  the  full  panoply  of  gown,  &c.,  but 
without  a  brief^  "  while  away  the  weary  hours  *^  in 
mutual  sympathy,  or  patrol  the  spacious  Court- 
room, in  ever-revolving  cycle,  like  the  demons  in 
Vathek.  The  spot  awakened  too  many  painful  re- 
miniscences; so  I  was  marching  off,  when  I  saw, 
lying  on  the  ground,  a  somewhat  soiled  manuscript. 
Picking  it  up,  I  found  it  to  contain  a  rii&psody 
about  uerman  Metaphysics,  of  which  your  contri- 
butor, Mr.  De  Quincey,  is  the  Atlas,  since  poor 
Coleridge  retired  from  the  stage. 

Now,  Mr.  Editor,  I  do  maintain,  and  am  ready 
to  demonstrate  the  position,  that  the  next  best 
thing  to  composing  a  paper  is  to  transcribe  it.  For 
there  are  just  two  things  in  the  matter.  There  is 
the  ihouglU  and  the  expressicn.  But  the  esepressiofiy 
because  it  is  so,  must  contain  within  itself  the  ele- 
ments of  the  thought;  and  these  bore,  Coleridge 
says,  that  a  symbol  must  partake,  in  some  measure, 
of  the  reality  of  what  it  symbolizes.  Therefore  the 
writing  is  just  an  abbreviated  expression  of  the 
thoughk  Doubtless  both  are  best:  but  the  one 
which  contains  the  other  is  the  more  valuable  of 
the  two  ingredients.  Most  metaphysically  rea- 
soned, my  derk  has  just  ejaculated.  Why,  in  that 
way  my  writing  is  better  than  your  thinking. 
Don't,  my  good  fellow,  too  rapidly  reduce  into 
maxims  what  are,  a  priori^  laws*  But  the  editor 
will  be  tiling  of  this  palaver.    So^  for  tkese^  and 


diverse  other  good  and  weighty  reasons,  I  tran- 
scribed the  said  rhapsody,  and  herewith  I  send  the 
£rst  part  of  it,  which  is  merely  an  introduction  to 
the  principal;  but  the  latter  is  very  ill- written, 
and  not  yet  transcribed.  I  will  send  it,  however, 
should  you  like  the  first  part. 

Ist  P.S. — You  need  be  under  no  apprehensions  of 
the  wrath  of  the  author,  seeing  that,  if*  Jean  Paul, 
after  stealing  and  printing  the  contents  of  fifteen 
letter-boxes  belonging  to  the  Quintas,  coolly  said, 
he  would  keep  the  injured  man  under  his  thumb, 
1  may  surely  bear  the  wrath  of  one  mystified  Grer- 
man  **  Schwindel  Geist.^' 

2d  P.S. — Being  but  a  poor  German  setolar,  I 
trust  you  will  maike  allowances  for  the  transcribing 
of  hard  names  from  an  abominable  scrawl. 
Yours,  &c. 

Kleptes. 

*  Dans  noire  ehfance  nous  vivons  selon  rimagination : 
et  I'imaginatioil  se  prend  anx  formes.  L'emploi  des 
mythes  eftt  destine  k  saiisfkire  eette  foenlttf.  Le  mythe 
n'est  autre  chose  qn'nne  fietion  qui  repr^sente  la  verity'* 
—Victor  Cou»in*$  Nouteauat  Fragment  PkUotophiguet^ 
p.  382. 

Sohelling  was  wont  to  tell  a  dream  which  he 
dreamed  one  night  when  a  student  at  Leipsic.  He 
had  been  studying  the  '^Grundtiss  der  Wiisen- 
fchaftMrei*  which  had  then  newly  come  out,  and 
collating  with  it  the  Treatise  of  Spinosa  de  Deo  s 
and  he  supposed  that  the  two  ideas  had  battled  to- 
gether in  his  mind,  and  from  the  conflict  arose  the 
dreamn  Thus  he  used  to  praise  the  dream,  and  to 
say  that  there  was  a  good  kernel  within  the  My-* 
thical  shell.    He  told  it  as  foUows  :— 

When  the  twilight  consciousness^  which  is  the 
theatre  of  dreams,  awoke  within  me,  I  found  my* 
self  in  a  valley,  whose  greenness  was  variegated 
(vMxiKfi)  with  many  flowers ;  and  there  were 
high  blue  hills  which  fenced  in  Uie  valley ;  and 
from  them  descended  a  stream  which  was  ghtter- 
ing  in  the  sunshine.  It  was  the  hour  of  noon. 
There  were  many  people  passing  up  and  down  that 
valley,  all  happy  and  careless.  Many  bells,  too» 
were  pealing  through  the  valley  whose  sound  made 
the  air  melodious ;  and  I  thought  I  heard  a  well^ 
known  strain,  the  "Christ  is  ariseo,"  chanted  by 
many  voices.  Birds  were  singing  sweetly  on  the 
trees  by  the  river  side^  which  were  green  with  4 
June  greenness. 

Yet  could  i  not  Imger  in  that  fair  valley.  For 
the  earless  happiness  of  man  and  nature  met  no 
eehommysouL  I fslt X irw a seatehet for 
thing  I  flound  not  there* 


•a  dropped  paper. 


21 


Aii4  I  itiode,  I  knew  not  well  why,  to  the 

fifltont  hiDi.     There  was  a  path  among  those 

hflk^  akogade  of  the  shming  river,  which,  as 

I  went  op,  became  black  and  turbid ;  and  its 

Uiekened  waters  seemed  to  be  reflected  in  my 

ioiii^  sad  to  ckmd  all  my  thoughts.    And  the  sun 

mad  down  into  a  far-off  sea,  whereto  flowed  the 

nrtr:  and  many  stars  came  forth  from  the  bosom 

of  theionlesB  sl^.    Their  queen,  too,  came  forth 

wiili  a  wfaite-Tobed  planet  in  her  train.    And  the 

diik  heath  oi  the  hills  was  lightened  np.  again, 

tnd  rocks,  decked  with  rain-drops,  glittered  in  the 

oMMn-beams.     Still  trode  I  among  tiiose  hills,  and 

then  was  no  sound  nor  any  voice  to  answer  my 

own.    Bat  a  great  stillness  brooded  over  all  that 

covntzy,  like  chaos  before  the  voice  of  God  rang 

through  the  void.    And  I  looked  up  to  the  clear  and 

doodlesBfsoe  of  the  virgin  sky,  and  called  upon  her 

to  answer  the  problem  which  vexed  me ;  but  there 

was  DO  reply : — the  sky  looked  as  calm  as  ever. 

Gndusily,  as  I  looked  upon  the  lonely  planet, 
which  alone  twinkled  not^  it  seemed  to  move;  and, 
with  a  soft  mnsio— it  might  be  but  in  thought— 
Bwved  along  the  skies^  as  erst  the  $tar  of  Beth- 1 


lehem  to  mark  where  the  Meek  One  lay.  And  I 
followed  its  motion;  and  I  walked  for  many  miles 
in  the  course  pointed  out  by  it,  which  was  in  a  £bu: 
sinking  path  among  the  hills.  And  they  rose  higher 
and  viewlessly  in  distance  on  either  side  of  it.  At 
length  the  planet  stopped,  and  its  partner  in  that 
strange  dance  stopped  also.  And  it  was  a  deep 
cave  wherein  that  path  ended,  and  above  which 
the  star  stood  fixed,  looking  softly  with  her  dead 
eye  of  love. 

I  looked  anxiously  into  the  cave,  but  heard 
nought  but  a  ceaseless  dropping  of  water  along  its 
sides ;  and  I  was  faint  witii  much  exertion,  and 
well  nigh  turned  away  in  despair.  But  there 
came,  I  knew  not  whence,  a  solemn  sound  like 
that  of  an  .£olian  harp,  as  if  the  oigan  of  nature 
itself  was  sounding  palpably;  and  the  music  was 
like  that  glorious  music  which  I  loved  in  my 
childhood — the  deep  yet  harmonious  Hundredth 
Psalm— *the  music-embodied  spirit  of  Martin  Lu- 
ther. When  the  music  ceased,  I  heard  a  small 
still  voice,  and  yet  the  sound  came  as  if  I  heard 
only  the  reverberations  of  the  voice  on  the  walls  of 
thecave^  andthnsitspok^—    *    *    ♦    *    * 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  LONDON  LIFE.* 


Tie  attention  and  interest,  which  the  previous 
woiki  of  ihia  writer  on  the  same  fertile  subject  have 
eidted,  in  spite  of  their  manifold  blemishes  and 
bfaadoa^  is  proof  enough  that  London  is  an  inex- 
lnwtible  thcone ;  and  that,  merely  to  speak  about 
tfe  great  Babylon,  is  to  make  sure  of  a  large 
omber  of  auditors.  So  far  as  the  present  author's 
powcfs  of  description  and  means  of  information  go, 
tift  theme  is  indeed  pretty  well  run  out ;  but,  like  an 
ccnomical  manufacturer,  even  from  the  fag-ends 
tod  waste  he  contrives  to  spin  out  another  couple 
of  vtihunes ;  with  which,  however,  some  good  new 
utaiai  18  intermixed.  The  subject  with  which 
^  opens,  MecUoal  Quackery ^  b  of  itself  copious ; 
ad,  ahhongh  he  has  told  several  stories  which 
Kna^y  tax  the  reader's  powers  of  belief,  it  is  too 
pobshle  that  much  more  extraordinary  facts,  in  the 
kafeofy  of  qoackery,  remain  to  be  disclosed.  It  b 
^dM»  vulgar  quack  whose  arts  are  ever  fully  dis- 

Uidon  is  the  grand  emporium  for  all  the  quacks 
tf  the  three  kingdoms,  and  for  many  of  those  of  the 
t ;  though,  like  other  stars,  they  often  make 
into  the  provinces  during  the  dull 
■■•an,  and  there  reap  a  rich  harvest  Of  the 
lietiopdiB,  this  writer  remarks,  as  thousands  have 
voe  before  him, 

^  Ihen  k  nothing  too  ridicoloiw  for  a  London  popnla- 
<■>  to  swallow ;  nothing  so  absnrd  that  they  will  not 
^•eo  Mboeribe  to  it.  Nor  is  this  predisposition  to  be 
j'MVy  empirics,  this  alacrity  in  reposing  fkith  in  the 
F*VMroiis  promises  and  pledges  of  qn^ks,  confined 
to  tit  lower  or  less  informed  part  of  the  London  popnla- 
^^  It  ii  by  no  means  nnoommon  among  tiie  aristo- 
^_ 

.  •  Bytte  Aatbor  of  the  «  Great  MetropoliB,"  «  Travels 
»T«'»a,"Ac    2  Volumes,  cloth:  Saunders  A  Otley, 
■••icm.— Touix. 


eracy,  and  those  whose  standing  in  society  implies  more 
than  the  average  amount  of  education  and  intelligence. 
Who  does  not  remember  the  crowd  of  aristocratio  and 
fashionable  witnesses,  the  host  of  lords  and  ladies,  who 
came  forward,  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  ago,  in  a  court  of 
justice,  to  bear  testimony,  in  the  capacity  of  his  quondam 
patients,  to  the  distinguished,  nay,  the  unparalleled 
medical  skill  of  the  late  St.  John  Long  t  And  is  it  not 
notorious,  that  at  this  very  hour  many  of  the  higher 
classes  are  daily  becoming  the  easy  dupes  of  empirics,  in 
all  departments  of  the  medical  profession  t 

Among  the  most  strenuous  of  St.  Jolm  Long's 
believers  was  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  then  a  Liberal. 
The  person,  who  of  late  has  done  business  in  the 
largest  way,  was  Morrison,  in  whose  universal 
pills  a  flourishing  trade  is  still  carried  on.  Some 
of  the  arts  of  quacks,  to  bring  themselves  and 
their  drugs  into  notice,  are  here  described.  Puffing 
paragraphs,  and  advertisements  in  the  newspapers, 
are  of  course  their  main  reliance;  though  their 
schemes  and  rogueries  are  numerous,and  often  most 
ingenious ;  something  new  being  always  fallen  upon 
when  the  old  trick  grows  stale.  Small  hand-bills 
copiously  distributed ;  peripatetic  advertisers,  and 
chalking,  have  all  had  their  day.  Some  Medi- 
cal Quacks  start  at  once  with  a  book.  Here  is  an 
amia  of  the  tribe. 

There  lately  lived,  on  the  south  side  of  Oxford  Street, 
— I  do  not  know  what  has  become  of  him  now,— an  em- 
piric who  professed  to  cure  all  diseases  of  the  ear,  and 
who  surpassed  all  the  other  quacks  I  ever  knew,  in  the 
article  of  advertising  himself  at  the  cheapest  rate,  con- 
sidering the  effectual  way  in  which  he  did  it.  He  was 
constantly  on  the  look-out  among  his  patients  jfor  hapless 
authors,  literary  men,  or  other  persons  in  any  way  con- 
nected with  the  press  ;  and  the  moment  he  discovered 
any  of  the  *<  lettered"  or  philosophical  fraternity,  he 
called  all  his  cunning  and  ingenuity  into  Aill  play,  with 
the  view  of  turning  them  to  what  he  called  his  profes- 
sional account.    If  they  had  influence  enough,  directly 

D 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  LONDON  LIFE. 


or  indireeUy,  over  any  joonuJ,  to  get  a  puff  of  the  em- 
pirio  inserted  gratis,  so  mnch  the  better ;  but  if  they 
should  not  be  able  to  do  that,  it  would,  he  used  to  say, 
go  hard  indeed,  if  they  could  not  assist  him  in  dzawiBjg 
up  a  neat  paragraph,  which  some  other  patiei^  when 
put  into  his  hand  out  and  dry,  would  get  published  in 
some  newspaper  or  periodicid,  into  whose  columns  he 
might  have  access.  Some  years  ago  an  acquaintance  of 
mine,  labouring  under  a  de^  of  hearing,  waited  on  the 
empiric  in  question.  The  former  was  instructed  to  sit 
down  in  a  chair,  and  hayings  in  that  respect,  promptly 
attended  to  the  commands  of  his  medictJ  monitor,  the 
latter  commenced  an  examination  of  the  ear,  and  after- 
wards had  recourse,  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  minute  or 
00,  to  the  ikrce  of  poking  in  it  with  an  instrument  which 
I  am  inoompetent  to  describe.  ^  The  loss  of  one's  hear- 
ing is  a  great  calamity,"  bawled  the  empiric  into  the 
other's  ear,  with  as  seUT-consequential  and  oracular  an 
air,  as  if  he  had  made  some  marrellous  diaooTcry  of  infi- 
nite practical  importance. 

**  It  is,  indeed,"  sighed  the  other. 

^Very  great  miafortune,  eertainly,"  resuned  the 
quaok. 

^  It  is  paitioularly  so  to  me,"  observed  the  patient. 

"  I  don\  doubt  it,  sir,  I  don't  doubt  it,  sir,"  pursued 
the  empiric  '  Pny^  do  you  follow  any  particular  pro- 
fossion  r 

^  I  am  a  reader  in  a  new^aptr  ofilee,"  answered  my 
acquaintance. 

**  A  reader  in  a  newspaper  office,  did  you  say,  sir  f 
remarked  the  quack,  suspending,  all  of  a  sudden,  the 
poking  process,  while  his  eye  and  countenance  lighted  up 
with  erultation  at  the  woris. 

The  patient  repeated  his  statement. 

^  What  is  the  paper,  pray,  that  yea  ate  conndcted 
with!" 

•*  The  'Public  Ledger,'  sir." 

^  Oh  then,"  remarked  the  quack,  his  eye  gleaming 
with  ineffable  delight,  and  tossing  the  instrument  for 
clearing  the  tunnel  of  people's  ears  aside.  ^  Oh,  then, 
perhaps  you  could  set  this  little  paragraph  inserted  in 

that  joumaL"    And  so  saying.  Dr.  G^ handed  his 

patient  a  small  paragraph  prepwed  for  the  occasion,  sur- 
charged with  his  own  praise  as  a  professional  man. 

^  I  have  no  connexion  with  the  editorial  department 
of  the  paper,"  remarked  the  young  man,  **  otherwise  I 
should  be  glad  if  I  could  serre  you." 

'^  Oh  !  but  of  course  you  know  the  editor,  and  if  you 
ask  the  insertion  of  the  paragraph  as  a  fliTonr  to  yourself, 
he  will  put  it  in  at  once." 

In  abort,  the  auriffc  tried  erery  method  before  he 
came  to  the  main  point. 

^  Two  guineas,  sir,  is  the  foe,"  said  this  incarnation  of 
eunningand quackery,  his  fingers  quiTering  in  a  paroxysm 
of  impatience  to  dutdi  the  circulating  medium. 

On  the  fee  being  deposited  in  his  nand,  he  rang  the 
bell  by  way  of  intimation  to  the  serrant  to  open  the 
door.  "  Youll  take  care  that  the  paragraph  appears," 
remarked  the  quaok,  as  his  patient  was  in  the  act  of 
quitting  the  room. 

**  inido  what  I  cam  sir,"  returned  the  other. 

*  And  to-morrow,  if  possible  f* 

« III  try." 

^  Gall  on  me  again  in  a  few  days,  if  your  hearing  be 
not  improyed ;''  it's  only  half-a-guinea  for  a  seoond  yfiit." 

In  noticing  a  sensible  and  nsefdl  little  book, 
entitled  iSi)ecUude  SBcrets^  we  expoeed  the  tricks  of 
the  eye  quacks,  and  need  not  return  to  them  here. 
Quacks,  like  strolling  players,  generally  assume 
fictitious  names.  One  of  them  Is  noticed,  who  has 
changed  his  name  a  doien  of  timee.  Quackery, 
like  all  other  descriptions  of  fraud,  does  not  once 
in  a  hundred  times  enrich  the  practJsers, 
With  all  their  thrift  they  thriye  not, 
though  a  few  do  make  great  hits;  as  this  one-*- 

One  of  the  most  ingemons  and  euooessfU  expedients 


eyer  resorted  to  with  the  yiew  of  practising  on  the  golli' 
billty  of  the  metropolitan  public,  was  hit  upon  by  a 
quack,  who  is  stiU  aJiye,  and  liying  in  great  splendour 
at  the  West  Endi,  on  the  princely  fortune  he  acquired 
by  his  well-conducted  empiricism.    Being  of  the  hum- 
blest birth  and  origin,  and  unacquainted  with  eyen  the 
most  common  rudiments  of  education,  he,  before  com- 
mencing business,  had  the  tact  to  employ  a  person  of 
dissipated  habits,  who  had  been  regularly  trained  up  to 
the  medical  profession,  and  to  whom  a  few  shillings  were 
eyerything,  to  instruct  him  how  to  use  a  certain  number 
of  medical  terms  and  professional  phrases.     Haying 
mastered  this  preliminary  task,  he  engaged,  for  six 
months,  at  so  much  per  week,  six  persons,  some  of  whom 
were  porters,  and  others  day-labourers,  and,  as  an  in- 
ducement to  keep  the  secret,  and  skilfoUy  to  act  the 
part  he  should  allot  to  them,  he  held  out  to  them  the 
strong  probability  of  their  situations  being  permanent. 
These  half-dozen  persons,  not  one  of  whom  could  read  or 
write,  he  formed  into  a  Board  of  Health,  to  sit  daily 
from  ten  o'clock  till  three ;  while,  during  the  remainder 
of  the  day,  they  were  to  ^  make  themselyes  usefiil"  by 
carrying  boards  on  their  shoulders,  containing  the  name 
and  address,  and  profession  of  their  master ;  or  distri- 
buting lilliputian  hand-bills,  announcing  his  miraculous 
medi^  skill  in  all  diseases,  and  also  the  foot  that  his 
patients  should,  in  all  cases  of  importance,  haye  the 
benefit,  for  a  sm^  extra  charge,  of  any  adrice  of  his 
'^  Board  of  Health,"  consisting  of  the  '^  first  physicians 
in  Europe."    Preyious  to  this,  howeyer,  I  ought  to  haye 
obseryed,  he  had  carefolly  tutored  the  Board  how  they 
were  indiyiduaUy  to  act.    They  were  instructed,  neyer, 
on  any  account,  to  yenture  a  remark  of  their  own  on  any 
case,  or  in  the  presence  of  any  patient,  but  simply  to 
concur  in  eyery  opinion  he  expressed,  or  obseryation  he 
made,  either  in  audible  accents,  or  by  the  silent  but  not 
less  expressiye  language  of  a  nod  of  the  head.    In  order 
to  carry  out  the  idea  to  its  greatest  practicable  extent, 
and  to  make  the  aspect  of  the  Board  as  imposing  as  pos- 
sible, this  arch  empiric  prorided  suits  of  black  clothes 
for  them  of  the  first  quality,  together  with  a  fashionable 
cane  for  each.    The  clothes  were  doffed  and  the  canes 
laid  aside,  in  an  adjoining  room,  as  soon  as  the  yarious 
consultations  for  the  day  were  oyer ;  and  the  **  first 
physicians  in  Europe"  were  obliged  to  encase  themselyes 
again  in  their  dirty,  tattered,  and  thread-bare  apparel, 
and  resume  the  undignified  employment  of  carrying  large 
boards  on  their  shoulders,  and  distributing  hand-bills. 
l%e  thing  took  amazingly.    Wheneyer  a  patient  waited 
on  the  quack,  whom  iS»  latter  deemed  one  who  was  in 
circumstances  to  pay  a  little  in  the  shi^^e  of  extra  fees 
for  medical  adrice,  he  was  inyariably  told  that  his  case 
was  one  of  great  importance,  and  must  be  referred  to 
the  Board  of  Health.    Into  the  presence  of  their  medical 
highnesses,  the  patient  was  accordingly  forthwith  usher* 
ed.    There  they  sat,  around  a  large  table,  in  solemn — 
aflbctedly  solenm— conolaye,  leaning  on  their  canes,  and 
looking  wondroosly  wise  and  attentiye,   wliile  their 
chieftidn  was  asking  the  patient  questions  respecting  the 
nature  and  manifostations  of  his  malady.    They,  of 
course  assented  to  eyerything  he  adyanced  by  way  of 
opinion,  either  as  to  the  case  itself  or  as  regajrded  the 
mode  of  treatment  to  be  adopted.    In  a  short  time,  the 
fome  of  the  Board  of  Health,  oyer  the  water,  (for  its  lo- 
ddity  was  on  the  Surrey  side,]|4f  the  riyer,)  soon  extended 
itself  for  and  wide,  and  patients  flocked  from  all  parts  of 
the  metropolis  to  receiye  the  adrice  of  half-»-dosen  of  the 
''first  physicians  in  Europe,"  which  I  ought  not  to 
omit  to  state,  was  to  be  had  at  a  remarkably  low  rate, 
considering  the  usual  charges  of  physicians.    The  Board 
existed  for  many  years,  and  was  only  dissolyed  when 
the  proprietor  of  the  establishment  thought  fit  to  retire 
from  business,  after  haying  made  a  princely  fortune  by 
his  ingenious  quackery. 

A  living  sample  is  thus  described^ 

There  is  now  liying,  in  one  of  the  streets  leading  out 
of  Oxford  Street,  a  consummate  quack,  who  makes  expe- 
riments with  great  success  on  public  ignorance  and  cre- 
dulity, in  the  capacity  of  a  physician  that  can  cure  all 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  LONDON  LIFE. 


«M«  ordintitty-- who  prerioiisly  appeared  in  almost 
nery  cmcdTiUe  department  of  medical  charlatanism, 
itwijs  fnkmng  to  confine  himself  exclnslTely  to  each 
psrtieilar  depuibnent.  He  commenced  as  an  eye-doc- 
tor;  kd  that  woold  not  do :  then  he  appeared,  hut 
with  M  greater  sacoess,  as  an  aurist :  a  year  or  two 
aAcrw^  be  ondertook  the  cure  of  the  toothache, 
witet  extnotion,  or  indeed  without  anything.  Still 
thf  spenktkm  did  not  answer.  He  eyentually  tried, 
vjd  ao  better  fintnne,  erery  other  branch  of  the  medi- 
al pgftanon;  and  at  last  found  that  to  be  a  nniTersalist, 
%  d«ior  who  could  core  eyery  disease  brought  under  his 
wtke,  WIS  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  hope  to  fill 
Ui  pockets,  by  guDing  the  public  With  each  profes- 
M,  this  iagoiious  empiric  changed  his  name,  and  also 
iu  nadeace ;  in  two  or  three  instances,  Indeed,  he 
(faaged,  if  there  he  propriety  in  the  expression,  his 
mmtry ;  lor  he  suffered  his  beard  to  grow  into  luxuriant 
mlidioe,  and,  haring  thus  acquired  something  of  the 
fxtond  ameet  of  a  foreigner,  he  represented  himself  as 
Uamkn  Malletron  from  Paris. 

h  a  mccceding  chapter,  Miscellaneons  Qnackeiy 
iiticated;  as  Quackery  in  Shoe-blacking,  Religion, 
PoUiihiDg,  Piirliainenteering,  the  Weather,  and  so 
OL  Hie  Sdentifio  aad  Literary  Quack  bthos  -pm- 
KBtod  it  fall  length.  Connt  Fathom  was  nothing 
tohfan. 

Thin  ii  a  aoted  empirio  in  town  at  the  present  mo- 
aeit,  whose  quackish  practices  are  so  varied  and  multi* 
hnm,  that  it  were  no  easy  matter  to  name  a  line  of 
k"iauB  or  pfofession  in  which  he  has  not  at  one  time 
ff  ite  appeared.  In  seyeral  departments  of  quackery, 
hiii  at^  iistant  carrying  on  a  thriring  business. 

The  history  of  this  empiric  is  an  extraordinary  one. 
He  WIS  hrou^t  up  to  the  business  of  a  cobbler,  at 
vrtich  be  woriced  to  the  satisfoction  of  those  who  in- 
tnned  Um  with  the  repairs  of  their  damaged  boots  and 
ihHi,  Btil  he  had  attained  the  age  of  twenty-fiye.  He 
thea  gained  ;  and  his  soul  rising  contemporaneously 
*iih  that  CTeat,  abore  his  leather  and  his  last,  he  re- 
■ohcd  on  earning  literary  renown,  and  if  possible  bet- 
^ag  Us  pecuniary  circumstances  at  the  same  time. 
^  the  qneatioB  suggested  itself  how  was  this  to  be 
^  I  How  was  lia«rary  distinction,  and  an  improved 
■Me  of  his  iBanoee  to  be  achieyed  t  The  embiyo  em- 
fine  did  not  possess  a  particle  of  learning, — ^unless  the 
dfohility  of  reading  ordinary  English  in  an  ordinary 
*^7i  aad  writing  a  tolenU>le  hand,  ought  to  be  dignified 
^  tte  laae.  An  ingenious  idea  struck  him.  He 
BCMhed  4a  reading  a  number  of  works  on  popular  sci- 
oee,  and  then,  haying,  by  means  of  a  pair  of  scissors  and 
i^piBtity  of  paste,  doyetailed  together  the  more  inter- 
*^^  aad  more  easily  comprehensible  portions  of  each 
M,  fiffmiog  them  into  a  whole.  The  work  thus 
poptiy  manufactured,  was  carefhUy  transcribed  by  a 
l^H  acquaintance,  who  could  write  a  superior  hand. 
^  Utru^ye  title  was  next  inyented,  and  to  giye  the 
roter  effiect  to  the  title,  he  prefixed  to  his  name,  as 
^  aathor,  the  honorary  term  **  Professor,*'  and  ap- 
Mfe4  to  it  the  initials,  ^'F.R.a  L.LJ>.,"  and  seye- 
aiftes  of  an  equally  imposing  kind.  The  little  worik 
^■i  a  paUisber,  and  the  publisher  obtained  for  it  a  re- 
gfotiy  sale.  The  little  reputation  which  ^  The 
^fiiunrihaa  acquired,  by  not  only  stealing  other  peo- 
i^  ideas,  but  their  yery  words,  did  not,  howeyer,  sa- 
^  hii  aapiia*kns  alter  literary  and  sdentifio  fame. 
^  M  the  coaapaiatiyely  alow  process  of  obtaining  a 
*tte  ia  the  wotid  by  the  publication  of  books,  at  all  ac- 
ori  with  his  eacer  and  impatient  anxiety  to  be  consi- 
jead  a  man  of  uterary  note.  What,  then,  was  to  be 
«  W  accelerate  his  progress  to  the  distinction  he  co- 
^^aad  to  his  poesession  <rf  the  means  which  he  oon- 
2^*4  that  distinction  would  place  at  his  disposal  for 
■*^^  his  pecuniary  condition  t — a  consummation  of 
^■A, loui^t  to haye  already  remarked, he  neyer  lost 
■gtiaUs  yeammgs  after  literary  and  scientific  cele- 
Wty.  ffis  ideas  oB  this  head  preyed  him  to  be  a  genius 
*>*iiiMiy  koid.    Li  the  course  of  fire  minutes  his 


fertile  brain— fertile,  I  mean,  in  the  way  of  inyenting 
ways  and  means  of  bringing  himself  into  notice — ^not 
only  formed  a  philosophic  society  which  was  called  by 
the  name  of  the  greatest  moral  philosopher  the  world 
eyer  produced,  but  represented  the  society  as  being  in 
actiye  operation,  and  including  in  the  list  of  its  directors 
and  members,  a  multitude  of  names,  which,  though  alto- 
gether unknown  to  fame,  were  neyertheless  those  of  per- 
sons who  were  members  of  all  the  learned  and  philoso- 
phical societies  in  Christendom.  The  number  of  initials 
which  was  appended  to  each  name,  was  not  only  extra- 
ordinary, but  reminded  one  of  the  tail  of  a  comet.  It 
was  only  surprising  that  the  names  of  gentlemen  who 
could  rejoice  in  being  members  of  such  a  host  of  learned 
bodies,  diould  haye  been  wholly  unknown  to  an  '^  intel- 
ligent and  discerning  public."  Yet  so  it  was :  nobody 
had  eyer,  not  eyen  by  accident,  encountered  the  name  of 
any  of  these  illustrious  philosophers;  but  being  unwilling 
to  admit  his  ignorance  of  the  existence  of  the  attain- 
ments of  such  men,  eyery  person  concealed  his  surprise 
in  his  own  breast  The  yery  first  intimation  which  the 
public  receiyed  of  the  existence  of  this  imposing  associa- 
tion of  lUer<Ui  and  philosophers,  was  conyeyed  to  them 
in  the  shape  of  a  report  of  their  proceedings  in  a  morning 
paper;  the  Professor  himself  figuring  as  the  president 
and  principal  speaker.  With  the  assistance  of  the  per- 
son already  referred  to,  who  was  a  young  man  of  some 
education,  and  whose  pecuniary  circumstances,  coupled 
with  the  utter  absence  of  principle  in  such  matters,  ren- 
dered him  the  obedient  seryant  and  oonyenient  tool  of 
the  empiric — the  clap-trap  report  was  prepared  and  sent 
to  the  momingjoumal  alluded  to.  But  how,  it  will  be 
asked,  did  it  find  its  way  into  the  columns  of  the  paper  I 
Why,  the  empiric's  inyentiye  powers  hit  upon  a  yery  in- 
genious scheme  for  the  purpose.  To  the  report  was 
appended  a  resolution  purporting  to  haye  been  carried 
by  deafening  acclamations,  after  most  eulogistic  speeches 
by  the  moyer  and  seconder,  to  the  eff'ect  that  Jacob  Jud* 
kins,  Esq.,  the  editor  of  the  Morning  Intelligencer,  had 
been  unanimously  appointed  honorary  member  of  the 

V Society.    The  distinguished  compliment  thus  paid 

to  the  editor,  ensured  a  ready  passport  to  the  entire  re- 
port into  the  columns  of  the  Intelligencer.  Finding  the 
thing  thus  far  eminentiy  successful,  the  Professor  or  em- 
piric, assigned  weekly  meetings  to  the  non-existent  So- 
ciety, at  all  of  which,  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  himself 
was  the  principal  speaker;  and  on  no  occasion  did  he 
omit  to  pay  some  high-fiown  compliments  to  his  friend 
the  editor.  Week  after  week  did  the  reports  of  the 
proceedings  of  this  distinguished  philosophical  society 
appear  in  the  Morning  Intelligencer;  and  the  result  was 
that,  though  no  one  eyer  before  heard  the  name  of  the 
Professor  or  his  associates,  eyerybody  concluded  that 
the  former  must  be  some  great  man,  who,  in  yenfication 
of  the  remark  of  a  Greek  historian,  that  the  greatest 
geniuses  often  lie  concealed,  had  hitherto  remained  un- 
known to  the  world,  in  consequence  of  one  of  those  capri- 
cious freaks  in  whidi  dame  Nature  (alike  regardless  of 
the  justice  due  to  the  illustrious  parties  themseWes,  and 
the  honour  and  interests  of  mankind)  octasionally  de- 
lights to  indulge  herself. 

The  empiric  haying  thus  procured  a  publicity  for  his 
name  which  nrast  haye  satisfied  the  most  yoracious  ap- 
petite for  newspaper  notoriety,  next  bethought  himself 
of  the  way  in  which  he  could  conyert  his  celebrity  to 
the  best  pecuniary  account. 

This  was  as  dexterously  mansged.  A  meeting 
of  the  Society  resolved  that  a  tesHmomal  should  be 
given  to  the  Professor's  merits  in  the  form  of  plate. 

It  was  fiirther  stated,  that  in  order  to  allow  other 
"  firiends  of  philosophy  and  admirers  of  science  "  wha 
were  not  members  of  the  V Society,  but  might  be  de- 
sirous of  being  allowed  to  express  their  sense  of  the  Pro- 
fessor's services  to  science,  by  recording  their  names  on 
the  subscription  list;  it  was,  I  say,  agreed  by  the  So- 
ciety, that  such  persons  should  haye  an  opportunity  of 
gratifying  their  feelings  by  contributing  to  the  testimo- 
nial f^d.  And  in  order  that  a  good  example  might  be 
set  to  all  such  persons,  the  members  pf  the  Society — ^no 


a 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OP  LONDON  Llffi. 


one  of  whom,  be  it  erer  remembered,  bat  the  Professor 
himself,  had  an  existence — appended  yerj  handsome 
aabscriptions  to  their  respective  names.  A  treasurer  was 
duly  appointed  to  receiye.  the  money,  and  to  retain  it 
until  the  Society  should  determine  on  the  nature  of  the 
testimonial  to  be  presented  to  the  Professor.  This  trea- 
surer was  none  other  than  the  quack  himself,  though  of 
course  under  a  fictitious  name.  The  appointment  of  a 
secretary  (also  the  quack  himself),  followed,  and  the  meet- 
ing agreed  that  a  lithographed  copy  of  the  resolution 
should  be  forwarded  by  tiie  secretuy  to  ^  eyery  known 
friend  of  science  and  philosophy  in  ^igland,"  with  a  re- 
quest that  he  would  giye  a  practical  expression  of  his 
sense  of  the  Professoi^s  seryices  to  science,  by  subscrib- 
ing to  the  ftind.  Many  of  the  persons  to  whom  the  cir- 
cidars  were  sent,  knowing  nothing  more  of  science  than 
of  the  Professor,  and  yet  proud  of  the  compliment  paid 
to  them  by  the  assumption  that  they  were  the  friends  of 
philosophy  and  admirers  of  science,  were  prompt  in  for- 
warding their  subscriptions  ^  in  aid  of  the  ftuid  for  a 

testimonial  to  Professor  ."      The  subscriptions, 

which  were  yery  considerable,  being  directed  to  be  sent 
to  his  lodgings,  addressed  to  an  imaginary  treasurer, 
whom  he  chnstened  Henry  Blunt,  &q. — ^found  their 
way  at  once,  as  a  matter  of  course,  into  the  pockets  of 
the  Professor. 

At  ft  great  dinner,  ftttended  by  many  saivanif  the 
plate  was  of  course  presented,  and  the  country  sub- 
scribers satisfied  with  reading  learned  and  eloquent 
speeches  which  were  never  spoken,  save  in  the  news- 
paper ;  in  which  also  a  Shacabac  dinner,  consisting 
of  all  the  delicacies  of  the  season,  and  the  rarest 
wines,  was  served  up  in  first-rate  style.  After 
quoting  these  speeches  at  some  length,  our  author 
oondudes, 

Such  was  the  tenor  of  the  report  which  appeared  next 
morning  in  the  Morning  Intelligencer. 

Each  subscriber  fancied  that  he  was  the  only  person 
absent;  and  the  only  drawback  to  the  gratification  with 
which  he  read  the  account  of  the  way  in  which  the 
aifair  passed  off,  was,  that  he  had  not  b^n  apprized  of 
the  dinner,  so  as  that  he  might  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
being  present. 

But  what  of  the  Professor  now  t  Since  practising  the 
aboye  ingenious  and  successfiil  piece  of  empiricism,  he 
has  appeared  before  the  public  in  every  conceivable  ya- 
liety  of  character.  Two  or  three  years  ago,  he  became 
an  apostle  of  tee-totalism,  and  yisited  different  parts  of 
the  country  for  the  purpose  of  lecturing  in  fayour  of  an 
entire  abstinence  fSrom  spirituous  liquors,  and  on  the 
singularly  salubrious  qualities  of  cold  water  ui  its  ^  abo- 
ri|^l "  state.  This  of  course  was  at  the  expense  of  the 
Abstinence  Societies;  but  the  supplies  haying  somehow 
or  other  stopped,  after  seyeral  weeks'  advocacy  of  the 
eause,  he  suddenly  ceased  to  waste  his  eloquence  on  the 
merits  of  that  cause.  For  anything  he  oared  to  the  con- 
trary, tee-totalism,  the  moment  it  frjled  to  afford  him  pe- 
euniary  adyantage,  may  have  gone  to  the  dogs— or  to 
any  oUier  quarter  it  pleased. 

The  next  eyolution  of  the  Professor,  in  his  character 
of  a  quack,  was  in  the  capacity  of  a  preacher  of  the 
GospeL  My  readers  may  startle  at  this.  It  is,  never- 
theless, melancholy  -though  it  be,  a  sober  fact.  And 
there  is  not  the  slightest  inftision  of  fiuicy  in  the  state- 
ment I  am  about  to  make,  namely,  that  when  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  try  what  could  be  done  in  the  as- 
sumed character  of  a  reyerend  gentleman,  he  felt  at  a 
loss  to  decide  as  to  what  denomination  it  would  be  best 
fbr  him,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  to  profess  to  be- 
long. He  actually  had  the  cool  effiontery  and  the  fear- 
fal  mental  profligacy,  to  ask  a  frnnd  of  mine,  when  mak- 
ing known  his  ministerial  intentions,  what  he  deemed  the 
section  of  Christians  whom  it  would  be  most  adyisable  to 
oonnect  himself  with.  Curious  to  learn  to  what  awfbl 
lengths  the  empiric  was  prepared  to  go,  my  friend  asked 
him  what  he  thought  of  appearing  as  a  preacher  among 
the  Wesleyan  Me&odists  t    He  objected  to  any  connex- 


ion with  that  body,  because  he  could  not  cond^id  tt&Sk 
them  the  circumstance  of  his  being  no  preacher  at  UlL 
The  peculiar  organization  of  their  society,  and  the  rigid 
superyision  obseryed  oyer  all  the  movements  of  their 
ministers,  would  render  it  impossible  for  him  to  practise 
the  imposture,  without  detection,  for  many  weeks. 
^  The  Baptists,  then  !"  suggested  the  other.  The  Pro- 
fessor had  a  high  respect  for  the  Baptists ;  there  were 
many  men  of  great  moral  worth  and  undoubted  talent 
among  them;  but  the  prejudices  in  fityour  of  inlknt  bap- 
tism  and  sprinkling  were  too  general  and  too  strong  to 
admit  of  their  principles  or  themselves  becoming  exten- 
sively popular.  ^  What  do  you  say  to  the  Independents  V* 
The  Professor  replied  to  the  latter  suggestion,  that  he 
certainly  thought  that  body  preferable  to  either  of  the 
other  two  which  had  been  named;  and  accordingly  made 
his  election  in  its  fayour.  In  accordance  with  this  choice 
he  actually  forthwith  proceeded  to  engage  a  chapel,  and 
without  any  change  in  his  name  beyond  the  prefix  of 
Rev.,  caused  himself  to  be  placarded  through  a  great 
part  of  the  metropolis  as  the  Rev.  A B—- — >  minis- 
ter of  the  Independent  Chapel  in  T Street.    In  this 

locality,  and  this  character,  he  continued,  however,  for 
only  a  limited  time.  He  soon  made  the  discovery  that 
there  was  little  chance  of  his  acquiring  either  money  or 
re|>utation  in  his  capacity  of  a  reverend  gentleman,  and, 
therefore,  in  nine  or  ten  weeks,  he  abdicated  his  minis- 
terial fimctions,  forsook    the  Independent  Chapel    in 

T Street,  and  reappeared  in  the  newspapers  as  a 

person  of  high  sounding  scientific  and  philosophic  attain- 
ments. 

This  must  have  been  a  shallow,  sorry  knave. 
He  throve  in  no  walk.  We  dishonoured  Ferdinand 
Count  Fathom  by  the  comparison.  His  next  ap- 
pearance was  as  an  M.D.,  the  physician  to  an  hos- 
pital that  never  existed,  in  whi(^  capacity  he  recom- 
mended another  quack's  pills.  Is  there  not  some 
one  who  takes  a  malicious  pleasure  in  priming  or 
cramming  our  author  at  times?  or  in  experiment- 
ing upon  the  largeness  of  his  swallow  ?  There  has 
no  doubt  been  a  Ferukm  Society,  and  there  are 
quacks  enow  in  every  department^  but  his  Pro- 
fBssor  out-Herods  Herod.  Thus  is  he  finally  dis- 
posed of.  Nor  would  it  be  worth  while  to  follo^w 
his  infamous  career,  save  to  put  people  on  their 
guard  against  all  manner  of  pseudo-professors. 

But  what  is  he  doing  at  the  present  moment  t  I  can- 
not answer  the  question,  though  I  still  observe  his  name 
figuring  in  the  papers  as  the  **  Professor." 

The  last  part  he  played,  which  has  come  under  my 
notice,  was  that  of  a  begging  letter-writer.  The  Men- 
dicity Society  haye  in  their  possession  a  goodly  number 
of  his  epistles,  written  in  this  character.  Some  of  these 
have  come  under  my  obseryation,  and  are  very  curious 
in  their  way.  I  shall  watch  with  peculiar  interest  the 
fixture  moyements  of  this  Protean  empiric. 

The  arts  of  Begging  Impostors  occupy  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  volumes.  But  these  have 
already  been  sufficiently  exposed  by  the  published 
reports  of  the  Mendicity  Society,  and  in  the  news- 
papers. We  have  some  doubts  as  to  the  new  and 
curious  facts  on  this  subject,  imparted  to  the 
author,  or  picked  up  by  Mm,  without,  as  we  ap« 
prehend,  very  rigid  examination;  and  in  the  con- 
jectural statistics  of  all  such  statists,  from  Col- 
quhoun  downwards,  we  place  no  faith  whatever. 
Still  many  of  the  strange  things  told  of  begging 
impostors  must  be  grounded  on  fact,  though  we  are 
not  prepared  to  go  the  length  of  receiving  the  whole 
of  the  following  statements  without  qualification : — 

Some  of  the  more  successful  begging-letter  writers 
keep  their  clerks,  and  sport  their  horses  and  gigs.   This 


tlCiHTS  AIJD  SHADOWS  Of  tONBOI^  ttm 


25 


wu  Aft  Mie  witK  blind  WilUmms,  so  well  known  in 
town  mmt  jmn  ago.  It  was  ascertained  at  the  time, 
that  bit  aoaal  ineome,  from  his  begging-epistles,  aye* 
raged  froii  £(00  to  £800.  He  regularly  employed  two 
dofki^  at  a  salary  of  £80  a^year,  in  the  one  case,  and 
£M  ii  tke  atber.  He  likewise  kept  his  horse  and  gig^ 
lad  B^  often  be  seen  "  showing  off"  in  the  most 
fiMimhk  parts  of  tiie  town.  He  kept  his  mistress 
aln^  lad  on  his  death,  his  principal  clerk,  Joseph  Un- 
iovood,  of  whom  I  shall  hare  to  speak  hereaftisr,  ac- 
tially  Bained  her,  regarding  the  printed  (kKsnments  and 
htmim  materiilfi  of  her  late  "  protector  "  as  eqniyalent 
to  a  Artane.  The  other  clerk  of  Williams  also  after- 
wirdf  wtaWithed  a  profitable  business,  on  his  own  ae« 
eont,  ia  the  begging-letter  way;  bnt  it  was  not  equal 
to  tbt  of  his  Ute  employer. 

A  coamon  practice  in  the  begging-letter  business  is, 
iora  BBMber  of  impoetors  to  enter  into  a  sort  of  part- 
aenldp  together,  it  being  fbund  that  the  trade  can  ge« 
lenlly  be  earned  on  most  successfully  that  way.  In 
suk  «ases,  howerer,  they  do  not  all  '^  share-and-share 
aliks."  The  company,  if  I  may  so  speak,  is  formed  on 
tkt  bnditti  priaqiple;  in  other  words,  they  hare  always 
a  bead  who  acts  in  the  capacity  of  a  general,  and  all 
that  BOTements  or  **  operations,"  as  they  themselyes 
phnie  it,  most  be  in  strict  conformity  with  his  instruo- 
tioes.  The  late  notorious  Peter  Hill,  whose  case  was 
rkwght  to  prominently  before  the  public  fifteen  or  siz- 
tMB  jMEB  sfaice,  was  the  head  of  one  of  these  companies 
«r  ffiagL  It  was  ascertained,  beyond  all  question,  at 
tbt  period  to  which  I  nfer,  that  the  ayerage  amount  of 
vhich  the  charitable  public  were  daily  plundered  by 
the  inpositioBS  of  Peter  and  his  gang,  was  upwards  <^ 
£20.  His  own  share,  after  paying  all  the  subordinates, 
wUi'Mst,"  as  he  used  to  call  them,  and  after  making 
iftdndkn  ta  expenses  in  the  shape  of  paper,  postage, 
fe^  WBf  not  much  under  £600  a-year. 

Of  all  the  begging-letter  impostors  of  whom  I  haye 
bend,  Peter  was  unriyalled  in  the  facility  and  success 
vith  which  be  could  change  his  personal  appearance. 
Ii  the  coarse  <^  one  day  he  could  assume  and  sustain, 
«i&  adairable  effbct,  seyen  or  eight  different  charac- 
tai;  so  that  tiiose  w^  saw  him,  and  were  conyersing 
with  hia,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  might  haye  been 
ia  Ui  company  at  twelye,  and  neyer  had  the  slightest 
•'  lofthefSMrt. 


Ihe  London  police  of  that  day  must  hare  been 
■Qeh  move  easily  deceired  than  their  sncoesson. 
It  if  wen  known  that  the  Mendicity  Society  lately 
aptmed  the  priyate  joamal  or  ledger  of  a  noto- 
lioQs  b^ging  letter-writer,  which  was  a  great 
cvnoaty  fimn  the  nature  of  the  entries ;  but  some 
ventie  wag  must  haye  improved  on  the  hint  it 
liofM,  and  haye  famished  Mr.  Grant  with  the 
fcDowing  jeu  ^eipr%  probably  intended  for  a 
^^•line,  which  he  seems  to  take  in  sober  ear- 

Sim  of  the  beggmg-letter  writers  occasionally  make 
oiD  louiks  in  their  journals,  in  reference  to  the  re- 
"tt  <f  their  applications.  The  following  is  a  charac- 
^'j^  yeomen  of  a  recent  case : — 
Jm  20v~Addre8sed  the  Duke  of  Richmond  under 
wstae  of  John  Smith;  case,  leg  amputated,  out  of. 
^ftr iiz  months,  and  wifb  and  seyen  children  stanr- 
^  BcMlt,  £2.  Not  amiss,  bnt  hope  to  be  more  suo- 
«««iixttime. 
Jmt  25.— Letter  to  Bishop  of  London;  name,  Wil- 
J^Aadeison;  case,  licensed  clergyman  of  the  Church 
*J^^|*>m1,  but  unemployed  for  four  years,  and  wifi» 
£|2^>ie  weeks  ago,  leaving  fiye  motherless  children, 
r?^  w  go;  too  oil  a  bird  to  be  caught  with  chaif; 
^vy  it  on  apm  next  week. 
^^28^-fry  Sir  Peter  Laurie;  case,  industrious 
*•**■»,  but  no  employment;  liyed  on  bread  and 
f*'*^  oi^^  days,  but  no  bread,  nor  anything  to  eat, 
***.hit  three  days;  name,  John  Laurie.  Result, 
""^  Wtbe  Mendidtj  Society,  Sir  Peter  being  too 


far  north  to  be  done;  knowing  rognes  these  Scotchmen; 
there  is  no  gammoning  them. 

June  30. — Addressed  Sir  Peter  Durham;  case,  lost  a 
leg  and  arm  in  the  service;  was  one  of  his  men  on  board 
the  ship  Pallas;  great  destitution;  not  even  as  much  as 
to  get  my  timber  leg  repaired,  being  broken  by  acci- 
dent ;  name.  Jack  Scraggs.  Result,  £5 ;  Sir  Peter  a 
regular  trump;  drink  his  health  in  a  bottle  of  best  Ma- 
deira; have  at  him  again  in  a  fortnight  or  so;  plenty 
more  cases  to  be  got  up;  plenty  more  names  to  assume. 

July  4. — Address  Lord  Wyndford;  name,  Samuel 
Downie ;  case,  ruined  by  attachment  to  Toryism ;  have 
often  detected  treasonable  conspiracies,  and  been  a  pro- 
scribed man  by  my  former  acquaintances  in  conse- 
quence ;  great  hater  of  Reform,  which  means  Revo- 
lution ;  r^y  to  shed  my  blood  in  defence  of  Church 
and  State.  Result,  long  letter,  enclosing  half-a-aoye- 
reign ;  miserable  work  this ;  won't  pay  for  consumption 
of  time  and  paper ;  Wyndford  a  stingy  customer ;  stingy 
old  boy  to  deal  with;  cut  the  connejdon  at  once. 

July  6. — Letter  to  Lord  Holland ;  name,  Jonathan 
Manson ;  case,  endured  for  a  long  series  of  years  a  spe- 
cies of  living  martyrdom  for  my  zeal  for  Reform  princi- 
ples ;  was  intimately  acquainted  with  Muir,  Palmer,  and 
the  other  Scotch  Reformers  who  suffered  hi  1794,  for 
their  principles ;  am  now  struck  with  palsy ;  wife  dyings 
and  six  children  without  a  bed  to  lie  on,  a  rag  to  coyer 
them,  or  a  morsel  of  food  qf  any  kind  to  put  mto  their 
mouths ;  most  deplorable  case  altogether;  dire  necessity 
that  induces  to  write ;  great  outrage  to  feelings.  R^ 
ceiyed  £5,  with  a  very  compassionate  letter;  the  com- 
passion may  go  to  the  dogs,  but  the  £5  something  sub- 
stantial ;  JoUy  old  cock  yet ;  long  may  he  live  to  lean 
on  his  crutches ;  will  go  it  again ;  stick  it  into  him  at 
least  once  a  fortnight. 

July  3. — Wrote  to  Lord  Brougham;  directed  to  apply 
to  the  Mendicity  Society;  particularly  obliged  to  lua 
lordship  for  his  advice,  but  would  have  preferred  a  so- 
vereign or  two ;  have  no  wish  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  these  Society  gentry ;  wonder  how  his  lordship  him- 
self would  like  their  bone-gruel,  which  they  dignify  with 
the  name  of  soup,  and  to  be  kept  to  hard  work  at  the 
mill  to  the  bargain. 

The  real  impostors  are  often,  however,  rognes  of 
great  tact,  and  fertile  invention.  Our  author  sug- 
gests that»  as  Romance  writers,  several  of  them 
might  have  made  a  fortune.  If  Romance- writing 
were  **  as  easy  as  lying,"  this  might  hold.  The 
impositions  of  common  mumpers  and  street  beggars 
next  fall  under  consideration.  They  are  endless^ 
and  as  has  been  weU  known  from  the  days  of 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  downiirard,  they  are  often 
most  ingenious.  The  very  dogs  of  the  blind  beg- 
gars are  as  cunning  as  their  masters. 

The  most  orighial  trick  among  the  beggars^ 
which  we  learn  from  this  book,  is  committing 
suicide,  by  drowning  in  the  Thames  in  warm 
weather,  and  hanging  on  a  lamp-post  in  winter;  a 
confederate  being  always  at  hand  to  save  the  ^  un- 
fortunate man,"  and  of  course  to  make  a  collection 
from  the  humane  spectators  for  his  ben^t.  From 
the  report  of  a  friend  who  spent  a  night  in  jollifying 
in  a  beggars'  hotel,  our  author  gives  an  account  ot 
their  usual  proceedings,  which  appears  about  as 
authentic  as  the  entries  of  the  letter'- writer  quoted 
above,  or  as  certain  witty  police  reports  that  occa- 
sionally appear  in  the  newspapers,  or  as  some  of 
the  rare  anecdotes  found  in  tiiis  work.  We  are  far 
from  imputing  want  of  rincerity  to  the  author,  but 
his  credulity  is  marvellous ;  and,  perhaps,  this  nm« 
plicity  is  the  charm  of  his  books. 

Raff  Fair  furnishes  material  for  a  curious  chap- 
ter;  and,  as  comparatively  few  even  of  the  inhabi- 


26 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  LONDON  LIFE. 


tants  of  the  great  metropolis  know  either  of  its 
whereabout  or  its  usages,  one  that  is  novel.  "  And,'* 
says  our  authority. 

There  is  not  a  scene  in  London,  more  worthy  of  being 
witnessed,  than  that  which  Rag  Fair  exhibits.  The 
place  in  which  the  fsdr  is  held  is  in  the  yicinity  of  Hounds- 
ditch.  It  begins  at  the  end  of  Cutler  Street,  leading  out 
of  Honndsditch,  and  proceeds  about  seyenty  or  eighty 
feet  in  an  easterward  direction.  It  then  embraces  a  nar- 
row street,  called  White's  Alley,  extending  about  a  hun- 
dred feet  towards  the  north  ;  thence  it  again  takes  an 
eastward  turn,  proceeding  in  a  direct  line,  and  extending 
as  far  as  Petticoat  Lane,  where  it  turns  to  the  north  and 
south.  Probably  the  entire  length  of  the  locality  graced 
by  the  presence  of  the  patrons  of  Rag  Fair,  may  be 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile;  while  the  width  of  the  space 
it  occupies  varies  with  the  breadth  of  the  streets  and  lanes 
in  which  it  is  held.  The  largest  of  these  lanes  is  dark 
and  dirty.  It  is  quite  an  era  in  its  existence  to  be  il- 
lumed by  even  the  most  momentary  gleam  of  sunshine. 
Any  one  would  find  it  a  perfectly  safe  speculation  to 
wager  any  sum  his  opponent  might  be  pleased  to  accept, 
that,  for  eight  consecutiye  months  of  the  year — ^namely, 
from  September  to  May — ^the  sun  will  not  show  his  fisu^e 
on  the  payement  of  the  leading  street.  It  is  neyer  dry. 
While  the  dust  is  flying  in  aU  directions,  to  the  serious 
inconyenience  of  the  eyes,  the  throat,  and  the  nostrils,  in 
the  other  streets  and  lanes  of  the  metropolis,  the  centre 
of  this  dark  dirty  street  exhibits  a  Thames  in  miniature. 
Let  no  one  suspect  me  of  exaggeration  or  hyperbole  when 
I  say,  that,  for  centuries  past,  there  has  been  a  substance, 
at  least  anlde-deep,  constituting  a  compromise  between 
water  and  mud,  in  this  particular  spot 

At  what  particular  period  Rag  Fair  was  instituted,  is 
a  point  which  none  of  our  metropolitan  antiquaries,  so 
far  as  I  know,  haye  been  able  to  ascertain.  That  it  has 
existed  for  centuries  is  beyond  question;  there  are  histo- 
rical prooft  to  that  effect.  It  is  held  eyery  day  in  the 
week,  Saturday  and  Sunday  excepted.  The  reason  why 
there  is  no  fair  on  Saturday  is,  that  the  Jews,  by  whom 
it  is  chiefly  frequented,  hold  their  Sabbath  on  that  day. 
The  reason  of  its  not  being  held  on  our  Sunday  is,  that 
the  law,  or  rather  the  local  authorities,  will  not  allow  it. 
The  fair  may  be  said  fairly  to  commence  at  half-past 
one.  In  the  summer  season,  it  is  kept  up,  with  great 
spirit,  until  about  six;  in  winter,  the  traffic  ceases,  and 
the  buyers  and  sellers  quit  the  place  of  merchandise, 
when  it  becomes  too  dark  to  inspect  the  ragged  commo- 
dities in  which  they  deal 

The  quantity  of  old  clothes  in  Rag  Fair  is  truly 
astonishing.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  whence  the  articles 
can  all  haye  come !  One  would  suppose,  the  worn-out 
apparel  of  tiie  whole  population  of  London  was  exhi- 
bited in  it.  In  addition  to  the  loads  under  which  the 
thousands  of  Jews,  men,  women,  and  children,  who  stand 
in  the  market-place,  groan,  there  are  tables  and  forms  in 
front  of  eyery  door  and  window  on  either  side  of  the 
streets,  and  lanes,  and  alleys,  on  which  are  mountains  of 
old  **  do."  Of  course,  as  hats,  according  to  the  notions 
that  now-a-days  preyail  in  the  world,  are  considered  an 
essential  part  of  one's  wardrobe,  there  is  no  lack  of 
chofeam  in  this  mercantile  region;  and  what  is  more, 
they  are  in  the  most  perfect  hamony  with  the  articles  of 
wooUen  manufecture. 

The  buyers  and  sellers  who  eongregate  in  Rag  Fair 
are  thorough  men  of  business.  They  are  persons  of  few 
words ;  they  haye  no  time  for  talking.  Unlike  their 
brethren  in  Monmouth  Street  and  HoiyweU  Street,  who 
systematically  ask  three  times  as  much  as  they  will  be 
gM  to  accept,  they  ask  the  lowest  price,  or  within  two 
or  three  pence  of  it,  in  the  first  instance, 

EcBting  Houses  is  a  subject  on  which  this  author 
is  probably  less  liable  to  be  deceived  than  on  most 
others.  They  are  visible ;  they  speak  for  them- 
selves; they  may  easily  be  experimented  upon. 
The  writer  of  a  little  book,  which  we  noticed 
some  years  since,  «ntitted  «  The  Poor  Gentie- 


man,  or  the  art  of  Living  in  London  on  a  Hun- 
dred Pounds  a-year,  and  on  Fifty  Pounds  a-year/* 
fairly  exhausted  the  theme  for  popular  uses;  yet 
the  following  remarks  are  worth  attention,  from  ia- 
cidentally  illustrating  national  character: — 

It  is  a  feature  in  these  dining  establishments  which  la 
worthy  of  notice,  that  though,  when  you  so  and  seat 
yourself  for  dinner  in  them,  you  may  see  forty  or  fifty- 
persons  met  on  a  similar  purpose,  you  can  b^ve  your 
meal  in  as  much  quietness  and  peace  as  if  you  were  the 
only  individual  present.  Nobody  will  even  pass  a  look 
with  you,  1^  less  stare  at  you  to  such  a  degree  as  either 
to  deprive  the  articles  you  have  ordered  of  all  reUsh,  or 
yourself  of  all  stomach.  Everybody  in  these  ^  houses 
scrupulously  reduces  to  practice  the  popular  iigunctiont 
of  ^  Mind  your  own  business."  All  is  perfect  quietness 
and  propriety  of  conduct.  There  is  no  conversation  go- 
ing on  beyond,  it  may  be,  the  exchange  of  a  few  words, 
in  the  shape  of  whispers,  between  two  or  more  friends, 
who  may  either  have  gone  to  the  place  to  dine  together, 
or  met  Uiere  by  accident 

Several  attempts  have  been  made  to  establish  table 
dlidtes  in  London,  similar  to  those  which  are  so  general 
in  Paris  and  other  large  continental  towns.  All  such 
attempts  may  be  said  to  have  proved  failures.  It  is 
true,  that  there  are  still  two  or  three  houses  in  which 
table  dlidtes  are  advertised,  and  to  which  the  public  are 
invited,  as  if  they  were  flourishing  concerns.  They  are 
not  so.  They  are  attended  by  very  few  persons,  ajid 
want  that  free  and  easy  air,  which  is  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal elements  of  the  eigoyment  afibrded  by  those  on  the 
continent. 

The  most  spirited  attempt  ever  made  to  establish  a 
table  d1i6te  in  London,  was  made  six  or  seven  years 
ago,  by  Mr.  Leach, — taihsx  of  the  distinguished  humor- 
ous artist  of  that  name,— then  the  proprietor  of  Ander- 
ton's  hdtel,  in  Fleet  Street.  There  were  three  dinners 
every  day,  at,  if  I  remember  rightly,  the  respective  hours 
of  one,  three,  and  five.  The  number  of  persons  who  sat 
down  each  day,  varied  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  and 
fifty.  I  have  been  present  when  the  number  dining  ex- 
ceeded one  hundred  and  forty.  Though  the  price  per 
head  was  only  eighteen  pence,  the  dinner  vras  most  ex- 
cellent in  quality,  and  ample  in  quantity.  Everything, 
indeed,  was  of  the  very  best  quality  that  could  be  pro- 
cured. There  were  the  three  courses,  as  at  all  public 
dinners :  in  fiust,  the  table  dlidtes  of  Mr.  Leadi  were  ia 
every  respect  equal  to  what  is  to  be  had  on  those  publio 
occasions  when  the  ticket  is  a  guinea ;  only  there  was 
not,  of  course,  any  wine  or  dessert.  The  expectation, 
indeed,  of  the  thmg  ever  being  made  to  answer,  was 
grounded  on  the  supposition,  that  a  very  large  majoritjr 
of  those  who  sat  down  to  dinner,  would  order  a  given 
quantity  of  wine.  The  event  proved  how  erroneous  was 
the  calculation.  Not  more  than  one  in  twenty  **  took 
their  wine."  They  contented  themselves  with  Dr.  Wade's 
favourite  beverage,  ^  heavy  wet."  In  some  cases,  in- 
deed, they  acted  on  the  tee-total  principle,  though  tee- 
totalism  was  then  comparatively  unknown.  After  per- 
severing In  the  experiment  for  seven  or  eight  months, 
Mr.  Leach  found  himself  a  loser  by  the  speculation  to 
the  extent  of  several  thousand  pounds. 

The  principal  Fish,  and  Butchers^  Meat,  and 
Vegetable  Markets,  and  the  Jews  and  Quakers, 
famish  themes,  the  latter  not  much  to  the  purpose, 
perhaps,  but  which  helpto  ekeoutthe  requisite  num- 
ber of  pages.  But  there  are  other  topics  discussed, 
for  the  selection  of  which  the  writer  deserves  great 
credit.  Among  these  is  the  relative  condition  of 
the  different  classes  of  fellow-rationals  and  fellow- 
immortals  constituting  the  society  of  the  Great 
Metropolis.  We  have  already  said  that  we  do  not 
place  implicit  faith  in  this  writer's  statistics ;  but 
in  tiie  following  passage,  although  his  figures  should 
be  to  some  extent  erroneouB|  bis  sentiment  is 
thoroughly  correct:-* 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  LONDON  LIFE. 


2T 


AH  tiie  Tftried  phases  of  human  life  are  to  be  witness- 
ad  in  the  BetropoUs.  The  extremes  of  riches  and  poverty, 
of  Inxviwu  living  &nd  the  want  of  the  necessaries  of 
life,  are  booriy  exhibited  in  London,  in  more  marked  con- 
trait,periti|»,than  in  any  other  place  in  the  world.  Little 
do  tlio«  is  the  more  fashionable  parts  of  the  metropolis, 
vkiksve  been  niuaed  in  the  lap  of  opulence,  and  been 
ahvui  nrrounded  with  a  provision  of  the  luxuries  of 
£fc;  little  do  they  know  the  deep  distress  endured  by 
■yriids  of  the  lower  classes  in  the  central  and  eastern 


b  woo  a  emionB  and  not  unimportant  exercise  to  in- 
jliiit  iato  the  modes  and  means  of  living  which  obtain 
k  dw  liii^r  and  humbler  classes  of  metropolitan  so- 
de^.  Of  course  the  expenditure  of  aristocratic  fiunilies 
vines  with  the  dreumstances  and  habits  of  the  respec- 
tivi  heads  of  these  fiuniUee;  but  if  I  were  to  express  an 
ifiiioa  as  to  the  aTBiage  annual  e:qpenditure  <tf  eadi  of 
tk  2000  or  3000  tilled  Cunilies  who  live  in  London,  that 
oviaion  would  be»  that  such  average  expenditure  is 
ikwt  £12/>00.  I  have  often  thought  that,  if  the  sum 
fkas  yeariy  dissipated  on  the  follies  and  extravagances 
of  one  ftmily,  w«re  jndicionsly  distributed  among  the 
ftmt  daases  of  ear  metropolitan  population,  how  vast 
vmld  be  the  aggregate  amount  of  happiness  of  which  it 
would  be  produetire.  Supposing,  for  example,  it  were 
firidod  into  sums  of  £12,  and  that  that  amount  were 
lim  to  as  maay  families  as  there  are  £12  in  £12,000, 
tbi  bwiArtion  would  raise  no  fewer  than  1000  fiuailies, 
tt  prei8Bt  enduring  all  the  horrors  <tfwant,to  aoom- 

iteofeomparaliTe  oomfort 

It  js  painfU  to  tliink  that  the  aristocracy  should  feel 
10  fittie  sympathy  with  the  fate  of  the  suffering  poor.  If 
tiny  fpoe  only  to  sympathize  with  those  of  their  fb&6w- 
CMtans  in  London,  vriio  are  doomed  to  struggle  vrith 
IDntioos  which  almost  overmaster  their  powers  of  en- 
dmaoe,  they  could  never  bring  themselves  to  expend 
mk  inmense  sums  in  mere  folly  and  display;  while 
tkoeaads,  and  tens  of  thousands,  of  those  around  them, 
m  nftrfaig  all  the  honors  of  tiie  deepest  poverty.  I 
kwv  BstaiiQee  in  wliieh  &shionable  funilies  of  the  West 
Bad  expend  £500  on  a  single  rout.  Has  it  never  oo- 
mred  to  these  persons  that,£Ml  this  sum  been  judiciously 
tipoBded  on  the  famishing  poor,  it  would  have  provided 
1  pteateons  and  heaJthftil  meal  (assuming  the  expense  of 
mfa  bmI  to  be  sixpence)  on  no  fewer  than  20,000,  out 
^  4o  BOfiW  already  referred  to  as  rising  every  mom- 
wgtnm  their  beds  without  knowing  where  they  are  to 
piteire  a  meal,  or  whether  one  is  to  be  procured  at  all. 
IwiAtiiis  culpable  extravagance  were  confined  to 
Worn  moving  in  aristoeratio  circles.  It  prevails,  un- 
■|i|ily,  te  a  reiy  great  extent  among  persons  in  the 
Kddle  ranks  of  life.  Many  of  our  metropolitan  profes- 
Meal  nen — physicians,  lawyers,  and  others — live  at  the 
ate  of  £3000  or  £4000  per  annum;  while  thousands  of  our 
c^  menhants  and  other  tradesmen  expend  twice  that 
■■.  Even  some  of  our  literary  men,  ambitious  of  aping 
At  BaonerB  and  expenditure  of  the  great,  are  in  the 
kikit  of  giving  occasional  dinners,  the  cost  of  vrhich 
viQOi  from  £70  to  £1 00.  One  instance  of  a  dinner  lately 
era  by  a  literary  gentleman  to  a  party  of  his  friends, 
oae  under  my  notice,  ike  expenses  of  which  amounted 
to  ipwards  of  £125.  Such  extravagance  is,  in  any  case, 
Mdt;  as  well  as  at  variance  with  right  feeling.  In 
fto  ease  of  literary  men  it  is  especially  so,  fer  few  of 
^eft  are  In  ebenmstances  to  afford  it;  or  if  they  be  this 
y*»»their  peeoniary  aflkirs  may  be  in  a  very  different 
pMition  next  year.  Of  all  professions,  that  of  literature 
ii  the  most  precarious.  The  annals  of  modem  literature 
iR  cfowded  with  most  painfiil  illustrations  of  the  truth 
tfftcMobaervmtions. 

The  extravagance  whioh  prevails  among  the  middle 
wa  is  not,  perhaps,  so  strikingly  seen  in  anything  as 
^w  costliness  of  their  fhmiture.  The  late  Mr.  Hope, 
y^  of  **  Anastasius,"  fiimished  his  residence  at  £he 
•■••WIS  expense,  including  his  pictures,  of  £300,000. 
Wlhs  men  of  the  present  day,not  claiming  aristocra- 
i*  ««Beiionsy  thsre  is  none  so  celebrated  for  the  indnl- 
pott  ^an  e^^muxve  taste  in  fiimitnrcL  as  Mr.  Broad- 
W9,te  bnwer,  m  of  tiie  late  Mr.  Broadwood^  the 


eminent  pianoforte  maker.  The  former  gentleman,  who, 
it  ought  to  be  mentioned,  is  a  bachelor,  and  only  keeps 
a  suit  of  chambers  in  the  Albany,  Burlington  Street,  is 
said  to  have  a  collection  of  antique  ftirniture  in  his 
dravring-room  sJone,  which  cost  upv^ards  of  £15,000. 

From  a  section  upon  Dress-makers  and  MiUinert^ 
As&iskMts,  the  number  of  whom  is  probably  rather 
oVeTTated  at  16,000,  though  it  must  be  very  great, 
we  extract  the  account  of  their  hours  of  labour, 
which  are  excessive,  and  as  incompatible  with 
health  as  with  the  ends  of  a  rational,  probationary 
ezistMioe. 

The  usual  hour  at  which  dress-makers'  assistants  com- 
mence their  labours,  is  seven  in  the  morning,  and  tiiat 
at  which  they  close  for  the  day  is  eleven  at  night.  One 
half-hour  more  elapses  before  they  can  retire  to  rest,  and 
in  order  to  be  ready  to  resume  tiieir  needle  at  seven  in 
the  morning,  they  must  at  least  get  up  bv  half-past  six. 
The  average  amount  of  time,  therefore,  which  is  allotted 
them  for  rest,  does  not  exceed  seven  hours.  This  would 
be  obviously  too  little  for  delicate  female  frames — es- 
pecially at  the  critical  time  of  life  at  which  by  &r  the 
largest  portion  of  these  girls  are  apprenticed— even  were 
their  labours  light  and  of  short  duration  during  the  day. 
But  the  yery  reverse  is  the  painful  fBuet :  they  ply  the 
needle  without  a  moment's  intermission,  save  the  twenty 
or  thirty  minutes  allowed  them  for  eating  their  meal^ 
from  the  time  they  enter  the  work-room,  until  they  have 
quitted  it  for  the  night  Now,  surely  it  needs  no  medi- 
cal genius  to  tell  us,' that  to  poor  young  delicate  creatures 
thus  worn  out  day  after  day  fer  a  succession  of  monUis, 
vrith  fourteen  or  fifteen  hoturs*  unintermitting  toil,  seven 
hours'  repose  is  not  only  inadequate  to  meet  the  require- 
ments of  nature,  but  must  be  attended  with  the  greatest 
perils  to  the  constitution.  Nor  ought  I  to  omit  the 
mention  of  the  fe^st,  that  the  little  repose  allowed  them 
is  deprived  of  its  beneficial  eflbcts,  by  the  circumstance 
of  from  ten  to  twelve  of  their  number  being  compelled 
to  sleep  in  one  small  confined  bed-room. 

But  the  evil  if  merely  regarded  in  a  physical  light, 
does  not  end  here.  In  addition  to  the  ii^urious  effects 
of  these  protracted  hours  of  exhausting  employment  on 
the  bodily  health  and  spirits  of  these  girls,  they  are  pent 
up,  dnrine  the  day,  in  heated  rooms,  where  ike  luxury 
of  a  moutnfel  of  pure  air  is  seldom  ei^oyed.  Their  meals, 
too,  which  are  entirely  of  a  coarse  description,  and  alto- 
gether unfitted  for  the  subdued  and  delicate  appetite  of 
creatures  thus  employed  in  sedentary  labour  horn  mom 
to  night  are  snatched  up  vrith  an  expedition  vrhich  de- 
prives their  food  of  half  its  nutritive  qualities.  As  for 
digestion,  who  could  expect  that  process  to  go  on,  when 
the  transition  from  the  eating-apartment  to  the  work- 
table  is  contemporaneous  with  the  last  mouthfiil  they 
have  swallowed  1  Air  and  exercise  are  things  unknown 
to  them;  and  to  aggravate  the  physical  hardships  of 
their  condition,  they  are,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  sub- 
jected to  insults  and  to  irritating  language  from  those 
in  whose  employment  it  is  their  hard  lot  to  be. 

Such  is  the  usual  fate  of  dress-makers'  assistants,  in 
what  is  csdled  ''the  season,"  which  season  usually 
lasts  four  or  five  months  of  the  year,  beginning  in  Feb- 
ruary and  ending  in  July.  There  is  a  second  season,  of 
two  or  three  mon^'  duration,  towards  the  end  of  the 
year,  which,  though  not  so  oppressive  as  the  first,  is  still 
very  arduous.  On  urgent  occasions,  such  as  a  dravrinf- 
room,  a  ball,  or  other  greater  display  at  court,  the  hard- 
ships of  the  poor  assistants  are  increased  ten-fold. 

One  case  is  mentbned  of  a  young  and  delioate 
girl  who  was  not  permitted  to  lay  hersdf  down  on 
a  bed,  or  even  on  a  sofa,  for  nine  days  and  nights. 
But  the  fact  is  impossible.  If  she  had  not  dropt  her 
needle  in  less  than  half  that  time,  it  must  have 
been  because  she  had  fallen  down  herself.  What 
follows  is  unhappily  less  questionable:— 

I  have  myself  known  young  females  oome  up  from  the 
ooontry  to  servo  two  years'  apprenticeship  with  a  liondov 


28 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  LONDON  LIFE. 


dress-maker,  with  the  view  of  retaming  to  their  natiye 
place,  and  there  commencing  husiness  for  themselves. 
They  have  come  to  London  with  the  hloom  of  health  on 
their  cheeks,  a  flow  of  animal  spirits  in  their  manner 
ftnd  conversation,  and  a  general  appearance  of  life  ahont 
them,  which  were  delightftil  to  witness;  hut  before  four 
months  had  elapsed,  I  have  seen  them  so  pale,  emaciated, 
dispirited,  and  altered  in  their  appearance,  that  their 
own  relations  could  hardly  have  recognised  them. 

But  the  injury  done  to  their  health  is  not  the  only 
evil  which  results  from  the  deplorable  situation  of  dress- 
makers' assistants.  Anxiety  to  escape  firom  their  bon- 
dage, disposes  them  to  seize  with  eagerness  on  any  offer 
of  marriage  which  may  be  made  to  them,  without  bestow- 
ing much  consideration  on  the  disposition  of  the  party, 
or  his  character  or  circumstances.  Hence,  innumerable 
unhappy  marriages  are  the  result. 

Nor  is  this  all  The  unhappy  condition  of  young  dress- 
makers renders  them  an  easy  prey  to  the  evil  designs 
of  the  profligate  of  the  other  sex.  An  idle  protestation 
of  loye,  mendaciously  made,  is  readily  belicTed  by  them, 
and  an  immediate  deyiation  from  the  paths  of  firtue  fol- 
lows. By  and  by  this  first  and  solitary  aberration  from 
the  path  of  innocence,  is  succeeded  by  their  entire 
abandonment  to  a  guilty  course  of  life,  as  a  means  of 
obtainmg  a  Uyelihood.  Those  who  have  deyoted  much 
attention  to  tJie  subject,  assure  me,  that  the  number  of 
dress-makers'  assistants  to  be  found  among  the  wretched 
creatures  who  walk  the  streets,  is  very  great. 

Most  of  the  young  dress-makers,  especially  in  the 
West  End,  have  been  brought  up  in  circumstances  of 
eomparatiye  comfort,  and  have  receiyed  a  fair,  if  not  a 
finished,  education;  but  their  parents  being  either  dead, 
or  not  in  a  condition  to  provide  for  them  any  longer, 
they  have  been  placed  under  the  necessity  of  doing 
something  for  their  own  support,  and  hence,  as  the  most 
likely  means  of  earning  a  subdstence,  have  made  up 
their  minds  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  dress-making.  It 
need  not  be  added,  that,  having  been  thus  brought  up 
in  easy  circumstances,  and  receiving  the  advantages  of 
a  respectable  education,  they  are  thereby  rendered 
peculiarly  sensitive  to  the  hardships  of  their  lot.  Their 
delicate  frames  suffer  greatly,  and  their  susceptible  feel- 
ings are  keenly  wounded  where  females  of  more  robust 
constitutions  and  less  cultivated  minds,  would  neither 
receive  injury  nor  sufibr  annoyance.  Far  preferable  to 
their  condition  is  that  of  the  house-maid  or  the  servant- 
of-all-work.  Hie  latter  in  most  instances  is  not  worse 
off  now,  than,  in  all  probability,  she  was  during  the 
whole  of  her  life;  while  she  has  usually  the  advantage 
of  comfortable  meals,  and  in  all  cases  the  benefit  of  more 
or  less  exercise. 

But  what  perhaps  constitutes  the  greatest  aggravation 
of  the  miseries  of  the  poor  dress-makers'  assistant,  is  the 
fact  of  her  pitiable  condition  being  unpUUd,  The  mis- 
tress for  whom  she  toils  day  and  night,  has  no  commi- 
seration to  expend  on  her;  but,  on  the  contrary,  as  be- 
fore remarked,  deepens  the  distress  consequent  on  her 
monotonous  and  irksome  labours,  by  the  tyrannical  con- 
duct she  practises  towards  her.  Nor  has  the  poor 
creature  the  most  slender  share  in  the  sympathies  of 
those  for  the  adornment  of  whose  persons  she  exercises 
her  taste  and  vnutes  her  energies.  They  think  of  the 
dresses  which  she  is  engaged  in  making  for  them,  but 
have  not  a  thought  to  bestow  upon  her.  Ah !  little  does 
the  high-bom  and  high-bred  beauty,  who  is  to  figure  in 
the  biUl  or  at  the  drawing-room;  little  does  the  think, 
while  exulting  in  the  anticipated  conquests  she  will 
make  or  the  impression  she  wiU  produce,  of  the  jaded 
condition,  the  almost  broken  hearts  of  the  poor  delicate 
creatures,  who  at  that  moment  are  not  only  vrasting 
their  strength,  but  it  may  be  their  lives,  in  the  prepar- 
ation of  the  dress  in  which  she  is  to  appear.    .... 

A  word  or  two  now  in  reference  to  the  mistresses  of 
these  poor  creatures.  In  the  minority  of  eases — espe- 
cially in  the  West  End — ^mistress  milliners  and  drMS- 
makers  live  in  great  splendour.  They  rent  large  and 
fashionable  houses,  and  fbmish  them  in  a  style  of  great 
magnificence;  have  a  laige  retinue  of  servants;  receive 
formal  visiters;  and  give  expensiTe  parties  1    In  fSM^  it 


were  difficult  to  distinguish  from  the  style  of  frimitiire 
and  general  aspect  of  their  houses,  between  many  of  our 
mistress  dress-makers  and  aristocratic  funilies.  Need 
I  add  that  the  contrast  between  their  condition  and  that 
of  their  miserable  assistants,  only  aggravates  the  wretch- 
edness of  the  latter  t 

We  are  far  from  certain  that  all  is  gold  which 
glitters  among  the  mistresses,  bat  the  sufferings 
and  probable  destiny  of  too  many  of  the  assistants 
are  iacis  beyond  dilute.  Our  author  hopes  that 
those  who  interest  themselves  for  their  black  fel- 
low-creatures willnot  continue  to  oyeriook  this  most 
interesting  dassof  neglected  and  su£Rsring  creatures* 
A  very  great  number  of  other  young  women  in 
London,  as  in  all  the  greater  towns^  obtain  a  scanty 
subsistence  (for  a  living  it  cannot  be  called)  by 
their  needles,  as  shirt-makers^  collar  and  stock- 
makers^  book-stitchers,  fur  and  carpet-bag  sewers^ 
&c.  &c.  Their  condition,  though  not  worse,  or  not 
quite  so  bad,  with  respect  to  long  hours  during  any 
part  of  the  year,  is  much  worse  in  point  of  wages 
than  that  of  the  dress-makers.  Their  average 
earnings  do  not  exceed  six  shillings  a-week;  but 
their  wages  are  often  under  that  sum.  Many  of 
the  best  and  most  industrious  hands  can,  at  shirt- 
making,  earn  only  ninepence  a-day,  so  low  is  the 
rate  of  remuneration  for  this  article.  Those  that 
work  at  furs  earn  rather  more,  but  their  work  fails 
in  summer.  The  utmost  that  is  assumed  as  the 
average  weekly  gains  of  these  young  women, 
when  the  best  and  worst  trades  are  taken  together, 
is  eight  shillings ;  yet  we  cannot  see  how  that  is 
made  out,ifthe  previous  statementsare  correct  The 
best  paid  are  the  bookfolders  and  stitchers  in  certain 
large  establishments,  some  of  whom  earn  ten  shil- 
lings weekly.  This  writer's  opinion  on  one  point 
connected  with  the  condition  of  these  girls^  and  of 
others  employed  in  a  similar  way,  is  not  only  cha- 
ritable, but,  we  believe,  just ;  and  we  cite  it  the 
more  gladly,  that  we  have  seen  other  late  pretended 
statistical  works  representing  nearly  this  entire 
class  of  young  women  as  corrupted,  and  as  pro- 
curing dress  by  illegitimate  means.  In  noticing 
the  extent  to  whid^  they  generally  indulge  in 
showy  dress,  he  observes : — 

To  me  it  appears  that  in  most  oases  the  drcumstaneo 
may  be  accounted  for  from  the  &ct  of  their  living  with 
theur  parents  or  near  relations,  who  lodge  and  board 
them  either  gratuitously,  or  for  a  mere  ti^;  and  thus 
enable  them  to  expend  nearly  all  their  earnings  on  dress. 
In  other  instances,  where  the  parents  of  the  girls  are 
not  in  a  condition  to  afford  them  this  assistance,  they 
submit  to  many  privations  in  the  way  of  meals,  in  order 
that  they  may  be  able  to  indulge  their  passion  for  dress. 
Biany  of  them,  in  the  inforior  houses,  scarcely  ever  par- 
take of  any  otiier  food  than  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  slice  of 
bread,  morning  and  evening;  and  a  crust  of  bread  and  a 
morsel  of  cheese  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 

The  entire  number  of  the  young  women  thus 
earning  their  daily  bread,  is  assumed  at  37,800;  and 
all  of  them  who  are  \Mthout  other  honest  re- 
sources and  the  protection  of  friends  must  be  in  an 
unsafe  and  an  uncomfortable  condition,  and  one 
which  indeed  '^stands  in  uivent  need,  morally  and 
socially,  of  amelioration."  He  who  comes  forward 
to  make  the  attempt,  will  not  only  merit  the  gra- 
titude of  the  poor  creatures  themselves,  but  should 
be  hailed  by  society  as  a  genuine  philanthropist. 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  LONDON  UPE. 


29 


Tba  we  consider  the  most  important  and  reaUy 
fthtabU  chapter  in  these  rolumes ;  and  we  ear- 
nestly hope  that  it  may  fulfil  the  benevolent  in- 
tentions d  the  writer.  In  the  Strictures  on  Female 
Semntfi^  we  find  nothing  novel,  save  the  notice  of 
aa  inititiitkm  which  should  be  imitated  in  every 
touL  It  is  of  AServofO/ HcmCy  with  which  a  Re- 
giatijis  connected,  where  a  temporary  home  or 
lefbge  18  proTided  for  young  women  of  good  char- 
ideroot  of  place,  and  where  means  are  taken  to 
iiod  them  suitable  situations.  How  much  suffer- 
isf ,  miseiy,  de^Mur,  and  actual  vice  and  crime, 
vmag  fipom  destitution,  might  not  such  an  estab- 
IkhiDeDt  prevmt  in  all  great  towns.  As  to  the 
nethods  proposed  for  reforming  female  servants, 
althoogh  it  be  in  general  true  that  all  reforms — 
all  great  improvements — ^proceed  upward  from  the 


lower  classes,  and  are  forced  upon  the  higher — ^yet 
improvement  within  doors,  instead  of  marching 
upwards,  must,  we  apprehend,  to  be  effectual,  be- 
gin above,  and  descend  down  stairs.  It  is  quite  as 
sure  that  good  mistresses  wiU,  in  general,  make 
good  servants,  as  that  good  mothers  will  be  blessed 
with  good  children. 

The  work  includes  one  of  the  latest  miracles  of 
modem  London — the  public  v^ieles,  and  their  con- 
ductors, who  are  "eerily  a  people  as  peculiar  as  the 
Jews,  with  whom  it  closes.  From  the  chapter  on 
Benevolent  Institutions,  one  might  be  led  to  ima- 
gine that  there  is  no  misery  known  in  London,  for 
which  the  fitting  antidote  is  not  liberally  provided. 
We  need  but  recur  to  the  precedfaig  chapters  to 
learn  how  fallacious  is  this  opinion. 


THE  RECOVERED  MANUCTS  LAST  LETTER  TO  HIS  BHAUTIFUL  PHYSICLAN. 

"nefiii  vta  tirtnoos,  intdliseiit,  and  lovely,  and  eneoaraged  his  Tiaita  when  she  wu  told  that  she  was  beDtfitiiig  hia 
■oiil  hflddi.  She  asked  him  if  he  eonld  read  and  write.  He  answered  no.  She  wrote  some  lines  to  him,  to  indnee  him 
te  lea.  Tldfl  had  the  desired  effeet.  He  applied  himself  to  stody,  and  soon  wrote  good  and  sensible  letters  to  lier.**— Go>iii6s*f 
S^mikeUmtedStaies, 


flbv  oA,  aad  yet  bow  vainly,  do  I  strire 

To  eoiqmhend  the  daxkneas  of  the  past  $-- 

To  bre,  so  hmg,  been  what  is  called  alive, 

Ciknd^gsiiiiiiier'a  sun  and  winter's  blast; — 

Mflfqgaaong  the  various  and  the  vast, 

ionaUe  to  wonder  and  delight. 

To  k^  and  fear,  and  shame ;  and  thns,  at  last, 

Ek9  from  that  most  mieerable  night, 

Bn^l^  life's  shattered  lamp  for  loTe  to  reunite. 

^biitsLl  tie  a  strange  lot^— ay,  mnch  too  strange 

Foray  so  lately  quickened  heart  and  brain 

To  fed  seoDe,  lest  th'  all-glorioas  change, 

^Mght  by  thy  lovelinees,  may  pass  again 

lite  April's  wandering  sunbeams, — ^lest  the  chain 

Vydi  Bdted,  at  ihj  presence,  fh>m  my  mind, 

^Spring  melts  Winter's  snow  from  peak  and  plain, 

J^y^by  sone  dread  power,  again  designed 

Wdfc  its  Bost  callous  links  my  sinking  soul  to  bind. 

Ta  ittm  not  that  m  j  melaoeholy  gaze 

haon allied  to  nuMhiess  than  despair ; 

Ortbt  anght,  but  the  loss  of  thee,  can  erase 

Oh  wlma  thou  bast  delivered  firom  the  lair 

Of  ftstrdentleas  monster.    Ladyfiur! 

^  ftias  eyes'  light  upon  me,  I  defy 

^fte  stem  powers  of  darkness  to  ensnare 

MjniNB  in  their  net,  though  they  should  try 

To  ferce  me  back  again  with  hell's  whole  enginery  1 

^  fje  averted,  and  that  light  withdrawn, 

vny  Bjght  summon  madnees  to  my  aid. 

To  not  out  all  remembrance  of  the  lawn 

vUiaBy  life's  black  fbrest  thou  hast  made. 

Ail,  woe  is  ne !  that  this  bright  dream  must  flade, 

^^■Dt  By  prostrate  heart  with  such  unrest, 

Af  EiiTs  Boet  inexorable  shade 

wti  ht  efier  on  the  guilty  breast, 

nlitbeeones  the  hnd,  where  first  'twas  but  the  guest. 

}ct  I  la?e  known  no  guilt.    It  was  no  crime 

^■y eooBitthig,  that  shutout  the  light 

Of  itasoa  from  my  boyhood^ — ^blending  time, 

Aa^Meae,  and  dioimstance,  in  dreamless  night, 

jg^hagbg  roond  the  drele  of  my  sight 

P*  tep  nfeeliBg  darkness  of  the  grave : 

^J^^  heanty  had  sufficient  might 

npmstiiUj  that  dlsmid  prison-caye, 

n»  w^  10  poffrer  hut  thine  my  worthless  heart  could 


Angels  have  visited  the  sons  of  men^ 

When  the  worst  shape  of  tyranny  did  make 

The  quiet  nooks  of  the  green  earth  its  den. 

And  in  the  blood  of  peasants  strore  to  slake* 

A  thirst  that  is  insatiate.— They  did  wake, ' 

Within  those  lowly  hinds,  the  latent  fire 

Whose  embers  still  defy  oppression's  rake ; 

And  suddenly  uprose  each  son  and  sire 

To  strangle  on  their  hearths  the  sordid  slaves  of  hire. 

Spirits  have  answered  the  inquiring  mind, 

Rissolying  mjrsteries  of  fUth  and  fitte ; 

Genius  and  Truth  have  been  to  human  kind 

An  ever-aotive  power,  to  recreate 

The  purity  of  that  primeval  state 

Whidi  crhne  has  so  obscured. — But,  maiden  I  naught 

In  all  the  ages  of  our  nature's  date. 

Has  to  ano&er  brain  and  bosom  brous^ht, 

As  thou  didst  bring  to  mine,  through  love,  the  li|^  of 

thought  I 
Thy  glorious  image,  in  my  heart  enshrined. 
Seems  ever  animating  Nature's  feice 
With  flashes  of  a  spirit  more  refined 
Than  any  which  the  multitude  can  trace 
In  the  cold  common  eartibu—It  doth  embrace 
All  objects  that  the  eye  can  gaze  upo%-- 
Brightening  and  blending  hues,  and  giving  grace' 
To  all  the  various  forms  that  fieat  and  run 
Beneath  the  quickening  glance  of  the  all-dreling  son. 

The  mom  I  met  thee  was  a  sunny  mom. 

And  dewy  flowers  were  glittering  in  its  light ; 

The  wind  swept  softly  o'er  the  green-eared  com, 

To  rouse  it  ttom  the  slumbers  ot  the  id^t; 

And  the  small  braaohes  of  the  forest's  hel^t 

Were  waving  like  a  banner  o'er  its  head; 

And  harmonies  and  odours  did  unite. 

With  all  the  forms  of  beauty  which  they  fed, 

In  vain,  from  my  crushed  heart  to  lift  its  weight  oflead^ 

Until  tAy  form  was  added  to  the  scene ; — 

Until  thy  glowing  fiace  and  kindling  eye 

Turned  into  shade  the  very  morning's  sheen. 

And  from  the  Spirits  of  the  earth  and  sky 

Drew  fortii  a  wondering  and  admiring  sig^  :— 

For  httie  thought  they  ever  to  behold 

Beauty  that  sl^uld  their  brightest  nymphs  outrie 

In  any  human  things— whose  mortal  mould 

Has  httle  else  but  tales  of  dime  and  misery  told  I 


30 


THE^MANIACS  LETTER. 


The  masio  of  thy  Toice  fell  on  my  ear, 

KoaBing,  like  the  last  trumpet,  from  the  dead 

The  mind's  long-dormant  energies ;  while  olearj 

And  deep,  and  soft,  its  nutgic  accents  spread 

A  web  of  glory  round  my  loosened  head. 

And  wove  a  robe  of  light  for  my  cold  breast. 

Beneath  whose  radiance  naked  madness  fled, 

To  find,  in  some  dark  cell,  that  gloomy  rest 

Which  it  may  seek  in  yain  where  Loyo  becomes  agnest ! 

Thus  I  beheld  thee  1    Thus  the  yision  wrought 

The  restoration  of  my  wandering  mind ; 

Yet  is  there  more  Uian  madness  with  the  thought 

Of  thine  approaching  bridal-rite  combined. 

Words  would  but  mock  a  misery  so  refined, 

Should  I  attempt  to  garment  it  in  speech ; 

And  noTer  was  a  doom  to  man  assigned, 

(A  lesson  of  endnranee  e'en  to  teach,) 

That  flung  a  feeble  heart  bq  high  aboTd  hope's  reach. 


Flowers  bloom  not  on  the  lofty  mountain's  brow, 

But  its  untrodden  wreath  of  snow  is  pure ; 

There,  though  in  Beauty's  ear  Love  breathes  no  tow, 

A  Spirit  dwells  from  Falsehood's  voice  secure,-— 

And  from  the  thousand  phantasms  that  lure 

The  flckle  and  the  foolish  on  their  way, — 

Communing  but  with  objects  that  endure, 

Nor  subjected  to  any  otltor  sway 

Bat  Hit  whose  hand  leads  cm  alternate  night  and  day. 

While  there  is  beauty  in  the  earth  and  sky 
There  may  be  peace  in  some  sequestered  nook. 
Blaiden !  if  thou  art  happy,  I  will  try 
In  sober  sadness  on  my  lot  to  look. 
Though  thou  art  gone,  shall  I  be  all  fbrsook 
By  t£>se  delightM  thoughts  thy  presence  ga?» 
When  sombre  madness  to  its  centre  diook. 
And  trembling,  like  a  superstitious  slave. 
Departed  to  the  gloom  of  ita  own  hopeless  grave  1 

L.  D. 


JEANNBTTE  THE  FEARLESS. 

▲  bomantiotale:  gouNDgp  ON  AN  mcipmiT  IN  THE  BjrauBK  OP  THB  WLua  wwm  rZAfklAiM* 

**  Major  in  exiguo  regnahat  corpore  virtus.**— StatiUS. 


In  our  most  joyous  hours,— when  we  yield 
ourselves  u|>  to  the  ahtmdan  of  careless  gaiety  and 
pleasure — when  our  hearts  are  light  as  the  gos- 
samer, and  volatile  as  the  sephyr  which  lifts  it  firom 
the  ground — when  all  the  earth  looks  hright^  and 
we  forget  for  a  while  that  there  is  Sorrow  or  sad- 
ness on  its  surface,  that  canker  riots  in  the  greenest 
bud,  and  the  serpent  lurksbeneath  the  flower ! — ^that 
moment  would  seem  to  he  specially  chosen  by  the 
Demon  to  remind  us  that  we  are  fallen,  by  fiercely 
demonstrating  the  power  virhich  pristine  error  has 
imparted  to  the  enemy  of  human  kind.  From  be- 
hind the  curtain  of  life,  while  before  it  in  all  the 
glare  of  gayest  revelry,  we,  "  players  merely,'*  are 
disporting  our  antics  in  unbridled  mirth,  he  pro- 
trudes his  grisly  head,  and  grins  and  gibbers  in 
the  midst  of  our  enjoyment,  chuckling  viith  fiend- 
ish exultation  over  the  combustion  which  wiU 
speedily  blaze  out  amidst  all  our  fragile  scene- work 
and  tinsel  finery,  and  mixing  the  terrible  ingre- 
dients of  a  deadly  poison,  to  be  heedlessly  drained 
by  us  with  our  most  intoxicating  draught  of  plea- 
sure. 

It  is  some  compensation  for  the  frailty  of  our 
common  nature,  and  for  the  evils  which  that  frailty 
entails  upon  its  possessors,  that  virtue  has  a  power 
of  self-Bustainment  which  can  blunt  the  sharpest 
arrows  of  misfortune ;  that  heroic  souls  may  dwell 
even  in  the  slightest  forms;  that  the  feeblenessof  age 
and  sex  may  be  canonized  by  the  firmest  resolution ; 
and  that  the  great  lesson  of  tranquil  and  silent 
suffering  is  often  most  forcibly  inculeated  in  quar^ 
ters  where  human  eyes  would  detect  nothing  but 
weakness, — a  benignant  Providence  outstripping 
in  their  case  the  effcurts  of  stoic  indifference  and 
philosophic  pride  to  support  the  pressure  of  cala- 
mity. 

Jeannbtte  JAOQtTELiNE  was  JTOung, — she  had 
but  reioched  her  nineteenth  year;  livdfy  and  Intel* 


ligent,  as  the  soul  which  flashed  through  her  elo- 
quent eyes  abundantly  demonstrated ;  and  singu- 
larly beautiful,  as  the  recollection  of  every  surviv- 
ing seaman  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  see  her, 
when  she  was  lifted  almost  lifdess  on  board  the 
BeUeisley  will  readily  testify.  Her  face  was  one  to 
be  remembered  for  ever,  in  the  words  of  a  French 
prisoner  of  rank,  who  shared  her  fate  at  Trafalgar, 
it  was  a  face  ^^pcw  faire  tawner  la  iitela  plus 
dwreP  Her  large  and  full  dark  eyes  denoted  her 
Burgundian  orgin;  and  her  forehead,  white  and 
smooth  as  sculptured  marble,  had  its  clear  albdtre 
relieved  by  the  most  beauti^illy  pencilled  brows; 
while  a  rich  profusion  of  raven  locks,  glossy  and 
silken,  clustered  in  natural  ringlets  round  a  foce, 
whose  charms  were  not  (as  is  the  case  with  most 
of  her  countrywomen)  confined  to  a  single  feature 
— ^the  lustrous  and  soul-piercing  eyes — ^but  equa- 
bly diffused  over  all.  Artless  simplicity  ^ve  an 
added  sweetness;  candour  and  benevolence  left 
everywhere  their  impress  in  the  breathing  beauty 
of  the  mind.  Lips  redolent  of  roseate  freshness; 
teeth  of  the  purest  pearly  whiteness;  a  delicately 
rounded  cheek,  bespread  with  peach-like  bloom; 
a  contour  altogether  classic  and  statuesque; — all 
these  harmonizing,  blending,  and  relieving  each 
other  with  that  marvellous  symmetry  which  fixes 
the  eye  upon  some  master-piece  of  art — ^the  divine 
creation  of  a  Phidias  or  a  Canova — and  forbids  it 
to  select  one  feature  upon  which  to  dwell,  where 
all  are  perfect — where  each  by  its  podtion  imparts 
and  derives  a  ^  double  charm  :** — such  was  the  un- 
exaggerated  character  of  Jeannette's  beauty,  when, 
six  months  before,  she  was  the  flower  of  the  vil« 
lage  of  Sainte  Marie^  within  a  fow  leagues'  distance 
of  Charmes  on  the  Moselle. 

Jeannette  was  the  youngest  of  six  children^— the 
promising  fomily  of  a  comfortable  fanner;  ot  (to 
speak  more  accurately)  of  a  small  landed  proprietor 


JEANNETTE  THE  FEARtESS :  A  ROMANTIC  TALE. 


81 


— ^  the  IMiectoiy  had  recently  broken  np  the 
hrge  estates,  and  completely  altered  the  territorial 
tennree*  Tbt  migration,  ^vd^ch  in  several  instances 
ensoed  upon  thb  memorable  change,  had  attracted 
her  fiither  northwards  from  Borgondy  to  the  fer* 
tife  territoiy  which  is  watered  by  the  Moselle.  Of 
the  fbnr  sons,  two  had  already  been  draughted  off 
hj  the  military  conscription;  one  remained  at 
lioiiie  to  aid  his  father  in  the  management  of  the 
hrm;  Jeannette,  assisted  by  a  yonnger  sister,  mo« 
deftly  sapeiintended  the  dairy  and  the  poultry- 
yvd;  and  the  youngest  boy  was  prosecuting  his 
rtiufies  at  Rheims,  being  intended  for  the  profes- 
Bon  of  the  law,  of  which  one  of  his  maternal 
uneleB  was  a  distinguished  member. 

It  were  stnmgey  indeed,  if  a  maiden  of  Jeannette's 
nperior  aUractions — brought  up,  too,  under  the 
eye  of  a  most  excellent  mother,  whose  amiable  as 
ifdl  as  yalnable  qualities,  together  with  an  un« 
raffled  sweetness  of  temper,  she  was  generally  re- 
puted to  inherit — ^had  not  gathered  upon  herself, 
as  widi  a  lens,  the  rays  of  passion,  and  glances  of 
lore,  which  sped  from,  the  hearts  and  eyes  of  the 
ad^^ibouring  swaina.  And  gather  them  she  did 
(ahhough  unwittingly)  in  abundance.  It  is  not 
our  purpose  to  lay  the  full  particulars  of  unsuc- 
cesalid  courtahips  and  rejected  offers  before  our 
leaden.  Suffice  it,  that  Jeannette's  heart,  though 
it  bad  long  been  saed  for  in  vain,  was  found  at 
lait  to  be  not  inexorable.  A  numly,  and  high- 
Bonkd  youth,  Aiiguste  Choiseul  by  name,  became 
the  cbosen  companion  of  her  evening  walks  on 
tbe  banks  of  the  delicious  MoseUe,  wMch,  here  a 
pieaont  streamlet,  flows  gently  with  sloping  vine- 
jnuds  <m  either  tdde,  and  swelling  in  its  course, 
poms  its  blue  waters  onward  amid  the  most  en- 
e&aating  scenery,  till  it  mingles  with  the  storied 
Ibiiie  at  Coblenz. 

By  the  margent  of  this  infant  flood,  were  Au- 
pBte  and  Jeannette  to  be  seen  every  evening  at 
^■k,  gathering  tlie  fairest  of  the  wild  flowers  that 
grow  in  neglected  abundance  on  the  green  sward 
"Mdx  flkirts  the  stream,  or  watching  the  rising  of 
a  &Tourite  star,  or  haOing  the  silver  radiance  of 
&e  fltin  lovelier  moon,  and  poring  together  by  her 
mM  benignant  light  over  ihe  beautiful  pastorals 
tf  Flaian,  ao  sweetly  in  unison  with  that  dellght- 
ffH  aeene.  Auguste  would  read  aloud,  yet  with 
nMaed  emphaaia  that  denoted  the  depth  of  feeling 
i>itldn;  and  Jeannette  would  listen  to  the  rich 
tooea  of  his  manly  voice,  while  a  tear  stood  in  her 
eye,  as  the  fervent  language  of  the  poet  painted 
tbe  sorrow B  of  GcdaUe  or  Estelle;  and,  as  she 
viflud  hand-in-hand  with  her  Auguste— her  ac- 
ttpted  lover,  and  the  accepted  of  her  parents — she 
vodd  gaxe  Into  his  dark  eyes,  and  whisper  with 
&  tremuloas  Toice: — *^  My  Auguste,  we  are  not 
^ttkiiied  to  BorrowB  like  theirs,— our  lot  is  of  un- 
9ilB|led  happinessl**  Alas,  for  the  fallacy  of  hu- 
«a&h£]pes! 

He  fete  of  ^  M&ry  of  the  Valley  fell  upon  a 
b^Kltfiil  day  in  August.  The  beautiful  rustic 
chuBk  was  adorned  for  this  occasion  with  all  that 
fvtilj  of  taate  and  simple  elegance  for  which  the 
» of  this  district  are  famed.  The  ancient 
«f  file  Yli^sis,  reared  upon  a  central  and 


elevated  platform,  was  attired  in  the  richest  silks, 
garnished  with  gold  and  strings  of  pearl.  Her 
pantouffles  were  of  embroidered  satin,  adorned  with 
the  most  tastefully  disposed  rosettes ;  and  the  brace- 
lets which  encircled  her  arms,  as  well  as  her  neck- 
lace of  brilliants  and  antique  ear-pendants,  were 
supplied  ^m  the  Chateau.  A  diadem,  that 
sparkled  in  the  eyes  of  the  villagers  with  imperial 
lustre,  encircled  her  brows,  and  the  eJBRgy  of  the 
infant  God  in  her  arms  bore  a  crown  which  they 
believed  to  be  unrivalled  in  its  magnificence. 
Clusters  of  waxen  tapers  dazzled  the  eye  in  every 
part  of  the  church,  and  sparkled  with  reflected 
beams  amidst  the  ornamental  parure  which,  upon 
this  favourite  festival,  lavishly  decked  the  image 
of  the  village  protectress.  In  the  most  conspicuous 
portions  of  the  houses  of  the  more  pious  inhabitants, 
smaller  figures  of  La  Sainte  Vierge  were  adorned 
with  scarcely  inferior  care,  and  lighted  tapers  were 
placed  in  her  hand,  as  well  as  in  that  of  her 
blessed  Son.  Placed  at  such  a  distance  from  Paris, 
these  happy  viQagers  knew  little  of  those  recent 
events  with  which  the  world  had  been  made  to 
ring,  and  sympathized  still  less  with  their  promo- 
ters. 

The  service  of  the  day  was  duly  performed.  In- 
cense floated  to  the  roof  of  the  Gothic  pile.  The 
solemn  Mass  was  chanted  at  the  altar;  and  the 
responses  given,  if  not  with  cultivated  skill,  at 
least  with  natural  taste,  and  unmixed  fervour, 
by  the  village  choir.  The  "  Salve,  Regina !"  and 
the  "Alma  Redemptoris  Mater!"  were  sung  by 
fifty  voices;  the  Sloge  of  the  Virgin's  transcendant 
merits  was  pronounced  from  the  beautifully  carved 
pulpit  by  the  cur^;  the  saliU,  with  all  its  gorgeous 
attributes,  incense  and  cope,  and  crystal  ^pyz>" 
and  the  swelling  strain : 

Paage,  hngiia,  gloriori^ 
Corporis  mysteidnm  1 

all  these  rites  were  accomplished  with  the  wonted 
continental  punctiliousness.  The  Church  poured 
forth  its  stream  of  eager  votaries;  and  the  village 
green  became  the  universal  point  of  attraction.  In 
the  centre  was  erected  an  image  of  the  Virgin,  and 
round  this  were  placed  rows  of  benches,  on  which 
the  elder  portion  of  the  community  proceeded  to 
take  their  seats.  At  one  side,  the  village  band  of 
musicians  occupied  an  elevated  position,  and,  after 
sundry  efforts  of  preparatory  dissonance  to  secure 
the  *'  concord  of  sweet  soimds,"  as  lively  an  air  was 
struck  up,  as  if  revelry  and  not  worship  were  the 
work  from  which  they  had  just  proceeded.  Places 
were  soon  taken,  and  the  spirit-stirring  eontre  dcmse 
was  at  once  commenced  with  all  that  enthusiasm 
which  is  so  peculiarly  French,  and  upon  a  scale  so 
extensive  that  it  would  have  puzzled  the  most 
skilled  in  the  evolutions  of  a  modem  drawing-room. 
In  thb  first  dance,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  state, 
that  Auguste  and  Jeannette  were  partners.  With 
conscious  pride  did  their  parents  survey  their  grace- 
ful movements ;  and  a  pair  more  suited  for  each 
other  it  would  indeed  be  difiBcult  to  conceive. 

Of  the  beauty  of  Jeannette's  face  we  have  already 
endeavoured  to  convey  some  faint  notion.  The 
exquisite  symmetry  of  her  form  we  shall  find  it 


32 


JEANNETTE  THE  FEAfiLESS:  A  ROMANTIC  TALE. 


still  more  diffiealt  to  portray.  Rather  mi^nonne 
than  otherwise,  her  shape  was  of  that  peculiar  ex« 
cellence  which,  under  every  new  phase,  exhibits  a 
new  beauty.  The  bust  was  perfection,  and  its 
exquisite  snowy  swell,  slightiy  revealed  according 
to  tiie  custom  of  that  day,  might  have  diverted  a 
follower  of  the  Prophet  from  his  first  glimpse  of 
Paradise.  The  arms  hung,  as  if  a  sculptor  had 
disposed  them.  The  beautiful  neck,  witii  which 
was  disclosed  a  portion  of  the  smooth  and  pearl« 
tinted  shoulders,  supported  the  small  and  lovely 
head  at  that  precise  angle  which  is  characterized 
as  the  line  of  beauty.  The  toumure  was  the  very 
limit  of  grace ;  the  limbs  floating  in  native  and  un« 
constrained  freedom  displayed  to  the  captive  eye 
the  untaught  ^^  poetry  of  motion."  Thidjupon  re- 
vealed by  the  outer  robe,  which  was  gracefully  fes- 
tooned with  a  bow  at  either  side,  did  not  descend 
so  low  as  altogether  to  shroud  the  symmetry  of  a 
matchless  ancle;  and  the  foot — **ce  petU  pM 
d'amowrP* — which  might  have  exercised  the  fancy 
of  a  hundred  sonneteers,  with  half  its  charms  un- 
told, tapered  away  ben^th  a  high-arched  instep 
into  a  graceful  minctiUy  which  completed  the  picture 
of  bewitching  loveliness. 

Upon  this  exquisite  figure  the  eyes  of  old  and 
young  were  centred.  Of  Jeannette's  dancing  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  it  was  worthy  her  natural  gifts, 
and  of  her  partner  that  he  was  worthy  of  her.  Of 
a  commanding  figure,  yet  not  too  tall;  square- 
shouldered,  deep-chested,  and  lightiy  limbed ;  erect 
in  stature,  with  a  head  nobly  set,  manly  features, 
clustering  curls,  and  the  eye  of  an  eagle,  Auguste 
was  no  disgrace  to  the  hand,  which  was  his  for  the 
dance,  and  was  destined  to  be  his  for  life.  No  eye 
could  trace  disparity  in  their  personal  accomplLdi- 
ments,  as  there  was  none  whatever,  in  their  social 
stations.  Both  were  the  children  of  respectable, 
though  small,  proprietors  of  land  in  the  same  com- 
mune. Even  tiie  jaundiced  eyes  of  envy  could  de- 
tect no  flaw  in  Auguste's  reputation;  her  croaking 
voice  would  not  dare  to  forbid  the  bans.  While 
afiection  hallowed,  worldly  suitableness  sanctioned 
the  union ;  the  necessary  preliminaries  had  all  been 
adjusted ;  and  the  nuptials  were  fixed  to  take  place 
within  the  octave  of  the  present  festival. 

The  dancing  was  succeeded  by  those  rural  sports, 
of  which  the  French  are  so  passionately  fond. 
M&U  de  eooagne  exercised  the  youthful;  and  the 
graceful  games  of  running  in  a  sack  for  a  prize, 
and  straining  to  retain  possession  of  refractory  pigs 
by  their  caudal  appendage — ^the  said  appendage 
being  carefully  soaped  beforehand-— employed  the 
energies  of  many  of  the  older;  while  the  more 
manly  sports  of  shooting  with  the  ^^  arc  ^  la  perche," 
and  the  ^^  grand  arbal^te,"  leaping,  and  flinging  the 
bar,  occupied  the  more  ambitious  amongst  the 
adidt  male  community.  Music,  instrumental  and 
vocal,  filled  up  the  intervals  of  varied  amusement. 
The  delicious  wine  which  the  banks  of  the  Moselle 
abundantly  produce,  circled  freely,  but  not  intem- 
perately,  amongst  the  festive  groups  which  dined 
that  day  of  freKo^  old  as  well  as  young — ^meats 
prepared  on  the  previous  day,  and  an  unbounded 
profusion  of  fruit,  constituting  the  bulk  of  the  re- 
past.   Health  and  contentment  formed  a  more 


potent  sauce  than  the  most  piquant  oondixHent  ol 
palaces ;  and  in  the  jocund  laugh  which  arose  from 
every  group  there  sounded  nothing  hollow. 

Marmontel  has  drawn  a  very  pleasant  picture  of 
a  species  of  Optimist  Island — ^a  philosophical  £1 
Dorado,  where  the  customs  and  institutions  of  tha 
old  world  are  unknown,  where  (jproh  pudorl)  a 
temporary  choice  usurps  the  place  of  marriage ;  and 
the  earth  supplies  the  dwellers  thereon  with  a  spon- 
taneous sufficiency : — a  richly  tinted  cabinei-pio- 
ture,  which  looks  pretty  in  the  closet  where  it  is 
painted,  but  fades  the  moment  it  b  exposed  to  the 
glare  of  day !  All  that  is  rational  in  the  enjoyment 
which  Marmontel  describes — all  that  is  reconcilable 
with  the  promptings  of  the  unstained  soul,  was 
realized  that  day  by  the  happy  villagers  of  Sainte 
Marie.  In  every  large  assemblage,  whether  in 
town  or  country,  the  leaven  of  iniquity  is  sure 
to  be  mixed  up;  but  here  there  was  perhaps  as 
much  of  innocence  as  can  fall  to  the  lot  of  our 
chequered  humanity. 

A  clapping  of  hands  from  the  untutored  master 
of  the  ceremonies,  and  a  coup  d*archet  from  the 
leading  violinist,  summoned  the  dancers  once  more 
together.  The  oldest  couple  in  the  village  was  this 
time  amongst  ihsfigtaram  ;  and  even  lameness  took 
part  in  the  amusement,  without  eliciting  one  un- 
kind remark  from  the  amiable  and  genuine  polite- 
ness which  uniformly  presides  in  France  over  these 
rustic  merry-makings.  The  dancing,  as  usual, 
waxed  warmer  and  more  excited,  as  the  evening 
grew  later.  Featiy  they  footed  it  in  the  midst  of 
the  figure  **L'E^t;"  and  it  is  doubtful  whether 
a  single  soul  amongst  them  was  aware  of  a  hostile 
approach,  when  they  were  suddenly  surrounded  by 
armed  men ! 

"  Yield  up  your  gay  galliards  to  the  naval  con- 
scription, in  the  name  of  the  Republic!"  exclaimed 
a  man  of  stentorian  lungs,  the  leader  of  the  ban<L 
*^  If  they  would  dance,  it  must  be  on  the  ocean,  en 
face  de  ces  chiens  d^AnglaisP* 

Consternation,  terror,  dismay,  took  possession  of 
the  souls  of  the  villagers.  Mothers  trembled  for 
their  sons ;  girls  for  their  lovers ;  the  old  for  their 
protectors;  the  young  for  their  companions.  The 
air  was  fiUed  with  lamentation,  but  in  vain.  The 
conscription  is  inexorable ! 

It  is  needless  to  dwell  on  the  details  of  a  heart- 
rending scene.  The  band  which  surprised  the 
peaceful  village  of  Sainte  Marie,  acted  under  the 
immediate  orders  of  the  Directory.  The  ports  of 
France  had  been  ransacked  for  sailors,  and  the 
rural  districts  must  furnish  their  quota  of  marines. 
Food  for  powder  must  be  extensively  provided,  and. 
all  for  the  glory  of  France !  Unlike  our  own  press- 
gangs,  these  men  acted  with  a  show  of  l^al  regu— 
larity.  The  village  roll  was  called  over,  and  the 
ages  of  the  several  inhabitants  extracted  from  the 
parochial  register.  Nevertheless,  this  formalitjr 
was  merely  delusive*  Substantially,  it  was  an  im- 
pressment, although  without  knockh^  on  the  head.. 
The  leader  of  the  gang  knew  well  his  r^  and 
played  it  to  perfection.  Not  a  single  square^ 
shouldered,  muscular  youth  was  left  out  of  him 
summary  conscription.  Tears,  entreaties,  ofifers  of 
pecuniazy  substitution  he  turned  from  with  a  deadT 


JEANNETTE  THE  FEARLESS:  A  ROMANTIC  TALE. 


dd 


Mr.  ''Ay^bodied  galUardSy  brave  and  hardy 
jmttiii''-'-Uie8e,  he  said,  were  what  the  Republic 
wanted  to  man  her  nayies,  and  humble  the  pride 
ol  Bhstuma's  wooden  bulwarks.  Need  we  say 
thai  kapsl^  was  amongst  the  number  of  the  xji- 
Im^iHief  With  a  proudly  submissive  air,  he 
lareMmself  from  the  arms  of  the  almost  frantic 
JeuDette,  invoked  a  blessing  on  her  head,  mur- 
Bued  a  broken  adieu,  that  almost  rent  his  heart- 
fltni^js— kissed  her  burning  forehead,  and,  within 
two  boon  of  the  period  of  tiiis  terrible  intrusion  on 
the  peaceful  mixih  of  a  secluded  village,  had  set 
oat  on  his  way  to  Toulon,  strongly  guarded  amidst 
tile  flower  of  its  male  population. 

imoqgst  the  severest  afflictions  of  life  is  the  rude 
fiooption  of  the  ties  which  we  have  formed  in  our 
fngnm  throu^  its  vicissitudes.  The  separation 
Ij  main  fcmse  of  a  limb  from  its  parent  trunk — a 
kmr  which  makes  humanity  shudder — is  a  forci- 
ble^ but  not  too  strong  analogy. 

The  fleeh  wHl  quiver  where  the  pincers  tear ! 

&  sondered  fibres  shake  with  a  convulsive  move- 
Bent  And  as  the  heart  will  ^  ding  like  a  tendril" 
to  whatefer  is  nearest  and  dearest,  when  the  chains 
vticfa  have  bound  its  afiections  are  rudely  snapped 
aanader,  the  revulsion  is  most  fearful  to  contem- 
pitte.  This  it  is  which  invests  dissolution  with 
its  woiat  tenors^  both  to  the  parting  soul  and  to  the 
mnifon;  which  makes  the  word  ^farewell," 
iBoDgst  bdoved  friends,  so  difficult  to  pronounce; 
and,  when  that  word  is  compulaorily  uttered— 
whathe  separation  is  forcibly  efiBected — ^when  a 
fcufid  fatnxe  stares  us  in  the  face — ^when  proba- 
bi%  conjures  up  before  the  loving  heart  the  terri- 
Ue  image  of  an  eternal  adieu — ^makes  the  ^  drown- 
iof  eye  and  choking  utterance"  but  feeble  images 
i£tte  pangs  which  rend  the  soul,  and  invests  the 
ibddai]^  reality  of  existence  with  the  pall  and 
ibnid  of  death! 

To  say  that  Jeannette  was  horror-struck,  agon- 
M  maddened,  were  a  faint  expression  of  tiie  dis- 
Bij  whidi  took  poasessbn  of  her  soul.  There  was 
^  one  on  earth  for  whom  she  cared — ^but  one  with 
^W  her  flympathies  were  complete — ^the  master 
<if  Wr  fate--her  idol — her  enchanter !  And  from 
ba  had  she  been  torn  but  a  few  hours  before  they 
*(nto  have  been  united  indissolubly — ^for  ever! 
U  afloe  talk  of  grief  that  have  not  witnessed  the 
im^ef  eoeh  a  separation.  What  was  life  to  her, 
vithoit  him  for  whom — ^withwhom  alone  she  chose 
teifil  What  was  thiB  earth  to  her  with  all  its 
plmiaiit  places,  its  joyous  sunbeamsand  its  fragrant 
^onoi  without  him  who  could  impart  savour  to 
^  isa^Md,  and  greenness  to  the  barren  ? — without 
^^  tile  most  glowing  prospect  were  a  blank,  and 
^'Q'lhue  mere  sterility  ?  Her  young  heart  and  his 
Weaaooe.    Enough  that  they  were  torn  asunder ! 

She  wept  not — she  spoke  not — she  did  not  even 
>gh !  They  bore  her  home  to  her  father's  house  ; 
%ltid  ho-  down  uponh«r  little  bed.  Herfather 
■^  hs  mother,  and  her  sister,  tended  her  with 
*^^  aaaiduity ;  but  all  unconsciously  she  lay 
*hik  two  sons  roee  and  set.  And  then  she  woke 
bom  her  inmce,  and  wept  long  and  bitterly  ;  and 
^Itceame  cahner,  and  then  she  took  her  resolution. 


The  scene  of  our  simple  tale  now  shifts  to  Toulon. 
The  fleet  of  the  Republic  there  lay  at  anchor.  The 
conscripts  had  all  undergone  the  process  of  drilling ; 
and  to  each  was  allotted  that  portion  of  the  public 
service,  for  the  discharge  of  which  he  seemed  to  be 
best  fitted.  Auguste  had  been  draughted  with 
several  of  his  fellow  villagers  on  board  the  Aehille^ 
a  seventy-four  gun-ship.  The  post  of  gunner  was 
allotted  to  him  as  suited  to  his  superior  intelligence, 
which  had  displayed  itself  in  a  sort  of  mechanical 
docility,  even  while  his  mind  was  far  away  on  the 
banks  of  the  sweet  Moselle.  At  first  he  was  moody 
and  doggedly  indifferent ;  but  the  example  of  the 
enthusiasm  by  which  he  was  surrounded  operated 
upon  him  insensibly.  A  patriot,  although  immov- 
ed  by  the  plottings  of  political  schemers,  he  could 
not  long  remain  an  uninterested  spectator  of  pre- 
parations in  which  the  glory  of  ^  La  Jeune  France" 
was  so  deeply  involved.  Gradually  his  heart  awoke 
from  its  trance — ^he  learned  even  to  seek  relief  from 
brooding  care  and  home-sick  anxiety  by  an  active 
participation  in  the  stirring  scenes  which  were 
bustlii^  around  him ;  and  cruelly  and  unjustly  as 
he  had  been  torn  from  his  home,  he  began  to  long 
to  plant  in  the  hands  of  his  country,  that  goddess 
of  every  Frenchman's  idolatry,  the  ^dent  of  Ocean 
with  the  sceptre  of  Earth.  He  applied  himself 
vigorously  to  his  allotted  tasks ;  and  progressed  so 
rapidly  in  the  estimation  of  his  commanding  officer, 
that  he  was  appointed  captain  of  one  of  the  guns. 

The  bustle  of  preparation  had  almost  completely 
subsided  ;  the  signal  for  departure  was  hourly  ex- 
pected, when  a  youth,  dad  in  the  homespun  garb  of  a 
Burgundian  peasant,  applied  to  a  boat's  cqbw,  which 
was  just  pushing  off  from  shore  for  the  Achillea  be- 
seeching them  to  take  him  on  board.  He  was 
laughed  at  by  the  men,  but  repeated  his  entreaty  in 
tones  of  such  earnest  supplication,  declaring  him- 
self an  orphan  with  no  visible  means  of  support, 
who  would  do  anything  to  make  himself  useful  on 
board  ship,  and  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  diare 
in  the  defence  of  his  country,  that  the  lieutenant, 
who  sate  in  the  stem  beneath  the  waving  trieohr^ 
moved  by  the  soft  and  plaintive  tones  of  his  voice, 
and  perhaps  still  more  by  the  good  looks  of  the 
youth,  idiich,  bronzed  as  he  was  by  an  autumnal 
sun,  were  nevertheless  strikingly  apparent,  good- 
humouredly  exclaimed,  ^*  Ala  bonne  heure,  mon 
jeune  h&o  !  France  hath  need  of  the  arms  of  all 
her  bra/oet.  We  shall  find  a  place  for  you  on 
board  VAohUUy  though  it  were  but  to  assist  the 
cook  in  the  cabouse,  or  perform  the  r6le  of  a 
powder-monkey !"  Right  joyously  did  that  youth 
leap  on  board  the  pinnace.  In  truth  he  seoned  to 
restrain  himself  with  difficulty  from  screaming 
aloud,  so  great  was  his  delight ;  and  the  heroic 
empreeeement  of  one  so  young  was  hailed  by  the 
sanguine  as  an  omen  of  success. 

^e  signal  rocket  was  fired  from  the  heights  of 
Fort  St.  Denis;  the  anchors  Were  weighed,  and 
the  stately  fleet  held  its  course  S.S.W.  for  Cadis. 
The  English  ^hounds"  were  there  before  them. 
Cressy,  and  Poictiers,  and  Agincourt>  blimed  in  the 
recollection  of  every  Frenchman ;  and,  unable  to 
effect  by  land  the  subjugation  of  the  British  Lion, 
they  longed   to   harpoon  the  Ocean  Mammoth* 


84 


JEANNETTE  THE  FEABLESS:  A  BOMANTIC  TALE. 


"Longed!"    There  was  not  a  cabin-boy  in  all  that 
fleet  ti^t  did  not  feel  assured  of  success! 

The  springal,  whose  eagerness  to  join  in  the 
afiray  we  have  just  commemorated,  was,  soon  after 
the  sailing  of  the  fleety  added  to  the  gang  of  which 
Auguste  had  the  charge,  his  allotted  task  being  to 
hand  powder  up  from  the  magazine  during  the  ac- 
tion which  was  soon  expected.  What  was  there 
in  that  youth's  appearance  which  challenged 
Auguste's  attention — which  riveted  his  fixed  gaze? 
What  was  there  in  his  embrowned  lineaments 
which  could  awaken  remembrance  ?  Gratuitous 
demand  I  What  effort  at  diQguise  can  shroud  that 
knowledge  to  which  the  heart  at  a  bound  intui- 
tiyely  attains?  The  youth  saw  that  his  secret 
was  discovered.  Before  the  anchor  was  weighed, 
he  had  kept  himself  shielded  from  observation. 
But  now  that  it  was  impossible  to  put  him  on 
shore,  he  felt  that  farther  effort  at  concealment  was 
unnecessary.  He  placed  the  forefinger  of  his  right 
hand  on  his  lips,  with  the  other  laid  hold  of  Au- 
guste's blouse,  and  whispered  the  single  word,  **  De- 
scend !"  Down  they  went,  where  Uiere  was  none 
to  observe  them.  In  an  instant  the  stranger  youth 
flew  into  Auguste's  arms,  clung  to  him  with  pas- 
sionate fervour,  and  covered  his  face  with  kisses ! 
Is  it  necessary  to  write  down  that  adventurous 
youth's  name  f  Has  not  the  reader's  heart  divined 
it?  It  was  Jeannettb ! 

To  the  rapture  at  this  unlooked-for  meeting, 
which  took  possession  of  Auguste's  heart,  suc- 
ceeded deep  horror  of  the  dangers  to  which  his 
loved  Jeannetta  was  about  to  expose  herself^- 

"  An^e demavief*  h»  exclaimed, " thou knowest 
not  the  fearful  perU." 

"  Peril !  I  fear  it  not,"  was  her  reply.  "  /aw 
with  thee  f 

"  But  thou  shalt  not  remain.  Thou  must  be 
put  on  shore." 

"  Augusts !  wouldst  thou  kill  me  ?  Part  with  me 
now,  and  we  shall  meet  no  more." 

"  If  thou  hast  no  pity  on  thyself,  forlorn  maiden, 
have  pity  on  me." 

"  Anguste,  dost  thou  love  me  ?  Not  a  word  more ! 
If  thou  lovest  me,  not  a  word!  I  will  share  thy 
perils,  or  die !  Put  me  on  shore,  if  thou  wilt.  But 
the  ocean  is  deep,  and  there  are  headlong  preci- 
pices by  its  side.  Auguste,  I  am  thine  i  I  shall 
not  live  without  thee  1" 

Auguste  wept,  and  pressed  her  to  his  bosom. 
He  saw  that  she  was  resolute,  and  he  yielded  to 
the  invincible  determination  of  that  slender  girl. 
But  a  new  horror  aroused  him. 

"  Thy  sex !  thy  sex !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Were 
it  once  suspected,  what  single  arm  could  shield 
thee  from  the  licentiousness  of  lawless  men?  Thy 
sex  !  thy  beauty !  Man  Dieuf* — and  he  covered 
his  eyes  with  his  hands,  as  if  to  shut  out  some 
fearM  image. 

"  Auguste,  fear  nothing.  I  have  tinged  my  face 
and  hands  with  the  walnut  juice.  No  eyes  will 
dwell  on  the  dusky  traits  of  a  poor  BiAeamn. 
They  will  never  suspect  me." 

Auguste  at  once  saw  that  she  was  right.  All- 
powerfol  love  could  alone  have  enabled  him  to 
pierce  in  a  moment  through  her  well-invented 


disguise.  Her  complexion  was  as  brown  as  though 
she  had  been  exposed  from  infancy  to  the  fierce 
action  of  a  Southern  sun.  The  peasant  garb  hung 
loosely  around  her  exquisite  form,  and  gave  her 
merely  the  air  of  a  graceful,  though  ill-clad  boy ; 
clumsy  shoes  concealed  those  prettiest  of  feet ;  and 
her  long  and  lovely  hair  gathered  up  on  the  top  of 
her  head,  beneath  a  rude  but  closely-fitting  straw 
hat,  left  only  a  few  ringlets  to  be  seen  at  either  side, 
which  challenged  no  remark  amongst  sailors,  pro- 
verbial for  the  attention  which  they  pay  to  tlie 
culture  of  their  chevelure, 

Auguste's  anxious  heart  raised  new  scruples; 
but  the  heroic  girl  was  unbending,  and  she  silenced 
them  all  with  one  long  kiss  of  love. 

Tfie  scene  now  shi^  to  the  theatre  of  a  mighty 
and  memorable  conflict :— - 

Twas  in  TrafUgor  Bay 
We  saw  the  Frenohmen  lay ; 
Each  heart  was  bounding  then  I 

But  why  attempt  to  describe  that  glorious  action, 
the  events  of  which  are  stamped  on  the  memory  of 
every  true-born  Briton,  as  Nelson's  name  is  en- 
graven on  their  hearts?  Why  seek  to  portray 
the  merits  of  a  victory  'vdiich,  in  the  words  ii 
Lord  CoUingwood's  deq>atoh,  **  added  a  ray  to  the 
glory  of  the  British  crown,  and  conferred  a  lasting 
benefit  on  the  British  nation"?  Why  dweU  on 
the  events  of  the  fearful  engagement,  when  the 
heart  reverts  irresistibly  to  that  exterminating 
fire  from  the  tops  of  the  EechubtaMe^^ihht  ambush 
of  musquetry  which  slew  our  noble  chief  in  the 
arms  of  victory-^which  pierced  his  gallant  heart 
(for  it  was  in  the  left  breast  that  he  was  struck) 
in  the  very  hour  of  his  fame's  brightest  consum- 
mation— sealing  with  a  hero's  blood  the  bond  of 
endless  gratitude,  to  which  his  couniay  has  sworn 
fidelity— which  ducal  coronets  heaped  upon  hia 
head  could  have  ill  discharged — ^which  will  render 
his  name  immortal  through  aJl  time  ?  Let  us  ra- 
ther return  to  the  subject  of  our  tale. 

In  the  very  hottest  of  the  action,  the  AchiUB, 
which  had  been  engaged  with  an  English  seventy- 
four,  took  fire!  Amid  the  roar  of  cannon,  the 
sufibcating  smoke  beldied  forth  at  every  broadsicle, 
and  the  infernal  rattie  of  grape-shot  and  shells, 
Jeannette  had  maintained  her  dangerous  position 
fearlessly,  passing  to  and  fro  with  buckets  of  powder 
from  the  magaeine-ro<Hn  to  the  gun,  of  idiich  her 
Auguste  had  the  charge,  with  unflinching  regula- 
rity ;  and  for  all  the  perils  to  which  she  exposed 
herself,  she  felt  abundantiy  recompensed  by  one 
glance  (as  she  arrived  at  her  destination  with  each 
fresh  supply  of  that  fuel  of  destruction)  which 
assured  her  of  her  lover^s  safety.  Of  herself  she 
thought  not ;  his  image  absori>ed  her  souL  En- 
gaged on  the  lowest  gun-deck,  neither  Auguste  nor 
any  of  those  near  him  had  the  slightest  suspidon 
of  the  fearful  danger  that  invested  them.  But,  as 
the  Englishman  sheered  ofi^,  on  perceiving  that  he 
had  silenced  his  antagonist's  fire,  and  as,  on  the  roar 
of  the  artillery  ceasing,  the  cry  of  **  Fire !"  from 
the  upper  deck  became  audible,  this  fresh  and  im- 
minent peril  appalled  the  most  stout-hearted. 
Auguste  seized  Jeannette  by  the  arm,  and  rushed 
to  the  ladder;  but  at  that  moment  the  smoke 


JEANNETTE  THE  FEARLESS!  A  ROMANTIC  TALE. 


35 


isned  down  the  opening  in  black  and  thickening 
Tohanei^  and  threatened  to  produce  instant  suffo- 
citioiL  The  npper  part  of  the  yessel  was  entirely 
in  iuBtt.  Bat  Angnste  was  neverthekss  deter- 
mined  (omeh  the  deck  above.  He  mshed  for  a 
mooKDt,  bearing  Jeannette  in  his  arms^  to  one  of 
the  jwft-hdes  for  air,  and  returned  to  accomplish 
tW  fmiM  ascent.  But  the  ladder  now  was  bum- 
n§,  lad  eertain  death  awaited  them  in  that  quar- 
ter. To  pasfly  without  destruction,  was  impossible! 
Hey  hurried  down  to  the  gun-room,  but  even  this 
US  filled  with  smoke;  and  the  pain  of  breathing 
kcaae  ahnost  intolerable. 

*^MmDim,fMfa»ref**  exclaimed  the  agoniz- 
ed Angnste. 

He  gazed  for  an  instant  in  Jeannette's  face,  ^d 
saw  the  heroic  girl  smiling ! 
«  God,"  aha  said,  **  wm  protect  us  r 
If  there  he  an  incarnate  angel,  it  is  faithful  wo- 
oan  m  the  hour  of  peril  and  suffering. 

Aignste  nuhed  to  the  port-holes  of  the  gun- 
loom,  and  tried  them  successively ;  but  they  were 
too  floall  to  admit  his  passage.  He  gnashed  bis 
teeth  in  despair. 

^  God  will  protect  na !"  again  exdaim^  the 
nUnggirL 

In^  fearful  position  of  peril,  which  taxed  to 
their  itmost  limit  the  powers  of  human  endurance, 
Uf-«lfoeatad  they  beaded  the  decks,  one  after 
nother  ga^e  way,  till  at  last,  with  a  fearful  crash, 
the  fins  eame  tumbling  down  to  the  deck  on  which 
t^7  itood.  Some  were  crushed  to  atoms ;  others, 
m^rieking  agony,  leaped  oyerboard.    JdcumeUe 

^  oowaidly  deserdon  defiled  the  fearless  char- 
•eter  of  Aagiiete^  even  at  that  terrible  hoipr^  He 
vmtniek  by  a  portion  of  the  falling  timber,  and, 
itoned  lor  the  moment^  was  hurried  along  unre- 
■ttag  by  his  frantic  fellow-sufferers.  They 
taaUed  orerboard  together.  Some  sank  to  rise 
iOBon ;  others,  more  fortunate,  clung  to  achanoe 
ffVy  and  aiatched  life  from  the  very  jaws  of  death. 
A^gmte,  lerired  by  the  immersion,  was  amongst 
t^  Bomber. 

Left  all  alone^  in  this  dire  extremity,  Jeannette's 
i>Utahle  courage,  and  reliance  in  Proyidence, 
^  Ml  forsake  her. 

''God !  Thou  wilt  protect  me  f  she  exclaimed, 
vithdaaped  hands^  and  with  eyes  raised,  amidst 
^  terrific  havoc  around  her,  to  Heaven. 

But  the  fire  oontiniied  to  rage,  and  to  approach 
^;  and,  as  Ae  knew  the  position  of  the  maga- 
zine, «he  expected  to  be  blown  up  every  instant 
with  the  ship!  She  tried  to  effect  a  passage 
l^n^ghrthe  stem  port-hde  of  the  gun-room ;  but 
■^vaia.  Her  dothae  were  too  bulky.  Coolly  as 
thoigh  Ab  were  about  to  bathe  in  the  most  retired 
ad  iBTitu^  waters  of  the  limpid  Moselle — ^her  na- 
tneteam--aheundressedherBelf,let  downherfiow- 
io|  hur— for  even  in  that  dread  extremity  the  pride 
^■aidenhood  forsook  her  not— and  crept  through 


the  port-hole.  She  clasped  the  rudder-chain.  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  Heaven,  and  awaited  the  fearful 
explosion,  which  she  knew  was  at  hand.  Cool  and 
collected  was  her  calculation  that,  in  the  breaking 
up  of  the  ship,  the  rudder  would  become  separated 
from  it ;  and,  if  Heaven  protected  her  from  death  at 
the  awful  moment  when  the  enormous  mass  of  pow- 
der became  ignited,  that  she  might  use  the  rudder  as 
a  kind  of  raft.  There  she  clung,  abandoned  but 
not  yet  hopeless,  her  lovely  form  suspended  be- 
twixt earth  and  heaven,  with  nought .  to  shield  it 
from  the  rude  sea-breeze,  and  nought  to  sustain  it 
but  the  maiden's  own  undaunted  heart.    But 

On  horror's  head  horrors  acciuniilate  ! 

The  lead  from  the  poop,  melted  by  the  flames,  ran 
down  like  burning  pitch  upon  her ;  every  drop 
pierced  to  her  souL  Her  agonies  were  sharpened 
beyond  endurance,  and  she  fell  into  the  sea  ! 

Not  even  here  did  her  self-possession  desert  her. 
The  cooling  waters  assuaged  her  pain,  and  revived 
her  powers  of  endurance.  She  grasped  at  a  piece 
of  spar  which  floated  near  her,  and  she  still  was 
buoyant  above  the  waves.  The  guns  on  the  lower 
deck  of  the  Achilte  soon  exploded  with  terrific 
force — ^yet  they  harmed  her  not.  But  now  the 
flames  had  reached  the  magazine,  and  with  tre- 
mendous roar  the  ship  blew  up  ! 

Jeannette  was  still  unharmed;  and  when  that 
appalling  sound  died  away,  she  found  herself  still 
buoyant  amidst  floating  pieces  of  wreck.  At  this 
instant  two  barges  from  the  Belleisle  approached 
the  scene  of  destruction ;  and,  amongst  the  few 
survivors,  picked  up  Jeannette.  Who  shaU  pic- 
ture the  astonishment^  the  superstitious  dread,  with 
which  these  gallant  tars  lifted  into  the  boat  this 
lovely  Nereid — ^her  polished  limbs,  which  sculp- 
ture could  but  feebly  imitate,  and  all  the  ravish- 
ing symmetry  of  that  beauteous  form,  veiled  by 
no  other  covering  than  that  which  her  long  dark 
hair,  falling  round  her  like  a  veil,  supplied  ?  Just 
breathing,  but  almost  inanimate,  she  was  laid  on 
the  floor  of  the  barge,  and  the  covering  which  even 
the  luxuriant  folds  of  her  tresses  too  scantily 
furnished,  was  supplied  by  the  gallant  oflftcer  in 
command,  who  covered  her  with  a  portion  of  hia 
clothes.  Carefully  wrapped  up  in  garments  which 
displayed  the  insignia  of  the  British  naval  sendee, 
and  gradually  restored  to  perception,  she  was  con- 
veyed on  board  the  BeUeisU;  and  recognising  on  the 
topmost  step  of  the  companion-ladder  her  faithful 
lover,  who  had  been  picked  up  by  the  other  boat^ 
she  fell  weeping  on  his  bosom,  and  exclaimed — 

**  My  Auguste ! — ^my  Auguste ! — ^I  knew  that 
Crod  would  protect  us !  The  English  conquer  to 
save  1" 

Auguste  and  Jeannette  spent  many  an  after 
year  in  their  native  village,  loving  and  loved  on 
the  vine-clad  banks  of  the  Moselle,  surrounded  by 
their  blooming  offspring,  and  blessing  the  clemency 
of  English  victors. 


dc 


THE  GLASGOW  MORTALITY  BILL  FOE  1840.» 


,  Th£  municipal  authorities,  and  especially  the 
gentlemen  connected  with  the  pubUc  institutions 
of  Glasgow,  deserve  the  greatest  praise  for  the  at- 
tention they  have  for  many  years  paid  to  statis- 
tics connected  with  the  city,  and  its  hospitals  and 
charities.  This  science,  hitherto  comparatively, 
if  not  entirely,  neglected,  is  at  once  the  basb 
and  the  director  of  reforms  and  improvements, 
whether  legislative  or  administrative, — ^whether 
affecting  the  moral  or  the  physical  wellbeing  of 
communities.  The  Tables  of  the  Mortauty  Bili^ 
twenty-six  in  number,  are,  we  make  no  ques- 
tion, accurate ;  and  they  have  been  examined  and 
approved  by  a  Committee  of  the  Town  Council. 
But  with  them,  though  possessing  interest  of  vari- 
ous kinds,  we  do  not  at  present  concern  ourselves ; 
the  Letter  or  Report  prefixed  to  them,  and  the 
general  remarks  by  which  they  are  followed,  being 
sufficient  for  our  immediate  purpose,  of  drawing 
attention  to  the  rapid  advances  which  extreme 
poverty,  and  its  sure  concomitants  and  attendants, 
misery,  filth,  disease,  and  a  high  rate  of  mortality, 
are  making  in  those  places  which  were  once  proudly 
termed  the  **  seats  of  the  national  industry." 

One  startling  fact,  with  which  the  report  sets 
out,  is,  that  high  as  the  mortality,  relative  to  the 
population,  has  been  during  the  last  ten  years,  it  is 
even  greater  than  has  been  represented  in  the  mor- 
tality bills.  This  inaccuracy  has  been  owing  to 
the  e$timated  population  of  the  city  having  been 
assumed  as  greater  than,  by  the  national  census 
taken  in  June  last,  it  b  found  to  be  in  reality. 
Within  the  last  ten  years,  or  from  1830,  the  con- 
dition of  the  bulk  of  the  inhabitants  of  Uie  city  of 
Glasgow  has  deteriorated  to  an  alarming  and  most 
painful  degree,  and  the  rate  of  mortality  has  in- 
creased in  proportion.  "  It  is  painful,"  i^e  report 
states, 

To  observe  the  great  change  which  has  taken  place  for 
the  worse  in  the  sanatory  condition  of  Ghtsgow  since 
1881.  From  the  official  report  of  the  census  of  Lanark- 
shire, which  I  lately  had  occasion  to  submit  to  the  Hon- 
oorable  Archibald  Alison,  sheriff  of  the  county,  it  ap- 
pears that  the  average  annual  amount  of  deaths  during 
the  five  years  previous  to  1831,  was  as  1  to  41*47,  or 
2*39  per  cent,  compared  with  the  poprdation  of  that  year; 
whems  during  the  five  years  previous  to  1841,  the  ave- 
nge annual  number  of  deaths,  when  compared  to  the 
population  of  that  year,  amounted  to  1  in  35*59,  or  2*97 
per  cent  It  will  be  observed,  however,  that  though 
these  proportions  give  a  true  indication  of  the  sanatory 
condition  of  Glasgow  at  1831,  compared  with  that  at 
1841,  yet  both  give  too  ftvourable  aview  of  tiie  average 
mortality  of  these  years,  because  stating  the  proportion 
to  the  population  of  the  last  year  only;  the  average  an- 
nual deaths  for  these  last  five  years  are  to  the  mean 
(corrected)  population  of  these  years  as  1  to  30*41,  or 
8*28  per  cent.  It  also  appears,  from  tiie  same  report, 
that,  while  the  average  annual  number  of  deathei  of 
children  during  the  five  years  previous  to  1831,  were  to 
the  population  of  that  year  as  1  to  101*96,  during  the  five 

*  The  GUsgow  Mortality  Bill  for  1840.  Drawn  up 
by  Alexander  Watt,  Esq^  by  order  of  the  Lord  Provost 
and  Magistrates  of  the  City.  Gbsgow :  W.  G.  BUckie 
^Co.  I 


years  previous  to  1841  they  amounted  to  1  in  75*41  of 
the  population  of  that  year. 

These  are  facts  that  cannot  be  too  strongly  brouj^ 
under  your  notice ;  for  although  the  representations  to 
government  which  have  lately  been  made  by  you  as  a 
body,  in  coigunction  with  those  of  many  other  municipal 
authorities  of  Scotland,  have  not  yet  been  suooessfol  in 
securing  the  adoption  of  measures  fitted  for  the  removal 
of  those  causes  which  are  known  to  be  so  detrimental  to 
the  health  of  the  inhabitants  of  large  towns;  yet  as  tiiis 
subject  is  of  so  much  importance  to  the  wellbeing  of  this 
rapidly  increasing  community,  it  is  exceedingly  desirable 
that  your  exertions  to  procure  a  beneficial  change  should 
not  be  relaxed. 

As  in  every  other  large  city,  disease  and  morta- 
lity prevail  to  a  much  greater  extent  in  certain 
quarters  and  suburbs  of  Glasgow  than  in  others ; 
and  from  causes  common  to  all  large  towns.  In  all 
of  them,  as  well  as  here,  it  is  found  that, — 

'^  CcBterii  paribut,  the  mortality  increases  as  the  density 
of  the  population  increases;  and  when  the  density  and 
the  population  are  the  same,  that  the  rate  of  mortality 
depends  upon  the  efficiency  of  the  ventilation,  and  of  the 
means  whidi  are  employed  for  the  removal  of  impuri- 
ties," the  flEMsts  elicited  by  the  late  census  go  a  great  way 
to  account  for  the  high  increase  of  mort^ty  which  has 
taken  place  in  Glasgow  since  1831.  In  Goibals  proper, 
where  there  is  one  inhabitant  for  every  seven  squaie 
yards  of  surfkee,  including  houses,  streets,  lanes,  &0.,  the 
population  has  increased  20*39  per  cent,  since  1831, 
though  no  new  buildings  have  been  erected.  And  in 
Blackfriars  parish,  where  few  new  buildings  have  been 
erected,  the  increase  of  population  since  1881  is  upwards 
of  40  per  cent. 

Some  hope  of  improvement  is  expressed  from  the 
introduction  of  those  legislative  measures  at  pre- 
sent contemplated,  for  improving  the  health  of 
towns,  by  better  drainage  and  ventilation,  which 
were  discussed  in  a  late  number  of  this  Magazine, 
and  by  a  revision  of  the  poor  laws,  for  which,  along 
with  nearly  all  the  municipal  bodies  of  the  king- 
dom, the  Town  Council  of  Glasgow  lately  petitioned 
parliament. 

The  increase  in  the  population  of  Glasgow,  and 
of  the  other  manufacturing  towns  in  Scotland,  such 
as  Dundee,  is,  we  apprehend,  anything  rather  thai] 
a  natural  and  healUiful  increase.  In  reference  tc 
Glasgow,  it  is  here  ascribed  to  an  influx  of  th« 
working-classes  into  the  city  and  suburbs  in  quesi 
of  work,  *^  in  numbers  which  considerably  exoeec 
tiie  demand  for  labour,  and  consequently  the  mean 
of  obtaining  a  comfortable  subsistence."  This  h 
stated  as 

One  of  the  causes  of  the  deterioration  which  is  rapidlj 
taking  place  in  the  condition  of  our  population  in  i^ 
many  localities ;  an  opinion  strongly  borne  out  by  ik^ 
reports  made  by  the  enumerators  for  the  census,  of  tl 
cases  of  destitution  which  attracted  their  especial  noiic 
to  the  effect,  that  of  such  cases  the  great  nugority  i 
natives  of  Inland. 

By  the  present  poor-laws,  there  are  many 
of  extreme  destitution  among  these  unwelco: 
strangers  which  cannot  be  efiectively  met,  and  hen^ 
the  unchecked  growth  of  the  evils  complained  oj 
namely,  dense  numbers  shut  up  in  narrow  spac^ 
bad  ventilation,  misery,  disease,  death ! 


THE  GLASGOW  MORTALITY  BILL  FOR  1840. 


S7 


From  the  General  Remarks,  which  follow  the 
lUdei,  we  copy  the  subjoined  passages,  which  are 
pregnant  with  matter  for  reflection.  To  the  con- 
■dotiion  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  we  especially  recom- 
mend tkem.  Their  moral  is  not  limited  to  Glas- 
gow ^- 

Htdettk  of  children  in  1839  amounted  to  50*16  per 
cart.  «f  the  wliole  deaths;  in  1840  they  amounted  to 
41^  per  «aL  of  the  whole  deaths.  Unfortunately, 
bMniv,  tine  sppuent  improvement  in  the  yitality  of 
e&fldien  mder  Uut  age  is  not  borne  ont  by  a  comparison 
with  the  iBoant  of  population,  as  the  deaths  of  children 
mderiTB  ynn  of  age  in  1839  were  to  the  population 
u  1  to  69^,  whereas  in  1840  they  were  as  1  to  6770. 
Tkoe  on  be  no  greater  proof  that  something  is  neces- 
017  to  be  done  to  amelimte  the  social  condition  of  the 
people,  than  that  the  mortality  among  children  is  so  high, 
u  it  is  wen  aseertained  that  the  deaths  among  children, 
btjoid  a  certain  point,  may  be  considered  to  be  in  an 
inene  rrtio  to  the  care  that  is  taken  of  them,  and  to  the 
pieper  syftem  that  is  pursued  with  regard  to  their  food, 
ckduB^  and  exercise. 

haoddi^  the  mortality  of  children.  Sir  James  D'lyer- 
B»  obeerres,  *  if  the  different  states  of  Europe  were  to 
bep  aad  pebliih  eyery  year  an  exact  account  of  their 
popoIaticB,  careftilly  stating,  in  a  separate  column,  the 
ftecM  ages  at  whidi  children  have  died,  that  separate 
calna  weold  exhibit  the  relative  merits  of  the  govern- 
■AtSjas  indicative  of  the  comparative  happiness  of  their 
■Ige^  A  fimple  statement  of  figures  would  then  be 
amemeliisiTe  upon  this  point  than  any  other  arguments 
tbt  enld  be  adduced."  Mr.  Porter,  in  his  excellent 
iteistieal  work  on  the  Progress  of  the  Nation,  very  justly 
reaaibyon  the  above  paragraph,  ''that  governments 
cuasi  with  reason  be  held  to  be  the  source  of  all  the 
cimMtooees,  fiivourable  and  unfkvourable,  which  affect 
^  bi9ftBes8  of  a  conntry."  Yet  the  knowledge  of  these 
hdifcnas  a  strong  restfon  for  urging  forward  those  sa- 
Mtarj  inpTovements  in  which  so  deep  an  interest  is 
tika,both  as  regards  the  .unhealthy  condition  of  many 
pvtins  of  the  city  itself,  and  also  as  to  those  evils  which 
inifroa  the  destitute  state  of  so  many  of  the  poorer 

dlBBl 

Ibst  the  proportion  of  the  deaths  of  children  under 
fi^Tcan  of  age,  in  1840,  bears  a  smaller  proportion  to 
tbe  whole  deaths  than  they  do  in  1839,  arises  chiefly 
^  a  greater  number  of  the  adult  inhabitants  having 
^eitdr  by  fever. 

He  number  of  deaths  from  fever,  always  great 
m  Gla^w  for  many  years  back,  was  very  great 
iadted  in  the  year  1840.  And  fever  cases  are,  in 
S^^  attended  by  most  distressing  consequences 
« eolliteral  effects.    It  is  remarked— 

^w  fifteen  years  of  age  and  upwards,  no  less  than 
™*»^wrth8  of  the  deaths  by  fever  took  place  (exclu- 
sj»  «f  those  constantly  sick)  at  those  periods  of  life 
*«>  the  parties  dependent  on  their  own  labour  might 
"«Midered  as  being  able  to  support  themselves,  and 
*^  luge  proportion  of  them  as  being  the  means  of 


supporting  others,  such  as  their  own  families  and  aged 
parents.  And  to  add  to  the  evil,  so  far  as  the  value  of 
labour  is  concerned,  the  proportion  of  deaths  by  fever 
among  males  and  females  at  these  ages  was  as  100  males 
to  75' 19  females  ;  thus  still  further  enhancing  the  evils 
attendant  on  poverty  and  destitution.  Were  it  neces- 
sary to  show  that  the  funds,  as  well  as  the  persons,  of  the 
rich  are  affected  by  the  present  state  of  the  city,  in  order 
that  strenuous  measures  may  be  adopted  to  urge  forward 
those  sanatory  improvements  of  which  the  city  and  its 
inhabitants  are  capable,  and  which  they  so  much  require, 
it  will  be  found  in  the  greater  amount  of  fhnds  paid  to 
the  poor  during  those  years  in  which  there  is  a  greater 
prevalence  of  sickness  and  of  death,  especially  among  the 
adult  population,  than  in  those  years  when  the  city  is 
more  healthy.  That  the  increase  and  virulence  of  fever 
are  to  be  attributed,  in  addition  to  the  destitute  state  of 
many  of  the  inhabitants,  to  those  pestilential  vapours 
arising  from  the  want  of  proper  drainage,  and  the  proper 
circulation  of  pure  air,  in  many  portions  of  large  towns, 
and  in  none  more  than  in  our  own  city,  is  clearly  proved 
by  the  evidence  now  before  the  country.  It  does  not  so 
clearly  appear  how  hjc  the  other  diseases,  besides  fever, 
which  cause  death,  are  affected  by  the  same  causes;  but 
as  it  appears  that  in  Glasgow,  in  1840,  nearly  one  death 
in  every  seven  (7'17)  was  caused  by  fever,  and  that  one  in 
every  three-and-a-fourth  (3*25)  deaths  was  caused  by 
the  two  groups  of  diseases,  fever  and  eruptive  fevers,  it 
forms  matter  for  most  serious  consideration,  and  decid- 
edly proves  that  no  time  ought  to  be  lost  in  carrying  for- 
ward those  sanatory  improvements  in  contemplation. 
This  is  a  question  that  comes  home  to  the  bosom  of  every 
family:  for  although  these  diseases  may  be  chiefly  pro- 
pagated, and  may  rage  with  the  most  fatal  effects  in  the 
unwholesome  abodes  of  the  poor,  the  contagion  soon 
passes  from  street  to  street,  and  from  one  district  of  the 
country  to  another,  and  the  rich  become  sufferers  as  well 
as  the  poor. 

Were  the  Drainage  Bill,  recently  introduced  into  Par- 
liament, to  be  carried  into  effect,  it  certainly  tPcnUd  be  one 
step  in  the  right  direction.  But,  in  order  more  effectually 
to  arrest  the  progress  of  disease  in  Glasgow,  and  to  raise 
the  moral  and  physical  condition  of  the  poorer  classes 
to  a  more  desirable  state,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  other  effi- 
cient measures  will  speedily  follow. 

Among  the  most  efficient  of  these  measures  must 
be  unshackling  the  trammels — giving  free  play 
to  the  energies  of  trade  ;  and  a  poor-law  that  shall 
not  be  a  mockery  of  the  end  proposed  by  every 
poor-law,  save  the  niggardly  and  vitiated  system 
which  goes  by  that  name  in  Scotland. 

One  curious  fact  is  elicited  by  these  tables — 
namely,  that  whereas  the  young  men  of  Glasgow 
find  themselves  wives  in  other  places,  neglecting 
their  fair  townswomen,  the  young  won^en  of  Edin- 
burgh seem  to  be  in  request  amoDg  strangers.  In 
other  words,  in  Edinburgh,  in  1839,  there  were  71 
more  females  belonging  to  the  town  married  than 
males;  and  in  Glasgow,  (but  in  four  years,)  101 
more  nudes  married  than  females. 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  BALTIC* 


To  title  of  this  pleasant  book  is  somewhat 
'>P»,  thon^  its  history  and  plan  are  clear 
^^^  Ten  or  a  dozen  years  since,  an  English 
■■y|Who  has  an  accomplished  and  most  aflFec- 
*"^  "stcr,  married  one  who  would  probably  be 
**«*  ^  her  friends,  "  a  Russian  nobleman,"  and 

^''■^w'ee  on  the  shores  of  the  Baltic  described  in 
■™  «  tetters,  by  a  Lady.    2  volumes.    Murray, 
w.  xcnxw^TOL.  IX. 


who,  in  fact,  was  one  of  the  landed  class  or  barons 
of  the  province  of  Estonia,  a  country  which  has 
often  changed  masters,  but  which,  for  the  last 
hundred  and  twenty  years,  has  been  under  the 
dominion  of  Russia.  After  a  long  separation,  the 
unmarried  sister  had  the  felicity  of  visiting  her 
relatives  in  Russia ;  and  a  narrative  of  her  journey 
and  residence  in  Estonia,  and  of  a  winter  spent  in 
Petersburg,  written  in  the  form  of  letters,  makes  the 


18 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  BALTIC. 


subject-matter  of  her  delightM  and  instroctite 
work.  With  a  quick  and  instructed  mind,  refined 
taste,  and  a  more  than  womanly  power  of  reflection, 
she  possessed  the  rare  advantage,  oyer  ordinary  tra- 
vellers, of  having  been  for  above  a  year  domesticated 
in  the  regions  which  she  visited ;  and  of  being,  from 
her  connexioni^  received,  wherever  she  went,  on  the 
footing  of  friendly  and  easy  familiarity.  Though 
not  without  the  alloy  of  a  certain  quantity  of, 
what  is  sometimes  termed,  English  prejudice,  she 
is  more  remarkable  for  its  frequent  concomitant, 
EngUshgood  sense,  and,  without  anarrow,  exclusive 
^irit,  or  lack  of  ohan^,  for  English,  old-£uhioned 
moral  discrimination.  To  seme  frigid  readers^ 
the  frequent  expression  of  her  passionate  attach- 
ment to  her  sister,  may  seeni  superfluous ;  while 
to  others,  and  probably  to  all  women  readers,  this 
vehement  afiieetion  will  form,  as  it  were,  the 
key-note  to  die  work,  toning  and  harmonizing  all 
its  parts.  But  the  main  value  of  the  book  is,  that 
it  presents  an  ample  and  complete  pioture  of  feudal 
manners;  nearly  such  as,  modified  by  other  insti- 
tutions, tiiey  eadsted  in  England  three  centuries 
ago,  and  in  Scotland  and  Ireland  within  the  last 
century.  We  find  pictures  of  the  same  sort  in 
Mr.  Laing  s  Travels  in  Sweden  and  Norway, 
though  these  belong  to  a  happier,  because  a  more 
equal  state  of  society;  in  Captain  Hall's  /SbAiMi 
Ucmfdi;  and  in  Miss  Pigott's  graphic  sketches  of 
the  rural  life  of  the  German  nobility  at  the  close 
of  the  war.  But  they  are  without  the  fulness  of 
detail,  and  the  finish  of  this  account  of  theEstonian 
noblesse,  which  revives,  as  brightly  as  in  a  romance, 
that  picturesque  state  of  society,  to  which  we  pro- 
bably recur  the  more  fondly  that  we  have  long 
outlived  its  goo4  and  its  evil ;  and  seem  verging  on 
other  tremendous  evils  incompatible  with  its  insti- 
tutions. 

At  the  present  crisis,  this  pioture  of  feudal  man- 
ners—<>f  the  fiudal  life  in  aU  its  barbaric  pomp 
and  rude  plenty— may  teach  a  useful  lesson  to  those 
v^o  would  crush,  and  who  seem  to  despise,  the 
trade  and  commerce  to  which  they  owe  that  enor- 
mous wealth,  that  refinement  of  manners  and  luxu- 
rious accommodation,  which  distinguish  them  from 
the  landed  class  of  every  other  European  oountiy. 
The  extinction  of  manufibctures  must  be  attended, 
though  after  a  period  of  great  harddiip,  by  nearly 
the  same  consequences  as  thebr  non-existence.  We 
would  pray  our  barons  and  baronets,  and  wealthy 
estated  esquires  to  ponder  ihe  condition  of  their 
contemporaries  of  Estcmia,  with  ten  and  twmty 
times  their  number  of  fertile  acres ;  and  seriously 
to  ask  themselves,  how  they  would  like  to  see  their 
refined  wives  and  daughters  fulfilling  the  menial 
offices  of  the  Frau  and  FrmMn^  and  they  them- 
selves living  as  did  their  forefathers  under  the 
Tudors. 

The  book  is  without  dates ;  but  we  gather  that 
the  fair  traveller  embarked  one  autumn,  in  an  £^- 
lish  steamer,  lor  Copenhagen ;  from  whence  she 
proceeded  to  Petersburg  in  the  steamer  which  smIs 
regularly,  while  the  navigation  is  open,  between 
those  cities.  This  was  a  rather  circuitous  route  to 
Ileval,the  capital  of  Estonia,  and  the  town  resi- 
dence of  her  sister ;  but  there  may  have  been  good 


reasons  for  it,  with  which  the  reader  has  nothing  to 
do ;  and  it  must  always  be  an  object  toJanintdH- 
gent  stranger  to  visit  the  capital  of  Russia. 

The  voyager,  but  especially  the  adventurous 
female  voyager,  who  sails  from  Dover  to  Calais,  or 
from  Holyhead  to  Dublin,  without  encountering  a 
gale^  compared  to  which  that  which  dispelled  the 
Spanish  Armada  was  but  a  zephyr  playfully  ruf- 
fling a  park  pond,  is  to  be  considered  uidPortunate ; 
but  how  much  more  to  be  pitied,  should  she  not 
be  taken  in  an  awful  hurricane  in  crossing  the 
Atlantic,  or  going  up  the  Baltic  In  fact,  no  such 
tame  voyage  ever  happens.  This  fair  traveller  had 
enough  of  it.  She,  and  her  fellow-passengers, 
whom  she  graphically  describes,  must  have  been  in 
very  serious  danger,  before  the  captain  of  tiie 
steamer,  a  brave  veteran  lieutenant  of  the  royal 
navy,  called  down  the  companion  to  the  dismayed 
group,  ''Let  the  passengers  prepare  to  come  on 
deck  at  a  moment's  warning,  but  not  before**  This 
excellent  seaman  had  been  one  of  Kelson's  prot^6, 
and  when  a  midshipman  had  been  kissed  by  the 
beautiful  and  fascinating  Lady  Hamilton ;  a  way  her 
ladyship  had  of  turning  the  heads  of  boys,  and 
of  fools  of  all  ages.  The  gale  abated,  and  tiiey  put 
into  Christiansand  to  refit,  where  the  French 
steamer  from  Havre  to  St.  Petersburg  had  already 
found  shelter.  So  far  as  regards  one  nation — the 
French — ^this  lady  is  most  rigidly  English  in  all  her 
notions ;  though,  it  must  be  owned,  the  specimens 
of  Lajwm  France  seen  in  the  Havre  steamer,  were 
not  favourable  ones  of  the  Grand  Nation.  They  seem 
to  have  been  ladies  and  gentlemen  bound  for  the  Rus- 
sian theatres,  and  other  places  of  amusement  even 
less  creditable;  such  as  those  promiscuous  balls, 
where  the  women  of  all  ranks  are  masked  and 
pell-mell,  and  the  men  with  no  disguise  save  their 
moustaches  and  their  native  bronze ;  those  balls, 
which  the  omnipotent  Czar  has  taken  under  his 
special  protection,  and  at  which  he  relaxes  from 
Ihe  cares  of  empire  in  the  manner  we  shall  after- 
wards see. 

At  Copenhagen,  the  passengers  were  transferred 
to  the  St.  Petersburg  steamer;  and  at  Cronstadt 
commenced  those  tortures  inflicted  on  all  foreign- 
ers by  the  brutal  Russian  custom-house  officers. 
They  did  not  terminate  there.  At  Petersburg,  the 
same  disgraceful  inquisition  was  renewed,  and  the 
goods  and  chattels  of  the  imfbrtunate  strangers  res- 
cued at  last  in  a  sad  state  of  confusion  and  dilapi- 
dation. Young  France  swore  aloud ;  and  more 
deoorous  Conservative  England  grumbled  not  a 
little.  The  traveller  must  have  a  strong  motive  to 
vittt  Russia  who  makes  up  his  mind  to  the  many 
pains  and  penalties,  and  insulting  annoyances 
which  this  ordeal  heralds. 

So  much  has  been  said  of  late  of  the  magnificent 
exterior  of  the  swamp-based  and  forced  city  of  the 
Czar,  that  we  consider  the  subject  exhausted ;  and 
this  lady,  besides,  invites  us  to  fresher  and  more 
attractive  fields.  Her  shrewd  but  decorous  re- 
marks or  significant  hints^  on  the  low  taste  visible, 
and  on  the  incongruous  images  of  barbaric  pomp 
and  architectural  magnificence  in  close  nmghbour- 
hood  with  misery,  squalor,  and  filth,  are  more  ori- 
ginaL    After  viewing  the  vast  and  gorgeous  Casan 


lifiTTE&e  TKOM  T&E  BALTIC. 


ON 


dmcii,  and  deeeribtng  the  imposiiig  solemnities 
And  ritd  of  the  Greek  worship,  she  remarks : — 

AaA  ftM,  to  tarn  from  all  this  bUse  and  corgeoni- 
wm,  ftm  waUs  of  nlTer,  and  hangingg  of  peans,  to  the 


pMT  ontuM  who  at  this  moment  seemed  the  0017  ob- 
jMH  ^  nek  display  ;-^abjeet  beings  with  tattered  gar- 

Msli^  ^eertpid  bodies,  uid  animal  oonntensaees,  who 
itmi  ooMiBC  themselTes,  bowing  at  mterrals  before 
tti  flbiaet  till  their  fbrehe«ds  resoonded  on  the  marble 
flur,  ind  ftaiing  aronnd,  gaping,  or  spitting,  between 
tmrj  piwUsUun^— old  hags  of  nans  hi  filthy  attirsy 
vitleked  cripples  and  loathsome  beggars,  idiom  one 
m4  pesd  from  the  ^Hrgin's  diouldei^knot  wenld  hate 
ibmM,  but  to  whom  in  their  fldth  the  sacrilegious 
tfMi^t,  doubtless,  neTsr  oecnrred.  Here,  also,  the 
taspUM  «f  eonqnered  armies  hnng  arsnnd }  but  this 
tJM  tbe  6s^  was  the  emblem.       .... 

HsTin|  this  taken  the  aggregate  of  a  Russian  ehnroh 
iitetior,l[»r  the  rest  are  mere  repetitions  of  the  same 
Uiteik  splendonr,  nnsanotifled  by  true  art,  we  pro- 
«eedtd  to  the  Academy  of  Arts  on  the  Wassili-Ostrof. 
Ail  b  one  of  those  outwardly  splendid  piles,  with  ten 
tiBM  mmt  ipaee  than  in  England  would  be  aUowed 
tK  fts  umt  <%ject,  ten  times  more  out  of  repair,  and 
tci  tboissnd  times  dirtier.  At  the  ceremony  of  Rus- 
Bts  baptism,  the  sign  of  the  cross  is  made  on  the  lips  to 
mj  Botidog  bad,  on  the  eyes  to  see  nothing  bad,  on  the 
em  u  bear  nothing  bad—and,  it  must  be  supposed,  on 
the  aoie  also  to  smell  nothing  bad ;— for  the  Russians 
4»  Bit  mem  ineonrenienced  by  the  trials  to  which  this 
oga  is  ezpoeed  on  entering  their  dwellings.  But  to 
nton  to  ^  odoriferous  Academy. 

The  bnildingB  of  the  capital  are  magnitcent  in 
ippttnaoc,  but  they  soon  fall  into  deeay;  partly 
froB  the  effects  of  the  alternately  severe  cold  and 
atnoie  heat  of  the  climate,  but  more  frrom  the 
viBt  of  snbstantial  finishing  at  first,  and  of  neces- 
wysad  timely  repairs.  The  houses  are  ^  wretch- 
edly glased,  and  wretchedly  shod" — floored,  we 
appose,  is  meant — ^and  street  pavement  is,  save  on 
fltt  promenade,  either  unknown  or  execrable : — 

Ssdihslssas  an  hifiuit Zamsttel mi|^  be  lost  in; 
mi,  kit  this  should  seem  orerdrawn,  I  can  add  what  I 
■yvilf  was  eye-witeess  to,  vis : — ^an  IsehTousehik  com- 
pwfly  washhig  his  droschky  in  a  colossal  puddle,  ftill 
a  dgjbt  of  the  palace  windows,  after  whi^  he  washed 
bibee  snd  hands  in  the  same,  and  drove  off.  .  .  . 
iii  sow,  lest  my  pen  diould  be  deemed  invidious,  let 
■  torn  te  the  splendid  granite  blodm  in^diich  the  Neva 
ui  ill  tributary  streams  and  canals  are  bound ;  solid, 
pdiAsd  piles,  which  no  mortar  has  ever  defluwd,  being 
(naped  togethevjritfi  iron:  er  let  us  acknowledge  the 

•  Bnglish  iron- 

iwith  a 

(light. 


'■'■p.*  wgwHwr  wiio  mn ;  or  ie»  qb  aouiowje 
yitnioage  which  Russia  has  aflbrded  our  Bngli 
««b|,  which  heve  relieve  these  etnydj  masses 
Mir  as  elegant  as  it  is  light. 


the  peraoBS  to  whmn  the  traveller  had 
httsis  ef  intfodoetion  was  a  Russian  baxon,  fort- 
s' ef  Petenbufg,  and  an  aid-de-camp  to  the 
bipenr,  who  atadoiisd  a  eentindi  at  hfvdoer,  and 
wwOBiialBthofringhir  all  iha  sight*.  Astrall 
Mtha  eald  flmmy  pavemeutt  el  Nmki  wm  move 
Wfiiri  to  her  taate^  and  tb^  seene  is  weU  worth 
«tai?elWtiko4ka:-^ 

HoeitistimtBnssiansof  aU  gai%s  and  tanks  pass 
^t^  yen.  Here  stands  the  iMhvonsehik,  loitMing 
•wi'wiy  beneath  ik$  trees  of  the  avenue,  who,  eatch- 
|*imr  steady  gaxe,  starto  up  and  displays  a  row  of 
y^  teeth  beneath  his  ttiickiy-bearded  lip,  and 
^l^g  te  his  droschky,  splutters  out  ^Kum  vam 
•Hssl"  or,  '^ whither  does  it  please  you!"  Here 
^*«  te  erect  Russiaa  peasant,  by  birth  a  serf  and  in 
p^*  pnacej — tk»  living  effigy  of  an  old  patriarch, — 
^|vW  te  the  waist,  his  kaftan  of  sheep-skin,  or  any 
"« cklh  wxapt  round  him,  the  ample  firont  of  which. 


confined  at  the  waist  by  a  belt  of  bright  colours,  eon- 
tains  all  that  another  would  stow  in  a  pocket  t  literally 
portraying  the  words  of  Scripture,  '^fiill  measure  shall 
men  pour  into  your  bosom."  Contrary  te  all  esteblished 
rule,  he  wears  his  shirt,  always  blue  or  red,  over  his 
trowsers,  his  trowsers  under  his  boots,  and  doubtless 
deems  tUs  the  most  sensible  arrangement.  And  look  1 
here  go  a  posse  of  Russian  foot-soldiers,  with  dose  shorn 
head  and  face,  and  browbeat  look,  as  Uttle  of  the  mar- 
tial in  their  dusky  attire  as  of  glory  in  their  hard  lives, 
the  mere  drudges  of  a  review,  whom  Bftars  would  dis- 
own. Not  BO  the  tiny  Gircanian,  lig^t  in  limb  and 
bright  in  lodk,  flying  past  on  his  native  barb,  armed  to 
the  teeth,  with  eyes  like  loadstars,  which  the  cold  di- 
maie  cannot  quench.  Now,  turn  te  the  slender  Finn, 
with  teeth  of  pearl  and  hair  so  yellow  that  you  mistake 
it  fbr  a  lemon-coloured  handkerchief  peeping  ttom  be- 
neath his  round  hat ;  or  see,  among  the  whirl  of  car- 
riages, three  and  fbur  abreast  in  the  centre  of  the  noble 
street,  that  handsome  Tartar  coachman,  his  hair  and 
beard  of  Jet,  sitting  gravely  like  a  stetue  of  Moses  on 
his  box,  while  the  little  postilion  dashes  on  with  the 
foremost  horses,  ever  and  anon  throwing  an  anxious  look 
behind  him,  lest  the  ponderous  vehicle,  which  the  long 
traces  keep  at  half  a  street's  distence,  diould  not  be 
duly  following;  and  within  lolls  the  pale  Russian 
beauty,  at  whose  careless  bidding  they  all  are  hurrying 
forward,  looking  as  apathetic  to  all  the  realities  of  life 
as  any  other  fine  lady  in  any  other  country  would  do. 

Our  readers  cannot  have  forgottai  the  compre- 
henaive  remark  of  the  old  Fren<^  Count  to  the  late 
American  traveller,  Mr.  Stephens, — ^namely,  that 
in  Russia  the  only  difierence  of  manners  between  . 
the  noble  and  the  serf  was,  that  the  former  tucked 
his  shirt  within  his  trowsers,  while  the  latt»  let  it 
hang  over  as  is  here  described.  The  small  number 
of  women  seen  in  the  streete  contributes  to  the  dull 
air  of  Petersburg.  The  English  lady  accepted  the 
warmly  pressed  hospitality  of  the  baron,  who,  with 
his  wifo  and  family,  resided  in  a  suite  of  rooms  in 
a  sort  of  barrack,  which  would  be  fancied  sorry 
accommodation  for  a  man  of  similar  rank  in  other 
European  capitals.  She  was  kindly  offered  her 
choice  in  this  magnificent  apartment :— - 

*  Now,"  said  the  baron,  his  pale  ftwse  glowing  with 
hospitality,  ^here  are  eight  apartmente;  sdect  which 
you  please  for  your  sleeping-room.  Here  are  the  two 
drawing-rooms,  there  the  dining-room ;  there,"  pointing 
te  the  ri^t,  ''is  my  wife's  cabinet ;  there,"  pointing  te 
the  left,  '^  is  my  own  writing-room ;  f^uiher  on  is  our 
bed-room ;  in  short,  you  have  only  to  choose,  and  never 
was  a  guest  more  welcome." 

His  English  guest  had,  in  the  vaunted  eight 
rooms,  coloured  up  a  vidon  of  ^  eight  spare  b^- 
rooms,  all  fitted  up  with  English  privacy ;"  but 
findiiig  how  matters  stood,  she  settled  herself  where 
she  could  be  farthest  from  the  children,  and  ht^ 
thest  from  the  soldiers,  diooeing  the  dining-room, 
— where  a  hed--probably  a  $kaie-^hwny  was  parti- 
tioned off  by  a  screen.  But  her  wdeome  had  been 
cordial,  and  her  rest  was  good.  What  more  could 
a  traveller  wish  fori  Her  host  had  the  charge  <^ 
above  a  hundred  criminals  waiting  their  trials^ 
l^ese  were  not  the  most  desirable  ndghbours  |  but 
they  were  worth  examining : — 

Oniose  apprehended  fbr  murder  were  chained  hand 
and  foot,  and  at  least  a  fifth  of  the  number  were  thus 
fettered.  All  nations  and  tribes  of  Russia  were  congre- 
gated here,  Tartars,  Finns,  Calmnos,  Bukharians,  Circas- 
sians, &o.,  all  wretehed,  vitiated-looking  beings,  many 
fine  in  feature  but  hideous  in  expression.  The  most 
remarkable  was  an  Arabian  prince,  a  plunderer  of  the 
desert,  fine,  handsome,  hau|^ty,  and  hardened;  a  very 


40 


LETTERS  FROH  THE  BALTIC. 


Thog  in  impenitent  expression,  who  drew  np  his  fine 
fignre  as  we  passed  along,  and  clanked  his  mnrderer^s 
diains  as  proudly  as  if  Siey  had  been  the  insignia  of 
honour.  It  has  not  been  at  all  times  safe  to  enter  this 
den,  and  the  last  fort-mi^ioi'y  whose  guard  at  the  grate 
was  neither  so  numerous  nor  so  Ti^lant,  narrowly  es- 
o^Md  with  his  life. 

These  prisoners  were  well  lodged ;  and  they  ought 
to  haye  been  well  fed,  if  this  were  not  Russia,  in 
which  common  vulgar  honesty  is  yet  a  quality  as 
rare  among  general  officers  as  if  they  were  British 
commissaries  of  a  past  age.  This  passage  were 
hardly  worth  citing,  if  it  were  not  illustrative  of 
the  entire  system  of  Russian  administration : — 

That  I  might  not  tell  England  that  the  prisoners  un- 
der his  care  were  neglected,  the  oolonel  sent  for  a  basin 
of  ionp  from  the  prisoners'  supper,  and  truly  it  was  such 
as  a  more  squeamish  stomach  might  have  relished. 

But  the  great  eril  is,  that  all  this  is  too  much  in  the 
power  of  the  commanding  officer  to  perrert  and  abuse, 
who,  being  himself  entirely  without  check  or  control, 
too  often  starres  his  prisoners  to  increase  his  own  poor 
pay.  The  rank  of  a  general,  I  am  sorry  to  add,  does 
not  here  pledge  its  owner  to  honesty,  and  it  is  well 
known  and  as  frankly  acknowledged,  that  the  <^f  of  a 
regiment  will  with  impunity  defttiud  Ins  soldiers  of  their 
allowed  weight  of  rations,  and  pocket  the  surplus,  or 
market  them  out  to  daily  labour,  of  which  he  himself 
appropriates  the  wages.  For  here  the  indiridual  who 
wears  the  emperor's  Uvery  is  denied  the  pride  of  know- 
ing that  he  is  absoWed  f^om  that  of  any  other  master, 
and  every  soldier  who  will,  learns  a  trade. 

This  was  not  a  traveller  bit  by  the  Russo-phobia, 
nor  one  who  went  to  spy  out  die  nakedness  of  the 
land ;  yet  the  same  opinion  of  the  want  of  probity 
and  common  honesty  among  men  holding  high 
military  or  official  rank,  is,  in  substance,  repeated 
at  difibrent  stages  of  her  progress.  Her  book, 
warmly  as  she  praises  him,  will  certainly  be  added 
by  Nicholas  to  the  list  of  the  proscribed. 

An  attack  of  the  fever,  to  which  all  foreigners 
are  liable  in  this  "  swamp-based  capital,"  delayed 
her  journey  till  late  in  November,  when,  under 
the  sole  charge  of  an  alert  and  trusty  Russian 
man-servant,  she  set  out  for  Reval,  a  distance  of 
three  hundred  miles.  The  valet  or  postilion  was 
as  ignorant  of  any  language  save  his  own,  as  the 
lady  was  of  Russian,  and  the  winter  had  already 
set  in  with  severity;  yet,  in  spite  of  every  discou- 
ragement, she  joined  in  the  universal  sentiment — 
**  I  detest  Petersburg !"  and,  bundled  up  in  furs, 
joyously  set  forth  on  the  lonely  and  picturesque 
journey,  through  forests  and  wastes  of  snow,  not 
yet  so  hard  as  to  bear  a  sledge,  but  difficult  to 
get  through  with  four  post-horses. 

The  journey  affords  one  original  picture  of  Rus- 
sian native  manners.  At  Narva,  she  had  been 
recommended,  by  a  friend,  to  people,  who  must  pro- 
bably have  set  down  the  foreign  lady  as  intolerably 
haughty,  if  not  positively  rude.  Their  house  was 
a  rambling  edifice  of  unpainted  wood,  and  '*  all  on 
the  ground  floor,"  or  of  one  storey.    She  says, — 

I  entered  a  suite  of  rooms,  and  caught  sight  of  various 
female  shapes  receding  before  me  in  the  same  proportion 
as  I  adTanced,  until,  baring  gained  the  apartment  con- 
ventionally dedicated  to  the  ceremony  of  reception,  Uiey 
all  faced  about,  and  came  bowing  and  curtseying  for- 
ward to  receive  me. 

Let  me  be  exonerated  fh>m  the  charge  of  ingratitude 
in  what  I  am  about  to  say;  but  in  the  house  where  I 
«ow  receired  the  outward  rites  of  hospitality,  the  curio- 


iitj  excited  by  the  novelty  of  an  English  guest,  the 
Ta^ty  of  showing  off  an  Eioglish  lion,  was  so  far  paia- 
mount  to  every  other  consideration,  that  ere  I  quitted  it, 
my  debt  of  obligation  had  been  pretty  well  cancelled. 
I  was  ill,^tired, — a  stranger, — ^but  it  mattered  not ;  my 
advent  in  this  little  Krakvvikd  was  too  great  a  wonder 
to  be  neglected.  Before  I  had  been  there  an  hour, 
visiters  crowded  in  to  see  me,  and  first  an  old  lady  cate- 
chized me,  and  then  a  vulgar  officer,  who  from  the  abun- 
dance of  his  mouth  bombarded  the  store  and  floor 
around,  instructed  me ;  imparting  between  every  fresh 
volley  various  items  of  information  relative  to  English 
customs  and  manners ;  our  queen's  beauty,  matrimonial 
intentions,  &c. ;  in  all  of  which  he  was  so  perfectly  sa- 
tisfied with  his  own  authority,  that  I  ventured  no  expos- 
tulation. All  this  time  my  hostess  was  in  a  fintter  of 
importance,  and,  whenever  my  answers  appeared  defi- 
cient, filled  them  up  so  readily,  that  I  found  I  could 
safely  leave  the  task  of  my  biography  in  her  hands. 
She  subtracted  some  years  from  my  age;  she  added 
some  thousands  of  roubles  to  my  rental,  placing  me, 
with  a  delicacy  worthy  a  better  occasion,  in  this  respect 
on  a  par  with  the  grandees  of  her  own  land ;  and  tiien, 
with  a  sigh,  she  ejaculated,  "  Poor  young  creature  !  so 
ill  too!"  "The  dysentery,"  exclaimed  three  voices; 
"No,  typhus  fever,"  said  a  fourth;  **A11  the  EngUsh 
have  it  when  they  travel,"  cried  a  fifth ;  and  so  on,  till  . 
I  had  fhll  occupation  in  listening.  All  this  would  have 
been  very  amusing  at  another  time,  but  I  longed  for 
quiet,  and  had  a  buzz  of  voices  and  glare  of  lights 
around  me;  I  longed  for  rest,  and  was  planted  upright 
in  a  hard  chair,  which  was  exactly  convex  where  it 
ought  to  have  been  concave.  I  looked  back  on  my  quiet 
carriage  vrith  affectionate  regret,  and  wished  myself 
seated  in  it,  and  continuing  my  journey. 

Having,  with  the  assistance  of  my  watch  and  my  very 
slender  Slavonic  vocabulary,  contrived  to  make  Anton 
understand  that  we  were  to  start  at  eight  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  having  now  borne  this  examination  and  exhor- 
tation for  several  hours,  I  began  to  consider  how  I  should 
best  sound  a  retreat  ftx>m  the  circle  of  my  spectators,  I 
cannot  say  audience.  At  the  first  indication  the  whole 
rose  in  arms.  They  had  not  half  eigoyed  my  company. 
Besides,  supper  was  coming  in,  and  forthwith  my  hos- 
tess enumerated  one  greasy  dish  after  another,  with 
various  amalgamations  of  reputed  English  origin.  May 
I  be  forgiven  for  inwardly  shuddering  as  I  thought  of 
my  late  diet  of  sago  and  rice-pudding.  And  now,  being 
thus  far,  though  it  was  erident  my  conduct  was  the 
most  fiagrant  breach  of  Narva  decorum  ever  known,  I 
persisted,  being  hardly  able  to  stand,  on  retiring  to  rest, 
and  at  last  broke  through  the  ring.  The  next  morning, 
by  half-past  eight,  no  carriage  vras  visible;  nine  o'clock, 
half-past  nine  came,  and  still  Anton  appeared  not ;  and 
now  I  elucidated  that,  in  the  hopes  of  my  being  induced 
to  meet  another  select  circle  that  evening,  my  hostess 
had  remanded  my  carriage  wm  die. 

But  off  went  the  wilfiil  Englishwoman,  certiunly 
leaving  the  Russian  ladies  to  marvel  at  her  ill- 
breeding,  down,  probably,  to  the  present  hour. 

The  inns,  or  post-houses,  in  the  province  of 
Estonia,  a  comparatively  new  appendage  of  the 
empire,  were  not  found  in  any  respect  superior  to 
those  of  the  older  dominion ;  and  the  traveller  does 
not  affect  indifference  to  the  accommodations  and 
comforts  of  civilized  life  :  so  that,  it  is  probable, 
her  most  joyous  moment  in  this  journey  from 
Engknd,  until,  at  its  termination,  she  was  clasped 
in  the  embrace  of  the  sister,  for  whose  sake  she 
had  made  so  unusual  an  eff[>rt,  was  when,  at  a 
rather  decent  post-house  where  the  glazed  windows 
were  bright,  and  the  floor  clean  and  fresh  sanded, 
she  saw  and  "  could  have  worshipped"  a  regular 
eight-day  clock,  emblazoned,  "Thomas  Hunter, 
Fenchurch-street."  The  mystery  of  the  bright 
windows,  and  clean  sanded  floor,  were  soon  ex- 


LETTERS  PROM  THE  BALTIC* 


il 


pbined.  ^  Twvntjr  years  before,  the  hoet  had  spent 
gome  months  in  England,  and  had  he  denied  it, 
his  habits  would  have  borne  witness  to  it ;  for 
the  tiUe  was  neatly  spread,  water  and  towels 
pbeed.*  We  hope  that  every  foreigner  may  profit 
SI  mKh  by  a  few  months  sojourn  among  us.  That 
nigki  the  wearied  traveller  slept  safely  below  her 
ttitei^s  fooif  in  the  Zhmberff,  which  is  the  aristo- 
entie  quarter  of  RevaL  And  now  the  interest  of 
ha  oarrstive  fEurly  commences,  with  the  **  unlock- 
ing hearts,  and  unpacking  trunks." 

Even  in  that  empire  of  strangely  mixed  races, 
the  Rmwian,  the  province  of  Estonia  presents 
noe  remarkable  features.  OriginaUy  imder  the 
Mndnal  sway  of  Denmaric,  it  was  transferred,  in 
tbe  frarteenth  century,  to  the  Teutonic  Knights ; 
Irani  whom  the  present  body  of  nobility  claim  their 
ieaeent  It  subsequently  passed  to  the  dominion 
«f  Sweden,  and  was  finally  ceded  by  Sweden  to 
Peter  the  Great,  in  1721,  as  we  have  since  seen 
Fkknd,  and  on  nearly  similar  terms.  Russian 
poOe^r  enjoins  the  show  of  liberality  to  its  new 
lobjeets.  Hie  province  was  permitted  to  retain  the 
leDAte  of  the  knights,  a  kind  of  provincial  house 
ofnoblefl^  which  still,  once  in  three  years,  exercise 
certain  privil^;et  in  managing  their  own  afiairs, 
aid  enact  certain  pageants  at  Reval.  The  popu- 
latum  now  oonsists  of  Estonians,  Crermans,  and 
BoflBans;  the  former  being  the  peasantry,  and 
itQl  apeaking  their  original  language  ;  while  the 
ioUes  use  the  dialect  of  the  Grerman,  derived  from 
their  kni^tly  Teutonic  ancestors.  Until  so  late 
tt  1828,  the  peasantry  were  actual  serfs.  Save  in 
Buae,  their  condition  is  not  yet  much  better ;  and 
tbe  aljgaixthical  inatitutions^of  the  province  present 
a  kar  to  the  advancement  of  civilisation ;  though  in 
&fal,  once  a  branch  of  the  Hanseatic  league  and 
a  place  of  conmiercial  importance,  there  appears 
looKthing  like  the  germ  of  a  middle-class,  and, 
eotainly,  a  higher  degree  of  mental  civilisation 
tban  among  the  noblesse, — if  knowledge  of  the 
R&ned  arts  be  held  a  truer  test,  than  the  presence 
of  a  barbarous  pomp  and  vulgar  ostentation.  This 
ii  incidentally  shown  by  our  letter- writer,  in 
bribing  the  difficulty  of  getting  up  a  charity 
ooeert,  when  Madame  Rossi— once  the  Sontag  of 
Snope— found  her  most  efficient  assistants,  not 
*aong  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  noble  houses, 
vbo  hold  to  the  royal  road,  or  short  cut  to  Art,  but 
iMg  those  of  the  honest  burghers  of  Reval.  Of 
tbe  ndtle  daas  it  is  observed^ 

Ssne  eftred  for  mnsio'a  sake,  and  other  for  foahion's 
■ke;aBd  parts  were  eagerly  demanded  by  the  UiU 
>*i^g  the  bathing  gnests  at  Reval,  as  well  as  byafow 
Fnetbed  aingen  belonging  to  a  musical  olab  among  the 
**|^«tg,  or  not  noble,  who  unfortunatdy  <»r4  tJU  only 
•airw  Eakmiawhiheepup  anjiinterett  in  mek  purtuUt, 
uaie  brmtd  an  excellent /ona  to  keep  wavering  voices 
*o^  for  most  of  the  foahionables  thought  choros- 
■>^  ^voiild  comiB  by  inspiration,  and,  when  we  all 
"■■•^  te  Reval  for  the  final  reheanala,  were  as  inno- 
^^^l^tAr  right  parts  as  if  they  had  never  seen  them. 
.  Theoe  ladies  were  worse  to  teach  than  cha- 
^^^8.  Some  of  them  deemed  the  rehearsalfl  utterly 
^l^aflva,  others  left  their  parts  behind  them,  and 
•*«  were  ao  inveterately  in  good  humour,  that  it  was 
**ah  to  eeold  them  for  being  as  much  out  of  tune. 

Neit  to  emancipating   the  serfs    of   Estonia, 


Nicholas  ought,  by  his  imperial  fikt,  to  abolish  that 
peculiar  privilege  of  the  Estonian  barons,  which 
must  continue  to  act  as  a  complete  bar  to  the 
improvement  of  the  noble  class ;  to  the  rise  of  a 
middle  order ;  and  to  social  progress.  This  is  not 
the  law  of  primogeniture,  nor  yet  of  entail — ^in- 
stitutions warmly  admired  by  our  authoress, — ^but 
a  corporate  right  possessed  by  the  nobles,  which  is 
more  detrimental  than  either.  The  entire  territory 
of  the  province,  is  divided  into  above  six  hundred 
noble  domains,  or  baronies,  after  the  manner  of 
feudal  usages ;  and  though  these  estates  may  pass 
from  one  noble  family  to  another,  and  very  fre- 
quently do,  they  cannot  be  purchased  by  any  one 
tiiat  is  not,  so  to  say,  matriculated  of  the  order  of 
nobility.  The  weallhiest  merchant  of  Reval  can- 
not become  a  landed  proprietor;  and  intermar- 
riages between  the  two  classes  are  regarded  as  de- 
grading and  disgraceful  meMiZ/Mific««.  This  English 
lady  sportively  advised  one  of  those  poor,  landed, 
long-legged,  proud  Barons,  to  marry  the  pretty  and 
accomplished  heiress  of  a  rich  Reval  merdiant. 
The  joke  did  not  take. 

With  true  appreciation  of  all  that  is  picturesque, 
antique,  and  cordial,  in  their  old-fashioned,  buck- 
ram, and  stereotyped  manners,  our  fair  traveller  is 
quite  alive  to  the  low  intellectual  condition  of  the 
Estonian  nobility ;  among  whom,  moreover,  the 
most  scrupulous  observance  of  a  rigid  ceremonial,  is 
as  far  from  being  the  guarantee  of  high  or  refined 
morality,  as  among  the  less  stiff  Russians.  What 
shall  we  say  of  the  state  of  a  society,  in  which  the 
sexes,  in  their  hours  of  social  intercourse  and 
relaxation,  are  completely  separated,  save  while 
consuming  their  victuals  at  the  same  plenteous 
board — ^for  it  is  not  to  be  called  dining,  or  supping 
together, — or  while  actually  engaged  in  the  dance, 
to  which  the  foir  partner  comes  when  called,  and, 
when  it  is  over,  vanishes,  and  alone,  to  regain  the 
herd  of  her  gossips  in  another  apartment  ?  But 
we  waste  space  in  these  preliminary  remarks^ 
which  were  better  filled  up  with  some  of  our 
author's  charming  and  vivid  pictures.  After  spend- 
ing a  few  days  with  her  sister,  in  that  aristocratic 
quarter,  the  Domb&rff^ — which  predominates  over 
die  old  picturesque  town,  like  a  feudal  castle  over  its 
dependent  village,  and  which  is  cut  off  from  vulgar 
contamination,  by  something  resembling  the  an- 
cient warlike  defences  of  high  walls,  gates,  and 
draw-bridges, — the  family  removed  to  their  baro- 
nial residence,  at  about  a  day's  journey  from  Reval, 
and  a  new  world  opened  up  to  the  English  lady. 
After  travelling  all  day  through  a  richly-wooded 
landscape,  she- 
Arrived  in  the  evening  before  a  grand  erescent-shaped 
building,  recalling  in  aiae  and  form  the  many-tenemented 
terraces  of  Regent's  Park.  If  the  exterior  promised 
fkir,  the  interior  for  surpassed  all  expectation,  and  I 
have  only  to  shut  my  eyes  to  a  certain  roughness  and 
want  of  finish  to  foaoy  myself  in  a  regal  residence.  The 
richness  of  the  architectural  ornaments,— the  beanty  of 
the  f^rescoes  and  painted  ceiUngs,— the  polish  of  the 
many-coloured  and  marble-like  parqultes^--the  height^ 
size,  and  proportion  of  tbe  apartments,  produce  a  tout 
ensemble  of  Uie  utmost  splendour,  entirely  independent 
of  the  aid  of  ftimiture,  which  here,  like  the  Narva 
chairs,  seems  to  hare  heen  constructed  before  comfort 
was  admitted  to  form  an  ingredient  in  human  happiness. 


«l 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  BALTIC. 


li  li  h  ftrange  MdmiUliofl)  this  q»l«iidid  case  bnilt 
OTer  the  simplest,  most  primitiye  customs.  The  &mily 
hare  no  fixed  hour  for  rising,  and  sometimes  yon  find 
only  your  host's  empty  cofi)ee-cup,  whilst  he  is  abroad 
or  Dusy  writing  ere  yon  hare  risen ;  or  yon  meet  a  ser- 
Tant  bearing  his  slender  breakfktt  to  him  in  bed,  uui 
long  after  you  are  settled  to  the  occupation  of  the  day, 
you  see  him  emerging  firom  his  dormitory  in  his  dresa- 
ing-gown,  and  with  a  most  sleepv  face. .  Breakfast  is 
here  not  considered  a  meal,  and  not  half  the  respect  paid 
to  it  which  the  simplest  Innch-tray  Wotdd  c<«unaiid  with 
ili ;  some  take  it  standing,  others  smoking,  and  the  chil- 
dren as  often  as  not  run  off  with  their  portion  of  bvtUr- 
hrod  to  deyour  it  in  colnfort  in  some  little  niche,  or 
upon  the  base  of  a  pillar  in  the  magnificent  sidle :  or 
ilicilitate  the  act  of  mastication  by  a  continual  wander- 
ing from  place  to  plaee,  which  upon  English  carpets 
Would  be  oonsldered  nothing  less  thaa  petty  treason. 
Then  at  one  o'clock  we  all  ^ass  through  tiie  suite  of 
rooms  to  a  dining-room,  spacious  and  splendid  enough 
for  Crockford's  Club-houde,  where  an  excellent,  plenti- 
fhl,  and  fbrmal  repast  is  sorted,  generally  preceded  by 
what  they  call  here  FrttAKiidb,  or  breakhist,  (the  real 
breakfast,  according  to  the  acceptation  of  the  term,  be- 
ing simply  denominated  oc^fty)  which  is  not  treated  as  a 
midway  morsel  to  silence  the  Toice  of  appetite,  but 
looked  upon  as  a  herald,  the  dhmer  being  in  fhll  view, 
to  summon  and  encourage  all  the  powers  of  relish  and 
eiqoyment.  Aocordingly  It  consists  of  highly-spiced  or 
aalted  dishes,— of  strong  Swiss  cheese,  pickled  fish, 
black  puddings,  sausages,— washed  down  with  a  glass 
of  potent  liqueur,  which  the  elder  ladies  seem  to  eiyoy 
4uite  as  much  a^  the  gentlemen.  The  cuisine  is  (jrer- 
man,  upon  a  foundation  of  natire  dLdies,  one  of  which 
eq>eciaily  no  foreigner  can  pass  a  Wednesday  or  a  Sa- 
taxday  in  this  country  without  tasting ;  for,  by  old  estab- 
lished custom,  on  these  two  days  a  kind  of  pudding 
made  of  oatmeal,  and  called  Bret,  regularly  recurs  in 
lieu  of  soup;  beintf  handed  tound  by  one  serrant,  while 
aaother  fbUows  with  an  ample  jug  of  the  richest  cream, 
which  yon  pour  oyer  your  smotdng  hot  brei  without  any 
xesenre.  Cretan,  enters  into  a  number  of  dishes,  and  is 
used  with  a  liberality  which,  except  in  die  caaes  of  its 
being  eaten  sour,  coTers  in  my  view  a  multitude  of  culi- 
nary sins.  Another  peculiarity  of  daily  occurrence  is 
the  rye  bread,  here  slightly  fsnnented  fbr  the  table  of 
the  family,  and  most  powerfhlly  bo  for  thftt  of  the  atten- 
dants, and  which  a  palate  requires  the  initiation  of  a 
few  weeks  ere  it  can  relish.  White  bread  is  here  con- 
sidered as  a  delicacy  little  inferior  to  cake,  being  made 
cf  the  finest  Moscow  fiour,  Easily  recognisable  by  its 
dryness  and  insipidity,  while  the  term  Srod  is  conyen- 
tionally  restricted  exclusiyely  to  the  long  ohooolate- 
coloured  rye  loayes;  and  seyend  dear  little  blonde 
wiseheads  were  infinitely  amused  at  the  ignorance  of  the 
English  yisiier,  who  at  dinner  called  for  Sdi^Dortbrod, 
black-bread.  The  mode  of  waiting  ii  the  same  as  in 
Germany— the  dishes  are  caryed  at  the  sideboard,  and 
carried  round, — a  plan  which  sometimes  occasions  great 
mortification,  for  by  the  time  the  solitary  lump  of  meat 
has  been  laboured  through,  swallowed  past  redemption, 
and  your  plate  remoyed,  exactly  that  yegetable  suc- 
ceeds whioh  would  haye  giyen  it  the  requisite  relish.  . 
.  •  .  .  Tea  at  six  is  a  slight  meal,  the  beyerage  it- 
self being  of  the  finest  description;  but  supper  is  a 
solemn  repast  of  seyeral  courses,  when  so  much  is  eaten 
that  it  is  BO  w<nider  but  little  appetite  snryiyes  for 
bteakfost. 

Seryants  of  both  sexes  swarm  here  as  numerously  as 
in  a  house  of  the  same  rank  in  England — ^the  one,  it  is 
thie,  with  rusty  coat  and  unblacked  boots,  but  the  other 
neat  and  tidy,  generally  still  in  her  yilUge  costume,  if 
nnmanied  her  hair  braided  simply  and  picturesquely 
round  her  head,  who  goes  sliding  oyer  the  parqu£te 
floors,  and,  such  is  the  inconyenience  of  these  thorough- 
fkre  houses,  has  no  other  passage  from  her  working-room, 
to  the  kitchen  than  through  the  whole  splendid  suite  of 
drawing-roomi.  Here,  as  in  ^all  countries  in  an  early 
stage  of  dtilisatiea,  the  women  labour  twice  as  wil- 
lingly a«4  •AMtuUjr  u  Hm  man.    M  faDnsthaid  iw* 


yants  they  become  trastwertby  and  actiye,  work  yriib 
their  needUe,  wash,  and  dress  hair  superiorly  well,  while 
the  Estonian  ladies  require  so  much  attendance,  and 
accustom  their  seryants  to  consider  tnem  as  so  helplees, 
that  it  has  cost  me  a  seyere  dutab  struggle  with  an 
officious  lady's-maid  to  assert  the  indepen<tence  of  mj 
own  habits. 

The  catineal  pudiiMff^--^^  liberalitj  in  the  uie 
of  creara,  where  there  is  no  maricet  for  dairy 
prodnoe— what  ib  it,  biit  old  Scotland,  in  remoter 
plaeee,  down  eren  to  the  passing  honr?— while  iha 
rye-bread,  is  exactly  the  sourirwdy  still  used  in 
Cnmberlaoid  and  Westmoreland.  To  the  neat 
serving  maiden,  we  may  still  find  oonnterparts,  in 
those  rtaMte  places  at  home  where  wages  an  low 
and  tiamters  simple ; — ^bnt  where,  in  ^iglaad,  be* 
yond  the  rare  and  notable  wifb  of  a  luge  dairj 
farmer,  shall  we  find  anything  resembling  tiie  oymr^ 
tasked  itfTMiiM?  The  delicate  wires  of  the  Geor« 
gian  and  Columbian  planters,  ezpfaring  under  the 
ftitigae  and  responsibility  of  managing  and  proyid- 
ing  for  their  hundreds  of  black  seifii,  are  n^  more 
to  be  pitied. 

After  taking  a  reyiew  of  the  dwelling-rooms  and  bed- 
rooms, all  spacious  and  airy,  and  wanting  nought  save 
that  most  desirable  of  all  bed-room  requmtes,  priyaoy, 
my  hostess  led  the  way  to  her  ichqfireiy  or  etore^rooni^ 
and,  unlocking  the  door  with  a  slight  solemnity  of  man- 
ner, ushered  me  into  a  crowded  treasury  of  household 
goods.  The  room  was  &  yei^r  warehouse,  hung  round, 
fitted  up,  and  strewed  about  with  the  numerous  Items  of 
a  housekeeper's  economy,  to  which  those  who  enly  oen^ 
sume  them  often  attach  too  little  importanee,  and  theee 
who  haye  to  proyide  them  too  much.  Side  bv  side  on 
the  fioor  stood  big-bodied  bottles  of  spirit  and  liqueur, 
rolls  of  coarse  linen,  jars  of  pickles  and  preseryefe,  hanks 
of  wool,  loayes  of  sugar,  and  bundles  of  flax.  In  deep 
chests  around  were  the  Idosoow  flour,  salt,  sago,  saffiron, 
starchy  ko,,  &c.,  while  tiers  of  drawls  di^klay^  large 
proyisions  of  natiye  dried  apples,  pears,  cherries,  peaae^ 
beans,  birch-twigs,  applied  as  a  decoction  for  wounds, — 
in  short,  a  perfoct  Hortus  siccus  for  kitchen  use.  Around 
hung  balls  of  twine  and  yam,  nets,  corks,  candles  of  as 
many  oolours  and  sises  as  those  ofRsred  to  the  Yixgat  ef 
Casan,  tanned  sheep-skins  both  black  and  white,  and 
numberless  other  pendent  treasurer  while  one  side  was 
fitted  up  in  numerous  partitions,  where  the  raiidns,  figs 
and  spices  for  daintier  palateS  were  stored.  This  schaf- 
ferei  is  the  particular  sanctnaij  of  the  hdj  of  tiie  honse^ 
who,  if  she  do  alL  has  enough  business  to  transact.  Fer 
the  duties  of  an  Estonian  wirihschc^f  or  minage,  are  not 
confined  to  ordering  dinner,  or  scolding  senrants,  buty 
like  those  of  our  grandmothers  a  ftw  generations  back, 
who  directed  the  weighty  concerns  of  a  large  country 
residence,  include  the  weayinc  of  linen,  the  maUng  tf 
ecmdUs,  the  boiling  of  toapy  Irewimg  of  lifiHuny  Ac.  i 
and  communication  with  distant  towns  being  necessarily 
seldom,  it  requires  no  small  forethought  to  proyide  tha« 
during  the  long  months  of  winter  the  fiunily  diall  neter 
flul  in  sugar  or  plums,  nor  the  many  hangers-en  in  the 
back  settlements  of  the  house  in  the  more  stable  artiolea 
of  subsistence.  It  is  tnie  eyery  lady  has  her  house- 
keeper to  adyertise  her  that  there  is  no  more  home- 
brewed yinegar  in  the  bottle,  or  home-made  starch  ia 
the  tub,  or,  if  she  be  unusually  wealthy,  an  extra  assis- 
tant, emphatically  styled  a  MamuUe^  on  whom  all  these 
base  cares  descend;  but  housekeepers  and  mamaelles 
will  be  human  as  well  as  their  mistreeses,  and  some- 
times all  three  unite  in  forgetting  some  important  trifle^ 
which  equally  spoils  the  dinner  and  the  temper  of  the 
Ha/tukmr  for  seyeral  days. 

All  these  graye  responsibilities  render  ^  post  of  a 
baron's  lady  one,  howeyer  honourable^  but  of  little  c%^ 
pose. 

Hoir  would  onr  refined  ajngtcwratlo  hdiii  &%• 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  BALTIC 


43 


to  iHon  to  this  kind  of  life,—- to  wh^t  they  con- 
sMtr  the  ignoble  cares  and  honsehol^d  dradgerj^ 
from  wfakh  the  progress  of  society,  the  increase  of 
wmhhf  iod  hDmaniging  dyilisation,  have  reliered 
then^nd  also  many  womtnof  greatly  infnior  rank? 
Ateeuefolly  locking  np  this  baronial  store,  the 
bfi  sad  Btfety  of  which  ninst  inTolve  a  heavy 
Kipongibility,tiie  exploratory,  or  sho wing-off  walk, 
WM  oontiniied  by  the  happy  sisters.  ^Hie  hovee- 
hNpff^i  and  serrants*  rooms  came  next;  the 
hwuekeeper  being  a  most  important  fnnetionary 
in  Meh  an  establishment.  These  rooms  were  not 
oacUy  after  the  pattern  of  the  snug,  carpeted,  and 
viiBseoled,  and  pictnre-hnng  parlours  of  the  well- 
inmtd  hoosektepert  of  our  squires  of  all  degrees. — 
But  we  diall  see  the  domeatie  accommodations  of 
tlie  feudal  baron,  in  their  most  picturesque  and 
■BoiataqMct. 

W«  esatiiiMd  ear  walk  to  the  htosekeeper's  rooms, 
wyuMfciUMeaad  warm,  with  three  little  ohildrenaad 
latfateBB  ekidratis  sharing  the  briok  floor ^to  the 
kiteMD,  trhert  the  men  eooka  were  in  aetiTe  prmn^ 
teroud  their  flat  stoTet;  and  then  on  to  the  Volk9- 
takyir  people's  room,  where  all  the  lower  lerrants,  the 
mAmb  aiid  grooms,  (here  not  inolnded  as  honse  serw 
VBk)  the  Mw-firi8  and  the  sheep-boja,  &e.,  all  oome 
iiftt  their  meals  at  stated  times,  and  master  between 
twmty  ad  thirty  daily.  This  was  a  room  fbr  an  artist 
-a  Uiek  earthen  ik>or.  Walls  toned  down  to  erery  Ta- 
mty  if  diagy  reds,  blaoks,  ind  yellows,  with  a  huge 
Mwnk  ef  a  store  of  a  good  terra  eotta  celow,  and 
mrtkm  teeeels,  and  wooden  tabs  and  benokeo ;  and,  in 
ihHt)  ff«ry  faiplement  of  old-ftMhioned  nnwieldiness 
ml  fietarasqae  fbnn.  Bat  the  chief  attractions  were 
*jij|iHui,  fbr,  hard  at  work,  plying  their  spinning- 
*Mi)  mAy  either  singly  or  in  groups,  about  fifteen 

Cat  giris— their  numy-atriped  pettieoats,  and  dull 
«r  gtay  dolh  Jaokets,  their  tanned  locks  iklling 
**v  their  ehenlders,  and  deep  embrowned  spinning- 
|Me,  teDing  well  a^^ainst  «ie  warm  tones  aroond 
«.  Inseoethehair  was  of  so  light  a  hae  as  exactly 
l^i^Mt  the  eoloar  of  the  flax  upon  their  spindles,  and 
mie,tke  hoosekeeper  informed  as  in  brokoi  German, 
*<nae  ewest  of  hnsbands— flaxen  hair  being^  a  featore 
vtOe  hearts  of  the  peasants  are  neyer  known  to  re- 
mi  Ibet  of  these  pictoresqae  damsels  were  bare- 
M,  and  one  pretty  yellow-haired  lassie,  obserfing 
■^  Ae  was  partieolarly  sa  object  of  attention,  let  her 
w^  Uke  a  ▼eil  orer  her  stooping  face,  and  peeped 
*«y  at  OS  fkom  between  the  waving  strands.  I  oan't 
I^Ait  any  of  these  yonng  ladies  looked  partieabrly 
cam  «  iaritiag,  bat  erery  Tice  has  its  pleasant  side, 
aiibe  wont  of  dbt  and  filth  is,  they  are  so  pictor- 
•Ji.  Seme  of  them  rose  on  being  addressed,  and, 
•"J^  low,  coaxed  as  down  with  iMith  hands — ^mach 
•  itfaey  were  trying  to  smooth  down  oar  dresses.  This 
■fteaatioBal  salutation  to  their  superiors,  especially  if 
J^tW  a  request  to  make.  Farther  on  stood  a  stout 
™*^-firi,  her  jacket  thrown  <M,  and  only  her  shift 
^Wr  shoulders,  kneading  hi  a  deep  troi^ih  with  a 
*«^wooden  bat  tiie  coarse  bread  which  is  called  by 
^tivtiea  the  VoOai^rod,  or  people's  bread.  The  spin- 
"■HUab^ong  to  the  eetote,  and  attend  at  the  ho/,  or 
*^  m  the  aeignour's  house  is  termed,  fbr  so  many 
^~  p  ^  winter,  to  spin  under  the  housekeeper's 
ymUadeaee ;  nor  do  tlwy  appear  rery  averse  to  this 
^f^jiocy  besides  the  smart  grooms  and  soft  shepherds 
*W«Mt  with  them  at  meai-timeB,  this  Yolkstube  is 
J  «mwt  of  every  b^gar  and  wandering  pedlar,  and 
«  mmtiU  tattleahop  of  the  neig^nihood. 
^fcrAer  branches  of  this  sphmhig  department  ate 
"^  the  meat  hiterestfaig  of  a  lady's  wirttischalt. 

^^^'^iag  to  a  custom  not  long  exploded  in  our 
**»  Wintry,  this  kind  of  domestio  maaufaeture 
^<i«^ctiiM  on  by  ^le  la^-ho«stidfe,  om 


a  scale  proportioned  to  the  number  of  her  daughters, 
and  her  own  Qoble  ambition  to  accumulate  linen 
and  cloth  of  all  sorts.  In  Estonia,  as  once  in 
England,  and  until  lately  in  Scotland — 

A  carefiil  parent,  who  concludes  that  her  daughter  Is 
bom  in  order,  one  time  or  other,  to  fulfil  Nature's  great 
law,  cannot  well  begin  to  amass  too  early,  and  ere  the 
infknt  be  fkirly  out  of  its  long  clothes,  the  first  fbunda- 
tion  of  the  dozen-dozehs  of  riieets  and  table-linen,  which 
are  to  give  her  additional  grace  In  the  eyes  of  her  lord, 
is  laid.  In  former  days  this  was  carried  to  a  much 
greater  extent,  and  a  happy  house  fbll  of  daughters 
croaned  with  the  growing  treasures  of  their^aieeiiff,  or 
dowry. 

This  lady  is  learned  upon  the  adranta^ee  i4 
iloTes  ;  and  we  must  confess,  thai  neither  all 
philosophy,  nor  yet  all  good  common-sense,  are 
inonopolized  by  our  own  &ultless  island  notwith* 
standing  its  multitudinous  comforts.  Yentilatbn 
she  considers  to  be  tolerably  well  prorided  for  in 
the  great  houses,  by  the  siM  «f  the  rooms,  and 
from  them  all  opening  into  each  other,  and  thus 
fonning  one  enormous  apartment,  and  from  the 
entire  absence  of  curtains  and  carpets ;  and  she  rt* 
nuu^s  of  the  stoTo-heated  room»^ 

This  equable  temperature,  to  live  in,  retire  to  test,  and 
rise  by,  is  certainly  the  most  agreeable  luxury,  and 
there  can  be  no  surprise  that  fbreigners  rail  at  our  rooms 
whioh  fireeie  them  by  the  window  or  seoroh  tibem  by  the 
fire;  but  a  more  important  fhot  attending  this  general 
distribution  of  heat  consists  in  the  absence  of  all  pul- 
monary complaints  and  rheumatic  maladies  in  this 
severe  oUmatOj  though  the  want  of  iMi  air— «o  neces- 
sary attendant  howerer,  on  this  node  of  heating— en* 
genders  other  diseases.  How  many  a  delicate  girl  in 
our  own  consumption-stricken  land  lays  the  first  stone 
of  her  early  pave  in  her  finishing  year  at  some  board- 
ing-school, where  she  sleeps  In  a  freezing  atmosphere, 
never  sufficiently  watfms  herself  by  day,  and  fyequenUy 
fkils  in  that  generous  diet  whieh  mi^  qualify  these 
evils  1 

The  out-door  buildingfr-the  Offloes  of  thit  laig# 
and  rambling  establh^metti— were  next  examined. 
They  were  upon  the  same  gigantic  scale. 

After  this  summary  of  the  house,  and  the  various 
pros  and  eons  of  its  internal  economy,  you  must  now 
accompany  me  to  the  anmereus  buildhigs  scattered 
around,  aOl  on  the  same  scale  of  naadeur  as  itseU^ 
where  the  domestic  herds  pass  their  long  winter  in 
shelter,  warmth,  and  almost  darkness.  In  the  first  we 
entered,  a  noble  edifice  120  flset  loog,  and  supported 
down  the  centre  by  a  row  of  solid  pillars,  above  a  ttien- 
sand  sheep  irere  aiost  amgnifloently  lodged,  allbrding  as 
the^  congregated  round  their  erilw,  or  quietly  st<^>ed 
eating  to  gaie  upon  ua^  a  most  novel  and  sfcrikiog  pic- 
ture of  a  vast  northern  fold.  In  another  building  was 
a  herd  of  stalled  cattle,  some  destined  for  slaughter, 
others  mileh-kine,  with  many  a  barefboted  peasant-cirl 
and  half-Aill  machine  of  milk  at  their  sides.  Fur^er 
on,  the  pigs  had  their  domicile,  and  the  fbwls  theirs, 
and  in  the  midst  of  these  buildings  rose  the  Brandtwein*» 
KM^y  or  brandy-kitchen,  where  the  process  of  distil- 
ling from  rye,  barley,  w  potatoes,  goes  en  niaht  and 
day;  the  reftuw  grafais  of  which  contribute  to  fhtten  the 
cattle  we  have  iust  quitted.  It  will  easily  be  supposed 
that  the  task  or  ealealating  and  providing  food  fOr  this 
multiplication  of  mouths,  all  deti»endent  on  the  help  of 
man,  is  no  light  oiie.  Every  animal  has  so  many  pounds 
of  hi^  aQottod  to  hiili  per  day,  and  each  week's  oon- 
sun^tion  is  sometiiing  which  it  never  entered  into  the 
heart  of  an  English  fiMner  to  eonceive:  and,  if  the  win- 
ter exceed  its  usual  limits — ^if  these  poor  quadrupeds, 
which  go  up  into  their  annual  aik  in  the  month  of  Oc- 
tober, be  not  released  till  the  begimiiag  of  May,  a  soar* 


44 


LETTERS  i*llOM  THE  BALTIC. 


city  of  food  can  hardly  be  hindered.  Fresh  litter  is 
strewed  daily,  which  never  being  remoyed,  the  cattle 
stand  at  least  six  feet  higher  at  the  close  than  at  the 
commencement  of  their  captiyity.  In  this  consists  the 
main  prorision  of  manure  for  the  summer's  use.  The 
sheep  were  all  of  a  picked  Merino  breed,  to  which  the 
closest  attention  is  paid  to  preserve  it  intacU,  This  is  a 
branch  of  husbandry  only  lately  undertaken  in  Estonia, 
and  at  present  attended  with  great  success  and  profit.  . 
....  From  the  farm-yard  we  turned  our  course  to 
the  garden,  or  what  will  prove  to  be  such  when  this 
three  feet  of  snow  shall  have  disappeared.  Here  were 
also  a  number  of  tender  creatures  under  shelter  in  the 
noble  line  of  greenhouses  and  hothouses,  while  the 
graperies  and  peacheries  were  in  different  stages  of  for- 
wardness— the  trees  in  the  latter  just  putting  forth  their 
deUcate  pink  blossoms.  These,  however,  and  the  other 
usual  exotic  tenants  of  such  glass-houses,  elicited  no 
sentiment  beyond  that  of  admiration. 

And  these  are  probably  a  rare,  and  certainly 
but  a  modem  feature,  in  Estonian  residences. 

We  shall  leave  our  author's  vivid  descriptions  of 
her  exhilarating  winter  walks,  in  this  new  region, 
to  the  lovers  of  nature  and  poetry.  The  frequent 
appearance  of  the  wolves,  that  still  abound  in  the 
province,  in  which  a  thousand  are  killed  in  a  year, 
gave  these  pedestrian  excursions  the  heightening 
touch  of  a  small  danger. 

Christmas — ^blessings  be  on  it !— <K)mes  with  its 
joyous,  old-fashioned,  quaint,  and  merry  face,  to 
lengthen  the  long  arctic  winter,  and  is  kept  with 
due  observance  for  three  days.  The  Old  Style  is 
still  observed  in  Estonia,  as  in  older  parts  of  Russia. 

The  established  religion  of  the  province,  is  not 
that  of  the  Greek  church,  but  the  Lutheran.  Re- 
ligion,  however,  seems  to  be  considered  something 
far  too  vulgar  for  the  noble  barons,  though  necessary 
to  the  peasants  ;  and  the  clergy — a  poor  body — 
are  still  much  in  the  same  condition  as  were  those 
of  England,  when  Parson  Adams  drank  his  cup  of 
ale  in  Squire  Booby's  kitchen.  The  functions  of 
the  clergy  and  their  emoluments,  are  much  the 
same  as  in  Norway,  where  the  minister  s  place  is 
no  sinecure. 

On  the  first  of  the  glorious  three  dt^e  of  Christ- 
mas, the  Englishwoman  was  invited  to  accompany 
her  friends,  to  dine  with  a  neighbouring  family, 
only  about  thirty  miles  off,  and  at  the  usual  early 
hour  of  the  country.  She  accordingly  began  to 
dress  in  the  morning,  for  the  evening  party.  Per- 
sonal warmth  being  first  duly  provided  for,  so  far 
as  woollens  and  furs  could  accomplish  this  difficult 
business,  with  the  thermometer  at  5^  of  Fahrenheit, 
our  traveller  gives  this  graphic  description  of 
skdgingy  which  we  have  heanl  other  experienced 
individuals  mention,  as  not  always  that  easy, 
gliding,  exhilarating  motion,  of  which  Yankee 
poets  dream. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  sledging  is  here  such 
smooth  gliding  work  as  it  is  generally  represented ;  on 
the  contrary,  a  succession  of  drifts,  worn  into  deeper  de- 
clivities and  higher  ascents  by  the  continual  traffic,  will 
subject  you  to  a  bumping  kind  of  movement,  which,  in 
spite  of  your  solid  feather-bed  casing,  is  neither  conve- 
nient nor  agreeable.  Then  suddenly  the  sledge  declines 
a  fathom  deep  on  one  side,  and  out  flies  the  coachman's 
or  footman's  leg  to  act  as  an  additional  prop,  and  you 
lie  comfortably  cradled  upon  your  half-suffocated  com- 
panion, when,  with  a  loud  jingle  of  all  four  horses,  the 
sledge  is  jerked  out  of  the  hole,  and  the  travellers  once 
more  stuck  upright.     And  then,  perhaps,  when  the 


track  becomes  narrower,  the  outer  horses  are  driven  in* 
to  the  loose  deep  snow,  and  one  of  them  tuiftbles  oTer 
head  and  ears  into  an  invisible  ditch,  whence,  his  long 
traces  giving  him  perfect  liberty,  he  clambers  out  again 
unassisted,  shakes  the  snow  from  his  sides,  and  snorts 
and  stamps  with  the  utmost  impatience  to  be  off  again. 
But  the  road  was  got  over,  though  the  jouiney 
might  not  have  been  quite  a  pleasure  drive ;  and 
presently — 

The  great  structure  of  FXhni^— for  such  was  the  name 
of  Uie  residence  to  which  we  were  bound — was  soon 
seen  rearing  itself  in  the  distance,  a  square  mass  against 
the  sky,  without  a  tree  or  object  near  it.  Here,  our 
wrappers  being  gradually  peeled  off,  we  issued  like  but- 
terflies from  our  wooUen  cells,  and  were  ushered  into  a 
large  assembly,  where  the  hostess,  a  pretty  giaoeftil 
young  woman,  came  forward,  and  welcomed  us  with 
the  utmost  courtesy  and  good  breeding,  and  even  found 
a  few  pleasing,  though  imperfect,  words  in  English  to 
say  to  her  foreign  visiter,  with  a  kindness  of  manner  and 
intention  which  quite  won  my  heart.  Immediately  up- 
on our  arrival  the/riUstiidb  of  Swiss  cheese,  and  pickled 
jtrotn/ifi,  a  fish  peculiar  to  Estonia,  with  red  and  white 
liqueurs,  was  handed  round,  after  which  a  servant  whis- 
pered something  to  the  hostess,  who  rose,  and  with  a 
distinct  voice  and  graceful  manner,  simply  said,  ^  May 
I  beg  you  all  to  table  1"  and,  herself  taking  the  lead 
with  the  oldest  gentleman  of  the  party,  we  filed  of^  a 
party  of  at  least  fifty,  a  cluster  of  little  boys  and  g^s 
bringing  up  the  rear ;  for  an  invitation  to  the  heads  of  a 
family  is  tacitly  understood  to  include  all  the  olive- 
branches,  however  numerous  or  tender.  As  each  couple 
entered  the  dining-room,  the  cavalier  bowed  profoundly, 
disengaged  himself,  and  went  his  way,  while  all  the 
ladies  seated  themselves  on  one  side  and  all  the  gentle- 
men on  the  other,  the  hostess  heading  the  table,  whilst 
her  husband  mingled  with  his  male  guests.  Conversa- 
tion was  therefore  restricted  to  the  different  lines,  and 
the  process  of  serving  dinner  absolving,  as  I  have  before 
observed,  the  gentlemen  from  all  obligation  of  courtesy, 
and  no  intimation  to  venture  a  conversation  across  the 
narrow  table  being  apparent,  not  a  single  gentleman 
addressed  his  Mr  vii-iL-vU  during  the  whole  repast 
This  is  an  additional  reason  for  retaining  our  old  Eng- 
lish mode,  as  engendering  trifiing  attentions,  which  tend 
to  keep  up  the  outward  semblance  of  good  breeding,  the 
absence  of  which,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  in  some  mea- 
sure, contributes  to  the  Transatlantic  style  of  manners 
which  are  observable  among  the  present  generation  of 
young  Estonian  nobles.  1%e  courtesies  of  the  table 
began  with  the  well-side  and  water-drawing  times  of 
the  patriarchs;  the  woman-despising  Turk  eats  alone. 
My  own  positioirwas  very  enviahle  l^tween  two  charm- 
ing lady-like  women,  who  proved  the  most  agreeable 
representatives  of  their  country.  The  dinner  was  sump- 
tuous, wiUi  a  provision  of  splendid  glass  and  plate,  the 
latter,  as  well  as  the  beautiftil  damask  linen,  marked 
with  the  maiden  name  of  our  hostess,  and  which,  it 
may  be  as  well  to  mention  here,  though  I  should  grieve 
to  see  that  pretty  animated  fSaoe  shjrouded  beneath  a 
mourning  cap,  all  revert  with  the  rest  of  her  dowry  to 
the  widow  on  her  husband's  death.  Among  the  novel 
dishes  introduced  on  this  occasion,  was  the  elk,  a  harm- 
less animal  which  infests  the  Livonian  woods,  in  fiavour 
much  resembling  venison,  and  a  preserve  of  rose-leaves, 
a  luscious  kind  of  ambrosia,  like  eating  perftimes,  or  & 
smack  of  paradise  on  earth;  and  lastly,  a  dish  which 
the  season  alone  rendered  peculiar,  for  who  would  have 
thought  of  ices  on  Christmas  day  t  But  no  one  could 
quarrel  with  the  cold  interlo^r,  for  the  room  was  hot 
to  suffocation,  and  the  delicious  walnut-cream  ice  melted 
most  grateftilly  down  our  throats.  When  the  last  dishes 
of  fruits  and  bon-bons  had  been  handed  round,  our 
hostess  rose,  and,  the  gentlemen  clustering  at  the  door, 
each  resumed  his  lady  where  he  had  left  her,  and,  eon* 
ducting  her  into  the  next  room,  again  made  his  bow  and 
escaped.  Coffee  vras  now  handed  round,  and  a  long  and 
superb  suite  of  rooms  being  open  to  us,  the  whole  party 
of  ladies  pMaded  up  and  down  in  distinct  groups ;  after 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  BALTIC. 


45 


vbkb  the  matrdns  Mi  dowti  to  sober  conTerse,  and 
talked,  as  good  wires  should  do,  of  their  children  and 
their  wkiheka/^  and  some  drew  forth  little  ladylike 
kite  of  eabroidery,  on  which  their  fkir  fingers  were  soon 
kosied,  wkOe  the  older  ones  knitted  away  most  energeti- 
cal^ at  die  *  weary  pond." 

lleaBwhile  the  jonngerportiony  including  many  beau- 
tilU  sod  graceful  young  women,  well  dressed,  and  ele- 
gant m  Banner,  clustered  together  in  girlish  guise,  in 
the  deep  leceesee  of  the  windows,  or  round  the  piano, 
«r  played  at  hagatelle  with  many  an  animated  laugh 
and  jtft.    And  where  were  the  gentlemen  all  this  time? 

At  a  sobfleqnent  period  of  her  residenoe,  this 
ktm  obaerrer  and  lirely  writer  finishes  her  picture 
of  Brtoffiinn  modes  and  manners,  and  presents  ns 
with  a  fnm^^-partyy  coeyal  wilh  the  age  of  the 
GiandJeona,  at  the  latest. 

By  the  word  faimily~part^^  I  must  beg  not  to  be  under- 
HMd  one  of  those  rude,  indecorous  gatherings — those 
ttetal  Babels  of  our  natire  land,  where  brothers,  sisters, 
(ouiB%  nmhews,  and  nieces  meet  together  to  banter, 
tBa«,  aind  huiigh  ;    bat  an  orderly  meeting  of  courteous 
iadSHiaals,  who    know^  what  befits  their  dignity,  and 
«(c  abere  taking  adranta^  ^  the  bonds  of  relationship 
%  iwfailge  in  any  promiscuous  leyity  ! — fie  upon  it  1 
fiSrea  the  rery  Ihrnitare  partakes  of  the  general  feeling ; 
—hard  staffed,  bright  polished,  and  richly  oarred,  there 
B  le  iadelieate  strayini^  about  the  rooms  like  our  loose- 
'  Baaaaed,  deprared,  forward  generation,  who  come  be- 
farc  they  are  called  ;   bat  each  stands  austerely  in  its 
phce,  sad  waits  to  be  sought.    The  ladies  curtsy,  the 
geatfeaen  bow,  and  sometimes  a  fair  hand  Ib  reverently 
kiaed,  while  the  lady — for  such  is  the  peculiar  custom 
bolhhsxe  and  in  Rowa — ia  expected  to  dive  down  and 
iafffiat  a  chaste  salnte  on  the  extreme  confine  of  the 
cke^  or  Tery  tip  of  the  ear,  or  any  other  part  of  the 
geitkBui's  physiognoimy  thus  employed  which  her  lips 
oa  nach.  This  reqaires  some  practice  to  do  gracefully. 
....      This    is  looked  upon  by  the  gentlemen 
tifisir  nndonbted  perqaisite ;  and  I  hare  seen  a  pretty 
lani(BW0Ban  graTely  reprimanded  by  her  dull  Esto- 
ua  ksd  f(9T  hesitating  to  comply.    It  would  be  hard 
t»KyiH»t  grade  of  relationship  or  exigency  of  circnm- 
Smn  woold  compel  an  Estonian  nobleman  to  forget  that 
k  ii  Bst  to  be  at  his  ease,  according  to  our  western  no- 
tes of  Bueh.   On  the  other  hand,  to  a  loTer  of  antiquity, 
tti  fifiag  representation  of  by-gone  manners  is  highly 
iatasBling.    At  erery  moment  I  am  reminded  of  some 
tiait  nfkich  increasing  luxury  and  inoreasing  retrenoh- 
■est  have  equally  conspired  to  banish  from  our  soiL 
H««  every  country  genUeman  keeps  open  house,  and  no 
aeeesst  is  taken  oif  how  many  mouths  there  are  to  fill, 
shaker  in  hall,  kitchen,  or  stable.    The  houses  are  yast, 
pad,  and  ineonnnodious,  and  countless  hangers-on  and 
d^esdaats  sopply  the  economy  of  steps  by  a  superfiuity 
if  fesL    The  Seigneurs  here  nerer  more  about  with  less 
than  tier  hofses,  and  often  six, — rusty  equipments  it  is 
tnt ;— but  it  is  a  mistake  to  imagine  that  the  coaches 
ssd  fcsr  sf  onr  ancestors  were  marked  by  the  same 
I  and  finish  iHiich  now  attend  the  commonest 
r  that  their  neighbonriy  meetings  were  distin- 
by  that  ease,  sociability,  and  intellect  which 
>  Um  English  society  of  the  present  day  so  delight- 
Oa  the  contrary,  as  soon  as  the  scanty  topics  of  the 
exhausted,  they  all  sat  down  to  cards,  and 
by  broad  daylight,  like  too  many  of  the 
Then,  as  now  here,  all  natural 
ne  plentiftil  and  cheap,  and  all  artificial  ob- 
jects sesxee  sad  dear ;  and  the  manners  to  correspond 
WBe  hsspitable  in  the  main,  but  rigidly  formal  in  detail. 

Bat  there  is  one  rare  and  beautiful  feature  in 
Fatnnisn  social  relations — the  absence  of  family 
fiinh — and  one  to  us  unaccountable,  sare,  pro- 
bsUy,  from  the  absence  of  the  root  of  all  evil. 
Another  softening  and  kindred  feature  of  this 
of  sodetjy  is  the  social  equality  of  all 


belonging  to  a  certain  class,  without  respect  to 
their  weaJth.     It  is  remarked  that — 

All  those  bom  in  a  certain  station  retain  it,  whether 
their  means  be  adequate  or  not,  and  are  admitted  into 
society  with  no  reference  as  to  whether,  they  can  return 
the  obligation.  Otherwise  I  do  not  belieye  tiie  real 
morality  of  the  community  in  any  way  adranoed  by  their 
rigid  outward  decorum.  Like  people  who  first  peel  their 
apple  and  then  eat  the  paring,  it  comes  to  the  same  thing 
in  the  end.  Consistent  with  tiie  spirit  of  an  old  picture, 
they  bend  all  their  attention  to  the  minutisB  of  S  fold, 
and  neglect  the  first  principles  of  perspeetiTe.  Harmless 
freedoms  are  controlled  with  bars  of  iron,  while,  from  tiie 
frcility  of  diToroe,and  other  laxities  which  the  Lutheran 
religion  allows,  many  a  sin  walks  in  broad  daylight, 
without  so  much  as  a  cobweb  oyer  it. 

The  class  upon  whom  this  prohibition  of  harmless 
freedoms,  or  in  other  words  this  chain  upon  natural 
spirits,  falls  heayiest,  is  that  of  the  unfortunate  little 
Estonian  young  ladies.  Children  of  all  ages  are  here 
palmed  upon  all  society,  greatly  to  mutual  inoouTenienoe. 

Russian  manners  are  gradually  creeping  into 
Estonia,  to  the  great  alarm  of  its  noble,  elderly 
patriots,  the  descendants  of  the  Teutonic  knights. 
Nicholas  wishes  to  suck  them  into  the  Tortex  of 
his  mighty  system  of  centralization,  and  their 
provincial  senate  opposes  no  effectual  bar ;  while 
interest  and  ambition  powerfully  draw  the  Esto* 
nian  youth,  who  often  find  employment  in  the  civil 
or  military  service  of  the  emperor,  in  the  desired 
direction.  The  Russian  language  here,  as  in  all 
other  Russian  dependencies,  has,  in  the  schools  and 
universities,  superseded  the  native  tongues.  The 
ukase  of  the  emperor,  requiring  that  all  the  children 
of  a  Russian  parent,  whether  father  or  mother, 
shall  be  of  the  Greek  religion,  while  living  in 
Russia — ^the  modest  emperor  not  exacting  Confor- 
mity from  his  subjects  in  countries,  where  there 
is  no  Greek  church — has  ofiered  no  obstacle 
to  the  amalgamation  going  forward ;  as  a  larger 
fortune,  with  a  Russian  bride,  compensates  tiie 
Estonian  youth  beforehand,  for  his  progeny  giving 
up  the  religion  of  his  ancestors,  and  adopting  that 
of  the  emperor,  along  with  other  minor  regulations 
and  matters,  such  as  the  length  of  spurs,  and  the  curl 
of  moustaches.  The  Estonian  peasant  alone,  who 
has,indeed,  no  motive  for  changing  his  faith,remains 
firm  to  the  form  of  Christianity  to  which  it  was 
80  difficult  to  win  his  Pagan  ancestors.  And  now 
we  come  to  the  social  condition  of  the  emancipated 
peasantry — ^the  aborigines  of  the  province,  the 
genuine  S(^hiaH9 — ^whose  manners  and  condition 
have  not  very  materially  changed,  in  the  many 
generations  which  have  witnessed  the  revolutions 
going  on  among  his  varied  and  distant  sovereigns. 
The  specimen  chosen  b  from  the  better  class  of 
the  peasantry ;  those  holding  the  greatest  extent 
of  land,  and  consequently  doing  the  most  service 
to  their  feudal  lord. 

Wishing  to  see  the  Estonian  peasant  under  every 
aspect,  I  requested  my  hostess— one  whose  heart  feels 
interest  in  the  most  stupid,  and  love  for  the  most  con- 
temned, of  her  adopted  countrymen— to  exhibit  to  me 
some  peasant's  dwelling  which  might  fkirly  represent 
the  comforts  of  this  class.  Acoordi^ly  we  drove  to  the 
abode  of  a  hard-working,  respectable  Estonian,  about 
three  worsts  removed,  and  were  helped  out  of  our  sledge 
by  a  gaunt  host  with  streaming  locks,  who  stroked  us 
down  in  the  national  fashion,  and  hegg^  us  to  enter. 
The  house  was  a  one-storied  erection,  built  of  roughly- 


40 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  BALTIC. 


8<iiutfied  logs,  Bad  oeeipying  u  mneh  spao*  is  any  of  oar 
large  old-fashioned  farm-houses,  with  a  double  wall  on 
the  entrance  side,  separated  by  a  passage  of  about  six  feet 
wide,  whidi  greatly  tends  botii  to  warmth  in  winter  and 
ooolness  in  summer.  In  this  passage  an  extremely  filthy 
sow  and  a  whole  litter  of  little  pigs  were  granting  and 
tumbling  about  with  some  other  little  animals,  seemingly 
of  the  same  generie  origin,  but  which,  on  nearer  insi^ 
tion,  prored  to  be  part  of  our  host's  youthftd  fkmily.  To 
pass  through  the  inner  wall  we  stepped  oyer  a  hi|^ 
ledge,  through  an  aperture  wide  enough  for  a  Lambert, 
but  hardly  high  enough  for  a  child  of  twelre  years  old, 
more  adapted  apparently  fbr  quadrupeds  than  fbr  men. 
Once  housed,  we  were  obliged  to  wait  a  few  minutes 
before  our  eyes  accustomed  themselyes  to  the  dariuiess, 
or  threw  off  the  film  of  water  with  which  the  strong 
stinging  atmosphere  of  wood-smoke  obscured  them,  when 
the  firrt  object  we  discerned  was  a  rosy  peasant-girl 
ireaTing  a  piece  of  linen  in  the  same  gloom  by  which  we 
eonld  acaroely  distinguish  the  loom.  The  room  where 
we  stood  was  at  least  twenty-five  fiMt  long ;  with  a  black 
earthen  fioor,  strewn  with  fir-tips,  and  the  chief  object 
was  the  great  stOTO.  This  was  a  huge  mass  of  masonry 
towering  among  the  dry  rafters  of  the  roof,  with  rough 
ledges  of  stones,  up  and  down  which  a  second  litter  of 
children  were  olimbmg  in  their  shifts,  while  on  the 
highest  ledge  lay  a  baby  hei  asleep.  A  projecting  shelf 
of  wood  ran  round  two  sides  of  the  room,  about  two  feet 
from  the  fioor,  which,  strewn  with  straw,  serres  as  the 
ikmily-bed  for  the  night,  is  converted  by  day  to  any 
housdiold  use,  and  was  eonreniently  fitted  up  with  hen- 
coops undemokth.  There  was  nochimney  in  this  apart- 
ment, and  no  light  but  from  the  low  door.  Further  on 
were  two  other  rooms,  mere  little  dens,  with  a  pane  of 
dusky  glass  in  each,  and  a  few  articles  of  furniture — a 
couple  of  chairs,  and  chests  fbr  clothes — ^the  same  roof 
houses,  ih»  little  horse,  and  ether  cattle.  There  was 
nothing  in  all  this  to  disgust — hard  tut  and  independent 
habits^ — ^and  when  we  took  our  leave,  we  made  the  little 
shock-headed  children  very  happy  with  some  rolls  of 
white  bread,  a  dainty  they  see  much  more  rarely  than 
our  poor  chUdren  do  cake. 

This  peasant  occupies  about  twvnty-ftTB  acres  of  land, 
upon  the  estaie  where  I  am  scjouming*  Every  estate  is 
thus  parcelled  out,  the  proprietor  having  a  considerable 
nortion  under  his  own  management,  the  rest  being 
oivided  amonc  the  peasants,  who,  from  time  immemorial, 
have  belonged  to  the  land,  and  till  within  the  last  flew 
yean  in  the  oonditien  of  serfr.  The  same  fields,  there- 
fore, for  which  they  fiMinerly  paid  a  rent,  limited  only  by 
the  will  of  the  Merry  or  lord,  they  now  hold  upon  a 
tenure  fixed  by  law,  which  is  as  follows  : — Each  peasant 
householder,  or  Wir^,  occupies  so  much  land,  for  which 
he  pays  rent  in  the  shape  of  so  many  days'  labour,  man 
and  horse,  per  week,  upon  the  lord's  fields  ;  by  certain 
contributions  of  com  ;  and  of  a  calf,  a  goose,  so  many 
Ibwls  or  eggs,  and  so  many  bundles  of  fiiu[ — ^all  of  which 
last  small  tithes  generally  come  vrithin  the  lady's 
department,  vdio  has  thus  the  products  of  a  most  exten- 
di fSurm-yard  to  register  and  superintend.  The  smaller 
tiie  occupation,  the  fsirer  the  days  of  labour  to  perform, 
and  the  poorer  the  peasant.  A  so-called  two  days' 
Wirth  generally  performs  the  requisite  labour  in  his  own 
person,  but  a  six  days'  Wirtk,  a  rank  which  the  peasant 
we  had  just  quitted  occupies,  sends  his  labourers  to 
supply  his  plaoe,  and,  by  sending  two  men  three  sucoes- 
live  days,  has  the  rest  of  his  week  undistarbed.  Upon 
this  estate,  no  less  than  360  days'  work  is  contributed 
weekly,  and  yet  the  labour  is  not  equal  to  the  demand. 
This  allotment  per  week  is  the  only  foir  arrangement, 
fin*,  though  many  a  week  in  vrinter  occurs  when  no  man 
can  work,  yet  were  the  proprietor  to  daim  all  his  per- 
mitted days  only  in  the  summer,  the  peasant  vrould  not 
have  a  day  left  to  reap  or  sow  for  himself. 
V  The  act  of  enfirancfaisement  in  Estonia  has  not  been 
^^^lecompanied  by  the  advantages  which  those  who  ab- 
8tt.*iotedly  reckon  the  state  of  independence  too  high,  and 

thaV*.  of^serfage  too  low,  might  expect. 
^». 


ConrlAnd,  and  Lironia,  had  no  Metbodidfc  or  Baptist 
missionaries  labouring  among  them,  for  a  previous 
half-century,  and  preparing  them  for  the  unknown 
and  unvalued  blessing  of  tiieir  human  birthright. 
They  haye,  besides,  the  misfortune  of  being  only 
Aa(^  emancipated, — ^raised  to  the  dignity  of  paying 
a  poll-tax,  and  being  forced  to  become  soldiers, 
but  having  no  more  to  say  than  their  masters,  as 
to  what  the  amount  of  that  tax  shall  be,  or  whether 
they  are  able  to  pay  it  or  not.  The  act  of  eman- 
cipation produced  one  amusing  consequence.  This 
was  the  adoption  of  family  names,  by  those  who 
had,  from  time  immemorial,  been  only  designated 
by  the  baptismal  appellation.  On  the  estate  of 
this  lady's  brother-in-law,  we  are  told — 

It  cost  the  lord  and  lady  no  little  trouble  and  inven- 
tion to  hunt  up  the  requisite  number  and  variety  of 
names  for  the  tenants  of  their  estates.  The  gentleman 
took  the  dictionary— the  lady,  Walter  Scott,  for  refer- 
ence—vrith  us  it  would  have  been  the  Bible — and 
homely  German  words  were  given,  or  old  Scottish  names 
revived,  which  may  one  day  perplex  a  genealogist.  The 
worst  of  it  was,  these  poor  creatures  were  very  diificult 
to  please,  and  manv  a  young  man,  who  went  away  happy 
vrith  Us  new  family  distinction,  returned  the  next  day 
with  a  sheepish  look,  owning  that  his  lady  had  put  him 
out  of  conceit  of  it,  and  that  he  would  trouble  the  Erra 
(the  Estonian  corruption  of  Herr)  to  provide  him  vrith 
another,  not  seldom  ending  by  begging  leave  to  adopt 
the  aristocratic,  unsullied,  sixteen  or  thirty-two  quar- 
tered  name  of  the  Ck>unt  or  Baron  under  whom  he  served. 
But,  however  liberal  of  his  neighbours'  names,  the  Esto- 
nian noble  is  in  no  hurry  to  bestow  his  own;  flir  fh>m. 
running  the  risk  of  such  vile  identity,  he  does  not  even 
allow  the  peasant  the  same  national  appellation  which 
countrymen  of  the  same  soil,  whether  high  or  low,  gene- 
rally wear  alike.  The  aristocrat  is  an  EttklHtid^r,  the 
peasant  an  Et^.  The  noble's  wife  is  a  Frau,  the  pea- 
sant's a  Weiby  and  any  transposition  of  these  terms 
would  be  deemed  highly  insulting. 

Specimens  of  the  best-looking  of  the  yomig' 
peasantry  were  selected  as  subjects  for  the  lady*B 
sketch-book  ;  and  one  Estonian  yellow-haired 
ApoUo,  though  at  first  delighted  to  have  his 
likeness  drawn,  became  as  much  alarmed  for  the 
consequences,  as  the  Red  Indians  of  the  Missouri, 
whom  Mr.  Catlin  painted  there.  He  feared  that 
he  might  be  sent  to  Siberia,  in  consequence  of  this 
paper-and-pencil  spell, — or  to  England  !  The  pea- 
sants were  seen  to  some  advantage  in  the  church, 
of  the  Tillage,  which  is  ^y%  milee  distant  from  the 
baronial  residence,  and  rarely  vimted  by  its  in- 
habitants. 

Here  we  found  the  peasants'  sledges  standing  in 
double  rows  as  thick  abng  the  road  as  the  carriages  be- 
fore the  Opera-house  at  a  morning  concert ;  and,  enter* 
ing  throu^  a  dense  crowd,  smelling  strongly  ii  their 
sheep-skin  habiliments,  and  the  smoky  atmosphere  in 
which  they  live,  we  mounted  a  gallery  to  a  pew  reserredl 
ibr  the  fiuiily,  whence  we  look^  down  upon  a  platftnni 
of  human  heads  of  every  variety  of  rich  blondes  and. 
and  browns — ^blacks  there  were  but  few,  and  grays  nm&e 
at  all ;  though  of  wrinkles,  failing  limbs,  and  other  signs 
of  age,  there  was  a  premature  prof^on.  The  aeryice, 
which  was  in  Estonian,  had  commenced,  and,  after  ihm 
first  careless  wonder  vrith  which  you  listen  to  anew  Isn- 
guage  subsided,  my  eyes  busied  themselves  with  wha4 
was  around  them. 

The  men  were  all  on  one  side,  their  long  hair,  un* 
touched  by  sdssars  since  their  birth,  dirided  down  the 
centre  of  the  head,  and  flowing  on  their  shoulders  :  the 
women  on  the  other,  with  high  helmet-shaped  caps  of 
fffvej  Ysriety  of  br^  ooloui^-4heir  gay  ribbons  and 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  BALTIC. 


47 


bjlfat  Mb  ilnamiiig  promiMiioiiBly  from  beneath ;  or 
HaetiaKs  all  this  \owlj  yanity  ooTered  with  a  white 
iM^kBitliK  whieh,  dispoeed  in  a  band  across  the  fore- 
knd,  and  &Uing  in  ample  folds  down  the  cheeks^  enno- 
Uad  muj  a  homely  set  of  features.  Beauty  there  was 
bit  Kttk:  Wre  and  there  a  young  rosy  cheek  and  bright 
ere  iImM  tfanraf^  the  crowd,  bnt  the  generality  were 
pki  aika  ihuL  ugly.  The  first  impression  on  the 
■isd  «f  this  dsnie  crowd  of  attentire  poor  was  almost 
paiafiL  Oar  Sarioiir's  audiences  were  only  the  poor ; 
asd  aaopt  the  ailent  listening  throng  who  stood,  each 
iMiiif  with  clasped  hands  npon  his  foremost  neigfa^ur*s 
ttutUa—hnt  and  there  a  child  held  aloft  above  the 
amk  of  limbs,  while  a  row  of  sick  and  decrepit  beings, 
iglj,  alijeet,  yet  renerable,  lying  on  mattresses  in  every 
iktai«iat  fbm,  occupied  the  centre,  and  Hebrew- 
iofti  bstds,  and  Apostolic  countenances,  crowded 
mod— fot  missed  only  the  divine  aspect  firom  this 
nady-made  and  most  touching  picture.  The  women 
w«t  eUdiy  ia  sheep-skins  or  wolf-skins,  with  gay  bands 
naad  their  waists^— th«  men  in  the  same,  or  in  a  coarse 
bnva  deth,  with  rows  of  silver  buttons  down  the  breast. 
Ik  mae  was  enlivened  by  the  presence  of  a  bridd— in 
fther  vDidi^  a  /ameee — ^who,  at  the  publication  of  her 
hasa,  has  the  enmble  privilege  of  i^pearing  before  the 
piiiifi  is  efery  lag  and  ribbon  which  it  ever  entered  the 
^  of  aaj  £st(mian  Madge  Wildfire  to  desire,  being 
Iknllj  loaded  with  all  the  ribbons,  handkerchief^,  and 
pettieaats  which  herself  or  her  nei^^bours  can  muster ; 
irij  the  eater  edge  of  eadi,  in  the  insolence  of  her 
viahh  Img  riable.till  the  bnde  looks  like  &e  walking 
Fttten-book  of  the  Kirckspidf  or  parish,  and  the  admir- 
al ivaia  Tiewi  at  one  glance  both  his  companion  and 
^virdnhe  lor  life. 

Tht  cbsreh  itself  was  a  heavy  aadent  building,  with 
■ip2y  fraiaed  loof^  gay  bedizened  altar,  and  white- 
mied  waDs  behnng  with  tin  urns  and  armorial  bear- 
a|i.  Baftre  the  cosdufiioa  of  the  sermon,  a  contribution 
VM  Ifiied,  with  long  pole  and  bag  at  end,  as  elsewhere, 
■tB  wlidi  Kopecks  of  all  weights  and  sizes  tumbled, 
^MB  wlieh  tbe  clergyman  retreated  to  the  altar,  and, 
2ks^  file  audience,  chanted  a  few  sentences  in  a  high 
bj.  His  wis  the  signal  for  dismissal :  tiie  solid  mass 
«M,  sad  broke  up  inte  hundreds  of  fragments — the 
Mkqg  ehoreh  was  abandoned — each  recognised  his  own 
l^dedge  and  hozse  among  miUtitudes  which  seemed 
at  is  the  same  mould — ^poles  stuck — rope-reins  entan- 
^td-bells  Jbgled — and  voices  scolded  and  laughed  al- 
^Htely;  imd  in  fve  minutes  the  whole  congregation 
«■«  RMniDg  away  across  the  country. 

^bmf  el  <mr  wadctB  haye  seat  sometiiliig  very 
>Mh  Rtemldiiig  this,  if  home-made  nistete  and 
p^  tiricBs  are  eobetituted  for  the  skin  cloaks  re- 
#c^  by  the  aererilty  of  the  climate.  The  dergy- 
■■,  Mdes  their  duet  for  marriages,  confirma- 
^ni  ftteitiiikeriiig  the  Sacnaaent,  and  the  com 
pnafy  the  landlords,  who  i^ppoint  tiiem  to  the  Ihr- 
^^fn  paid  a  certain  amount  of  very  small  tithes 
^kmk  and  ^gs  by  the  peasants^  who  also  pay 
t^  ionee  in  TazionB  ways.  Our  lady  thinks  the 
*W  my  01-paid  by  the  peasants,  bnt  we  qnes- 
tka If  ^y  nre  of  the  same  mind.  The  Estonian 
^^Off  ^^e  this  peculiar  duty : — 
^MsaUs  weddy  duties,  and  the  penaaoe  of  a  cold 
wh  seven  montlia  ha  the  year,  he  has  to  attend  the 
•ftrfhiapeet  parishioners,  scattered  frequently  over  a 
*"*hii  sue  ef  a  hnmdred  wexsts  ;  while  twice  in  the 
Jl^d  the  boja  and  girls  in  the  parich  assemble  for 
***  Visks  under  his  rooL  to  be  instructed  and  ex- 


^^      roof;  „ 

!"Bed  iKrious  to  e«iifirmatk>a 


on  which  occasions  the 


^PmtaHm  seta  all  of  them  to  spin  her  flai,  twine 
|*J>td,  and  do  other  little  household  jobs,  and  not 
wdaabithe  honour  of  entertaining  the  young  coun- 
■"■ettsieinmi.s  who  have  come  on  the  same  errand, 
y^lisattnwghthesamXelb's.  Thus  it  is  that 
!*  *fMnis  are  strictly  ohserved,  sometimes  it  is  to 
*«|Mftl  tMr  «wa  «te|  hot  prindpally  as  a  politi- 


cal ordinance,  by  which  government  keeps  its  eye  on 
every  individual  in  the  realm  ;  obliging  him,  at  stated 
intervals,  to  emerge  from  the  deep  torrent  of  Russian 
population,  and  bear  witness  of  his  existence. 

The  Estonian  peasant  is  fbnnd  in  the  exact  state 
w^ch  his  degraded  and  oppressed  position,  borne 
down  by  the  double  misery  of  taxation  and  mili- 
tary conscription,  may  augur.  On  those  estates 
where  the  proprietors  are  frequently  changing,  and 
which  are  consequently  the  worst  managed,  he  is 
found — 

A  dull  brute  indeed ;  insensible  to  a  kindness  he  mis-* 
trusts,'--carele8s  of  improvement — improvident  as  the 
Irishman,  without  his  wit — and  phlegmatic  as  the  Ger- 
man, without  his  industry.  Rather  than  work  beyond 
the  minimum  of  his  necessary  Cortiage,  he  will  starve. 
Provided  he  can  have  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  lie  sleep- 
ing in  the  bottom  of  his  cart,  while  his  patient  wif^ 
drives  the  little  rough  horse,  or,  what  is  more  f^uent^ 
while  the  latter  will  go  right  of  itself,  he  cares  little 
about  an  empty  stomach.  Offer  him  wages  for  his  la- 
bour, and  he  will  tell  you  with  the  dullest  bumpkin  look, 
that  if  he  works  more  he  must  eat  more;  and  the  fkble 
of  the  beUy  and  the  members  has  here  a  different  termi- 
nation to  what  it  had  in  our  young  days.  On  the  other 
hand,  on  those  few  estates  which  have  been  occupied 
for  several  generations  by  the  (same  family,  the  peasants 
appear  invs^ably  an  active,  industrious,  and  prosperous 
set — attached  to  their  lord,andingenious  in  various  trades. 
...  In  his  very  crimes  the  Estonian  is  a  coward;  he 
seldom  gets  beyond  pilfering,  and  here  makes  a  curious 
distinction — ^regarding  it  as  no  crime  to  steal  that  which 
cannot  squeak  or  bleat  in  its  own  defence.  Thus,  a 
pig  or  a  sheep  vrauld  be  the  height  of  iniquity,  while  a 
BuimnMt  of  com,  or  an  j^imer  of  brandy,  are  very  venial 
sins.  Other  crimes  he  has  few,  and  murder  is  unknown. 
The  penal  list  of  this  last  year  offers  only  eighty-seven 
misdemeanors  in  a  population  of  above  three  hundred 
thousand  peasants,  and  five  of  these  consist  merely  in  tra- 
velling without  a  passport  In  this  respect,  also,  the  Esto- 
nian's conscience  is  so  tender,  that  the  Legislature  allows 
no  punishment  to  be  enforced  till  a  voluntary  confession 
has  been  made — well  knowing  that  no  Estonian  can  be 
lone;  without  making  a  clean  breast.  Not  so  his  lofty 
and  lively  neighbour,  the  Russian;  whose  Legislature 
might  iiHbistle  for  his  voluntary  oon^ssion.  Serf  thou^ 
he  be,  he  is  a  venr  Saracen  in  independence ;  and  his 
list  of  crimes  would  make  a  wild  Newgate  Calendar. 

Again  the  scene  is  shifted  to  town-life ;  for  to 
Beval  the  &mOy  returned^  when  the  Landrtagmi^i 
and  when  ^  town  became  somewhat  like  a  French 
proyincial  city  in  the  days  of  Madame  de  Sevigne^ 
at  the  yearly  Assembly  of  the  States.  A  few  noble 
frunilies  and  public  functionaries  throw  open  their 
(ridoons^  and  there  would  be  a  tolerably  pleasant 
society  saye  for  the  one  a^ialling  bfamk : — 

Were  it  not  fbr  the  ficeezing  system  ef  separation  and 
formality  which  pervades  the  members  of  the  society 
itself,  and  which  unfortunately  has  not  been  left  behind 
them  in  the  country,  Reval  would  be  more  attractive 
than  many  a  capital  ten  times  its  size.  But  a  spell  seems 
to  ha^g  over  b<^  man  and  woman  :  the  best  elements  of 
society  are  at  their  disposal-- splendid  rooms— excellent 
lighting — ^throngs  of  attendants — charming  music — and 
the  choicest  of  refreshments  ;  but  the  gentlemen  occupy 
several  apartments  with  their  thronged  card-tables,  and 
the  ladies  sit,  stand,  or  walk  about  the  rest,  and,  though 
all  imbued  with  the  very  sfMrit  of  courtesy  and  good 
humour,  it  must  be  owned,  get  at  length  a  lUtle  tired  of 
one  another's  company.  Or,  if  sufficient  gentlemen  can 
be  seduced  f^m  the  whist  or  boston  tables  to  fbrm  a 
dance,  the  cavalier  abstains  fh>m  fetching  his  lady  till 
the  moment  the  music  begins,  and  remorselessly  casts  her 
off  the  moment  it  finishes,  leaving  her  to  thread  her  timid 
way  throng  files  of  company  to  Uie  distant  comer  where 
her  ehaperon  is  sei^  aad^  vsm  free^  never  approaohee 


4i 


LEtTEKS  PItOM  THE  BALTIC- 


ber  afUB«  Wlodi  pwty  u  in  fsalt  t  It  is  hard  to 
sappMe  that  ErtoBUi's  sons  are  either  ^  m  good  or  lo 
cold^  as  BOi  to  care  for  the  societj  of  a  fiur  aod  agree- 
able woaaa ;  asd  it  is  etinally  anjost  to  aq»ene  her 
danf^iteri  with  haTiBg  wearied  them  of  that  wfaieh  they 
haTe  so  little  opportimity  of  bestowing.  The  ladies 
iapqgn  the  gentloaeii,  who,  to  spttk  candidly,  showno 
desire  to  break  throoi^  these  imaginary  boundaries,  for, 
if  but  two  meet  in  &t  same  room,  they  invariably  sit 
together,  or  walk  together,  or  smoke  together,  or  in  some 
soeh  way  ilhistrate  their  principles  of  strict  deeomm. 

Our    anthoreiB   oonsiden   Uie   giieroiiB   error 
mainly  ehArgeabk  upon  iht  women,  bnt  scarcely, 
we  think,  makes  oot  her  case.    She  bewails  the 
facility  of  divoroe  permitted  by  the  Lutheran  reli- 
gion, withont  being  able  to  fix  upon  this  evil,  for 
it  is  one,  the  many  minor  blonishes  of  what  is,  in 
many  req>ects  beddes  wimt  of  eomforti,  a  very  low 
state  of  society.    The  absence  of  female  influence 
in  Estonian  society,  and  its  general  langour  and  in- 
npidity,  an  attributed  to  eariy  marriages,  where 
there  are  so  many  household  calls  upon  the  young 
matron's  time  and  energies,  which  must  consume 
her  leisure,  and  arrest  the  course  of  self-improve- 
ment  which  education  has  hardly  begun.     Mar- 
riages or  courtships  are  conducted  upon  the  princi- 
ple of  the  father  being  the  absolute  master  of  his 
dutiful  daughter ;  and  as  girls  are  married  while 
children,  or  little  more,  our  traveller,  perhaps 
justly,  considers  the  father  Uie  best  judge  of  his 
daughter's  future  happiness.    Moreover,  die  ima- 
gines that  the  **  sacrifices*'  are,  in  gwieral,  very  lights 
and  willing  submissions.    But  the  Circassian  girl, 
it  is  said,  exults  in  being  purchased  from  her  father, 
loaded  with  finery,  and  carried  away  to  be  sold  at 
Constantinople  to  the  highest  bidder,  though,  not- 
withstanding the  bliss  of  her  ignorance,  her  condi- 
tion is  surely  not  the  less  morally  pitiable. 

The  noble  descendants  of  the  Teutonic  knights, 
so  far  as  the  beautiful  sex  is  concerned,  do  not  ap- 
pear to  be  more  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  chivalry 
than  their  Calmuck  neighbours ;  yet  they  get  on 
wonderfully  in  managing  that  their  daughters,  in 
formingmatrimonialunion8,8hallmanyintheirown 
station ;  and  shall  drive  well,  lodge  well,  and  dress 
well ;  and  what  more  is  to  be  desired  by  any  pru- 
dent, noble  fftther  ?  Our  authoress  was  bidden  to 
A  marriage  at  RevaL  Invitations  in  Reval  are  in 
general  by  ^  word  of  mouth ;"  but  on  this  solemn 
occasion  there  came  a  card,  intimating  that 
^Mem  Toehte/'  was  to  be  married.  T^ie  old  Coun- 
ty, the  wealthy  father  of  this  young  lady,  who, 
among  her  other  names,  bore  the  Ossianic  appel- 
lation of  Mahina,  was  a  rigid  household  discipli- 
narian, who  had  brought  his  little  wife  into  admir- 
able training;  and  who  managed  his  three  mar- 
riageable daughters  upon  the  national  plan,  modi- 
fied by  his  personal  tastes.  Many  suitors  had 
applied  to  him ;  for  it  would  have  been  as  idle  as 
it  is  unusual,  to  sound  the  inclinations  of  the 
young  lady,  or  even  those  of  her  mamma.  We 
are  told  by  our  lively  authoress  on  her  way  to  the 
auspicious  marriage  of  the  properly  brought-up 
young  lady — 

Nor  was  it  till  a  suitor  appeared,  backed  by  a  Sohiil- 
d4n'fre%e$  Qitt,  a  debt-firee  estate,  and  other  undeniable 
guarantees  for  table,  garderobe  and  stud,  that  he  was 
known  to  deviate  from  his  usual  ominous  dismissal^ 


when,  waOdng  at  his  accustomed  pace  into  his  datt^ 
tor's  room,  he  said,  "  Malvima  dm  hut  Bramt,**  to  whii 
the  dntifnl  giri  replied,  «  Gntpapa,"  and  not  so  mni 

as  inquired '^  ant  irmr' with  idiom  t 

At  the  appointed  hour,  we  drove  in  fb 

evening  dress  to  Count »s  honse,  aod  were  reoeiTt 

at  the  door  by  four  shivering  mardials,  or,  in  othi 
words,  bachelors  selected  from  the  mutual  fomilies,  ea< 
with  a  white  bride's  knot  round  his  arm  who  usheied  i 
into  a  room  daizling  with  excess  of  light,  where  sat 
formal  circle,  the  married  ladies  on  one  hand,  the  unni« 
ried  on  the  other,  and  where  the  countess,  a  bloomio 
young  w<»naa,  scarce  older-kx^dng  than  her  danghtei 
received  us  in  silence. 

It  is  so  much  the  habit  in  our  civilized  age  to  regard 
marriage  de  convenance  as  a  thing  repugnant  to  humi 
nature,  equaDy  tyrannical  in  act  as  cheerles  in  resn} 
that  though  sad  experience  had  taught  me  the  fitUaer  i 
trusting  the  brightest  of  wedding  hopes,  or  the  most  is 
patient  of  wedding  foces,  I  involuntarily  entered  thai 
rooms  with  the  feeling  of  assisting  at  a  sacrifice.  Fu 
however,  from  the  system  of  marriages  de  convensne 
being  one  of  oppression  and  depadation  towards  th 
female  sex,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that,  in  a  county 
where  custom  marries  a  girl  before  she  can  know  he 
mind,  for  less  that  of  others,  and  where  the  rules « 
society  interdict  all  previous  acquaintance,  it  is,  on  tb 
contrary,  one  of  mercy  and  protection.  What  act  esi 
be  more  tyrannical  to  the  future  woman  than  the  indnl 
gence  of  the  girl's  so-caUed  first  love  t  What  resnlt 
more  cheerless  than  the  vital  mistake  of  a  hasty  choice. 

In  the  pair  about  to  be  united,  if  the  act  on  the  lady*! 
ride  was  not  beautified  vrith  the  graces  of  afiecUon,  yet 
had  she  had  the  widest  scope  for  choice,  she  could  haidl} 
have  given  her  well-wishers  more  reasonable  grounds  foi 
hope.  For  the  Br'dMiigam  was  one  of  a  ikmily  wboM 
simplicity,  kmdness,  and  integrity,  are  proverbial  in  E* 
tonisr— one  whom  the  quiet  girl  might  find  it  equallj 
easy  to  obey — or  rule. 

The  marriage,  at  which  there  was  abundance  d 
eating  and  drinking,  kissing  and  dancing,  ended 
▼eiy  like  an  English  wedding  of  the  days  of  blufl 
King  Hal ;  and  goes  far  to  palliate  the  graceless 
modem  English  custom  of  the  young  couple  run- 
ning away  to  hide  their  bridal  joys  and  blushes, 
from  the  very  door  of  the  church  where  they  are 
made  one : — 

Then  came  a  grand  supper,  with  toasts  and  sententious 
speeches,  where  the  four  indefotigable  marshals  vraited 
on  the  company,  and,  returning  to  the  ball-room,  the 
bride  vanished,  and  in  the  space  of  a  few  minutes  re- 
appeared clad  in  an  unbecoming  matronly  cap,  ber 
discarded  myrtle  wreath  hanging  on  her  arm.  At  this 
all  the  unmarried  girls  formed  a  circle  round  her,  when, 
with  a  pensive,  suffering  look,  \riuoh  brought  tears  into 
many  a  bright  eye,  she  kissed  each  in  sign  of  fkrewell 
from  their  ranks.  The  same  ceremony  was  performed 
by  the  bridegroom  with  his  comrades,  but  brought  tears 
into  nobody's  eyes.  Then  again  the  maiden  circle  en- 
compassed the  bride,  who  stood,  a  pretty  emblem  of 
Cupid,  with  blinded  eyes,  and  wreath  in  hand,  while 
they  passed  round  her,  but  saw  well  enough  to  put  it  on 
the  head  of  her  husband's  eldest  marrisgesble  sister. 
This  delighted  the  old  count,  who  rubbed  his  hands  and 
exclaimed,  ^Meine  Toekter  wird  eine  Huge  Fran  wer- 
den!"  my  daughter  will  make  a  clever  vnfe.  The 
bridegroom  was  served  the  same,  and  by  rather  a 
puzzling  countertype  bestowed  his  hat  upon  one  of  the 
youngsters  surrounding  him,  who  now,  vrith  uproarious 
voices,  seized  him  in  their  arms,  and  disregarding  his 
bride's  nerves,  tossed  him  idoft,  his  long  legs  almost 
reaching  the  ceiling,  in  sign  of  having  utterly  cast  him 
out  of  their  fellowship. 

Four  o'clock  struck  ere  the  guests  began  to  depart, 
but  by  noon  the  next  day  the  new  married  couple  were 
occupied  in  receiving  a  throng  of  morning  visiters  who 
came  to  congratulate.    The  same  day  was  a  large  dinner- 


LETTERS  ^BOM  THE  BALTIC. 


49 


vtj^— llw  sBine  ereaiiig  the  pair  appeared  at  a  public 
iKeit— Hie  following  days  were  spent  in  a  succession 
r  cntcTtaanBents,  and  thus  the  spring-time  of  wedded 
ippnoi  was  oftred  up  for  the  eigoyment  of  the  public, 
tswben  ut  tbne  such  Tolumee  of  high-flown  trash 
nittca  «  bridal  modesty  as  in  Germany,  and  nowhere 
litleanifected. 

The  knger  onr  trayeUer  lived  in  the  country,  she 
nne  to  understand  the  more  deeply  the  oppressions 
Bder  which  the  peasantry  groan. 
TlMMigh  absenteeism  is  rare — ^£9tonian  landlords 
iring  DO,  or  hat  slender  rents  to  squander,  whether 
I  Palis,  London,  or  Petersbuig-^he  peasants  are 
ftm  oppressed  by  a  functionary  in  the  capacity  of 
kiHI^  at  whose  mercy  they  are  left ;  and  who 
pods  the  poor  lahourers,  while  he  cheats  his  em- 
brer.   ¥nien  to  this  are  added  the  exactions  of 
he  Goferament^  and  the  conscription,  it  is  not 
mdeifiil  that  yery  few  instances  occur  of  an 
tiUmkn  peasant  ever  rising  above  his  original 
nditbiL    In  the  protracted  winters,  and  frozen 
fnspf  of  this  climate,  when  man  and  heast  suffer 
iiie,  Uie  prirations  of  the  peasants  are  often  ex- 
peme.   Spring— our  sweet  season  of  spring — ^is, 
bdeed,  to  all  living  things,  the  most  dismal  time  of 
he  Qortiiem  year ;  hut  especially  to  the  peasants 
od  tbdi  domestic  animals  :~^ 
At  Uie  beginning  of  winter  the  peasant  fares  well,  eats 
Menmt  rye  bread,  and  plenty  of  it.  Towards  spring, 
kii  itAfct,  never  well  husbanded,  begin  to  fiul,  and  the 
cttK  rye  flonr  is  eked  out  with  a  liUle  cho|>ped  straw ; 
^it,  wbea  tbe  season  is  thus  prolonged,  this  position  is 
RTcned,  and  it  is  tiie  straw  which  becomes  the  chief 
Bjredicit  of  the  loaf  which  is  to  fill,  not  nourish,  his 
btdy— «  Bach  so  that  on  exposure  to  fire  this  wretched 
brodviD  ignite  and  blaze  like  a  torch.  This  insufficient 
in  is  eAea  followed  by  an  epidemic — typhus  or  scarlet 
fcrer.  Tbe  latter  especially  is  the  scourge  of  the  land, 
mA  akoet  invaribly  fotal  to  children ;  and  villages  are 
■Betiaei  depopulated  ct  their  jurenile  members,  for 
^im  vte  ttrag^  through  the  fever  are  carried  off  by 
"beqiest  dropsy.    As  for  prompt  medical  attendance, 
bvii  tbat  to  be  expected  among  a  poor  and  widely- 
ntiacd  population,  which  not  eren  the  highest  classes 
JB  tbi  land  can  command  t     Many  a  nobleman's  fitmily 
ii  stated  a  Inmdred  worsts  from  medical  aid,  and  thus 
fc<r«ad4wenty  fkUd  hours  will  sometimes  elapse  which 
» AiU  caa  reoorer.    Upon  the  whole,  however,  the 
''wge  ff  beahh  is  Tory  good. 
Bat,  howerer  it  fare  with  them,  the  poU-tax 
*iibe  paid ;  and  if  the  fatal  lot  fall  upon  him, 
ftf  wieidied  serf  must  promptly  obey : — 
^pemt  rate  of  Kopf  Steuer,  or  poll-tax,  is  four 
•^  axty  kopecks,  or  about  four  shillings  English  per 
■Jj  lot  only  apon  the  able-bodied  man,  but  upon  eyery 
^^  dfld  of  male  kind— an  enormous  tax  when  the 
'we  nhe  of  money  is  considered.  A  reyision  of  the 
ffl'*»a  takes  place  every  sixteen  years,  and,  if  the 
**"Wd  pay  not  for  those  bom  unto  them  in  the  in- 
^tibj  do  for  those  taken  from  them ;  therefore  the 
online  bier,  and  the  ill  wind  blows  no  good  to  the 


^  Tceniting  system  falls  especially  hard  upon  those 
^'T**'  *ribntoiy  to  Russia,  but  otherwise  not  Rus- 
**"Md.  No  Bitter  how  foreign  and  incongruous,  all 
*^tt»t  enter  that  vast  crucible,  the  Russian  army, 
*  ^dofwn  to  the  same  form.  The  Estonian,  there- 
Su?  ^  "™^  worse  than  the  natire  Russian,  in 
^*»  wet  not  only  kindred  and  home,  but  language, 
?J*T»»wi  rell|ion,  and  furthermore  an  inherent  taste 
V^Il^  ^>  which  the  Russian  does  not  share. 
"*  «  wment  that  the  peasant  of  the  Baltic  pro- 
2?«»»  the  fatal  lot  No.  1,  he  knows  that  he  is  a 
^■*"»  »d,  worse  than  that,  a  Russian  soldier,  and 


not  only  himself,  but  every  son  ft!«m  that  hour  bom  to 
him ;  for,  like  the  executioner's  office  in  Germany,  a  sol- 
dier's life  in  Russia  is  hereditary.  He  receiyes  no  bounty- 
money  ;  on  the  contrary  his  parish  is  charged  with  the 
expense  of  his  outfit  to  the  amount  of  between  thirty 
and  forty  roubles— his  hair,  which  an  Estonian  regards 
as  sacred,  is  cut  to  within  a  straw's  breadth  of  his  head ; 
and  amidst  scenes  of  distress  which  hare  touched  the 
sternest  hearts,  the  Estonian  shepherd  leayes  the  home 
of  his  youth.  If  wars  and  climate  and  sickness  and 
hardship  spare  him,  he  returns  after  four-and-twenty 
years  of  serrice— his  language  scarce  remembered,  his 
religion  changed,  and  with  not  a  rouble  in  his  pocket- 
to  seek  his  daily  bread  by  his  own  exertions  for  the  re- 
mainder of  his  life,  or  to  be  chargeable  to  his  parish,  who 
by  this  time  have  forgotten  that  he  ever  existed,  and  cer- 
tainly wish  he  had  never  returned.  Perhaps  an  order  or 
two  decorates  him,  or  reaches  him  after  his  dismissal ; 
but  the  worn-out  Russian  soldier  has  little  pride  in  the 
tokens  of  that  bravery  which  has  consumed  his  health, 
strength,  and  best  years,  and  earned  him  no  maintenancs 
when  tiiese  are  gone. 

A  family  of  three  children,  however,  or  a  per' 
sonal  defect,  gives  the  claim  of  exemption.  With 
such  a  service  as  the  Russian  in  prospect,  it  is  not 
wonderful  that  voluntary  maiming  is  frequent* 
We  are  informed : — 

A  stone-mason  whom  we  obserred  chiselling  a  delicate 
piece  of  sculpture  und^  the  utmost  strain  of  sight,  for 
one  eye  was  blinded  with  a  cataract,  we  strenuously 
urged  to  apply  for  medical  aid,  but  smiling,  he  replied, 
**  I  would  not  haTe  two  eyes  for  the  worldr-^ow  I  can't 
be  taken  for  a  recruit." 

On  those  estates  where  the  population  ftrom  some  cause 
is  not  able  to  make  up  the  necessary  number  of  recraits, 
a  child  is  deliyered  oyer  and  consigned  to  the  military 
school  at  Reval.  The  crown  must  haye  its  "  pound  of 
flesh."  This  substitute,  however,  it  accepts  most  unwill- 
ingly, as  each  of  these  little  CantontMUny  as  they  are 
termed,  costs  goyeroment  at  the  rate  of  thirty  kopecks  a- 
day,  and  not  i£oye  one-third  are  reared  for  actual  serrice. 
Such  is  the  anxiety  of  the  crown  to  enforce  eyery  means 
of  securing  men  for  the  army,  that  the  moment  a  soldier's 
wife  gives  birth  to  a  son  the  parish  authorities  are  bound 
to  give  notice,  under  penalty  of  flve-and-twenty  roubles 
for  every  month's  delay.  So  much  bread  or  com  is  then 
allowed  for  the  infitnt  recruit,  which  is  fSstched  monthly 
firom  the  nearest  town. 

But  this  hangs  on  a  long  concatenation  of  t/#, 
ending  with  this  important  one — If  the  higher 
classes  in  Russia  could  he  depended  on  for  ho- 
nesty. This  traveller,  will  not,  we  imagine,  re- 
ceive the  Emperor's  portrait  set  with  brilliants, 
high-strained  as  her  compliments  of  Nicholas  and 
many  of  the  members  of  his  Court  are.  We  should 
even  fear  that  she  has  in  some  instances  been  indis- 
creet, and  may  have  compromised  some  of  her 
friends  and  entertainers,  with  this  jealous,  impla- 
cable, and  ever- watchful  Grovemment. 

Though  far,  indeed,  from  being  the  most  agree- 
able portion  of  her  work,  her  observations  are  not 
the  least  valuable  when,  in  returning  from  Reval 
on  her  way  home,  she  looks  more  closely  into  the 
structure  of  the  Russian  Government,  and  is  forced 
to  see  the  corrupt  and  dissolute  state  of  morals 
among  the  higher  classes,  unredeemed  by  any  degree 
of  that  refinement  which  strips  vice  of  part  of  its 
offence  in  veiling  its  groesness.  In  judging  of 
Russia,  she  tacitly  claims  to  have  dived  beneath 
the  Jroth  of  that  high  society  with  which  such 
persons  as  the  Marquis  of  Londonderry  mingled, 
and  which  they  paint  en  beau;  and  she  may  he 


50 


LETreitS  FROM  THE  BALTIC. 


easilj  acquitted  of  entertaining  the  party  views 
of  those  who  write  anti-Russian  dissertations  in 
pamphlets  and  periodicals.  She  is  a  high,  though  a 
rather  rational  Tory.  She  reentered  Petershmg 
about  the  Christmas  and  New-Year  holidays— a 


time  of  unrestrained  intercourse,  jollity,  and  canma- 
ing  there,  as  in  Estonia : — ^But  her  strictures  upon 
the  policy,  and  above  all,  the  manners  of  the  court 
of  St.  Petersburg,  demand  more  attantion  and  ^aae 
than  we  can  at  present  afford. 


BNDYMIONj  OR,  A  FAMILY  PARTY  QP  OLYMPUS- 

A  ROMANCE. 

BT  EBCHOBOAM  BBN  ABRAHAM,  JVIf .,  BSO. 


CnAFTBB  I. 

*TwAS  a  hot  season  in  the  skies.  Sirius  held  the 
asoendant,  and  under  his  influence  even  the  radiant 
band  of  tlie  Celestials  began  to  droop,  while  the 
great  ball-room  of  Olympus  grew  gradually  more 
and  more  deserted.  For  nearly  a  week  had  Orpheus, 
the  leader  of  the  heavenly  orchestra,  played  to  a 
deserted  floor.  The  4Hte  would  no  longer  figure  in 
the  waltz.  Juno  obstinately  kept  her  room,  com- 
plaining of  headache  and  ill-temper.  Ceres,  who 
had  lately  joined  a  dissenting  congregation,  ob- 
jected generally  to  all  frivolous  amusements,  and 
Minerva  had  established,  in  opposition,  a  series  of 
literary  soir^  at  which  Pluto  nightly  lectured  on 
the  fine  arts  and  phrenology  to  a  brilliant  and 
fashionable  audience.  The  Muses,  with  Hebe  and 
some  of  the  younger  deities,  alone  frequented  the 
assemblies ;  but  with  all  their  attractions  there  was 
still  a  sad  lack  of  partners.  The  younger  gods 
had  of  late  become  remarkably  dissipated,  messed 
three  times  a- week,  at  least,  with  Mars  in  the  bar- 
racks, and  seldom  separated  sober.  Bacchus  had 
been  sent  to  Coventry  by  the  ladies,  for  appearing 
oi^e  night  in  the  ball-room,  after  a  hard  sederunt, 
fo  drunk  that  he  measured  his  length  upon  the  floor, 
after  a  vain  attempt  at  a  Masurka ;  and  they  like- 
wise eschewed  the  company  of  Pan,  who  had  be- 
come an  abandoned  smoker,  and  always  smelt  in- 
famously of  cheroots.  But  the  most  serious  defec- 
tion, as  also  the  most  unaccountable,  was  that  of 
the  beautiful  Diana,— ^kit  excellence^  the  belle  of  the 
season, — and  assuredly  the  most  graceful  nymph 
that  ever  tripped  along  the  halls  of  heaven.  She 
had  gone  off  suddenly  to  the  country  without 
allying  any  intelligible  excuse,  and  with  her,  the 
last  attraction  of  the  ball-room  seemed  to  have  dis- 
appeared. Even  Venus,  the  perpetual  lady  patron- 
ess, saw  that  the  affair  was  desperate. 

*'  Granymede-Hi»of»  beau  ^orfon,"  said  she,  one 
evening  at  an  unusually  thin  assembly,  *^  we  must 
really  give  it  up  at  last.  Matters  are  growing 
worse  and  worse,  and  in  another  week  we  shall 
positively  not  have  enough  to  get  up  a  tolerable 
gallopade.  Look  at  these  seven  poor  Muses  sitting 
together  on  the  sofa.  Not  a  soul  has  spoken  to 
them  to  night,  except  that  horrid  Silenu^  who 
dances  nothing  but  Scotch  reels." 

^  Par  dim!  replied  the  young  Trojan,  fixing  his 
glass  in  his  eye.  ^^  There  may  be  a  reason  for  that. 
The  girls  are  decidedly  ^hm^^,  and  most  inveterate 
blues.  But  there's  dear  little  Hebe,  who  never 
wants  partners,  though  that  clumsy  Hercules  in- 


sists upon  his  conjugal  rights,  and  keeps  raoTing 
after  her  like  an  enormous  shadow.  Ton  my  sooJ^ 
I've  a  great  mind — Do  you  think,  ma  belle  tante^ 
that  anything  might  be  done  in  that  quarter?'* 

"  0  fie !  Ganymede— fie  for  shame ! "  said  Flora, 
who  was  sitting  close  to  the  Queen  of  Love,  and 
overheard  the  conversation.  **  You  horrid  naughty 
man,  how  can  you  talk  so  ?** 

"  Pardon^  ma  chhre  I  **  replied  the  exquisite,  witli 
a  languid  smile.  *^  You  must  excuse  my  badin/Offe; 
and,  hideed,  a  glance  of  your  fair  eyes  were  enough 
at  any  time  to  recall  me  to  my  senses.  By  the  way, 
what  a  beautiful  bougfuet  you  have  there.  Patrole 
d'hmneur,  I  am  quite  jealous.  May  I  ask  who 
sent  it?" 

*^  What  a  goose  you  are !"  said  Flora,  in  evident 
confusion ;  *^  how  should  I  know?  Some  general 
admirer  like  yourself,  I  suppose." 

'^  Apollo  is  remarkably  fond  of  hyadnths,  I 
believe,"  said  Granymede,  looking  sigidficaatly  at 
Venus.  ^  Ah,  well !  I  see  how  it  is.  We  pooi 
detrimentals  must  break  our  hearts  in  silenoe.  It 
is  dear  we  have  no  chance  with  the  pretut  chevoHeg 
of  heaven.'' 

^^  Really,  Ganymede,  you  are  very  fevere  thii 
evening,"  said  Venus,  with  a  smile ;  ^  but  tell  me 
have  you  heard  anything  of  Diana?" 

'^  Ah!  la  belle  Diane?  They  say  she  is  living 
in  the  oountry,  somewhere  about  Caria,  at  a  plao 
they  call  Latmos  cottage,  cultivating  her  fsded  roaei 
— ^what  a  colour  Hebe  has! — and  studying  tin 
sentimental." 

**Tanipis!  She  is  a  great  loss  to  us,"  saidVeiDae 
^  Apropos^  you  will  be  at  Neptune's /i^  ekttmp^ir 
to-morrow,  ne  c'eg$pasf  We  shall  then  fina,!!^ 
determine  about  abandoning  the  assemblies,  fin 
I  must  go  home  now.  The  carriage  has  been  w&it 
ing  this  hour,  and  my  doves  may  catch  oold« 
suppose  that  boy,  Cupid,  will  not  be  hooM  till  %] 
the  hours  of  the  morning." 

**  Why,  I  believe,  the  Rainbow  Club  doeg  me* 
to-night  siter  the  dancing,"  said  Ganymede,  algxu^ 
cantly.  *^  This  is  the  last  oyster  night  of  the  aeason. 

'^Gracious  goodness!  The  boy  will  be  quit 
tipsy,  said  Venus.  ^*  Do,  dear  Gran3anede !  tr^r  1 
keep  him  sober.  But  now,  give  me  your  arm  1 
the  doak-room." 

^^  VoUmHeri  /"  said  the  exquisite. 

As  Venus  rose  to  go,  there  was  a  rush  of  peraox 
to  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  and  the  mns 
ceased.  Presently  two  or  three  voices  were  hecti 
calling  for  Esculapius. 


ENDYMION:  OB,  A  FAMILY  PARTY  OF  OLYMPUS, 


51 


^Wbafs  the  row?**  asked  that  learned  indiyi- 
dot],  adnnciiig  leisurely  from  the  refreshment 
tabk,  where  he  had  been  cramming  himself  with 
tet  and  cakes. 

'Ladas&inted !"  shrieked  Calliope,  who  roshed 
ptfli  with  her  vinaigrette  in  hand. 

"  Gunffion ! "  growled  the  Abemethy  of  heaven, 
tibeloDowedher. 

'PoorLeda!*  saidVenns,  as  her  cavalier  ad- 
jutedherahawL  ^  These  fainting  fits  are  decidedly 
alinuBg.  I  hope  it  is  nothing  more  serious  than 
tlttwctther." 

"I  hope  so  too,*  said  Ganymede.  ^Letmeput 
OB  the  8Quf.  But  people  wfll  talk.  Pray  heaven 
it  be  not  a  second  edition  of  that  old  scandal  about 
tbe^igsr 

^Fiitm!  you  odious  creature !  How  can  you t 
]ht  after  all,  stranger  things  have  happened.  There 
BOW, hsTe done.  Good  night!"  and  she  stepped 
into  her  chariot. 

"ifea  *»r*  said  the  exquisite,  kissing  hb  hand 
18  it  rolled  away.  **'Ton  my  soul,  that's  a  rolen- 
iid  wwnaiL  I've  a  great  mind — ^but  there  s  no 
konj  about  that.  Bevmons  d  no»  oeufi.  I  must 
leani  aomething  more  about  this  fainting  fit.'' 

So  nyii^,  Ganymede  reascended  the  stairs. 

CHAPTER  n. 

1  blighter  or  more  exhilarating  sun  never  dawn- 
ed upon  Olympus  than  that  which  ushered  in  the 
fek  ^mpitre^  given  by  Neptune,  perhaps  the  most 
popular  middle-aged  deity  of  the  times.  The  mag- 
nifMest  lawn  of  his  celestial  villa  was  decorated 
&fr  the  occasion  in  a  manner  perfectly  unique,  even 
for  hesTen.  A  new  entrance  gate  had  been  built 
ttUirdy  of  conch  shells ;  tents,  fringed  with  costly 
»  ware,  were  erected  on  every  part  of  the  grounds, 
urf  the  ample  tables  they  contained  were  stored 
^  refreshments,  terrestrial  as  well  as  marine. 
Cnmda  of  Nereids  and  Tritons  were  engaged  as 
*wten  on  the  guests,  whilst,  in  the  largest  of  the 
Mtiftdal  ponds,  Proteus,  the  celebrated  juggler,  who 
fcad  been  retained  expressly  for  the  occasion,  went 
tkwn^  a  variety  of  aquatic  evolutions, — sometimes 
iaittting  Sam  Patch,  the  famous  diver  of  Niagara, 
ttd  aometimes  assuming  the  terrific  appearance  of 
*«  gwat  American  sea-serpent.  At  an  early  hour, 
*ke  eompany,  which  comprised  the  whole  fashion 
rf  Olympus,  were  assembled  in  the  villa,  and  after 
P«tiiiiig  of  a  sumptuous  dejeuner  d  la /ourehette, 
btob  Qp  into  groups  according  to  their  several 
^Uttiea,  and  strolled  through  the  pleasure  ground 
m  Rtreh  of  amusement.  With  the  reader  s  leave 
^  diall  play  the  spy  upon  one  tett-d-tHe  held  in  a 
■qneatered  arbour. 

"  Aad  so  you  preferred  listening  to  Pluto^s  lec- 
tne  on  the  dissolving  views,  instead  of  meeting  me, 
^  joa  promised,  at  the  assembly !  Pretty  conduct, 
»W,  Mr.  ^Apollo,  after  aU  that  has  passed 
^*tweeu  us !"  said  our  fair  acquaintance,  Flora, 
P'w^ly,  to  a  very  handsome  young  man,  with  a 
**pnfieent  head  of  hair,  who  strove  to  detain  her 
i«bct«nt  hand  in  his  own.  **  You  needn't  squeeze 
^fcigers  that  way.  I  should  have  known  you 
«tt«r.  False,  deceitful  wretch  that  you  are!" 
.  *  J^ay !  not  false,  not  deceitful,  my  own  charm- 
"'SHmi,'  xepUed  Apollo,  with  much  «»i/)resfm€ne 


in  his  manner.  *^  You  know  Pluto  is  my  uncle, 
and  that  I  have  great  expectations  from  him ;  but 
I  swear  by  Styx,  that  rather  than  draw  one  tear 
from  the  lovely  eyes  of  my  Spring-queen,  I  would 
pull  the  venerable  codger  by  the  nose  !'* 
**  Would  you  indeed  ?"  said  Flora. 

"  On  my  honour,  I  would,  if  you  insisted  on  it. 
But  why  speak  more  of  this?  Can  you  doubt  my 
love — ^my  constancy?"* 

^  Did  Daphne  find  you  constant?"  asked  Flora, 
with  a  sigh. 

^  Daphne  ?  Daphne  be  hanged ! "  cried  Apollo, 
vehemently.  ^  She  had  the  thickest  andes  in  the 
whole  Peloponnesus !  Speak  not  of  her — ^but  you, 
my  own,  my  gentle  Flora !— can  you  doubt  that 
this  fond  heart  beats,  trembles  only  for  you?  O, 
on  these  rosy  lips  let  me  impress- — " 

**  Lawk !"  screamed  Flora,  "  there's  somebody 
coming." 

And,  sure  enough,  two  youths  in  military  undress 
sauntered  past  the  entrance  of  the  arbour ;  and  the 
keen  glances  they  cast  within  sufficiently  be  tokened 
their  perfect  consciousness  of  the  proceedings  of  the 
amorous  deity. 

**  Ah,  Pollux !  ah.  Castor !  my  fine  fellows^  how 
are  ye?"  said  Apollo,  with  great  efironteiy,  rising 
and  presenting  a  finger  to  each.  ^  What  sort  of 
blow-out  had  you  at  Mars's  last  night.  Pan  and 
the  rest,  I  presume,  eh  ?  Screwed,  of  course  V 

^  Tol-lol,"  said  tiie  eldest  of  the  Gemini. 

"  I  can  easily  believe  it,"  said  Apollo.  **  By  the 
way,  Pollux" — and  he  led  the  Argonaut  aside — 
^  you  needn't  say  anything  about  seeing  me  and 
Flora  together  in  the  arbour — ^you  understand? 
Not  that  it  signifies  a  brass  copper,  but  the  con- 
founded people  here  will  always  be  talking,  and  I 
don't  wish  to  have  the  poor  girl  annoyed.  There's 
a  good  fellow — give  a  hint  to  your  brother  too,  and 
both  of  you  come  and  dine  with  me  on  Wednesday 
next  at  seven.'* 

"  Tm  your  man !"  said  Pollux.  "  Dinner  and 
dumbness  is  the  word !  But  I  say,  Apollo— really, 
now,  ar'n't  you  coming  it  rather  strong?" 

**  Devil  a-bit ! "  said  the  Captain  of  the  Archers. 
Flo.  and  I  are  old  friends,  and  we  flirt  with  each 
other  merely  to  keep  our  hands  in  practice.  But, 
come,  let  us  all  take  a  turn  and  see  the  fun," 

The  four  proceeded  from  the  arbour  together. 
Various  of  the  Celestials  who  encountered  them, 
stopped  the  Gkmini,  inquiring  eagerly  after  Leda, 
their  niother's  health. 

^What  the  deuce  do  the  people  mean?"  said 
Castor,  after  several  such  interruptions.  ^  The  old 
lady  is  as  strong  as  a  cart-horse,  and  ate  four  muf- 
fins this  morning." 

«Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Apollo,  drily.  <*But, 
come — ^let  us  walk  upon  the  terrace,  a|id  look  over 
the  battlements  of  Olympus." 

To  that  favourite  spot  they  went,  and  bent  over 
the  blue  cerulean,  while  the  massive  orb  of  the 
earth  lay  beneath  them,  revolving  like  a  mighty 
balL  Midway  between,  they  marked  a  lustrous 
speck  enlarging  as  it  soared  upwards,  until  it 
seemed  to  assume  the  lineaments  of  a  human  figure. 

**  By  Jingo !  that's  Mercury ! "  cried  Pollux  ; 
**  why,  he's  two  hours  before  his  time." 


52 


ENDYMION ;  OR,  A  FAMILY  PARTY  OF  OLYMPUS. 


"Mercury,  is  it?"  cried  Pan,  who,  with  his 
friend  Bacchus,  now  came  up.  "  Then,  please  the 
pigs,  I'll  get  my  manillas,  at  last." 

"  0,  confound  it  I "  said  Bacchus.  "  He's  a  long 
way  oiF  yet.  Let's  go  into  one  of  the  tents,  and 
get  a  hot  tumbler." 

**  No— no— man !  stay  a  moment.  There's  Juno." 

^^  Ban  jour,  Messieurs,**  said  the  Imperial  Queen, 
caressing  her  favourite  pea-hen,  who  followed  her 
with  as  much  docility  as  the  famous  tame  Trans- 
atlantic oyster.  **  What  can  you  be  looking  at, 
down  there  ?  Ah ! "  she  exclaimed,  adjusting  her 
eye-glass,  "  Mercury,  I  declare,  and  in  a  monstrous 
hurry  too  I    What  possibly  can  have  happened  ?  » 

The  light  figure,  of  the  messenger  of  Olympus, 
now  rose  above  the  crystal  battlements,  and, 
with  one  graceful  circuitous  sweep,  alighted  in 
the  midst  of  the  Celestials.  He  was  flushed  and 
out  of  breath. 

"  Mr.  Mercury !  I  presume  you  have  brought 
me  the  esprit  de  miUesflears  ?  "  said  Juno. 

"Dear  Mr.  Mercury, — where's  the  blonde  f 
cried  Flora. 

"  Mercury,  my  lad !  did  old  Screwdriver  cash 
that  bill  V  inquired  Apollo. 

"What  says  Hoby?"  said  Pollux. 

"AndStultz?"  added  Castor. 

"  Merks,  old  chap !  shell  out  the  cheroots,"  said 
Pan. 

f    "And  the  eau  de  tfie,"  cried  Bacchus  with  a 
hiccup. 

The  herald  of  Heaven  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  of  his  tormentors  despairingly. 

"  I'll  give  up  my  place  T  said  he :  "  by  the 
Lord,  I  will,  rather  than  stand  this  bother !  Do 
you  think  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  look  after  your 
traps,  and  such  a  shindy  down  yonder  as  never 
was — Where's  Jupiter?  My  wig!  what  a  rage 
he'Ubein!" 

"  What's  the  matter,  Mercury?  Bless  me,  what 
is  it?"  cried  all  the  gods  and  godesses  in  a  breath. 

"Matter!"  repeated  the  son  of  Maia :  "  matter 
enough,  if  you  knew  it.  Diana's  oflP— bolted — 
gone  to  Gretna-green,  or  the  devil  knows  where." 

"  My  sister  eloped!"  cried  Apollo,  hastily ;  "that's 
a  lie!" 

"  Did  you  apply  that  expression  to  me,  Sir  ?" 
said  Mercury,  getting  very  red  in  the  face,  and 
squaring  at  tiie  Pythian. 

"  Yes !"  said  the  other,  delivering  a  left-hander: 
and  to  it  they  went  with  the  unction  of  Dutch  Sam 
and  Aby  Belasco. 

The  goddesses  shrieked  and  squalled.  The  gods 
fom^ed  a  ring,  and  shouted  in  extreme  ecstasy. 
How  long  the  combat  might  have  lasted  is  uncer- 
tain ;  but  a  stately  figure  burst  through  the  circle, 
and  interposed  between  the  pugilists. 

"  None  of  this  nonsense,"  ^imdered  Jupiter  in 
an  overwhelming  voice,  "  or  Til  knock  both  of  you 
to  eternal  smash !  Apollo— you're  an  idiot :  Mer- 
cury—you're another.  Hold  your  tongues  both ;  or 
rather  you,  Mercury,  speak  and  explain  this  black- 
guard behaviour." 

"Please  your  Excellency,"  said  Mercury— 
But  what  Mercury  said  had  perhaps  better  form 
the  commencement  of  a  new  diapter. 


CHAFTBRin. 

"  Please  your  Excellency,"  replied  Mercury,  **  I 
said  Diana  had  bolted " 

"  Eh !  what  the  devil !  my  daughter,  Di  ?" 

"  OflP — eloped — absquatulated,"  replied  Hermes, 
applying  a  slice  of  raw  potatoe  to  his  eye. 

"  Ten  thousand  Phl^thons!  and  with  whom?" 

"  A  pig-driver,  may  it  please  your  Excellency." 

Apollo  fell  into  convulsions.  Jupiter  swore  hor- 
ribly. 

"Ten  shillings  for  profane  oaths,"  said  Chief- 
Justice  Rhadamanthus,  taking  out  his  pencil ; 
"  I  must  book  the  governor  for  the  tin." 

"  My  Lord  Chief-Justice,"  said  Jupiter,  "  make 
out  a  warrant  instantly  for  the  apprehension  of 
the  audacious  scoundrel,  who  has  made  away  with 
a  ward  of  our  celestial  Chancery— -What's  his 
name.  Mercury?" 

"  Endymion." 

"  For  the  apprehension  of  Endymion.— Pll 
trounce  the  villain  at  common  law,  or  my  name's 
not  Satumius !" 

Rhadamanthus  did  as  he  was  desired;  wrote 
out  the  warrant  and  delivered  it  (along  with  a 
spaall  note  of  the  fees)  to  the  Father  of  gods  and 
men. 

"  Here — ^you,  Mercury,"  said  Jupiter,  "  take 
this  warrant  and  execute  it  instantly.  Bring  the 
prisoner  here,  and  that  unfortunate  girl  along  with 
him,  and  do  it  directly." 

"  Your  Excellency,"  said  the  son  of  Maia,  with 
considerable  dignity ;  "  your  Excellency  will  please 
to  remember  that  I  am  neither  a  bailiflFnor  a  mes- 
sengers concurrent :  if  I  undertake  the  job,  I  shall 
expect  to  be  paid  extra " 

"  D'ye  grumble,  sirrah  T  shouted  Jupiter.    "  Be 

off  like  winking— or  else ;"  and  he  caught 

up  a  stray  thunderbolt. 

Hermes  cleared  the  parapet  of  Heaven. 

"Here's  a  shindy!"  said  Pan, — "blowed  if  I 
could  have  believed  it  I  Di.  looked  as  if  butter 
wouldn't  have  melted  in  her  mouth.  What  say 
you,  Ganymede?" 

The  young  Trojan  indulged  his  curiosity  with  a 
supercilious  stare  at  the  questioner, — muttered 
something  about  "  vulgar  fellows"  and  "  d— d  im- 
pertinence," turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  away. 

«  Well— if  I  ever!"  said  Pan.  "  I've  a  confounded 
mind  to  pull  the  puppy's  nose." 

"  No,  no !"  said  Bacchus,  seizing  his  friend  by 
the  arm  ;  "  never  mind  the  Jack-a-dandy.  Come 
into  this  tent,  and  we'll  have  a  pot  and  a  pipe  to> 
gether." 

Jupiter  continued  walking  to  and  fro  in  a  violent 
state  of  excitement.  Most  of  the  other  deities  had 
retired  out  of  respect ;  but  Juno  would  not  lose 
such  a  charming  opportunity  for  a  few  moral  ob- 
servations. 

"  Well,  Sir,"  said  she,  "  this  is  a  very  pretty 
business  indeed !  Nice  doings  those  for'a  daughter 
of  ^  yours !  I  presume  you  remember  what  I  told 
you  when  you  first  allowed  her  to  associate  with 
my  Lady  Venus  T 

"  Madam,"  said  Jupiter,  "  if  I  were  to  remem- 
ber half  of  your  idiotical  conversation,  I  should 
have  very  little  time  to  think  of  anything  else." 


ENDYMION;  OR,  A  FAMILY  PARTY  OF  OLYMPUS. 


53 


•  0  fiery  good  1*  replied  Jniio,  bitterly ;  "  you 
Bty  be  as  mde  as  you  please,  but  that  won't  alter 
fMte.  I  repeat  that  yoa  have  yourself  and  no  one 
else  to  bJame." 

'^  Zounds,  woman !"  cried  the  exasperated  deity, 
^  will  yoa  liold  your  infernal  tongue  ?  Here  do  I 
haidiy  know  whether  my  head  or  heels  are  upper- 
most ;  and  you  keep  pestering  me  with  your  pa- 
hnr  and  Job's  comfort." 

''And  this  is  my  reward,"  said  Juno,  *^  for  all 
my  anxieties  and  cares!  O  you  horrid — ^horrid 
bniter 

^  Madam  T  don*t  provoke  me  to  blacken  your 
ox-eyes !"  roared  Jupiter  in  a  towering  passion. 
''And  now  I  think  of  it — ^there's  these  bloody 
peacocks  of  yours  have  scratched  up  all  the  vege- 
tables in  the  garden ;  but  111  stop  their  tricks 
effectually.     Here,  Neptune !  send  for  a  blunder- 


**DMi*t!  don't!"  screamed  Juno,  in  concert 
with  her  imperial  fowls,  who,  as  if  conscious  of 
their  own  imminent  danger,  set  up  such  a  pea- 
hawing,  as  would  have  stunned  terrestial  ears — 
"  Don't  do  any  such  thing,  dear  brother  Neptune — 
for  the  love  of  Amphitrite,  don't ! 

There  is  no  saying  how  the  affair  might  have 
terminated,  for  Jupiter  had  picked  up  an  enormous 
itone,  wiUi  a  view  to  peppering  the  peacocks,  when 
a  ay  from  Castor,  that  Mercury  was  reascending 
vith  the  prisoners,  restored  a  temporary  calm,  and 
oace  more  drew  the  whole  hierarchy  to  the  battle- 
neiit. 


CHAPTER  rV. 

Hie  criminal  van  of  the  Celestial  Courts  was 
ihaped  something  like  a  minibus,  so  that  until  it 
WIS  £urly  landed  on  the  terrace,  none  of  the  eager 
company  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  those  within. 

Mercojy  sprang  from  the  box.  "Well!  here 
they  are  safe  and  sound,  and  a  pretty  business  I've 
had  In  catching  them.  Walk  out,  my  doves.  Here's 
a  jdfy  party  waiting  for  you !"  And  he  opened  the 
door. 

To  the  utter  amazement  of  Olympus,  who  ex- 
peded  the  apparition  of  a  curly-haired  swarthy 
Anatie,  dad  in  tunic  and  buskins,  after  the  fash- 
ion of  the  Carian  pig-drivers,— out  stepped  from 
the  vehicle  a  tall  sandy-haired,  raw-boned  indivi- 
doal  of  six  feet,  arrayed  from  head  to  foot  in  a 
nit  of  tartans  of  more  lustrous  dye  than  the  fancy 
petticoat  of  Iris :  in  short,  a  Highlander  in  full 
eoBtome — ^Uie  first  that  ever  set  foot  in  the  heathen 
heaven.  After  him  descended  Diana,  blushing, 
and  in  tears,  yet  still  peerless  in  immortal  beauty. 
A  nrammr  of  astonishment  ran  through  the  assem- 
bled cirde,  which,  however,  produced  no  effect  on 
the  undannted  Scot,  who  continued  to  gaze  around 
ktm  with  stoical  indifference. 

**  Who  tihe  devil  have  we  got  here?"  said  Jupi- 
ter at  length — *^  Are  you  Endymion,  fellow  T 

"  Am  the  individual  that  was  arreested  at 
yoar  instance,"  replied  the  Highlander  calmly, 
*^  in  token  of  which  I  have  here  a  copy  of  the 
cfaaige,  manifestly  incompetent,  as  not  having  been 
•Mcoted  by  a  regular  messenger ;  aud  I  reserve  to 

so.  xcni<— TOF-  IX. 


mysell  a'  richt  of  action  of  damages  for  wrongous 
imprisonment  and  otherwise,  as  accords  of  law." 

"What  the  deuce  does  the  fellow  meanT  said 
the  bewildered  Jupiter. 

**  My  Lord,"  interposed  Rhadamanthus,  **  these 
matters  had  better  be  discussed  in  plena  foro.  If  it 
please  your  lordship  to  take  your  seat  as  Supreme 
Judge,  you  can  constitute  the  Session,  and  proceed 
in  common  form  to  try  this  embarrassing  case." 

"  Ye  may  do  as  ye  Hke,"  replied  the  Scot ;  **  but 
as  a  preliminary  defence,  I  plead  the  privileges  of 
the  College  of  Justice.  Am  an  advocate's  first 
clerk,  and  in  no  way  amenable  to  ony  jurisdiction, 
except  that  o'  my  ain  Coort.  Fide  Bothwell  v. 
Maitland,  December,  1582.-'itfbrmon,  page  2899." 

**  What's  the  meaning  of  this  jargon  ?"  asked 
Jupiter. 

"  A  declinature  of  jurisdiction,  my  Lord,"  said 
Rhadamanthus  ;  "  but  it  won't  do.  Fellow,  that 
plea  must  be  dismissed,  as  you  are  now  beyond 
the  bounds  of  the  Court  of  Session." 

"  I  was  arreested  in  Scotland  forty  miles  north  o' 
Gretna,  on  the  Carlisle  road,"  persevered  the  Scot; 
"  and  the  lad  wi'  the  wings  in  his  bannet  hadna 
even  a  border  warrant,  though  that  wadna  hae 
been  competent  neither." 

"  Is  this  the  fact.  Mercury  ?"  asked  Rhadaman- 
thus. 

"  'Pon  my  soul,  I  believe  so,"  replied  Mercury. 

"  Then  Jupiter's  in  an  ugly  scrape,  that's  all ; 
and  the  action  must  be  dismissed,"  said  Rhada- 
manthus. 

"Ye're  a  wise  judge,  ma  lord,"  said  the  Scot 
with  a  bow,  "  and  weel  versed  in  the  Principles. 
Ye  might  make  a  first-rate  Ordinar  on  the  Bills. 
I  submit  that  I  am  entitled  to  full  expenses." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  gratified  Rhadaman- 
thus. 

"  And  is  this  confounded  rascal  to  get  off  Scot- 
free,  after  having  eloped  with  my  daughter?"  asked 
Jupiter. 

'*  That's  the  law,"  said  Rhadamanthus. 

"  Ye  may  gang  before  the  Coort  o'  Session,  and 
tak'  a  remit  to  the  Commissaries,  upon  finding 
caution  judicio  9isH"  remarked  the  Scot ;  "  and 
ye'U  hae  to  gie  in  defences  against  a  sma'  action  at 
my  instance  for  wrongous  imprisonment,  and  de- 
tention o'  ma  person :  forbye  an  action  o'  repeti- 
tion as  ma  wife's  atrator  bonis,  I  presume  now 
we're  free  to  gang.  Diana,  ma  pet,  dicht  your 
e'en  and  pit  on  yer  bannet,  and  we'll  toddle  cantily 
hame." 

"Yes,  dear  Endymion!"  said  the  sobbing  Cyn- 
thia. 

"  Endymion  !  awa'  wi*  yer  havers !  Can  ye  no 
call  me  by  my  richt  name,  Tavish  Mactavish? 
— an  ancient  family,  gentlemen,  and  weel  kent  at 
the  back  o'  Breadalbane.  Sae  gude  momin'  to 
ye.  Maister  Mercury !  an'ye  wad  keep  your  head 
out  o'  the  rape  o'  ^e  law,  just  take  us  back  to 
whaur  ye  fand  us." 

"  Best  thing  you  can  do,  my  lad,"  remarked 
Rhadamanthus,  in  reply  to  an  appealing  look 
from  the  herald,  who  accordingly  mounted  and 
drove  off. 

"  I'm  a  wretclied  man,"  paid  Jupiter, 

r 


54 


ENDYMION;  OR,  A  FAMILY  PABTY  OP  OLYMPUS, 


"  Here's  a  go  !*'  roared  Pollux,  rushing  hastily 
into  the  presence  t  ^^  Flora  has  bolted  with  Apollo." 

Hercules  entered,  foaming  at  the  mouth — "  Jus- 
tice! Almighty  Jupiter!  My  wife,  Hebe,  is  off 
with  that  villain,  Ganymede." 

**  Father  of  gods  and  men !"  cried  the  gouty 
Vuloan,  limping  up — "  Venus,  my  abandoned  wife, 
has  just  eloped  with  Hesperus." 

^'  €ro  to  the  Court  of  Session  and  the  Commis- 
saries, gentlemen,"  said  Jupiter,  with  desperate 
calmness. 

'^Q  lordl  0  lord!  here's  an  awful  dispensa- 


tion !**  said  Pluto,  staggering  in — ^^  Jupiter,  my 
dear  brother,  that  wretch,  Ixion  !" 

"  What  next?"  said  Jupitey— "  out  with  it.*^ 
"  That  sacrilegious  monster,  Ixion,  has  carried 
off  your  Imperial  Consort !" 

"  Heaven  be  praised !"  cried  Jupiter,  dashing  his 
wig  among  the  stars,  '^  that's  the  best  news  I've 
heard  for  many  a  day.  Crentlemen  all — least  said 
is  soonest  mended.  Bacchus !  order  out  the  drink 
— ^'Fore  George,  we'll  have  a  night  of  it ;  and  to- 
morrow we  can  all  go  to  the  Commissaries  toge- 
ther." 


CERTAIN  OMISSIONS  IN  THE  RECENT  GAZETTE. 


BmroNS,  rejoice  with  heart  and  Toipe, 

You  here  may  see  respected, 
Time-honoor'd  names  whose  many  claims 

The  Whigs  too  long  neglected. 
Bat  take  a  peep,  with  eye  of  sheep, 

At  those  of  late  breveted, 
A|i(i  you  will  see  two  roorp  with  mp 

^  Generals  gazetted. 

There's  General  Famine,  foe  to  cramming, 

A  long,  lean,  fearful  fellow, 
His  troops  are  gaunt,  his  Aids*  is  Want, 

His  uniform  pale  yellow. 
There's  Abson,  he  who  likes  a  spree, 

A  wicked  hum'rous  variet. 
Who  plays  droll  tricks  with  farmer's  ricks, 

His  colour's  fiery  scarlet. 

For  me  I'm  bent  (I'm  Discontemt) 

Upon  a  secret  mission, 
An  ugly  job,  to  head  the  mob; 

And  thus  runs  my  commission : — 
**  Fare  quickly  forth,  rouse  South  and  North, 

That  nought  the  purpose  mar  may 
Of  General  Feel,  with  lead  and  steel. 

Soon  to  employ  the  army. 

To  murmurs  loud  invite  the  crowd. 

Sow  zealously  Sedition, 
Cry  loud  for  bread,  wail  children  dead, — 

Yet — waken  no  suspicion. 
The  Chi^tist  crew  assist  to  brew 

Some  caldron  of  commotion. 
That  we  may  still  their  zeal  with  pill 

Of  lead,  or  slnmb'rous  potion." 


*  Ai4e-de-camp. 


In  this  breyet  some  minds  may  fret 

That  names  have  been  omitted. 
Which  they  suppose  Lord  John  had  chose 

Had  he  but  been  permitted. 
There's  General  Trade,  a  gallant  blade, 

And  Qeperal  Educatiov, 
^oth  favourites  with  the  pride  an4  pith, 

I  own  it,  of  the  nation. 

Some,  too,  may  blame  to  miss  the  najpe 

Of  valiant  General  Freedom, 
And  call  Sir  Bob,  a  scurvy  snob. 

Who  dared  to  supersede  him. 
I  could  defend  my  gallant  friend. 

Sir  Rob,  with  reasons  twenty. 
And  show  you,  too,  why  entre  nous 

He  passed  by  General  Plenty. 

And  other  change,  all  woundy  strange. 

Is  fixed  in  council  privy : 
But  ere  the  time  to  blab  were  crime. 

Or  tidings  I  would  give  ye. 
Yet  your  safe  ear  I  need  not  fiBar,-^ 

Well — 'tis  in  agitation 
Soon  to  gazette  Peel's  special  pet, 

Old  General  Taxation. 

None  but  a  fool  tells  tales  from  school, 

Excuse,  then,  that  I  tell  ye  one: 
It  makes  me  fret  that  next  Gazette 

That  upstart  Gen.  Rebellion, 
Ere  Spring  you'll  see,  put  o'er  u$  Tim, 

Peel's  quondam  allies  famous. — 
Grief  stops  my  pen — Farewell,  till  then.— 

^  Majora  tunc  canamus  !" 

*^  A.  B.  T.  C.  D. 


WALTER  MAPES'  JOVIAL  PRIEST'S  CONFESSION. 


BT  BON  GAUI/nKR. 


No  donbt  many  of  onr  readers  liave  often,  like 
ourselves,  grown  merry  over  the  fine  Latin  drink- 
ing song,  beginning, 

Mihi  est  propositum  in  tabema  mori, 
which  Leigh  Hunt  has  naturalized  among  us,  under 
the  above  name,  in  a  translation  such  as  he  only 
could  produce.  Nay,  if  any  of  them  ever  had  the 
fortune,  or  misfoTtnne — we  shall  not  say  which, 
as  tastes  are  various — ^to  spend  an  evening  with  a 
beer-party  of  Burschen,  the  chances  are,  that  he 
may  have  helped  to  swell  the  chorus  of  the  song 
itself,  in  music,  that  gave  the  Bavarian  Brown 


all  the  smack  and  relish  of  Muscadin  or  Canary. 
Not  that  the  song  needs  any  sueh  adventitiouA 
aids  to -set  it  off.  Far  from  it.  Like  all  gocMi 
Bacchanalian  poetry,  it  carries  its  own  wine  and 
company  with  it.  Here,  for  instance,  are  we  our- 
selves, that  never,  from  our  youth  up,  were  de- 
tected in  any  greater  indulgence  than  a  second 
glass  of  dry  Lisbon,  ready  to  confess  to  having 
alarmed  our  landlady  on  more  occasions  than  one, 
by  chanting  it  ore  rotundoy  and  with  a  very  in- 
toxicated roll  of  the  eye,  over  a  Finnan  haddock  and 
a  glass  of  very  mitigated  ale.    And  why  was  this 


THE  JOVIAL  PRIEST'S  CONFESSION. 


55 


— bat  thai,  being  rather  imag^tive,  the  spirit  of 
the  son^  had  transported  us  into  a  snug  refectory 
at  Otfonl  in  the  twelfth  or  thirteenth  century — we 
are  not  particiUar  to  a  y^ar — with  a  jolly  abbot 
"  aimmering,*  like  old  John  Willett,  before  the 
fire  orer  against  us,  as,  with  upraised  flagon,  we 
trolled  out  dur  determined  resolution, 

To  end  oar  days,  in  a  tavern  drinking ; — 
iefaHj  forgetting,  that  all  the  while  ^q  were  only 
a  student  attending  the  divinity  classes,  oh  a  bur- 
saiy  of  ten  pounds  per  annum,  and  accommodated 
with  airy  lodgings  in  the  High  Calton^  at  four  shil- 
Bogs  a- week,  indading  fire,  a  table-cloth^  and  other 
extras. 

In  these  days,  we  knew  no  more  of  the  origin  of 
the  lines,  than  what  Camden  in  his  Remains  had 
told  ufi  :  that  ^'  Walter  de  Mapes,  archdeacon  of 
Oxford,  whoy  in  the  time  of  King  Henry  the 
Second,  filled  England  with  his  merriments,  con- 
ftsaed  his  love  to  good  liquor  in  this  manner."  We 
believed  the  venerable  antiquary,  and  inquired  no 
further,  till  we  found  on  our  table,  the  other  day, 
a  eomely  quarto,  issued  by  the  Cafnden  Society  en- 
tiUedy  "  The  Latin  Poems  commonly  attributed  to 
Waher  Mapes,  Collected  and  Edited  by  Thomas 
Wfiffkt,  Esq,''  We  shall  say  nothing  of  the  very 
pleasant  reading  which  the  whole  volume  afforded^ 
— its  satire,  its  graphic  pictures,  its  dramatic  vigour, 
its  vnetuona  humour,  and,  on  occasion,  its  serious 
force.  Our  business  is  with  the  song,  which,  oddly 
OMdgfa,  turns  out  to  have  originally  been  no  soug 
at  aD,  but  to  be  only  a  part  of  a  satirical  poem  of 
tome  length,  from  which  it  had  been  culled  by  some 
choice  ^irit,  some  two  or  three  centuries  after 
Walter  Biapea,  with  his  jibes  and  merriments,  was 
as  forlorn  a  thing  as  Yorick  the  king's  jester 
himself. 

The  poem  is  entitled  Ckmfessio  Golice,  (Golias 
being  a  sort  of  clerical  jester, — an  impersonation 
of  the  Gluttony,  Intemperance,  and  Immorality 
of  Monkhood,  the  character  of  which  Rabelais' 
Fannrge  is  the  more  modem  type,)  and,  says  Mr. 
Wright,  **  it  is  particularly  remarkable,  because  it 
oMitains  the  lines,  which,  formed  into  a  kind  of 
^niing  song  at  a  later  period,  have  hence  been 
the  chief  instrument  in  spreading  the  reputation  of 
Walter  Mapes  in  modem  times."  Formed  into  a 
kind  of  drinking  song,  quotha !  Hear  this,  ye  Bur- 
then of  Leipzig,  ye  Renommisten  of  Jena,  and 
groan  for  the  Philister^  of  Mr.  Thomas  Wright  I 
For  ouTBcl ves,  we  forgive  that  gentleman ;  for  in  the 
benevolence  of  his  editorial  heart,  hath  he  not  said, 
that  **  wttAont  any  direct  evidence  to  the  contrary,  we 


hesitate  in  takingfrom  him"  (our  excellent  Walter, 
to- wit)  "the  authorship  of  a  poem,  which  has 
been  so  long  coupled  with  his  name.'*  Grenerous 
forbearance  I  and  without  any  direct  evidence  to 
the  contrary  too !  But,  perhaps,  there  is  some  in- 
direct evidence  ?  Not  a  vistage :  Mapes,  Mr.  Wright 
tells  us  in  his  preface,  was  esteemed  by  his  sove- 
reign **  fot  his  extensive  learning  and  courtly  man- 
ners. He  was  a  wit,  and  a  man  vrith  a  marked 
taste  for  light  literature."  No  doubt  he  was ;  and 
just  for  these  very  reasons^  the  man  to  have  written 
the  poem  in  question.  Indeed,  it  could  only  have 
been  written  by  an  elegant  Scholar  and  polished 
humourist.  Such  compositions  never  emanate  from 
any  meaner  source.  The  inventor  of  FalstafF  was 
no  drunkard ;  and  the  mad  waggeries  of  Father 
Prout,  in  our  own  day,  spring  from  a  brain  as  richly 
stored  with  "  the  best  of  man's  best  knowledges,"  as 
the  heart  of  the  reverend  father  is  gentle  and  re- 
fined. Take  the  more  remarkable  case  of  Rabelais, 
of  whom  Mr.  Wright's  volume  has  constantly  re- 
minded us.  He  was  a  scholar,  and  an  accomplished 
gentleman,  a  man  of  pure  life,  of  elegant  tastes, 
and  kindly  and  charitable  habits :  but  he  did  not^ 
therefore,  the  less  certainly  write  his  singular  ro- 
mance. Besides,  popular  tradition  has  fathered 
the  poem  upon  Mapes  for  many  centuries ;  and 
the  people  rarely  fail  to  place  the  saddle  on  the 
right  horse.  So  Mr.  Wright,  it  is  just  as  well  that 
you  have  let  the  matter  alone,  "  in  absence  of 
direct  evidence  to  the  contrary."  The  man  who 
tailed  iii  question  the  existence  of  Homer  has  only 
proved,  that  learning  is  not  necessarily  knowledge 
— which,  indeed,  we  knew  before. 

But  to  return.  The  poem  is  supposed  to  be  the 
confession  of  a  young  priest  to  his  bishop^ — and  a 
very  pretty  confession  it  is.  It  is  written  with 
double  rhymes,  in  a  measure  corresponding  to  that 
which  we  have  adopted  in  our  translation,  but  with 
a  felicity  of  expression,  to  which  Leigh  Hunt  alone 
could  do  justice.  It  has  graces,  which  no  pen  but 
his  could  snatch ;  linless,  indeed,  it  were  the  still 
happier  quill  of  that  facetious  Mr.  Huddesford,  who 
rendered  one  of  the  couplets  of  the  soUg^  in  this 
most  facetious  quatrain. 

Mysterious  and  prophetic  truths, 

I  never  could  unfold  'ein 
Without  a  flagon  of  old  wine, 

And  a  slice  of  cold  ham  ! 

Oh,  that  Walter  Mapes  had  heard  these  lines — 
"  Huddesford,  Huddesford  !"  he  would  have  cried, 
as  he  finished  his  hundredth  peal  of  laughter, 
"  thou  It  be  the  death  of  me ! " 


€f)t  (Eonfttmion. 


Hy  spirit  is  perplexM  sore — with  sentiments  fimereal, 
Aa4  1  BiiiBt  give  its  Musiiigs  vent^ — so  bitter  and  so 

dreary  all ; 
Alia,  alas  !  I  doubt  I'm  made — of  very  light  material, 
Ai4  Hke  the  leaf  that  every  wind— blows  o^  on  dance 

tfrial. 

For  tlMttgh  'tis  clear  a  maa  of  sense— a  man  that's  'cute 

and  knowing. 
Weald  ix  his  dwelling  on  a  rock— that  there  was  no 

«retibroiriiit, 


I'm  such  an  ass,  that  hke  a  stream^-I'm  ever  onwards 

flowing. 
And  over  me  fresh  skies  are  bent — ^and  fresh  winds  ever 

blowing. 
I'm  like  a  ship  without  a  guide — I'm  sadly  deaf,  when 

mass  caUs, 
I  keep  no  lenten  holidays, — no  macerating  Pascals  ; 
Nor  bolts,  nor  bars  ean  hold  me  back — whene'er  a  chum 

or  glass  calls, — 
And  sooth,  they  are,  these  ehums  of  mine— a  precious  net 

of  rascals. 


56 


THE  JOVIAL  PRIESrS  CONFESSION. 


Like  most  young  men^  steeped  to  the  lips — in  Tices  fool 
and  shameless,  • 

I  tread  the  broad  way,  that  leads  down — to  a  place  that 
shall  be  nameless, 

And  eager  more  for  pleasure,  than — to  be  in  morals 
blameless, 

I  caltirate  my  outward  man — ^and  mind  my  inward's 
claim  less. 

A  loTe  affair  appears  to  me — of  grave  and  weighty  mo- 
ment, 

A  labyrinth  of  pleasant  fears — and  cheerfully  I  roam 
in*t ; 

The  toil  tiiat  Venus  doth  enjoin — is  pleasant  toil,  and  so 
meant 

For  men  of  noui  alone ;  your  fools — were  neyer  yet  at 
home  in*t. 

Oh,  saintly  father,  pardon  me — ^forgive  my  agitation, 
I  faint,  I  die,  I*m  going  off— in  pleasant  trepidation  1 
The  beauty  of  these  girk,  it  tears — my  heart  to  laceration, 
I'm  kissmg  the  whole  lot  of  them — the  dears,  in  contem- 
plation ! 
*Tis  no  such  very  easy  thing — to  keep  one's  nature  down, 

sir. 
And  not  to  feel  a  little  queer — in  looking  on  a  govm,  sir. 
Especially  when  in  it  is— a  maid  of  nutty  brown,  sir. 
Young  flesh  and  blood  must  needs  break  out — though 
saints  may  fret  and  frown,  sir. 

Set  a  man  within  a  fire — ^will  the  flames  not  singe  him  I 

Who  can  live  in  this  vile  world — ^nor  let  its  rileness  tinge 
him, 

When  Venus  plants  on  every  side — ^her  snares  and  traps 
to  twinge  him, 

And  rosy  lips  and  sparkling  eyes — and  sunny  locks  un- 
hinge lum ! 

The  second  charge  against  me  is — that  I  am  given  to 
dicing. 

But  most  unfortunate  am  I — that  very  pleasant  vice  in ; 

And,  when  cleaned  out,  I  find  my  wits — so  very  sharp 
and  slicing, 

That  floods  of  song  roll  in  on  me — in  measure  most  en- 
ticing. 

The  tavern's  pleasures  are  the  next— that  do  my  spirit 
lumber. 

They  always  have  stuck  fost  to  it — and  always  will  en- 
cumber. 

Until  I  see  the  cherubim — approach  in  goodly  number. 

To  sing  my  poor  departing  soul — ^into  eternal  slumber. 

In  a  tavern  I  shall  die — unless  my  purpose  misses, 
With  old  wine  upon  my  lips — to  cheer  me  with  its  kisses. 
And,  when  the  angels  come  to  take — my  soul  away  to 

blisses. 
They'll  say,  **  The  Lord  be  merciful — to  a  toper,  such  as 

this  is!" 

Wine  in  brimming  bumpers  bears — the  spirit's  richest 

ores  up, 
And,  on  nectar-moistened  wings — to  the  stars  it  soars  up; 
Greatly  I  prefer  the  can — mine  host  against  me  scores  up. 
To  the  cup  our  ceUarex^-with  cold  water  pours  up. 

There  be  some  small  poets  who— shunning  public  places. 
Woo  in  shady  solitudes — the  Muse's  pensive  graces; 


There  they  toil,  and  sweat,  and  moil — ^kn&king  dire  gri- 
maces; 
Yet,  after  all,  what  they  produce — in  very  piteoas  case 

is. 
There  be  bards  that  put  themselves — on  thin  water  groel. 
Fly  the  world's  loud  bickerings — strife,  and  jarxings 

cruel; 
Toil  for  immortality — and,  as  they  grasp  the  jewel. 
Die  off  from  inanition,  like — your  fi^,  for  lack  of  fuel. 

With  one's  own  peculiar  whims — Nature  still  doth  mould 

one; 
When  my  genius  is  starved — 'tis  a  very  cold  one  : 
Any  boy  might  beat  me  then — ^nor  need  be  a  bold  one, — 
Oh,  I  hate  your  fasting  days— as  I  do  the  Old  One  ! 
Every  man,  by  nature,  hath — his  own  gifts  and  mission; 
I'm  one  of  those  that  need  good  wine — to  aid  my  compo- 
sition. 
Then  my  genius  doth  attain — ^to  its  fhll  fruition. 
And  my  language  overflows— even  unto  repletion. 
As  my  liquor  floweth  good — goodly  verses  flow  so. 
But  unless  I  eat  as  well — they  will  never  go  so. 
With  a  bottle  in  my  belt — then  my  measures  glow  so. 
That  Ovidius  Naso's  are — compared  with  them,  but  so  so. 
Never  is  there  given  to  me — poetic  inspiration. 
Till  I've  ate  and  drank  my  fill— even  to  saturation ! 
Bacchus  then,  within  my  brain — hath  the  dominatioii. 
And  Phoebus  rusheth  into  me — to  general  admiration. 
Lo  I  I  have  told  how  ill  I've  lived— how  wickedly  and 

vainly; 
For,  had  I  not,  your  servants  would — and  that's  my  res- 
sou  mainly. 
They,  sneaking  rogues,  will  never  speak — ^their  eril 

thoughts  out  plainly ; 
Nor  e'er  confess  the  sins  they  love — and  revel  in  pro- 
fanely. 
But  now  I  meekly  stand  before — my  blessed  lord  aad 

bishop, 
And  all  my  sins  and  naughtiness — canonically  dish  up : 
Let  him  cast  a  stone  at  me — who  ne'er  had  wicked  wish 

up- 
on his  heart,  nor  now  can  find — a  single  fkult  to  fish  up. 
I  have  mentioned  every  sin — that  I  know  about  me. 
And  the  venom,  cherished  long — cast  away  from  out  me. 
The  ancient  Adam  I  abjure — infidels  may  fiout  me — 
Man  sees  the  face,  but  Jove  the  heart — what  matter 

though  they  doubt  me. 
Vice  I  hate  : — the  virtues  all — ^how  pleasant  surely  the  j 

be! 
My  inward  man  regenerate — this  shall  a  glorious  day  be. 
On  the  tender  milk  of  grace — I'm  fed,  lU^e  new-bom 

baby, 
That  my  heart  of  vanity — the  seat  no  longer  may  be. 
Lord  Bishop,  pray,  be  merciAil — to  me  and  from  the  trea- 
sure 
Of  thy  abundant  goodness  yield — thy  suppliant  good  mem- 
sure; 
Fozgive  my  sins,  and  I'll  perform — at  my  very  earliest 

leisure. 
Whatever  penance  you  eigoin— with  a  very  great  dcml 
of  pleasure. 

Expucrr. 


LITERARY   REGISTER. 


The  Hutary  of  the  Templars^  and  the  Temple  Church, 
and  Temple,  London,  By  Charles  Addison,  Esq. 
Longman  and  Co.     Post  quarto,  Pp.  395. 

This  is  a  book,  even  in  its  form,  designed  for  learned 
and  antiquarian  readers.  But  not  for  them  only ;  for  it 
exhibits  many  authentic  though  singular  aspects  of  char- 
^ter,  and  courses  of  action.  What  has  struck  us  most,  ia 


to  see  the  Knights  Templars  finding  not  merely  an  apolo- 
gist, but  an  enthusiastic  champion  in  modem  times. 
Their  new  historian  vindicates  the  Order  from  many  un- 
doubted calumnies  and  aspersions ;  and  imputes  their 
decline,  not  in  any  degree  to  their  turbulence,  their  in- 
domitable insolence  and  profiigacy,  but  exclusively  to 
the  jealousy  of  the  clergy,  and  to  the  cupidity  awakened 
among  churchmen  and  nobles,  by  the  vast  wealth  of 


Uf  ERAltt  RfeGIStER. 


57 


ikat  mSiHaTf-moaks,  Whatever  were  their  vices,  and 
viih  vhatever  danger  their  great  power  and  wealth,  and 
the  ahmset  et  both,  threatened  sooiet j,  it  must  be  oon- 
tbat  the  Templars  received  but  scanty  justice 
L  the  church  ;  which  determined,  by  any  means,  to 
tie  formidable  rival  body  it  had  unduly  fostered, 
as  MMi  aa  it  could  no  longer  be  made  subservient  to  its 
•nmpupoees. 

Mr.  Addtsoa's  narrative  of  the  rise,  the  usages  and 
fwtninii,  and  of  the  decline,  and  the  tyrannical  and  cruel 
cxtinetkiii,  of  Uie  Templars,  is  animated  in  its  movement, 
tad  pfegsant  with  matter.  His  admiration  of  the  Order 
inparts  a  g^w  to  his  pages  which  excites  the  reader's 
fympathy,  even  when  cooler  judgment  does  not  sanction 
aDhii  opmioiia. 

At  specimens  of  the  style  of  the  work,  we  could  vdsh 
te  seleet  a  few  passages,  from  what,  to  the  majority  of 
leaden^  may  prove  ihe  most  interesting  part  of  the  vo- 
lime,  samely,  the  relics  of  the  Knights  Templars,  which 
weie  kng  preserved  in  the  Temple,  in  Customs  and 
Regulations^  of  which  many  vestiges  may  still  be  traced. 
Among  these,  so  late  as  the  times  of  Philip  and  Mary,  was 
the  edcntal&ahion  of  wearing  long  beards.  Their  Majes- 
tiea  iomad  it  necessary  to  interfere  to  reform  this  foshion; 
aad  ordered  that  none  under  the  degree  of  a  Knight, 
bcia^  m  Commons,  should  wear  the  beard  above  three 
veeks  growing;,  upon  pain  of  a  fine  of  408.  The  Knights 
over^  required  to  lay  aside  their  arms  and  Spa- 
i  deaka,  swords,  bucklers,  rapiers,  hats,  and  gowns. 
of  the  CoMPAiaoits,  exoept  Knights  or  Benchers, 
I  allowed  to  wear  light  colours  in  their  doublet  and 
kee ;  «r  to  wear  any  upper  velvet  cap,  or  any  scarf,  &c. 
fte.  These  anmptnary  laws  are  less  important  in  our 
times  than  the  Mder : — **  That  no  attorney  should  be  ad- 
■hted  into  either  of  the  Houses;  and  that,  in  all  adnus- 
■eas  from  thenoefbrth,  it  should  be  an  implied  condition, 
ikat  if  the  party  admitted  practised  any  attorneyship, 
to  was  ip$Q  facto  dismissed.  By  a  statute  of  James  I., 
it  was  ordered  that  no  one  should  be  admitted  a  member 
if  citb^  Society  who  was  not  a  gentleman  hy  de$eent, 
fimts  also  took  order  about  their  dress  and  equipments; 
aad  made  the  Templars  lay  aside  hoU$  and  $puTt,  ^  as 
ill-heitting  gownsmen,  and  rather  the  badges  of  roarers 
ttoa  of  elvO  men."  His  Majesty  allowed  no  boots  in 
^  awB  Coort.  These  gownsmen,  for  a  long  period  main- 
tuaed  the  andent  character  of  the  Temple  for  sump- 
tasBS  aad  magnificent  hospitality. — Much  curious  infer- 
aaliea  concerning  persons  of  great  historical  name, 
I  with  the  Temple,  the  Temple  Church,  and  its 
,  is  compressed  in  three  or  four  inteimediate 
I  of  the  work. 
Whoi  the  ruin  of  any  individual  or  body  of  men  has 
been  resolved  on  by  the  Church,  the  cry  of  infidel^  heretic, 
kas  been  in  all  ages  the  watchword.  The  accusations 
of  this  sort,  and  others  brought  against  the  Templars, 
can  only  find  a  parallel  in  the  annals  of  witch  trials. 
The  accusations  were,  if  possible,  more  absurd  and 
atrecioas,  and  the  punishments  inflicted  more  cruel; 
aloidy  to  death  having  in  France  been  the 
scqael  to  the  use  of  the  rack ;  while  long  and 
imprisonment^  and  torture  to  obtain  confessions, 
i  employed.  In  England,  their  ultimate  pun- 
i  was  less  sanguinary,  and  many  of  them  were 
afaaolfed  of  their  heresy,  and  what  is  called  reconciled 
to  Os  Charch ;  bnt  stripped  of  their  property  and  left 
to  lagnii  oat  the  remainder  of  life  in  the  most  abject 
A  dark  chapter  in  ihe  history  of  Priestcraft 


is  that  which  records  the  extinction  of  the  Knights  Tem- 
plars, whatever  their  errors  or  vices  may  have  been. 

A  History  of  M«  Life  of  Richard  Casur-de-Idon. 
By  G.  P.  R.  James,  Esq.,  author  of  the  History 
of  Charlemagne ;  Life  of  Edward  the  Black 
Prince,  &c.  2  volumes,  octavo.  Saunders  and 
Otley. 

This  addition  to  the  historical  labours  of  Mr.  James 
appears  to  be  incomplete ;  or  more  probably  a  third 
volume  has  yet  to  appear.  We  have,  in  the  meanwhile, 
gone  no  farther  than  the  Introduction  to  the  work,  which 
consisto  of  a  comprehensive  and  luminous  view  of  the 
feudal  system,  and  of  the  institutions  of  chivalry ;  a  neces- 
sary preliminary  to  the  History  of  Coeur-de-Lion,  and 
probably  not  the  least  valuable  part  of  it. 

Frederick  the  Cfreat,  and  his  Times.     Edited  by 
Thomas  Campbell,  Esq.    2  vols.  8vo.    Colbum. 

This,  like  the  above  book,  has  come  north  either  in  an 
imperfect  state,  or  it  is  only  published  in  part.  It  is,  we 
should  imagine,  neither  originally  written  by  an  English- 
man, nor  a  recent  production ;  but  Mr.  Campbell  dis- 
creetly tells  us  more  than  that, — ^he  considers  it  a  work 
for  which  he  is  proud  to  stand  sponsor  ;  and  this  is  say- 
ing much.  It  comprehends  the  memoirs  of  Frederick 
William  I.,  as  tally  as  those  of  his  more  celebrated  son, 
and  exhibits  the  interior  of  the  principal  German  courte 
during  both  their  reigns.  It  contains  a  great  deal  more 
of  anecdote,  scandal,  and  private  history,  than  of  na« 
tional  annals.  Those  who  are  acquamted  with  that 
strange,  yet  attractive,  book,  the  Memoirs  of  the  Mar- 
gravine of  Bayreuth— the  daughter  of  the  one  Frederick, 
and  the  sister  of  the  other,— may  have  some  idea  of 
much  of  the  piquant  contento  of  a  work,  to  which  we 
hope  to  return. 

An  Account  of  the  SeUlements  of  the  New  Zealand 
Company^  from  Personal  Observation  during  a 
Residence  in  New  Zealand.  By  the  Hon.  Henry 
William  Petre. 

Though  this  gentleman's  leanings  are  to  the  Com- 
pany, which  he  thinks  has  not  been  fairly  treated  by  the 
local  supreme  authority,  his  account  of  the  new  settle- 
ment is  written  in  a  temperate  tone,  and  gives  the  most 
lively  hopes  of  ite  progress  and  rapid  prosperity.  The 
early  adventures  of  the  settlers  are  repleto  with  into- 
rest;  and  their  conduct,  by  this  report,  has  hitherto  been 
admirable. 

New  Zealandy  South  Australia^  and  New  South 
Wales;  a  Record  of  Recent  Travels  in  these  Co- 
lonies, with  especicU  reference  to  EmigraHcny  and 
the  Advantageous  Employment  of  Capital,  "By 
R.  G.  Jameson,  late  Surgeon- Superintendent  of 
Emigrants  to  Australia,  Pp.  372.  With  Map. 
Smith  &  Elder. 

This  is  a  judicious  and  impartial  work,  which  we  con- 
sider well  worth  the  attention  of  emigrante.  It  is,  be- 
sides, a  fair  topographical  account  of  New  Zealand,  with 
which  two-thirds  of  the  volume  are  occupied.  The 
writer  has  visited  each  of  the  new  settlemente  in  this 
important  colony,  and  also  the  mission  stotions,  and  ha» 
judged  fpr  himselt 


M 


LITERARY  REGISTER, 


The  Works  of  De  Foe.  Volume  II.  Edited  by 
William  Hazlitt.  London  :  Clements. 
We  described  the  nature  of  this  cheap  edition  of  the 
works  of  a  popular  and  classic  English  writer  when  an- 
nouncing the  first  Tolnme.  The  second  one  contains  the 
History  of  Mr.  Duncan  Campbell^  the  Dumb  PhiloBO- 
pher  ;  the  Journal  of  the  Plague-  Year ;  the  Memoirs  of 
Cktptain  Carleton ;  the  Life  and  Adtenture$  of  RobxMon 
Crusoe,  vfith  the  Further  Adventure*;  and  the  Serious 
Reflections  of  Robinson  Crusoe, — works  much  less  known 
than  the  original  adventures;  and  the  Life  of  Captain 
Singleton;  taken  together,  a  rich  and  varied  banquet. 
Another  of  these  comprehensive  tomes  will,  we  presume, 
eomplete  an  excellent  edition  of  an  author  who  is  indis- 
pensable to  every  Englishman's  library  of  standard  and 
sterling  works. 

A  Search  into  the  Old  Testament^  in  order  to  trace 
its  Claim  of  being  the  Depository  of  Divine  Com- 
munications. By  Joseph  Hume.  Longman  & 
Co.    Cloth.    Pp.304. 

The  author— not  Mr.  Joseph  Hume,  the  patriot  and 
ex-legislator,  but  Mr.  Joseph  Hume,  the  translator  of 
Dante's  ^Inferno"  into  English  blank  verse — states,  in 
his  preface,  that  the  investigation,  of  which  the  results 
form  the  present  volume,  was  ^undertaken  for  the 
purpose  of  ascertaining  what  were  the  evidences  that 
eould  be  drawn  from  the  Old  Testament  which  might 
establish  the  truth  of  those  momentous  passages  that 
involve  supernatural  events,  and  which  must  therefore 
have  been  divine  productions."  [predictions !]  This 
purpose  is  accomplished  by  a  minute  analysis  of  the  Old 
Testament ;  references  only  being  given  to  chapter  and 
Terse,  as  the  insertion  of  every  pajssage  complete  would 
have  swelled  the  work  to  several  volumes.  The  work 
will  be  of  considerable  use  to  Biblical  students. 

The  Fortunes  of  Faith;  or^  Church  and  State. 
A  Poem.    By  Thomas  Homblower  Gill. 

In  this  Poem  a  historical  survey  is  taken  of  the  diffi- 
culties which  pure  Christianity  has  in  all  ages  had 
to  struggle  against,  from  ecclesiastical  corruption  and 
domination,  as  well  as  from  the  secular  arm.  The  piece 
must  attract  notice.  The  sentiment  is  excellent,  and  the 
•tyle  generally  terse  and  vigorous,  though  the  rhymes  are 
often  faulty.  We  cannot  tell  to  what  denomination  of 
Christians  the  author  belongs,  but  he  is  a  thorough  Vo- 
luntary, and  that  upon  the  highest  grounds.  To  several 
passages  which  we  had  marked  for  extract,  as  the  de- 
scription of  Mahomet,  and  the  spread  of  Islamism,  the 
humiliation  of  Henry  at  the  Tomb  of  Becket,  Wickliffe, 
Luther,  and  the  early  puritans,  our  limited  space  denies 
Admittance ;  and  we  must  be  contented  with  the  follow- 
ing picture  of  Cromwell's  soldiers : — 

Devout  enthusiasts !  matchless  sons  of  war  I 
Whom  bigots  still  malign  and  priests  abhor ; 
Despite  their  hate  a  rare  renown  Is  yours 
Which  will  not  die  while  deathless  Truth  endures  1 
Ye  felt  the  sin  of  force,  the  shame  of  creeds, 
Loathed  the  foul  chaff  on  which  the  bigot  feeds, 
A  stronger,  ampler,  nobler  diet  sought. 
And  willed  that  Man  should  worship  as  he  thought. 

This  cause  their  strength,  this  liberty  their  boast. 
What  valour  could  confront  the  saintly  host ! 
No  dull  machines !  no  vulgar  warriors  they  ! 
Seasoned  with  blood,  aud  satisfied  with  pay  ! 
No  soldier  passions  taint  their  dread  employ. 
Nor  wanton  slaughter  yields  unhallowed  joy ; 


They  spurn  the  palling  stimulant  of  lust, 
Nor  bound  their  wishes  to  the  meed  of  dusty 
Demand  the  conflict  for  a  nobler  prize. 
And  seek  their  crowning  guerdon  in  the  skies. 

Survey  their  camp  !  no  tumult  shocks  the  eye. 
Unseemly  brawl,  or  drunken  revelry ; 
No  impious  oath  grates  harshly  on  the  ear, 
But  prayerAil  silence  reigns  unbroken  there ; 
See,  side  by  side  in  meaning  contrast  laid, 
Life-giving  word  and  death-dispensing  blade ! 
In  mystic  trance  the  raptured  warrior  kneels  ; 
O'er  all  his  soul  the  bright  delusion  steals ; 
Each  sense  absorbed,  his  heaving  heart  ontponfed. 
He  joys  in  fancied  commune  with  the  Lord. 
Mark  on  his  changing  cheek,  his  bright'ning  e je 
The  bursting  hope,  the  speechless  ecstasy ! 
O'er  each  wild  hope  these  waking  dreams  reveal^ 
Distempered  Faith  has  set  her  burning  seal ; 
The  vision  warms !  she  greets  the  expected  day. 
And  thanks  the  Saviour's  smile  and  shares  his  sway ! 

But  ere  that  Faith,  with  wild,  diffusive  glow. 
Lights  her  impatient  votaries  to  the  foe. 
Devotion's  impulse  wakens  every  tongue  ; 
The  stem  enthusiasts  kindle  into  song ; 
In  deepening  notes  their  rugged  anthems  pour. 
High  o'er  the  triimpet's  blast,  the  cannon's  roar. 
Pray  ere  they  fkll  beneath  its  fiery  breath. 
And  close  the  Book  of  Life  to  march  on  death  I 

But  Truth  their  various  errors  would  not  hide ; 
They  sinned,  and  Heaven  protracted  rule  denied ; 
Insulted  Freedom  cursed  their  tyrant-chief, 
O'ertasked  Devotion  murmured  for  relief; 
Religion  frighted  in  her  gloomy  dress, 
And  Reason  sickened  at  each  wild  excess. 
Revolted  feeling  swept  their  strength  away ; 
The  people  willed  that  kings  again  should  svray. 
In  reckless  trust  expressed  their  mad  delight. 
Nor  asked  a  pledge,  nor  registered  a  right. 
Securely  thron'd,  the  Monarch  hailed  the  priest. 
Replaced  the  purple,  and  respread  the  feast ; 
(He  scarce  could  sin  without  his  ready  tool,) 
The  grasping  Church  resumed  her  haleM  rule. 
Refused  to  gather  wisdom  from  her  woe, 
Renewed  the  crimes  that  wrought  her  overthrow. 
Recalled  each  woe  that  darker  times  had  known. 
And  in  the  race  of  guilt  outran  the  throne. 

Their  opening  deed  was  worthy  of  the  Twaitt  ; 
According  vengeance  doomed  the  spotless  Yane. 
Patrician  patriot,  court-acquainted  saint, 
Who  mingled  with  the  world,  but  caught  no  taiAt  I 
Sublimely  eloquent  and  purely  wise. 
He  gained  in  Glory's  race,  when  Virtue  won  the  prize. 
Disarmed  by  mercy,  yet  unmoved  by  fear. 
True  to  each  right  that  Conscience  counted  dear. 
Bold  when  a  tyrant's  deeds  proroked  the  strife, 
He  gave  to  Freedom  all  his  glorious  life. 
He  braved  a  stormy  ocean  ft^m  his  youth, 
His  pilot.  Virtue,  and  his  beacon.  Truth ; 
His  soul  was  bright  beneath  the  darkest  sky ; 
His  faith  was  fervour  mixed  with  charity. 
Reproached  fanatic  hate,  ascetic  gloom. 
Forbore  to  shrink  yet  trembled  to  presume. 
He  felt  that  Freedom  was  the  life  of  Faith, 
Bom  at  one  birth,  alike  exempt  from  death. 
Served  with  one  service,  courled  with  one  love, 
The  same  their  labour  here,  the  same  their  crovm  IboTO. 

Sublime  religion  I  heart  ennobling  creed  I 
Here  lay  his  strength,  hence  sprang  each  deathless  deed ; 
'Twas  this  the  poet  praised,  the  friend  reyere<^* 
The  tyrant  hated  and  the  fearless  feared ; 
'Twas  this  the  prelate  loathed,  the  monarch  doomed^ 
Yet  quenchless  Hope  her  votary's  soul  illumed ; 
When  low  Ambition  played  the  traitor  part. 
And  warriors  quailed,  he  wore  a  dauntless  heart ; 
When  vengeftil  Power  proscribed  the  cause  he  lored 
Unworthy  Death  the  willing  witness  proved 


*  See  the  sonnet  addressed  to  him  by  Milton,    ' 
>  **  Vane  young  in  years,  but  in  gsige  counsel  olfl.^^ 


LITERARY  REGISTER, 


#8 


Hot  Hope  ^re  bnglittiess  to  the  dungeon-rock, 
Saukd  M  the  sentence,  glorified  the  block. 
To  opening  time  a  prophet-gaze  applied, 
Aad  give  her  son  the  rictory,  though  he  died ! 

Bmtbles  in  C^hn,    By  Lieutenant  de  Butts. 

Allen  8c  Co. 
lids  work  is  intended  to  snpply  a  blank  in  light  oriental 
ym£ag ;  and  to  draw  attention  to  an  interesting  and 
iBipertant  colony,  which  is  thought  of  with  indifference, 
chiflfly  because  the  people  at  home  know  little  or  nothing 
»bo«t  itt  aad  that  the  climate  is  in  very  bad  repate. 
The  acknowledged  want  the  author  has  supplied  by 
hreJy  descriptire  sketches,  and  discussions  on  all  sorts 
flfw^jwts  ooBnected  with  the  island. 

He  has  giTen  s  Torsion  of  the  fatal  episode  ef  Mi^'or 
Dtrie  and  his  command,  which  is  new  to  us,  and  very 
iiiparaging  to  the  memory  of  that  unfortunate  officer. 
We  vp  sot  enabled  to  refute  the  statement  from  our  own 
knowledge,  but  we  hope  that  it  has  been  rashly  adopted, 
■ad  admits  of  explanation.  Barie  is  accused  not  merely 
of  jactpaeity,  bat  of  poltroonery,  and,  by  implication,  of 
trtaitherf.  The  following  oonoludon  of  Davie's  history, 
\i  very  different,  indeed,  from  that  current  in  Scot- 
had  >- 

When  our  troops  occupied  Kandy,  in  1815,  Darie 
nanaged  to  elude  the  strict  search  that  was  ma^le  for 
him.  He  had  contrived  to  insinuate  himself  into  the 
good  graces  of  the  Kandian  monarch  by  ^opting  the 
^Tcss,  religion,  and  customs  of  the  natiyes.  He  died  in 
1816.     Like  the  Venetian, 

UnannealM  he  passed  away, 
Without  a  hope  from  Mercy*said: 
Te  the  last  a  renegade. 
We  extract  one  other  passage,  not  to  show  the  style 
if  the  work,  but  to  serre  a  higher  purpose.     After 
lOTrtkning  the  old  Dutch  monopolies,  Lieuten^t  de 
Betts  remarks : — 

Ceylon  affbrds  »  striking  instance  of  the  triumph  of 
free  principles  in  commerce.  Until  within  the  last  few 
jears,  nearly  CTory  article  of  produce  was  subject  to 
4lmast  prohibitory  duties.  During  the  government  of 
iir  WQmot  Horton,  this  unenlightened  system  was  sup- 
pcemed,  and  in  its  stead  was  substituted  tariff  duties, 
tended  on  the  most  enlarged  riews  and  commercial 
yriaciples  of  the  present  day.  The  result  has  even  sur- 
fiiiwl  the  anticipations  of  the  most  sanguine  ;  and  from 
the  day  on  which  the  principles  of  free  trade  were 
s^ypfied  to  the  colony,  the  prosperity  of  Ceylon  may 
besecfarward  be  dated.  One  unfortunate  exception  has, 
hsverer,  been  made  in  the  application  of  the  uniyersally 
jut  principles  of  freedom  in  commercial  intercourse. 
f\9Mn^t  formerly  the  staple  commodity  of  the  island, 
ad  that  fbr  which  it  was  chiefly  famed,  is  now  lying 
aader  the  incubus  of  the  enormous  export  duty  of  one 
handled  per  cent.  Thus  while  the  export  of  coffee, 
mgar,  and  coco»-nnt  oil,  is  rapidly  increasing,  under  the 
beneficial  Infiuenoe  of  the  fiscal  regulations  that  have 
been  mentioned,  the  demand  for  cinnamon,  fettered  as  it 
is  with  restricttre  duties,  has  rather  diminished  than 
iawrased  ;  and  the  trade  in  this  spice  will  continue  to 
baguish,  until  a  material  change  is  effected  in  those 
abfnrd  and  anomolous  duties,  by  which  its  energies  have 
of  late  been  cramped  and  subdued. 

Treatise  en  Printing  and  Tt/pe-Founding.     By 
T.  C.  Hansard.    Adam  and  Charles  Black. 

This  is  another  reprint  of  one  of  the  elaborate  articles 
vhi^  have  appeared  in  the  last  Edition  of  the  Encyclo- 
paedia Britannica.  It  will  form  a  useful  companion  for 
the  lihnry,  as  well  as  an  instructor  to  the  practical 
printer.  It  comprehends  all  kinds  of  printing,  and  is 
^Iwtialcd  with  the  original  engravings  of  the  Encyclo- 
fiedia. 


Traditions  of  the  Covenanters  ;  or,  Gleanings  among 

the  Mountains,     Second  Series.    By  the  Rev. 

Robert  Simpson,  Sanquhar.   Edinburgh  :  Pater - 

son. 

This  small  and  homely  volume  is  composed  of  the 
same  materials,  and  written  in  the  same  spirit,  as  the 
first  of  the  series,  in  which,  however,  the  more  memor- 
able traditions  were  well-nigh  exhausted.  But  what 
remains  will  afford  very  agreeable  reading  for  a  Scottish 
farmer's  ingle-neuk,  and  will  tend  to  strengthen  the 
healthy  principle  of  resistance  to  interference  with  the 
rights  of  free  opinion,  and  of  private  judgment,  whether 
that  interference  and  attempted  domination  shall  ema- 
nate from  presbyters  or  curates,  from  Star  Chambers  or 
General  Assemblies. 

The  Young  Islanders  ;  a  Tale  of  the  Past  Century. 
By  JcfiFreys  Taylor.  Pp.  373,  with  Wood  en- 
gravings.   Tilt  &  Bogue. 

A  Juvenile  Tale  of  Crutoeith  adventures  is  in  this 
volume  run  out  to  greater  length  than  is  usual  in  the 
nice  little  books  got  up  now-a-days  for  young  folks ;  and 
into  which  their  papas  and  mammas  often  take  a  sly 
peep,  just  to  ascertain  "  if  they  be  proper  reading  for 
the  children."  The  Young  Island^rs'mllhe  pronounced 
quite  proper ;  and  every  tolerable  imitation  of  Robinson 
Crusoe  must  be  entertaining.  By  a  series  of  accidents, 
in  which  some  acquiescence  of  the  fancy  is  required,  a 
number  of  English  school-lads  are  oast  upon  a  ^esert 
island,  and  left  wholly  to  their  own  resources,  which 
were  about  as  limited  as  their  knowledge  or  judgment 
The  history  of  the  progress  of  this  isolated  juvenile  com- 
munity, is  an  epitome  of  that  of  large  adult  colonies. 
The  work  is  all  good  and  entertaining,  save  several  hor- 
rific incidents,  and  the  close,  which  is  too  mournful  ^ 
be  wise  in  a  work  for  the  young. 

Hood's  Comic  Annual  for  1842. 
Here,  once  more,  comes  Mr.  Hood;  open-handed, 
light-hearted,  a  droll,  a  wit,  a  humorist,  as  the  world 
sets  him  down ;  and,  in  reality,  all  and  each  of  these 
buoyant  characters,  and  also  what  that  wise  world  does 
not,  we  imagine,  suspect,  a  true  philosopher ;  and  what 
is  yet  more  rare,  a  modest,  self-respecting  writer.  His 
absence  for  the  last  season  **  eclipsed  the  gaiety  of  na- 
tions ;"  and  what  is  unusual,  no  one  could  guess  in  what 
manner  he  had  disappeared,  and  whither  he  had  gone. 
No  newspaper  ^  prated  of  his  whereabout ;"  unlike  in  this 
to  some  authors,  who,  as  he  says,  are  "  like  Miss  Blen- 
kinsop's  curls,  never  out  of  the  papers" — either  as  going, 
coming,  or  fixtures ;  and  yet  paying  no  advertisement- 
duty,  or  none  that  benefits  the  revenue.  He  is  invited 
to  no  public  dinner;  gets  no  service  of  tea-plate;  is,  we 
suspect,  not  to  be  caught  as  a  lion,  though  he  were  ca- 
pable of  being  tamed  when  caught.  No  American  tra- 
vellers have  thought  it  worth  while  to  break  in  upon 
him,  and  squeeze  out  an  autograph — no  one  can  tell  the 
colour  of  his  eyes,  or  how  he  wears  his  beard.  In  short, 
as  an  author  who  has  works  to  sell,  and  a  considerable 
reputation  to  coddle  and  keep  warm,  Mr.  Hood  is,  or  for 
two  years  has  been,  an  unpardonable  man.  However, 
here  he  is  again,  and  assuredly  not  the  less  welcome  in 
our  estimation,  that  he  has  in  this  long  interval  made 
^'no  noise  nor 'stir  about  town." 

The  fame  of  his  Annual  for  1842  rests  upon  the  grand 
epic  of  Miss  Kilmansefig  and  A«*  Precious  Leg;  a  poem 
which  eminently  entitles  the  author  to  the  dignity  of 


60 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


being  dubbed  a  pbfloflopher ;  bat  many  bright  and  fanny 
things,  h  la  Hood,  are  comprised  within  the  same  boards, 
in  which  the  Precioas  Leg  is  rendered  Immortal. 

It  is  not  without  a  certain  remorse  that  we  mangle 
or  mar  its  symmetry,  in  attempting  to  display  were  it 
but  its  golden  great  toe  to  our  readers. 

The  pedigree  of  Miss  Kilmansegg  is  somewhat  doubt- 
All;  but  of  her  more  immediate  aacestors — say  her 
grandpapa— it  is  certain   that  he  literally  rolled  in 
gold- 
Gold  !  and  gold  !  and  gold  without  eod  ! 
He  bad  gold  to  lay  by,  and  gold  to  spend, 
Crold  to  give,  and  gold  to  lend, 

And  reyersions  of  gold  infiUwv. 
In  wealth  the  family  rerell'd  and  roll*d— 
Himself,  and  wife,  and  sons  so  bold ; 
And  his  daughters  sang  to  their  harps  of  gold 
•'ObeUaetaderoror 

Such  was  the  tale  of  the  Kilmansegg  Kin, 

In  golden  text,  on  a  rellum  skin. 

Though  certain  people  would  wink  and  grin, 

And  declare  the  whole  story  a  parable, — 
That  the  ancestor  rich  was  one  Jacob  Ghrimes, 
Who  held  a  long  lease  in  prosperous  times 

Of  acres,  pasture  and  arable. 

LeaTing  her  ancestry  in  this  pleasing  and  tantalizing 
obscurity,  we  come  to  Miss  Kilmansegg's  birth,  which 
was  as  auspicious  as  gold  could  make  it : — 

She  was  one  of  those  who,  by  Fortune's  boon. 
Are  bom,  as  they  say,  with  a  silver  spoon 

In  her  mouth — ^not  a  wooden  ladle: 
To  speak  according  to  poets'  wont, 
Plutus  as  sponsor  stood  at  her  font, 

And  Midas  rocked  the  cradle. 

She  was  bom  among  eider  down,  and  under  damask  and 
golden  canopies;  her  first  breath  of  Tital  air  was  redo- 
lent of  otto  of  roses— her  first  glimpse  of  light,  six  wax 
tapers  placed  in  golden  branches : — 

She  was  bora  exactly  at  half-past  two, 
As  witnessed  a  time-piece  in  or-mdu 

That  stood  on  a  marble  table — 
Showing  at  once  the  time  of  day. 
And  a  team  of  Gildings  mnning  away 

As  fast  as  they  were  able. 
With  a  golden  God,  with  a  golden  Star, 
And  a  golden  Spear  in  a  golden  Car, 

According  to  Grecian  fable. 

Like  other  babes,  at  her  birth  she  cried; 
Which  made  a  sensation  far  and  wide- 
Ay,  for  twenty  miles  around  her; 
For  though  to  the  ear 't  was  nothing  more 
Than  an  infant's  squall,  't  was  really  the  roar 
Of  a  Fifty-thousand  Pounder  ! 
It  shook  the  next  heir 
In  his  library  chair. 
And  made  him  cry — ^  Confound  her  !" 

The  signs,  omens,  and  portents,  that  awaited  this 
wondrous  birth,  might  hare  sufficed  for  a  Princess  Royal, 
or  a  Prince  of  Wales.  The  feasting  and  quaffing  were 
on  the  mightiest  scale,  and  as  for  the  baby  wardrobe  : — 

How  was  the  precioas  Baby  drest ! 

In  a  robe  of  the  East,  with  lace  of  the  West, 
Like  one  of  Ctcbsus'  issue — 

Her  best  bibs  were  made 

Of  rich  gold  brocade. 
And  the  others  of  siWer  tissue. 

From  a  golden  boat,  with  a  golden  spoon, 
The  babe  was  fed,  night,  morning,  noon. 

But  her  nursing  was  poor  to  her  christening,  when — 
It  would  fill  a  Court  Gazette  to  name 
What  ^t  and  We»t-j;iid  people  erm^ 


To  the  rite  of  Christianity : 
The  lofty  lord  and  the  titled  dame, 

All  diamonds,  plumes,  and  urbanity. 
His  Lordship,  the  MayV,  with  his  golden  chain. 
And  two  gold  sticks,  and  the  Sheriffii  twain, 
Nine  foreign  Counts,  and  other  great  men 
With  their  orders  and  stars  to  help  M  or  N 

To  renounce  all  pomp  and  yanity. 

To  paint  the  maternal  Kilmansegg 
The  pen  of  an  Eastern  Poet  would  beg. 

And  need  an  elaborate  sonnet; 
How  she  sparkled  with  gems  wheneyer  she  stiiT'd, 
And  her  head  niddle-noddled  at  eyery  word. 
And  seemed  so  happy — a  Paradise  Bird 

Had  nidificated  upon  it. 

And  Sir  Jacob,  the  Father,  stmtted  and  bow'd, 
And  smiled  to  himself,  and  laughed  aloud, 

To  think  of  his  heiress  and  daughter ; 
And  then  in  his  pockets  he  made  a  grope. 
And  then,  in  the  fUlnessof  joy  and  hope, 
Seem'd  washing  his  hands  with  inyisible  soap, 

In  imperceptible  water. 

He  had  rolled  in  money  like  pigs  in  mud. 
Till  it  seemed  to  haye  entered  into  his  blood 

By  some  occult  projection ; 
And  his  cheeks,  instead  of  a  healtiiy  hue. 
As  yellow  as  any  guinea  grew. 
Making  the  common  phrase  seem  trae 

About  a  rich  complexion. 

A  wealthy  Nabob  was  Godpapa, 

And  an  Indian  Begum  was  Godmamma, 

Whose  jewels  a  Queen  might  coyet; — 
And  the  Priest  was  a  Vicar,  and  Dean  withal 
Of  that  Temple  we  see  with  a  Grolden  Ball, 

And  a  Golden  Cross  aboye  it. 

The  Font  was  a  bowl  of  American  gold. 
Won  by  Raleigh  in  days  of  old, 

In  spite  of  Spanish  brayado  : 
And  the  Book  of  Prayer  was  so  oyerrun 
With  gilt  deyices,  it  shone  in  the  sun 
Like  a  copy — a  presentation  one — 

Of  Humboldt's  «  El  Dorado.*' 

Gold  I  gold !  and  nothing  but  gold ! 
The  same  auriferous  shine  behold, 

Whereyer  the  eye  could  settle ! 

The  childhood  of  the  golden  heiress  is  eyen  more  golden 
than  her  infkney.  Her  go-cart  rolled  on  golden  castors ; 
her  doll  was  solid  gold;  her  primer  was  a  book  of  gold- 
leat  Her  accomplishments  were  in  harmony  with  all 
that  had  gone  before,  until  her  education  being  com- 
pleted, it  was  oyer 

Gold  !  still  gold  ! — the  bright  and  the  dead. 
With  golden  beads,  and  gold  lace,  and  gold  thread 
She  work'd  in  gold,  as  if  for  her  bread; 

The  metal  had  so  undermined  her. 
Gold  ran  in  her  thoughts,  and  fill'd  her  brain. 
She  was  golden-headed  as  Peter's  cane 

With  which  he  walked  behind  her. 

And  there  go  Peter  and  she  in  picture  as  trae  as  life. 
Ah!  better  she  had  eyer walked  thus  humbly;  but  Miss 
Kilmansegg  could,  among  her  other  accomplishments,  sit  a 
lady's  horse,  although  it  reared ;  and  one  day  she  was 
ran  off  with^  and  thrown  by  her  bay  ^  Banker,  by  Bal- 
lion  out  of  an  Ingot  mare,"  and,  after  a  desperate  race 
oyer  half  London,  thrown.  Her  amputated  human  limb, 
the  result  of  this  accident,  the  braye  girl  of  gold  yowed, 
should  be  replaced  by  a  Grolden  one — and  nothing  baser; 
wood  and  cork  she  disdained. 

A  leg  of  Gold — 9olid  gold  thronghout; 
Nothing  else,  whether  slim  or  stout. 

Should  eyer  support  her — God  willing. 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


61 


'^  Gold !  gold  I  gold  !  oh,  let  it  be  gold  !" 
Adeep  er  ftwike  that  tale  the  told, 

And  whm  she  grew  deliriooB;— 

Aad  the  Preciomt  Leg  wm  formed,  all  sterling  metal, 
betiii^  the  goldsmith's  mark  on  the  calf.  ^  'Twas  a 
ipkafid,  brilliant,  beantifta  leg,**— it  was  the  talk  of  the 
vhslt  tvwB — East  and  West ;  and  it  prored  Miss  Kil- 
^sfihte.  Her  conrtship  by  a  fierce  foreign  Connt, 
e,  lier  honeymoon,  her  wedded  misery,  follow 
la  ngalar  nooesaion,  uid  also  her  father's  death,  and  her 
mtthsr*!  ■adneiw,  when,  alas !  spite  of  her  gold — 


FHcnd  or  gooip  she  had  not  one 

To  hear  the  Tile  deeds  that  the  Count  had  done. 

How  he  ki»ed  the  maid^  and  sparred  with  John; 
And  came  to  bed  with  his  garments  on; 

With  other  oflfonces  as  heinoos; — 
And  bfongfat  strange  gentlemen  home  to  dine, 
Thai,  he  said,  were  in  the  Fancy  Line^ 
And  they  fimded  spirits  instead  of  wine, 

And  eaUed  her  kp-dog  **  Wenns." 

Svca  Sir  Jacob's  gold  could  not  long  supply  the  wants 
if  teCovnt;  and  tiien  came  the  tug  of  war: — 

Nffw  the  Preeious  Leg,  while  cash  was  flush, 
Or  the  Coanfs  acceptance  worth  a  rush, 

Had  nerer  excited  dissension ; 
Bnt  no  sooner  the  Stocks  began  to  fibll. 
Than,  without  any  ossification  at  all. 
The  Umh  became  what  people  call 

A  perfect  bone  of  contention. 

The  catastrophe  may  be  foreseen.  The  owner  of  the 
PreciMm  Jjtg  became  its  Tictim. 

€Md  1  stfll  goUl !  hard,  yellow,  and  cold, 
Far  gold  Ae  had  lired,  and  she  died  for  gold— 

By  a  golden  weapon — not  oaken  : 
la  the  Boming  they  found  her  all  alone — 
Stiff  and  bloody,  and  cold  as  stone. 
Bat  her  Leg— the  Golden  Leg— was  gone  ! 

And  "  the  golden  bowl  was  broken  !" 

So  end*  IGss  KHmansegg. 

Tke  Opem  Qnutum  is  a  peculiariy  well-timed  droeAar^. 
Ve  wish  there  was  of  it  a  penny  edition  for  Scotland, 
vfcase  it  is  greatly  wanted.  There  are  many  shrewd  hits, 
■■A  of  the  Hood  philosophy,  and  of  Steme  wit,  in  a  long 
nrtepnct  sort  of  story,  entitled,  **  A  Friend  in  need,'*— 
kot  we  mast  not  Tentnre  upon  it,  lest  it  be  with  us — 
*  In  for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound." 

Aimee  to  tke  BiUaus;  or,  a  Treatue  on  Disease  of 

tke  JUmt.    By  Rowland  East,  Member  of  the 

Facnhj  of  FhjndanB  and  Smgeons,  Licentiate 

of  Apothecaries'  Hall,  &c.  &c. 

Tfab  strikes  ns,  though  we  pretend  to  no  great  know- 

higt  ef  the  snbiect,  as  being  a  sensible  and  clear  little 

twatise,  and  one  which,  without  the  usual  dogmatism  of 

■ems  ef  the  doctors,  rises  aboTe  the  safe  commonplace, 

cr  the  *  daauiable  iteration"  of  others  of  the  publishing 

I  of  the  Faculty.    To  show  that  it  is  not  com- 

,  we  cite  one  paragraph,  where  the  writer,  at 

Ae  entwt  of  his  discourse,  is  treating  of  that  ill  under- 

stoed  foality  or  condition  of  being,  which  goes  by  the 

■Be  ef  a  steong  or  a  powerftil  constitution. 

It  is  not  nimwular  power,  because  the  highest  degree 
«f  it  b  associated  with  disease.  There  is  something  in 
foc^naaconstitntion  indefinable,  call  it  what  you  may, 
HsraliaOy  distinct  from  muscular  force.  It  is  that  pre- 
"  tpnmeipU  which  keeps  up  the  rigour  and  main- 
fte  baknee  of  the  rest;  through  atmospheric 
P>i  psitilfntia]  raponrs,  ricious  excesses,  it  sus- 
■^  xentr— roL.  IX. 


tains  the  human  fabric  up  to  the  number  twelve.  Like 
the  limbs  of  the  polypus,  it  increases  its  force  in  the  same 
ratio  in  which  it  is  needed,  until  a  certain  period,  when 
its  produotiye  power  is  paralyzed,  and  is  sometimes  en- 
tirely deftinct 

Unless  there  be  a  due  proportion  of  the  preservative 
principle,  to  which  we  have  alluded,  down  that  constitu- 
tion falls,  like  the  palace  of  ice  in  the  beams  of  the  sun. 
This  is  that  peculiar  influence  which  we  sometimes  see 
so  remarkably  exemplified,  sometimes  combined  with 
muscular  force,  at  other  times  apparently  dissociated 
from  it,  termed,  in  vulgar  language,  ''  a  good  constitu- 
tion.'' Many,  eren  females  of  deUcate  appearance,  who 
haTe  not  by  habit  been  associated  with  sudden  changes 
or  depressing  priyations,  will  struggle  through  want, 
privation,  the  effluvia  of  disease,  the  changes  of  the  at- 
mosphere, and  still  retain  the  balance  of  the  powers. 
This  is  an  illustration  of  the  preservative  principle. 

This  diffiBrence  between  muscular  power  and  health  is 
forther  illustrated  thus : — 

A  man  who  lifts  four  hundred-weight  may  have  great 
power ;  but  it  is  not  yet  decided  whether  he  has  all  its 
ramifications.  It  is  not  the  force  of  a  simple  individual 
muscular  contraction  which  is  to  be  estimated  relatirely 
to  health :  it  is  the  duration  of  that  force.  He  who  lifts 
four  hundred-weight  with  ease,  could  not  probably  struggle 
through  a  day's  march,  or  a  harassing  campaign.  His 
enormous  strength  would  be  exhausted  by  its  first  im- 
pulse ;  and  he  would  be  lacking  in  that  great  qualifica- 
tion, which  would  sustain  him  through  continued  exer- 
tion, without  permanently  iiy'uring  the  constitution. 

There  is  an  extraordinary  resemblance  between  the 
physical  and  moral  powers,  and  the  similarity  presents 
an  illustration.  Many,  from  the  momentary  action  of 
moral  principles,  might  resist  successfrilly  a  powerful 
temptation,  who  would  yield  to  a  series ;  whilst  many, 
who  would  haye  to  call  up  all  the  aid  of  long-established 
habits  and  associations,  and  with  difficulty  resisting  the 
evil,  would  hold  on  their  way,  by  the  self-preserving 
energy  of  their  own  principles,  through  a  continued  suc- 
cession. 

It  is  thus  with  the  material  firame,  the  grand  desi- 
deratum supplying  all  deficiency.  The  key-stone  pre- 
serving the  fabric  is  that  peculiar  infiuence  which, 
whether  it  be  a  cause  or  result,  gives  to  the  balanced 
powers  of  the  human  body  the  chancter  of  permanency. 
I  know  a  gentleman  whose  muscular  strength  is  re- 
markably low,  but  whose  capabilities  of  continued  exer- 
tion are  equally  remarkable;  and  I  should  unhesitatingly 
pronounce  him  in  possession  of  a  better  species  of  con- 
stitution than  many  whose  physical  force  is  much  greater. 
I  have  known  him,  through  all  the  fatigues  of  study, 
irregularity  of  living — ^passing  from  the  dice-box  to  the 
wine-cup,  and  thence  to  the  routine  of  college  duties — 
and  yet. his  buoyancy  was  retained,  and  his  health  not 
permanently  affected. 

Again: — ^health  is  not  entirely  dependent  upon  the 
condition  of  the  physical  powers.  The  air  may  be  pure, 
the  diet  nutritious,  and  the  varied  organs  in  a  state  of 
healthy  action,  and  yet  the  individual  may  not  be 
yigorous.  There  must  be  the  concurrence  of  the  men- 
tal frkculties. 

It  is  impossible  to  say  when  or  where  is  the  point  of 
union  between  body  and  mind^ — when  or  where  impulse 
partakes  most  of  the  physical  or  mental  character.  But 
in  spite  of  this  mystery,  the  union  and  reciprocal  influ- 
ence does  exist,  and  is  perpetually  exercised. 

But  we  shall  not  go  forther  on  this  head,  nor  yet 
touch  upon  the  speciflc  purpose  of  the  Treatise ;  ima- 
gining that  the  following  specimen  of  the  author's  rea- 
soning will  not  only  be  more  generally  intelligible,  but, 
in  these  extreme  tee-total  times,  more  useftil.  In  the 
undeniable  abuses  of  alcohol,  its  uses  are  in  some  danger 
of  being  forgotten ;  and  spiritual  usurpation  is  no  longer 
confined  to  the  clergy. 

Much  has  been  written  and  more  said  respecting  tho 
consumption  of  fermented  liquors :  many  adyocates  of 

G 


62 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


totftl  abstiii«n«e,  urginf  M  an  argament  that  the  use  of 
alcoholic  drinks  is  unnatural.  This  argument  amounts 
to  nothing,  because  the  term  unnatural  in  this  sense  has 
no  definite  signification,  as  the  elements  of  which  alcohol 
is  composed  are  elements  which  are  found  in  the  human 
body,  and  which  are  essential  to  its  ezistenoe — ^hydro- 
gen, oxygen,  and  catbon — ^into  which  elements  all  wines 
and  spirits  must  be  ultimately  separated.  There  is  no 
substance  whose  elements  are  identical  with  those  of 
which  the  human  body  is  oompoeed,  the  moderate  use  of 
which  is  iigurious.  'Aie  opponent  may  assert  that  the 
constant  use  of  opium  is  injurious — admitted;  but  opium 
contains  wu>rpkia,  which  forms  no  part  of  the  body,  and 
is  foreign  to  it.  The  majority  of  drugs  owe  their  power 
to  a  foreign  actiye  principle.  This  is  the  case  with  digi- 
talis, hemlock,  oolchicum,  and  all  the  actire  prepara- 
tions. There  is  associated  with  these  something  of  a 
peculiar  nature,  sometimes  in  the  form  of  an  oil,  some- 
times of  an  acid  or  alkali,  which  is  positirely  elementary, 
irreducible  into  a  divided  form,  the  foreign  aid  of  which 
is  called  in  to  counteract  disease,  or  restore  the  balance 
of  the  circulation.  To  make  a  condiment  of  these,  eten 
in  their  smallest  doses,  is  injurious,  because  there  is  a 
pnnciple  set  at  liberty  which  cannot  be  connected  with 
the  human  body,  but  remains  as  an  irritant  or  a  seda- 
tive, without  aiding  digestion  or  contributing  to  the 
economy  of  the  body.  Food  beoomes  obnoxious  when 
elements  are  introduced  which  cannot  be  resolved.  But 
this  cannot  be  asserted  of  idcohol  or  wine;  there  is  no- 
thing essentially  iigurious  in  the  elements  of  which  it  is 
composed.  Elements  cannot  combine  in  a  purer  form 
than  in  alcohol,  and  he  who  pronounces  it  unnatural 
must  discard  the  use  of  bread  and  water,  for  even  then 
he  is  consuming  hydrogen,  oxygen,  and  carbon. 

Let  us  look  at  the  opium-eater,  a  man  who  resorts  to 
a  stimulant,  but  in  addition  to  it  introduces  into  his  sys- 
tem a  paralyzing  active  principle,  vis.,  morphia  narootine, 
which  never  can  contribute  to  the  formation  of  the  body. 
He  is  invariably  emaciated  by  its  influence,  unless  there 
is  in  the  human  Arame,  as  was  the  ease  with  the  cele- 
brated Robert  Hall,  a  virulently  painfhl  disease,  on 
which  the  power  of  the  narcotic  is  expended.  Was  ever 
such  a  case  known  as  an  opium-eater  retaining  his  fkeulties 
and  strength  till  the  age  of  eighty  1  Whilst  we  daily  see 
many  who  have  vrallowed  for  half  a  century  in  beastly 
intoxication,  who  have  retained  health  and  faculties  to 
the  last.  And  why  t  Because  the  intoxicating  liquor 
was  composed  of  nutritious  and  natural  principles.  But 
when  these  simple  elements  are  used  m  excess,  then 
they  become  dangerous.  This  is  the  case  with  all  species 
of  diet,  with  water  iiaelf,  and  with  bread.  Excess  of 
light,  heat,  clothing,  ftc.,  with  calamitous  sequences, 
ought  not  to  lead  to  their  exclusion.  **  Light  is  good, 
and  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  to  behold  the  sun  :**  but  to 
collect  its  rays  into  a  focus,  and  to  concentrate  them 
on  the  orgiui  of  vision,  is  to  destroy  it.  Wine,  too,  is 
good  when  its  quantity  is  regulated  by  prudence.  When 
the  three  powers  are  losing  £eir  balance,*  no  uncommon 
occurrence  in  the  gloom  of  sorrow,  in  the  excitement  of 
business,  when  contemplathiff  the  miseries  of  fallen  hopes 
in  the  desert  of  a  cruel  world,  the  wine-fiask,  more  e±hi' 
larating  than  the  bottle  of  water  to  Hagar^s  child,  has 
restored  the  balance,  and  increased  the  power.  When 
is  wine  necessary!  I  will  tell  you  when.  In  this  com- 
mercial country  a  commercial  simile  will  be  understood. 
There  are  many  men  in  business  who,  could  they  obtain 
the  loan  of  £100  fbr  a  ftw  days,  would  be  saved  from 
utter  ruin.  A  bill  is  due,  the  returns  of  the  following 
week  would  be  certain  to  meet  it,  but  the  money  is 
wanted  now.  **  Lend  me  £100  for  seven  days,  and  I  am 
safe ;  reftise  me,  the  returns  of  the  ensuing  week,  though 
certain,  I  cannot  wait  for.  I  am  ruined  for  want  of 
power,  a  momentary  power,  which  would  place  me  on  an 
elevation  where  I  eould  tiirow  out  my  energies."  Just 
80  with  wine.  The  powers  are  down  to  Seven,  it  is  too 
low  an  amount  of  power  to  sustain  health ;  they  are  gra- 
dually sinking  to  Six  or  Five ;  could  they  be  raised  to 

*  This  refers  to  a  Table  which  the  autYior  imagines,  of 
which  Twelve  ia  represented  as  the  healthy  medium. 


Nine,  the  individual  would  be  safe,  became,  from  Nine 
to  Twelve  he  would  spring  by  the  elasticity  of  bis  con- 
stitution. This  is  the  moment  ibr  vrine  ;  it  is  the  £100 
which  meets  the  difficulties  of  the  day,  and  sustains  the 
individual  till  he  has  the  returns  of  the  ensuing  week. 
It  gives  an  impulse  to  tiie  three  powers,  which  the  pre- 
servative principle,  being  rallied,  maintains.  Avoid, 
then,  excess;  recollect  that  the  elements  are  natural, 
but  excess  of  natural  elements  will  destroy  the  fabric. 
Reserve  the  use  of  these  elements  to  raise  the  power 
f^m  Nine  to  Twelve,  not  from  Twelve  to  Twenty;  and, 
as  a  physician  and  reverer  of  the  word  of  God,  I  would 
say,  ^  Use  a  little  wine  for  thy  stomach's  sake  and  thine 
often  infirmities."  Abuse  it,  you  will  have  disease  of 
the  liver,  and  deserve  it. 

Among  the  vurious  causes  of  Liver  complaint  which 
I  Dr.  East  enumerates,  is  the  frequent  or  constant  use,  in 
this  notoriously  drug-consuming  country,  of  drastic  pur- 
gatives. Against  this  prolific  source  of  mischief  he  bears 
this  strong  and  decided  testimony : — 

The  habit  of  employing  these  medicines  is  lamentably 
on  the  increase.    Persons,  on  the  plea  of  economy,  are  in 
the  habit  of  applying  to  the  chemists  and  druggists  for  an 
aperient  pill  and  draught.    These  men,  who  are  neces- 
sarily ignorant  of  the  delicate  structure  of  the  lining 
coats  of  the  stomach  and  bowels,  are  in  the  habit  of  pre- 
scribing indisoriminately  the  most  irritatfaig  medicines, 
such  as  aloes,  gamboge,  soammony,  colocynth,  &c  &c., 
which  may  give  temporary  relief  from  head-ache  and 
fever,  but  which  lay  the  foundation  of  a  distressing  he- 
patic disease.    No  language,  however  strong,  or  e:^os^, 
however  searching,  can  be  too  severe  to  demonstrate  the 
melancholy  and  dangerous  results  of  this  practice.    The 
delicacy  of  the  lining  coat  of  the  boweb  is  so  fine,  as  to 
preclude  the  majority  of  these  medicines  in  their  larger 
doses,  except  in  cases  of  extreme  danger ;  and  yet  they 
are  daily  administered  for  the  simplest  derangement  of 
the  digestive  organs,  and  are  as  prolific  of  constitutional 
injury,  as  the  i^ulterated  gin  of  the  metropolis.    The 
same  remark  applies  to  the  abuse  of  the  various  *  patent 
medicines"  which  are  distributed  through  the  eoontry, 
the  ingredients  of  whioh  are  of  the  most  injurious  ten- 
dency ;  and  as  the  disease  under  discussion  is  so  lament- 
ably on  the  increase,  it  is  not  rash  to  assert,  that  one 
cause  is  evident  in  the  universal  abuse  of  these  danger- 
ous and  irritating  medicines.    It  is  well  known  that  the 
substance  of  the  bowels  eonsists  of  a  mucus  and  muscu- 
lar coat.    Whether  constipation  arises  ftrom  one  or  the 
other  is  a  question  which  alone  can  be  decided  by  a  com- 
petent and  educated  physiologist.    To  irritate,  therefore, 
the  whole  mucus  coat  of  the  intestinal  canal,  to  set  up, 
both  directly  and  indirectly,  an  excessive  hepatic  secre- 
tion, merely  to  overcome  the  rigidity  of  the  muscular  coat 
of  the  lower  bowels,  would  be  an  act  of  great  temerity. 
Again  :  to  administer  a  medicine,  the  specific  action  of 
which  is  on  the  muscular  eoat  of  ^e  bowels,  merely  fbr 
a  slight  deficiency  in  the  serous  discharge,  would  be 
equally  injudicious.    And  vet  these  varied  medicines, 
possessing  the  most  irritating  qualities,  are  indiscrimi- 
nately administered  by  hun<&ed8  of  uneducated  men ; 
and  hence,  amongst  other  maladies,  disease  of  the  liver. 
Another  very  common  source  of  hepatic  disease  is  the 
abuse  of  bark,  or  the  sulphate  of  quinine.      (Quinine 
is  a  fuhionable  medicine,  and  every  lady  who  lies  lan- 
guidly on  her  ottoman  is  conversant  with  its  properties. 
Its  effect  on  tiie  appetite  is  great,  the  stimulus  which 
ensues  is  a  permanent  one  ;  k^^oe  its  abuu.  Many  of  the 
ftiir  sex,  who  would  shudder  at  the  allusion  to  gin  or 
brandy,  indulge  in  a  habit  equally  injurious,  when  they 
swallow  injudiciously  Quinine  pills.    The  stomach  is 
subjected  to  a  stimulus  beyond  its  healthy  degree,  and 
the  hepatic  secretion  becomes  morbid  ;  whilst  a  general 
constitutional  irritability  is  the  natural   consequence. 
The  abuse  of  bitters  is  a  prolific  cause — a  general  one. 
There  is,  in  the  human  constitution,  an  intuitive  love  of 
stimulant ;  and  human  nature  frequently  exhibits  great 
weakness  when  discussing  this  particular  subject.    The 
thousands  who  resort  to  the  stimulus  of  the  common  dram 
shop  are  condemned  by  tiioee  who  are  taking  anti-spas- 


LITEBABY  REOIStEtL 


63 


} inmfjkks  horn  ike  ftpotlitcary;  iho  ^ baby's  gin- 
ffam^  if  tfokmk  of  m  »  qieoimsn  of  (he  d6g99eraoy  of 
die  age,  wbilat  Uie  in&ni  of  the  objector  is  probably  in 
tfM  tct  «f  being  stapified  bv  ^Dtdb/s  Carminatiye  ;" 
aad  the  fi^  of  the  wine-bibber  is  frequently  rendered 
the  nlifect  of  satire  by  the  man  who  has  just  finished 
his  ofiiai.  All  ezeees  is  had,  alike  to  matter  and  to 
mod  I  the  hnauui  ftame,  like  ^e  instnuaent  of  mnsie, 
jeqiDRs  a  feeoliar  touch  :  that  touch  may  be  yaried,  on 
aMomt  of  the  rich  compass  of  the  notes ;  beyond  this 
eonpass,  harmony  ceases,  and  the  rude  hand  which  at- 
tcapta  it  frequently  destroys  the  instrument.  The  indi- 
fiteliseapableof  aeertain  amount  of  excitement,  and, 
to  iirttfw  this  when  drooping,  the  aid  of  stimnlwits  is 
flailed  in  ;  hot  it  is  when  it  has  reached  its  proner  level, 
Ihtre  is  an  attempt  to  increase  what  is  natural  by  an  ar- 
ttteial  agency,  that  the  agent  becomes  abused. 

These  are  the  remarks  of  a  judicious  professional  man ; 
and  it  is  only  by  the  soundness  of  his  opinions  on  matters 
flf  whidi  they  are  able  to  judge,  that  people  can  form  a 
proper  catimate  of  ^^  a  Liyer-Doctor,**  or  any  other  kind 
if  doctor.  This  little  volume  is  dedicated,  *  by  special 
perminiaii,*'  to  the  Duke  of  Susse;^.  It  is  worthy  of  the 
■Mt  djetrnyiiflhed  patronage. 


THE  NEW  NOVELS. 

We  hftve,  with  T«ry  few  ezeeptionS)  nothing  new  or 
agreeaMa  to  report  of  the  mid-winter  batch  of  noyels. 
"TUc^rea  I  Tlderes  !  Fire !  Fire  I  Murder!  Murder  1" 
flriae  '  Oat  make  nig^  hideons,"  are  the  fitting  mottoes 
fer  most  of  them.    And  firsts— 

FnoLKBs. — ^Mnch  eonld  not  be  expected  flrom  a  novel 
«f  wUck  Uie  malignant  monomanlao  Lord  Ferrers  was 
the  fere4o6»od  hero.  Yet  from  Mr.  Oilier  better  might 
haw  been  hoped^  had  he  not  proclaimed  himself  the 
coavert,  fte  admiring  disciple  of  Mr.  Ainsworth.  Now, 
heweTcr  H  may  fhre  with  the  heads  of  the  Ainsworth 
pepelar  adiool  of  romance,  there  Is  but  slender  chance 
fer  their  imitators,  unless  they  out-Herod  Herod,  and 
lieC  in  bkod  and  vlllany.  Besides  the  usual  number  of 
sarderers,  burglars,  thief-takers,  and  so  forth,  Fsbbxbs 
«  fllastrated  by  aa  amiable  character,  who,  after  murder- 
fag  Ue  slater  fin  cold  blood,  for  the  sake  of  her  money,  at 
tte  opesmg  of  the  story,  Htos  as  a  mysterious  and  most 
iaieiejiliug  penitent,  the  saviour  of  everybody,  throughout 
ifa  eeurse;  and  edifies  the  reader  much  in  the  style  of 
tMe  saints  whom  the  gallows  speedily  translates  to  glory. 

Floezation,  on  a  Moimi  at  HAmnowoATE,  promised 
belter.  We  fended  ourselves  secure  here  against  murder, 
ansa,  and  other  popular  topics ;  and  were  confirmed  in 
Ae  pleasant  delusion  by  a  temihU  prefece — a  grave, 
■oral,  aad  religious  prefece — disclaiming  all  frivolity  of 
and,  abore  all,  those  feke  and  extravagant 
I  of  life  and  mannen  which  are  generally 
in  noyels.  Now,  how  has  Miss  SiNCLAta  redeem- 
ed the  I  O  U  of  her  titlepaget  With  only  two  bloody 
BndeR,  one  ibe,  ditto  villain  Jesuit,  mysteries  Innu- 
Boahle,  and  a  jealous  waiting-maid,  who  powders  her 
Bck  BistreaB's  podding  vnth  arsenic,  ^  la  Lafarge,  as 
9o6Bj  MM  it  the  mortal  poison  were  crushed  lump.  This, 
hewever,  is  not  surprising,  fer  the  young  lady  whom  it  is 
ittcmpted  to  poison,  and  her  sister— -the  pattern  girl  of 
fte  hook — take  the  matter  quite  as  easUy.  Now,  aU 
ftii  might  be  feorgiven  by  the  critics,  or  conceded  to  the 
jeetiOiBg  raw:head-and-bloody-bone8  humour  of  the 

^ ;  haft  what  vrlH  ^e  young  ladies  say !  deluded  as 
tbey  most  be  by  the  flattsving  promise  held  out  to  them, 

^te  they  Slid  that  there  is  no  Flirtcaion;  absolutely 
;  ^  tet  gij)  airy,  iatoiieathig^  innocent,  enm- 


ascent,  and  indefinable  thing,  "vAdtk  alike  defies  goose 
quills,  and  orow-quills,  to  paint. 

The  exception  to  the  Banditti  Ruffian  and  Mystery 
tomes,  is  Cecil,  a  Peer;  and  Haedness,  ob  the  Uncle. 
The  first  is  the  sequel  to  a  fiction  whioh  last  season  set  the 
town  a^gape  fer  twioe  nine  days;  namely,  Cecil,  The 
Coxoomb;  as  to  the  authorship  of  whioh,  the  knowing 
have  oome  to  the  conclusion  that  Mrs.  Gore  and  Sir  £. 
L.  Bttlwer  wrote,  (Beaumont  and  Fletcher-wise,)  chapter 
and  chapter  about,  and  then  shook  up  the  VTfaole  compo- 
sition in  a  hat.  However  the  truth  may  be,  it  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  say  who  eertainly  haa  had  a  feir  hand  in  Cecil, 
thou^  more  difficult  to  say  who  has  not.  Both  works 
possess  largely  all  Mrs.  Qore's  charaoteristic  felicities 
and  graoes  of  style,  and  a  fell  meaeure  of  her  peculia- 
rities. 

HABMnai,  ob  tbb  TJhclb,  is  a  string  of  desultory 
conversations,  passing  everywhere,  and  about  any  and 
everything ;  eked  out  by  every  means  to  get  up  the  spe- 
cified quantity  of  letterpress.  Story  there  is  none; 
character  none,  beyond  those  that  have  been  atoek 
with  Theodore  Hook  for  twenty  yean  back.  Yet  the 
book  is  not  without  a  certain  kind  of  deyemess.  Its 
Hiatliigni«1iing  or  ohtrusiye  feature,  however,  is  Tatyitm; 
but  Toryism  of  that  harmless,  fiippant  sort,  of  which  the 
only  effect  is  to  tickle  shallow  adherents  of  the  same 
feith,  without  making  fer  the  cause  either  friend  or 
enemy }— Toryism  of  the  force  and  efficacy  of  Dame  Par- 
tington's broom.  The  only  attempt  at  original  charac- 
ter—the hard  unole,  is  a  complete  failure.  He  is  the 
mere  hard  outline  of  an  ill-conditioned  brute,  without 
distinctness,  and  vrithont  shading ;  so  ill-conceiyed,  that 
the  reader  at  the  end  of  the  book  is  disappointed  to  find 
that  so  preposterous  a  personage  haa  not  been  acting  all 
the  while  in  a  mask;  and  is  nothing  different  from  the 
malignant,  petty  tyrant  which  he  seems.  Worth  ten  of 
him  is  his  Irish  fectotum  and  Toady,  Dr.  Higgins,  and 
an  amusing)  Malaprop,  Slipslop  country  blu^,  Miss  Irvine. 
We  fear  the  delineations  of  the  dignified  pursuits  and 
amusements  of  her  majesty's  enlightened  and  respectable 
dragoon  ofiloers  are  scarcely  to  be  called  libels,  unless 
truth  be  so. 

L(^i  and  I^rks.    By  Charlea  Gfay. 

This  is  an  exceedingly  neat,  and  even  elegant  volume 
of  poems,  of  whioh  the  history  is  somewhat  singular,  and 
to  the  authoi^the  PoBT-«ot  a  little  flattering.  Pre 
fixed  to  it  appears  a  lithographed  Bovknd  Rohin,  in 
which  quite  a  constellation  of  poetical  names  surrounds 
a  prayer,  that  Caftaim  Gbay,  of  the  Rotal  MABIIfB^ 
Woolwich;  would  be  gracious  enough  to  collect  the 
effhsioBS  of  his  lyric  muse,  scattered  through  many 
periodical  works,  and  give  them  to  immortality.  The 
petition  has  been  complied  vrith.  It  was,  mdeed,  irre- 
sistible ;  for  this  was  not  the  mere  •'advice  of  friends," 
but  the  urgent  prayer  of  more  living  poets  than  we  could 
reckon  up,  though  our  fingers  were  thrice  ten.  Thin 
Importunity  is  to  be  held  decisive  as  to  the  merits  and 
character  of  the  Lay  and  Lyria ;  and  after  the  opinion 
pronounced  by  such  a  tribunal,  it  would  be  presumptuous 
in  us  to  say  one  word  whether  in  praise  or  blame.  The 
Tolume,  in  external  show  and  accomplishments,  is  worthy 
of  its  honourable  origin.  It  is  very  neatly  printed,  and 
very  handsomely  bound ;  and  the  vignette  and  frontis- 
piece, (printed  from  electrotype  plates,)  are  indeed 
*  admirable  specimens  of  art.**  The  fronttspieoe  is  a 
portrait  of  the  poet,  in  fell  uniform.  The  vignetU,  a 
deUcious  yiew  of  his  natiye  place,  Am^nUhn'^  the  ^i»t^ 


64 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


town  of  Maggie  Lauder.  The  Tolume  comes  at  a  good 
season,  and  will,  we  yentnre  to  predict,  receiye  a  hearty 
welcome  from  friends  on  both  sides  of  the  Tweed. 

SERIAL  WORKS. 
Part  XXXVIII.  The  Pictorial  Shakspeibe  :  Poems. 
Part  II. — [It  is  with  a  melancholy  feeling  that  we  see 
this  beantifal  work  drawing  to  a  close.  In  this  feeling, 
those  who  for  three  years  hare  seen  a  fresh  Part  placed 
on  their  tables,  regularly  as  the  first  of  the  month  came 
Tound,  must  participate.  From  a  postscript  to  the  sixth 
Tolume,  we  learn  that  the  Editor,  Mr.  Charles  Knight, 
(after  the  Pictorial  Edition  is  completed,  by  the  publica- 
tion of  a  few  more  numbers, — ^which  will  conclude  the 
Poems,  and  contain  an  analysis  of  the  disputed  or  ^  as- 
cribed'' plays,  with  life  of  Shakspeare,  and  history  of 
opinion  on  his  poetical  character) — is  to  commence  editing 
a  New  Library  Edition  of  the  whole  works.  No  student 
of  Shakspeare,  in  text  and  in  spirit,  or  critical  Editor, 
has,  in  our  time,  made  the  subject  more  thoroughly  his 
own.] 

Part  IX.    Brande's  Dictionary  of  SaENcs,  Liter- 
ature, AND  Art. 
Part  III.    Watebston's  CrcLOPiBoiA  of  Commerce. 
Part  XI.     Cummino's  Edition  of  Foxe's  Book  op 
Martyrs. 

No.  10.  Johnson's  Philosophic  Nuts. — [This  cleyer, 
if  somewhat  paradoxical  writer,  finding  his  nuts  becom- 
ing either  musty  or  unpalatable  to  the  public  taste,  has 
of  late  salted  them  sharply  with  rank  Toryism,  and 
contemporary  politics.  We  wish  it  may  answer.] 
No.  66.  Floricultyjral  Magazine. 
Nob.  1, 2.  Facts  and  Figures  ;  A  Periodical  Record 
of  Statistics. 

Yarrsll's  History  of  British  Birds.  Parts  26, 27, 
28. — [These  parts  are  principally  doToted  to  iDoter-fofd. 
The  engravings  of  tttafu,  shieldrakes,  coots,  &c.,  &c.,  are 
as  fine  as  any  of  the  preyious  illustrations  of  this  elegant 
work;  and  the  text  is  full  of  charming  bird-anecdote,  and 
bird  personal  history. 

Winkle's  Cathedrals  of  England  and  Wales.  Nos. 
37,  38. — Lichfield  Cathedral,  of  which  there  are  six  fine 
engrayings,  forms  the  subject  of  these  numbers.  The 
letter-press  is  occupied  with  a  History  of  the  See,  and  a 
description  of  the  Cathedral,  and  its  monuments. 

Selby's  History  of  British  Forest-trees.  Parts  4, 
5,  6. — [In  these  Parts  we  find  all  the  yarieties  of  the 
willow  void  Hie  poplar;  the  6trdk  and  the  a^tfr;  and  also 
the  oaky  with  seyeral  splendid  specimens  of  this  noblest 
of  British  trees,  which  are  probably  portraits.] 

Part  II.  Volume  II.  Thornton's  History  of 
British  India. 

George  Cruikshank's  Omnibus,  frt>m  No.  I.  to  No. 
yiII.,incluBiye. — [The  Omnibus  had  got  so  far  a-head  of 
us,  ere  we  were  apprised  of  its  starting,  that  we  cannot 
pretend  to  oyertake  it.  The  December  number,  howeyer, 
has  pictorial  as  well  as  literary  merits,  which  cannot  be 
passed  oyer  in  silence.  Among  the  latter  is  a  cleyer 
sketch  by  Laman  Blanchard  of  a  diner-out  of  a  peculiar 
idiosyncracy,  by  name  Jack  Oay;  a  gentleman  whom 
eyery  one  must  haye  met,  who  knows  much  of  To¥m 
society.  Frank  Heartwell,  a  noyel  which  has  run 
through  all  the  numbers,  is  here  continued ;  and  we  are 
enchanted  once  more  to  meet  Mrs.  Toddles.  The  con- 
ductor of  the  Omnibus  should  neyer  consent  to  set  that 
dear  old  body  dovm.  Besides  the  ordinttry  humours, 
oddities,  and  yagaries  of  the  pencil,  the  D(H;ember  num- 


ber contains  a  portrait  of  Miss  Adelaide  Kemble,  in  the 
character  of  Norma,  and  two  more  good  serumM  plates, 
illustratiye  of  the  late  burning  of  the  Tower. 

Part  XII.  Chambers's  Information  for  the 
People. 

Charles  O'Malley  the  Irish  Dragoon.  Two 
yolumes  octayo,  with  Illustrations  by  Phis :  Carry  and 
Co.,  Dublin.— [It  is  a  question  for  the  Foot  Courts, 
whether  this  dashing  work,  in  its  coUectiye  state, 
fftlls  under  the  head  Serial,  though  such  has  been  its 
birth,  character,  and  progress.  Of  a  work  so  well  known, 
and  so  popular  among  a  large  class  of  gay,  yonng  readers, 
it  is  superfiuous  to  say  one  word ;  saye,  that  this  pro- 
duction shows  a  somewhat  more  reflectiye  spirit;  and 
the  natural  consequence,  a  sounder  moral  tone,  than  its 
prototype,  Harry|  LoRREquER,  without  any  abatement 
of  humour,  drollery,  and  broad  tan,} 

Part  IV.  The  Songs  of  Charles  Dibdin,  and  the 
Music  of  the  best  and  most  popular. 

PAMPHLETS. 
How  to  Colonize  ;  the  Interest  of  the  Country  ;  and 
the  Duty  of  the  Goyernment.    By  Ross  D.  Mangles, 
Esq.,  M  JP. 

This  is  an  argument  showing  that  Goyernment 
ought  to  induce  capitalists  to  go  to  New  Zealand,  and 
buy  and  settle  on  the  Company's  lands;  and  ought 
to  employ  the  said  Company  in  the  business  of  con- 
ducting a  comprehensiye  scheme  of  emigration.  Neyer 
mind  the  labourers;  get  the  moneyed  men  in  the  first 
place,  and  the  labourers  will  either  follow  or  be  pro- 
cured by  tho  Company.  Mr.  Mangles  is  impressed  with 
the  conyiction  that  such  a  body  as  the  New  Zealand 
Company  is  the  best  possible  instrument  for  workibg 
out  tiie  prompt  and  eff'eetual  occupation  of  a  new  field 
of  colonization.  There  is  no  question  that  coloniza- 
tion is  yery  much  the  interest  of  the  Company,  and  also 
that  no  labourers  are  wanted  without  ''the  employ- 
ers of  labour,"  or  indiyiduals  possessing  irom  £1000  to 
£10,000  capital.  Mr.  Mangles  mentions  no  other  field 
of  colonization  saye  this  one.  The  whole  pamphlet 
refers  to  the  superior  adyantages  of  New  Zealand.  This 
we  notice  not  to  depreciate  that  colony,  which  seems 
destined  to  be  ultimately  the  most  prosperous  of  the 
southern  colonies,  but  simply  to  show  the  object  of  the 
pamphlet.  Of  this  interesting  colony  we  haye  something 
to  say  ourselyes  by^and-by. 

Class  Legislation  Exposed.    By  R.  T.  Morrison. 

Proceedings  at  the  Half- Yearly  Mebtino  of  the 
Teachebb  Instructed  at  the  Home  and  Colonial  Infant 
School  Society. — [The  discussion  at  this  meeting  will 
fhmish  some  usefhl  hints  to  the  teachers  of  infiuit  and 
elementary  schools.] 

The  Principles  of  Theory  Indispensable  to  Sound 
Obseryation  in  the  Practice  of  Medicine.  By  William 
Seller,  M.D.,  Fellow  of  the  Royal  College  of  Physicians, 
Edinburgh. 

Antiquarian  Notices  of  Leprosy  and  Leper  Hospi- 
tals in  Scotland  and  England.  Part  I.  By  James  Y. 
Simpson,  M.D.,  Professor  of  Midwifery  in  the  Uniyersity 
of  Edinburgh. 

Reasons  for  a  New  Edition  of  Shakspearb's  Works* 
By  T.  Payne  Collier,  Esq. 

The  Second  Annual  Reporz  of  the  British  and 
Foreign  Anti-Slayery  Society,  held  in  Exeter  Hall  in 
May  1841. 

The  Meteorological  EPBXMBRisfor  1842* 


«5 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


Ta  me&ting  of  Parliament'  has  been  fixed  for  ihe  dd 
ftkrufj,  yti  nothing  to  be  relied  on  has  yet  transpired 
titMj  neasares  to  be  adopted  by  Govemment.  Persons 
hxn  been  sent  to  the  continent  to  ascertain  the  rate  of 
wigefy  node  of  lining;,  and  progress  of  mann&ctures ; 
III  as  it  is  stated  that  they  are,  in  many  instances,  igno- 
nai  if  the  langnage  of  the  countries  they  yisit,  they 
■ait  take  their  information  at  second  hand.  Why  the 
ktmer  laethod  of  obtaining  information  firom  the  Con- 
nk  kas  been  abandoned,  we  are  not  aware,  unless  the 
report  be  correct^  that  British  Consuls  and  Vice-Consuls 
lie  MBetimes  speculators  in  com ;  and  we  suspect  Uiat  the 
otgwt  of  sending  out  special  messengers  on  this  errand 
is  (0  procure,  not  accurate  and  d&tinct  details,  but 
foch  htetB  as  may  best  suit  the  purposes  of  their  employ- 
cn.  "Die  rumoor  that  the  com  laws  are  to  be  cobbled 
a  ^de,  by  a  modification  of  the  Sliding  Scale,  and  a  more 
rigid  method  of  taldng  the  averages,  has  been  again  re- 
Tired,  and  again  contradicted;  but  the  matter  is  of  very 
fittle  importance,  as  the  com  law  repealers  have  resolved 
to  be  content  with  nothing  but  a  total  and  immediate 
rcpwl.  Another  mmonr  prevails  that  the  Kirk  question 
is  to  be  setUed  bj  the  Miiiistry;  and  drafts  of  a  bill  for 
that  purpose  are  even  shown ;  but  its  provisions  are  so 
extfiordinary,  that  we  cannot  believe  the  report,  for  it 
vouU  confer  powers  almost  equal  to  those  of  the  Pope 
•a  fto  Non-intmaion  party. — ^The  heir  to  the  Crown  has 
been  created  Prince  of  Wales,  and  is  to  be  christened, 
vitk  great  ceremon j  and  extravagance,  to  gratify  the 
Tneo,  and  to  coavince  the  people  how  little  they  care 
ki  ttdr  distresses.  The  King  and  Queen  of  Prussia  are 
expected  to  be  present. — The  most  important  intelligence 
if  tbe  month  is,  that  the  French  Mmistry  have  resolved 
to  ifdaee  their  army  by  one  company  in  each  regiment, 
m  19,900  men  in  all — being  about  the  fifth  part.  This 
ledaetiea  will  effect  a  saving  of  about  ^£1,200,000.  From 
tUi  step  we  may  draw  the  inference,  that  Louis  Philippe's 
AeagBS  on  Spain  are,  for  the  present,  abandoned  ;  and 
ibat  ikt  peace  of  Bnrope  is  secured  for  some  time  to 
ewe :  aHhougb,  ttom  the  manner  in  which  the  reduc- 
Um  bas  been  effected,  it  is  obvious  that  the  army  may  be 
nised  again  to  its  late  force  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks. 
IbeFreodi  army  is  still  the  largest  in  £urope,and  consists 
ef  UAjMQ  men. — ^There  is  still  no  news  firom  China. 
Nimeroos  reinforcements,  both  in  men  and  ships,  have 
beea  sent  out;  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  Opium  War 
■aj  be  pot  down  without  ftuther  delay,  as  both  the 
Xepankoe  and  Burmese  are  preparing  for  the  field,  and 
ve  are  likdy  to  be  engaged  in  a  war  with  the  greater 
pti  of  Asia  at  one  time. — The  most  important  news 
9tm  America  is,  that  many  of  the  States  are  unable  to 
pay  the  interest  of  their  debts  ;  and  one  of  them.  Missis- 
■ffi,  refoses  to  raise  taxes,  on  some  quibble,  that  the 
A  has  not  been  contracted  in  due  legal  form.  It  is 
fand  that  other  States  will  follow  the  example,  and 
iiiae  quibbles  to  enable  them  to  resist  payment.  Such 
coadaet  is  most  disreputable,  and  will  be  severely  fblt  in 
Britain ;  but  it  is  only  fallowing  the  example  of  the 
Costmental  Monamhs,  who  have,  on  many  oci^ons,  ap- 
plied the  spnnge  to  the  public  debt.  The  Boundary 
liiotion  remains  as  it  did ;  but  the  ferment  arising  out 
<if  te  eases  of  Mliood  and  Grogan  has  entirely  subsided, 
—la  Irelaad,  state  prosecutions,  for  sedition,  have  been 
•emmeseed;  and  the  Tory  press  is  calling  loudly  for  co- 
weive  measnres  to  put  down  the  agitation  of  repeal, 
ahhoidi  the  country  is  admitted  to  be  in  so  tranquil  a 
ttUe  liat  ten  of  the  stipendiary  magistrates  have  been 
'■■imtil;  and  alter  the  3d  April  next,  there  is  only  to 
W  one  stipendiary  magistrate  in  each  county. — The 
Mv  poor  law  does  not  seem  to  work  well  in  Ireland. 
Oit  «C  OM  hnndred  infknts  admitted  into  the  North 
I^vbGn  TJmoa  Workhouse  in  one  year,  no  less  than  forty- 
Ire  bave  died.  In  November  and  Pecember  1840, 
c  lAildnB  were  attacked  wit)i  measles,  of  whom 


twenty-four  died.  All  the  children  admitted  into  the 
house  become  scrofulous,  owing  to  their  sleeping  in 
crowded  and  damp  dormitories. 

Parks  near  Cities, — Two  new  parks,  or  pieces  of 
pleasure-ground,  have  lately  been  projected  in  London; 
one  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  metropolis,  to  form  which, 
an  immense  number  of  houses  must  be  teJcen  down;  and 
another  of  sixty  acres  at  Kennington,  adjoining  the 
Surrey  Zoological  Gardens.  Would  something  of  the 
same  kind  not  be  useful  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Edin- 
burgh f  Of  late  years  the  poor  people  have  been  deprived 
of  the  onlf  open  space  in  the  city  they  had  access  to — 
the  East  and  West  North  Lochs ;  and  even  walking  on 
the  roads  in  this  vicinity  is  yearly  becoming  more  dis- 
agreeable, by  the  increase  of  stone  walls,  and  the  raising 
those  already  built  so  high  that  they  cannot  be  looked 
over. 

PopuLATioN.—The  total  population  of  Great  Britain, 
including  the  Channel  Islands  and  Isle  of  Man,  by  last 
census,  is  9,077,486  males,  and  9,567,825  females;  in  all, 
1 8,664,76 1 .  This  includes  4008  males,  and  893  females, 
ascertained  to  have  been  travelling  by  railways  and 
canals,  on  the  night  of  June  6,  and  that  jMurt  of  the  army, 
navy,  and  merchant  seamen,  which  was  in  Great  Bri- 
tain. The  population  of  Scotland  is,  1,246,427  males, 
1,382,530  females;  in  all,  2,628,957.  The  increase  of 
the  population  is  fourteen  and  a  half  per  cent,  for  Elng- 
land,  and  eleven  one-tenth  for  Scotland.  The  great  in- 
crease has,  as  formerly,  been  in  the  mining  and  manu- 
fkcturing  counties ;  being  firom  sixteen  to  thirty-six  per 
cent. :  while  the  agricultural  counties  have  advanced  at 
the  rate  of  firom  five  to  ten  per  cent.  In  Scotland,  there 
has  been  a  decrease  in  several  of  the  agricultural  and 
pastoral  counties :— in  Perthshire  and  Sutherlandshire, 
3*4  per  cent;  in  Kinross-shire, 3*5;  Argyleshire,  3*9.  La- 
narkshire has  increased  34*8  per  cent.;  £dinbur|^hire 
only  2.8;  and  East  Lothian  and  Berwickshire  only  one 
per  cent.  There  are  now  upwards  of  eight  millions  more 
people  in  Great  Britain  than  there  were  in  1801,  when 
the  population  was  10,472,048.  If  the  population  goes 
on  at  tiie  same  rate  as  it  has  done  during  the  last  ten 
years,  it  will  be  double  what  it  is  at  present  at  the  end 
of  seventy  years.  A  singular  difference  in  the  number 
of  males  to  fbmales  exists  in  different  districts.  Taking 
the  whole  population  of  burghs  in  Scotland,  within  par- 
liamentary boundaries,  which  is  960,592,  440,528  are 
males,  and  520,064  are  females,  or  about  one-fourth  more 
females  than  males.  In  Edinburgh,  however,  out  of 
133,692,  there  are  58,642  males,  to  75,050  females— a 
little  above  a  third  more;  in  Gla4;ow,  of  257,592,  there 
are  120,693  males,  and  136,629  females—only  about 
one-eighth  more ;  in  Ghreenock,  the  proportion  is  one- 
seventeenth  ;  in  Aberdeen,  one-fourth ;  in  Dundee,  one- 
sixth;  in  Paisley,  rather  less;  and  so  on.  In  Airdrie, 
the  males  are  the  more  numerous,  6681,  to  5735  females. 
The  same  is  the  case  in  Lauder.  But  Uiese  are  the  only 
instances.  The  return  shows,  in  a  distinct  manner,  how 
defectively  the  burgh  parliamentary  representation  is 
adapted  to  the  popuUtion.  The  Wigtown  burghs,  with  a 
population  of  8702,  have  one  member ;  the  Dumbarton,  with 
38,373,  and  the  Arbroath, with  43,172,  have  no  more;  and 
Glasgow,  with  257,592,  has  only  two  :  while,  if  the  pro- 
portion of  the  population  were  regarded,  it  ought  to  re- 
turn nearly  thirty.  The  number  of  uninhabited  houses 
in  Scotland  is  much  greater  than  could  have  been  anti- 
cipated with  an  increasing  population : — ^the  total  is 
24,307,  to  503,357  inhabited.  Of  the  uninhabited,  2861 
are  in  Edinburgh  and  the  county;  and  3964  in  Lanark- 
shire. In  the  county  of  Edinburgh,  only  121  houses  are 
buUding;  while  there  are  a  greater  number  in  the  coun- 
ties of  Aberdeen,  Fife,  and  Forfkr;  and  there  are  863 
in  Lanarkshire. 

CoifSUMPnON  OF  GrAIH  IH  the  UlVITED  KlNODOM. — A 

Correspondent  ^tThcExominff  ftttribntes  tl^e  whole  diff« 


66 


POUTICAL  REGISTER. 


tress,  not  to  the  oonrenoy,  or  any  other  of  the  causes  to 
which  it  has  been  attribated,  but  to  fluctuation  in  the 
price  of  grain.    We  some  time  ago  gaTO  a  Table  of  the 


estimated  consumption  of  grain;  and  it  may  be  contrasted 
with  the  following,  giyen  in  The  Examiner.  Both  tables 
take  the  popoUtion  at  twenty-eight  millions. 


Qnin, 

CmmnanAhy 
Man. 

CoDranedl^ 

Used  for  Seed. 

Brewing  and 
Piftillation. 

Used  in 

Total. 

Wheat., 

Qnarten. 

18,696,694 

12,845,000 

2,828,571 
790,000 

1,000,000 

^ftnarteti. 

16^000,000 

342,858 

20,000 

2,187,480 

Qnaiien. 
3,277,143 
4,807,500 
1,810,000 
190,000 
531,270 

Quarters. 

Quartets. 
966,163 

'300,000 

Quarters. 
22,940,000 
33,652,500 
12,670,000 
1,300,000 
3,718,750 

Oats 

Barley 

Rye 

Beaoa  and  Pease^. 

36,160,265 

18,550,358 

10,615,913 

7,688,571 

1,266,163 

74,281,250 

The  yalue  of  this  quantity  of  grain,  at  the  ayerage 
prices  of  the  year  1835,  was  ;ei09,874,66ff:  of  1837, 
jei31,421,968;  of  1888,  jei40,736,010  ;  and  of  1839, 
^160,525,531.  The  yalue  of  the  quantity  consumed  by 
man  alone,  in  1835,  was  j£58,l  62,235.  It  is  easy  to  see 
how  injurious  to  our  manufactures  a  rise  of  price  of  30 
or  40  per  cent,  on  the  food  of  the  people  must  be. 

Thb  Cobk  Law  MoyEUENT  is  proceeding  with  more 
rigour  than  eyer.  On  the  1st  and  2d  of  December,  a 
meeting  of  dissenting  ministers  of  religion  was  held  at 
Caemaryon.  The  proceedings  commenced  with  a  num- 
ber of  speeches,  asserting  the  right  and  duty  of  ministers 
of  religion  to  take  part  in  the  efforts  now  making  to  re- 
peal the  com  and  provision  laws. — ^These  were  followed 
by  statements  as  to  the  distress  existing  in  the  different 
districts  of  North  Wales.  It  yrta  stated,  that  in  the 
parish  of  Rhuabon,  in  North  Wales,  there  were  14,000 
I»ersons  who  had  formerly  been  in  ftiU  employment,  beg- 

S'ng  their  bread.  Last  year  several  thousand  children 
kd  attended  the  Sunday  schools,  but  the  attendance  had 
gradually  diminished,  till  now  only  a  fiiw  hundreds  were 
left.  In  another  parish,  out  of  1400  male  inhabitants, 
1200  were  out  of  work  ;  and  what  aggravated  the  evil 
was,  that  while  in  fiill  work  eight  pounds  of  flour  could 
be  bought  for  a  shilling,  but  now  that  work  could  hardly 
be  got,  only  four  and  a  half  pounds  could  be  got  for  that 
sum.  During  two  days'  discussion,  a  series  of  resolutions, 
condemnatory  of  the  Ck>m  Laws,  were  agreed  to,  and  a 
memorial  to  the  queen,  and  addresses  to  the  various  re- 
ligious communities  in  North  Wales,  were  prepared, 
T^e  Welsh  meeting  was  followed  by  another  at  Derby, 
at  which  about  1^00  manufacturers  from  Nottingham, 
Leicester,  and  Derby  were  present.  The  meeting  were 
quite  unanimous  in  passing  a  series  of  resolutions  for  the 
total  and  immediate  repeal  of  the  Com  Laws.  From  the 
statements  made  at  tlus  meeting,  it  appears  that  ever 
since  1815,  the  manufactures  of  the  middle  districts 
have  been  rapidly  declining,  and  that  during  that  time 
wages  have  sunk  one-half,  — ^a  h^i  the  more  remark- 
able from  its  occurring  in  manufactures  in  which  the 
principle  of  their  machinery  has  remained  essentially  the 
same,  and  in  which  the  manual  operations  have  not  been 
interfered  with  by  steam  power.  A  large  proportion  of 
the  stocking-frames  are  unemployed;  the  export  trade  in 
hosiery  to  the  European  States,  formerly  important,  is 
now  extinct ;  and  the  trade  with  America  is  almost 
superseded  by  (rerman  competition.  The  Com  Laws 
were  denounced  as  the  chief  cause  of  the  present  distress, 
and  the  meeting  entered  into  a  solemn  pledge  to  unite 
all  their  energies,  and  to  persevere  in  an  unremitting 
determination  in  demanding  their  total  abolition.  A 
petition  to  the  House  of  Commons,  to  which  the  signa- 
tures of  the  manu&cturers  of  the  middle  districts  are  to 
be  procured,  was  agreed  to.  A  meeting  of  the  deputies 
from  the  various  Anti-Corn  Law  Associations  of  the  West 
Biding  of  Yorkshire,  was  held  at  Leeds,  on  the  13th 
December,  Almost  all  the  delegates  were  persons 
extensively  engaged  in  manufactures  in  Leeds,  Bradford, 
Huddersfield,  HalifSiuc,  Wakefield,  and  the  other  towns 
of  the  Biding.  Since  the  year  1838,  twenty-nine  houses 
engaged  in  the  woollen  traide,  in  Leeds  alone,  had  failed, 
and  Uieir  united  liabilities  amounted  to  £515,000.  In 
the  flax  and  spinning  trade,  there  had  lieen  eighteen 
failures ;  sixteen  machine-mjULers  had  failed,  the  same 


number  of  wool-staplers,  and  an  equal  number  had  gone 
out  of  the  trade, — ^the  liabilities  of  these  parties  being 
£175,000.  Of  tiie  stuff  houses  and  worsted  spinners, 
nine  had  failed,  with  debts  amounting  to  £457,000. 
Adding  the  insolvencies  of  the  clothing  districts  apart 
frx>m  Leeds,  the  total  amount  of  the  debts  due  by  insol- 
vents was  two  millions,  on  which  not  more  than  6s.  8d. 
per  pound  had  been  paid.  There  had  not  been  more 
than  half  employment  for  the  working-classes  during 
the  last  two  years;  and  although  between  1831  and 
1841,  the  houses  had  only  increased  34  per  cent., 
the  number  empty  had  increased  55  per  cent.,  and 
they  now  amounted  to  18,870  in  the  West  ]^iding. 
The  consumption  of  butcher-meat  among  the  wx>rking- 
classes  had  diminished  in  the  same  ratio  as  their  wages. 
The  shopkeepers  had  suffered  as  severely  as  the  manu- 
fibcturers,  and  they  had  failed  or  gone  out  of  business  in 
hundreds.  It  was  resolved  that  the  main  cause  of  all 
the  mischief  was  the  Corp  Lavfs,  which,  by  raising  the 
price  of  food  in  this  country,  force  the  labourer  to  spend 
the  bulk  of  his  earnings  on  food,  whereby  he  must  pur- 
chase less  clothing  than  formerly;  while  consumption  of 
our  manufactures  in  America  and  other  foreign  coun- 
tries, is  impeded  by  our  restrictions  on  trade,  whioh  ex- 
clude the  only  payment  which  those  countries  can  make. 
Similar  statements  as  those  regarding  Leeds  were  made 
as  to  other  towns  and  districts  in  the  West  Biding.  After 
passing  resolutions,  pledging  the  meeting  to  continue 
agitation  against  the  Com  and  Provision  Laws,  it  was 
recommended  that  the  Local  Committees  should  collect 
information,  and  bring  it  to  a  Conference  to  be  held  in 
Leeds  not  later  than  the  12th  January,  in  order  to 
collate  it,  and  decide  upon  the  manner  in  which  it  shall 
be  laid  before  the  Government  and  the  Legislature. 
On  the  16th  December,  a  Conference  was  held  at  Man- 
chester, of  Deputies  from  the  various  towns  of  the 
cotton  districts.  The  assemblage  comprised  several 
Members  of  Parliament,  a  great  number  of  manufiic- 
turers,  and  gentlemen  of  influence  in  Manchester,  Lan- 
cashire, and  Chester.  The  proceedings  occupied  the 
whole  day.  Tho  first  resolution  set  forth,  that  the  dis- 
trict, of  which  Manchester  is  the  centre,  is  suffering 
under  a  general  depression,  the  operation  of  whioh  has 
no  parallel  in  the  history  of  Lancashire :  that  the  popu- 
lation, both  employed  and  operative,  is  greatly  deterio- 
rated in  condition;  and  that  fixed  capital,  such  as  build- 
ings and  machinery,  has  depreciated  in  value  one  half 
since  1836 :  that  bankmptcy  has  alarmingly  increased; 
and  that  disease,  crime,  and  mortality,  have  made  fear- 
ful inroads  among  the  poorer  classes.  A  second  resolu- 
tion attributes  the  distress  to  restrictions  on  trade,  and 
especially  to  the  Com  and  Provision  Laws;  and  a  third 
resolution  calls  for  the  repeal  of  all  protective  duties, 
including '^  the  miscalled  legal"  protection  to  the  eotton 
trade.  We  are  glad  to  see  the  manufacturers  call  B9 
unequivocally  for  the  removal  of  taxes  on  the  importa- 
tion of  foreign  manufMtures,  and  for  an  unlimited  free 
trade :  for,  by  so  doing,  they  meet  one  of  the  aj-gumeuti 
— the  most  frequently  used  by  the  monopolists — viz.,  that 
while  they  wish  to  remove  all  protection  from  the  agri- 
culturist, they  are  desirous  of  maintaining  the  existing 
duties  on  foreign  manufootured  articles  eature.  We  trusts 
however,  that  before  the  meeting  of  Parliament,  soiM 
general  system  of  action  will  be  deyised  on  the  part  of 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


67 


ftii4iMti00  of  FreeTiftd« :  fbr,  howerer  useful  such 
■eettap  M  those  we  h»Te  deeoribed  may  be  in  tuniing 
Mptlar  •ttenfeum  to  the  neeeesity  ef  repealing  the  Corn 
UwB,  MlhiBg  will  be  effected  until  a  praetieal  meaeore 
be  sfiMd  «a,  and  erery  effort  nsed  to  carry  it  throngh 
the  Ufiibtore. 

CmiFBUBfCE  OF  DnsBimiiG  Muttstebs  at  EiDnrBiTRaB. 
— Ii  £diibargh,  a  i»eliniinary  meeting  of  ministers  and 
MBkn  ff  DiMenting  Congregations  was  held  on  the  7th 
Dm.;  and  it  was  resolred  to  hold  a  meeting  of  Dissenters 
fiw  iU  parti  of  Scotland,  at  Edinbnrgh,  On  the  1 1th  and 
llih  of  Jiaaary,  to  express  their  opinion  of  the  injustice 
lid  iUMnd  tendency  of  the  Com  and  Provision  Laws, 
ad  to  petition  for  their  total  repeal,  and  an  entirely  free 
tndt  ii  eon.  It  is  expected  that  this  meeting  will 
be  UBtreufly  attended,  and  that  it  will  haye  a  great 
rfbit  in  fcmiiding  the  canse  of  Com  Law  Repeal  in 
SeetlsBiL  It  was  tiionght  to  be  useless,  if  not  insulting, 
to  wcffe  tibe  Hintsters  of  the  Establishment,  as,  from  the 
drouUBee  of  their  stipends  being  paid  in  grain,  con- 
mtftle  tt  the  liars  prices,  they  had  a  direct  interest  ina 
Ulb  pries  of  com;  and  as  the  General  Assembly  had 
attiaDygapported  the  oom  laws.  It  was  also  remembered, 
tint  sithoiigh  they  had  been  all  invited  to  the  Confer- 
eiM  hdd  fome  time  ago  at  Manchester,  only  two  or 
tbiw  tttesded  it.  Mid  very  few  had  even  thought  proper 
to  •doMwledge  the  receipt  of  the  invitation.  It  is  ap- 
funtjfroB  the  speecfaes  made,  and  resolutions  passed 
itiO  tk«  meetings,  that  neither  any  fixed  duty,  not 
aycfbUiBg  of  the  sliding  scale,  will  now  be  agreed  to ; 
bit  tkki  total  and  immediate  repeal  will  be  insisted  for. 


SCOTLAND. 

Tib  RniiL  Pouce. —  Neither  in  Scotland  nor  in 
Ei^IiDd  does  this  force  appear  to  be  becoming  more 
l«psUr.   In  some  of  the  Knglish  counties  it  has  been 
imlTtd  to  diminish  the  number  considerably;  and  the 
iseOciaejof  the  force  is  a  suljeet  of  very  general  com- 
ibiit   Although  the  expense  is  considerable,  robberies 
ad  ote  depredations  appear  to  be  as  common  as  ever; 
ktt  it  nrt  be  admitted,  that  they  have  been  of  some 
nhe «  protectors  of  game,  many  persons  having  been 
rnkbed  for  oftnces  against  thej  game  laws,  on  prose- 
otMs  St  their  instance.    One  of  the  offences  they  ap« 
?«rtohsve  set  thenMolves  most  decidedly  against,  is 
^iblMiggmg :  but  still  these  gentry  ply  their  voca- 
Miis  Oie  uei^ibeurliood  as  heretofore,  and  they  are  to 
WfcudslBOBt  daily  on  the  road  to  Duddingston,  by 
iitkn'i  Seat,  where  the  rural  police  do  not  appear  to 
adMtthen. 
Tn  KnuL,  notwitlistanding  all  efforts  to  check  it  by 
aoM  <f  civil  pioeess,  pro^eds  in  its  career.    The 
^ajmg  of  a  child  on  the  Sunday,  in  the  Preebytery  of 
Artst^  has  brought  down  on  its  parents  the  once 
Md  Besteaee  of  exoommunioation ;  and  the  Presbytery 
^  nfintd  to  hear  an  application  for  the  revisal  of  this 
fntmai,  except  with  doeed  doors.    An  efl^sctual  step 
bH,  bnvfTer,  been  taken  to  prevent  the  agitation  of 
^■ntit  orators,  such  aa  Leckie  and  Hakgill  Criohton, 
^tbebeiilors  interdicting  the  ministers  from  using  the 
^Mi  fur  ai^  other  purpose  than  for  divine  service,  and 
^  pnveatmg  it  from  becoming  the  theatre  for  up- 
nviM  and  even  seditious  meetincs.  Any  single  heritor 
>  «Btitkd  to  prevent  tiie  church  being  used  for  any 
*tep«pQse  t^  the  vrorship  of  Qod,  and  we  hope  the 
(xai^  Mt  by  the  heritors  of  Bury  will  be  generally 
wed.   Kinaours  are  in  circulation,  that  Gtovemment 
■MitebiiBg  in  abill  to  give  the  Church  the  libentm 
•^iHi'mm   that  Is,   practically  a  right  to   reject  or 
"«<i^  ivy  presentee,  independentiy  of  the  wishes  of  the 
9^ ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  believe  that  any  Govern- 
■^  eesld  igree  to  such  a  measure. 
Tn  Railway  to  Eholahb. — The  apathy  of  the  people 
4  E4iibtr|^  aad  of  the  eastern  districts  of  Scotland 
P^oiDy,  Oft  this  subject,  is  remarkable.   To  Edinburgh 
Ha  a  « life  and  death  <iuestionf'  for,  if  the  western 
^  ^  laaeaster,  Carlisle,  and  Hamilton  to  Qlasgow,  be 
*^*^  Edinburgh  will  become,  in  a  very  few  years,  a 
l^yiil  kmi,  as  venerable  and  as  respectable  as  Saint 

1^i4ie«i.  the  branch,  even  fit>m  Symington  to  Edin- 
^vik^  lerer  be  completed,  simply  because  it  has  no 


chance  of  ever  being  carried  througb  by  private  indivi- 
duals; and  because  Government,  were  the  revenue  as 
abundant  as  it  is  deficient,  could  never  feel  itself  justified 
in  expendhig  money  on  a  project  so  entirely  hopeless. 
If  the  western  line  of  railway  be  completed,  the  road  to 
London  from  Edinburgh  will  be  by  Glasgow;  not,  as 
hitherto,  from  Glasgow  by  Edinburgh.    l%e  west  line 
has  great  difilculties  to  contend  with,  not  only  from  the 
greater  length  of  the  line  which  is  required  to  be  formed, 
but  from  the  circumstance,  that  the  country,  from  Lan- 
caster to  Glasgow,  is  much  less  adapted  for  railway  com- 
munication than  that  from  Newcastle  to  Edinburgh.  We 
have,  on  the  western  line,  works  of  a  kind  that  have  never 
hitherto  been  attempted,  embankments  of  Immense  depth, 
and  bridges  of  correspondent  height — one  of  them  being 
232  feet,  or  just  twice  the  height  of  St  Andrew's  steeple 
in  this  town.    One  great  difficulty  of  the  western  line  is 
at  the  outset :  notwithstanding  all  the  confident  reports 
to  the  contrary,  no  means  of  passing  Shap  Fell  with 
locomotive  engines  has  yet  been  devised;  and  nothing 
can  show  the  difficulty  of  this  route  more  clearly  than 
that  it  has  been  seriously  proposed  to  run  the  railway 
through  the  sands  of  the  Solway  Firth,  though,  in  pro- 
ceeding by  that  route,  the  line  must  be  useless  for  one 
half  of  the  day,  firom  being  covered  by  the  tides.    Then, 
supposing  the  line  fairly  in  Scotland,  how  are  the  hilly 
and  barren  districts  of  Dumfries-shire,  Ayrshire,  and 
Lanarkshire  to  be  surmounted  { — only  by  a  succession 
of  great  embankments  and  high  bridges,  unequalled,  we 
will  venture  to  say,  on  any  line  of  equal  length  in  the 
world.    With  some  few  exceptions,  there  are  no  towns 
of  importance  on  the  western  line,  and  the  country 
throughout  is  very  thinly  inhabited.    The  great  bulk  of 
the  population  of  Scotland  reside  on  the  eastern  coast. 
From  Berwick  to  Wick  we  find  the  country  teeming  witii 
population,  and  the  land  in  a  high  state  of  cultivation, 
with  scarcely  the  intervention  of  a  barren  tract;  on  the 
west  coast,  with  small  intervals  at  Carlisle,  Dumfries, 
and  in  the  vale  of  the  Clyde,  we  find  neither  population 
nor  agriculture,  but  the  countrv  everywhere  remaining 
in  a  state  of  nature.   Nobody  will  pretend  to  compare  the 
south-western  counties — such  as  Dumfries,  Kirkcudbright, 
Ayr,  and  Wigtown— with  the  eastern  counties  of  Berwick- 
shire and  East  Lothian :  in  the  former  the  population  is  82 
to  the  square  mile,  and  the  annual  value  of  a  square  mile  Is 
£295;  while  in  the  two  latter  the  population  is  122,  and 
the  annual  value  £739 ;  showing  a  superiority  of  the 
eastern  agricultural  counties  over  the  western,  when  po- 
pulation and  value  are  combined,  of  more  thim  three  to 
one.  As  is  now  too  well  known  to  be  controverted,  no  rail- 
way can  pay  its  expenses,  except  from  passengers.  In  the 
most  recent  estimates,  two-thirds  of  the  money  have  been 
estimated  to  arise  from  this  source  ;  but  how  can  there 
be  any  extensive  revenue  fivm  passengers,  when  there 
is  no  population  I    It  may  be  tiiought  of  littie  conse* 
quence  what  is  the  population  of  the  intermediate  dis- 
Mct,  if  that  at  the  termini  is  sufficiently  extensive;  but 
a  little  consideration  will  show  the  fallacy  of  such  an 
opinion.    For  one  man  that  has  anything  to  do  with 
people  a  hundred  miles  off,  there  are  fifty  who  have 
business  to  transact  with  their  neighbours  not  five  miles 
distant;  and  hence  the  extraordinary  fkct,  that  three 
hundred  thousand  have  been  conveyed  on  the  Edinburgh 
and  Dalkeith  railway  in  a  year,  though  the  country,  after 
passing  Dalkeith,  is  exceedingly  thinly  peopled  andbarren. 
But,  in  considering  the  proper  line  of  railway  to  be  adopt- 
ed it  is  essential  to  keep  in  view,  that  it  is  a  railway  to 
connect  England  and  Scotiand  that  Is  wanted,  and  not 
merely  a  line  which  will  make  travelling  from  Newcastie 
to  Edinburgh,  or  from  Lancashire  to  Glasgow,  more 
expeditious.    We  have  already  shown,  that  if  we  look 
to  the  population  and  value  of  the  eastern  and  western 
districts  of  Scotland,  the  former  has  a  great  superiority. 
But  if  we  cross  the  rivers  Forth  and  Clyde,  we  find  the 
superiority  of  the  east  coast  to  the  west  still  more  strongly 
established.    Beyond  the  Clyde  northwards,  civilisation, 
manufactures,' agriculture,  and  the  other  arts,  may  almost 
be  said  to  cease  :  on  proceeding  frx)m  the  Forth  north- 
wards, we  find  mann&ctures,  agriculture,  the  arts,  and 
human  industry,  to  the  most  distant  point,  fiourishing  in 
full  vigour.    Let  us  again  resort  to  the  suie  test  eC 


68 


POLITICAL  REGISTER, 


sUtisUofl.  The  western  eomUies  of  Argyle,  Inremess, 
ftnd  R088,  contaiii,  on  the  arerage,  only  25  to  the  sqaare 
mile  ;  the  eastern  counties  of  Fik,  Forfar,  Aberdeen, 
and  CaiUincss,  hare  a  population  of  119  to  the  square 
ttile.  Inie  annual  arerage  ralue  of  the  three  former 
counties,  per  square  mile,  is  £51 ;  of  the  four  latter, 
£!279:  so  that,  looking  at  population  and  value  con- 
junctly, the  eastern  counties  are  more  valuable  than  the 
western,  in  the  ratio  of  25  to  1,  per  square  mile.  There 
is  another  important  element  of  consideration.  The 
passage  by  sea  from  Glasgow  to  Liverpool,  is  much 
easier  and  much  more  frequented,  than  that  from  Edin- 
burgh to  Newcastle.  Railways  can  hardly  evercompete 
with  water  communication  by  steam ;  and  while  there 
is  little  chance  of  any  great  number  of  passengers  ever 
being  carried  to  Newcastle,  or  the  intermediate  ports 
from  Leith,  already  a  great  and  Increasing  intercourse 
exists  between  Glasgow  and  Lancashire  by  steam-boat 
conveyance.  Witib  regard  to  the  engineering  qualities 
of  the  two  lines,  our  space,  as  well  as  the  nature  of  the 
subject,  forbids  us  at  present  to  speak;  but  this  we  will 
venture  to  say,  that  it  will  require  at  least  double  the 
capital  to  connect  En^^and  and  Scotland  by.the  west  coast 
as  by  the  east.  If  the  people  of  tiie  eastern  coast  of  Scot- 
land lose  the  benefit  which  tiie  circumstance  of  being  the 
great  centre  of  communication  between  the  two  kingdoms 
must  neceffiarily  confer,  it  will  arise  solely  from  their 
own  apathy  and  indifference ;  and  we  regret  to  see,  that 
while  there  are  fr^uent  meetings  in  Glasgow,  Carlisle, 
Lancaster,  and  in  all  the  towns  in  the  proposed  western 
line,  Edinburgh  and  the  towns  on  the  east  coast  do  not 
stir  in  the  matter.  If  Edinbuigh  is  dormant,  why  do 
not  the  smaller  towns  awake  f  What  has  become  of  the 
bold  spirit  and  mercantile  enterprise  of  Aberdeen  and 
Dundee  f  They  are  suffering,  we  are  well  aware,  under 
the  general  depression ;  but  it  is  not  by  sitting  with  their 
hands  across,  on  a  great  project  of  this  sort,  that  allevia- 
tion of  misery  is  to  be  obtained.  We  are  well  aware 
that  there  are  numerous  difficulties  in  the  way,  and 
though  not  the  most  formidable,  certainly  among  the 
most  annoying,  that  the  landowners  from  Berwick  to 
Edinburgh,  generally  speaking,  will  not  interest  them- 
selves in  the  matter,  and,  on  the  contrary,  appear  hostile 
to  railroads  coming  through  their  propertv;  but  were 
thev  once  convinced  that  they  would  be  benefited  by 
Bum  a  mode  of  conveyance — a  task  of  no  great  difficulty 
—they  would  cordially  cooperate  with  the  inhabitants 
of  the  towns  on  the  east  coast. 

TRADE  AND  MANUFACTURES— INCREASING 
DISTRESS. 
Our  mannfoctures  generally,  have  not,  for  a  great 
length  of  time,  been  so  much  depressed  as  at  present. 
The  distress  is  not,  as  hitherto,  confined  to  one  or  two 
districts,  or  to  one  or  two  trades,  but  prevails  in  every 
branch  of  industry,  and  extends  over  the  whole  United 
Kingdom.  At  PaisUy,  the  number  of  persons  living  on 
charity  continues  weekly  to  increase.  It  has  now  reached 
between  13,000  and  14,000;  and  it  is  obvious  that  it  will 
not  be  much  longer  possible  to  raise  ftinds  for  their  relief 
from  private  charity.  Considering  the  high  price  of 
provisions,  and  that  there  is  a  large  quantity  of  foreign 
grain  in  bond,  we  think  that  petitions  ou^ht  to  be  got  up, 
for  the  Government  either  to  release  it  altogether  free  of 
duty,  or  at  a  much  lower  rate  than  the  sliding  scale 
imposes,  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  the  people  from 
starving.  No  harm  would  be  done  to  any  one  from  such 
a  step,  for  it  may  now  be  confidently  predicted  that  the 
averages  will,  in  a  month  or  two,  rise  so  high  as  to 
liberate  the  whole  grain  now  in  bond,  at  a  nominal  duty. 
It  is  a  matter  of  total  indifference  to  the  farmer,  whether 
the  grain  be  taken  out  at  present  at  a  low  duty,  or  a  few 
months  hence.  In  Spitalfields,  in  thirty-six  streets  care- 
fully examined,  1025  looms  were  found  in  work,  and  658 
out  of  work ;  and  those  at  work  are  only  half  employed. 
In  the  whole  district,  it  is  calculated  that  there  are 
between  12,000  and  13,000  looms,  half  of  which  are  not 
in  work,  while  the  remaining  half  are  working  half  time ; 
and  as  each  loom  employs  three  hands,  a  large  propor- 


tion of  the  population  are  necessarily  out  of  employment 
In  London,  there  are  15,000  journeymen  tailors,  of  whom 
one-half  are  out  of  employ,  and  the  other  half  only  par- 
tially employed.  At  Bradford,  a  few  months  ago,  6000 
persons  were  f^y  employed  in  the  factories :  at  present, 
only  1650  are  employed,  and  not  fully ;  the  remainder 
are  living  on  their  savings,  or  by  pawning  their  furniture 
and  clothes.  In  the  iron  trade,  the  greatest  distress 
prevails,  owing  to  the  iron  masters,  both  in  England  and 
Scotland,  having  resolved  to  blow  out  one-fourth  of  their 
furnaces  for  six  months.  The  object  of  this  is  to  increase 
their  own  profits,  and  already  the  price  of  iron  has  risen; 
but  it  is  well  deserving  of  consideration,  whether  any 
body  of  men  should  be  allowed  to  enter  into  a  combina- 
tion, which  reduces,  in  a  single  week,  thousands  of 
industrious  men,  whom  these  very  masters  will  be  glad 
to  employ  six  months  hence,  to  utter  beggary.  Dum- 
iMirton  and  Greenock  are  suffering  severely  from  the 
depressed  state  of  the  shipping  trade ;  at  the  former 
town,  upwards  of  200  carpenters  and  joiners  are  out  of 
employment.  In  the  vale  of  the  Leven,  many  calico- 
printers  are  idle.  At  Dundee,  the  greatest  distress 
prevails  among  all  classes ;  and  bankruptcies  are  almost 
of  daily  occurrence.  Since  1838,  there  have  been  neariy 
nine  hundred  sequestrations  in  Scotland:  more  than 
three  times  the  number  of  the  preceding  three  years. 
The  linen  trade  of  Ireland  is  much  embarrassed ;  and,  at 
a  reoent  meeting  at  Belfast,  a  memorial  to  the  Board  of 
Trade  was  adopted,  calling  the  attention  of  Government 
to  the  subject.  The  depression  is  attributed  to  the 
restrictive  measures  of  late  adopted  by  foreign  countries, 
against  the  importation  of  Irish  linen,  in  retaliation  for 
our  prohibitions  against  oui^high  duties  on  foreign  grain, 
profisions,  and  timber. 

AGRICULTURE. 
It  is  now  ascertained  beyond  question,  that  the  late 
harvest  is  deficient  both  in  quantity  and  quality,  although 
the  averages  do  not  yet  indicate  the  real  state  of  de 
matter.    Owing  to  the  great  quantity  of  light  and  inferior 
grain,  which  tiie  farmers  are  anxious  to  rid  themselves 
of,  prices,  as  estimated  by  the  general  returns,  continue 
comparatively  low;  wheat  being  64s.  9d.;  barley,  328. 4d. ; 
and  oats,  22s.  4d.  per  imperial  quarter.    But  if  we  tnm 
to  the  provincial  markets,  we  find  a  different  statement. 
Thus,  at  Bklinburgh,  on  the  15th  December,  the  best 
wheat  actually  brought  80s.  a  quarter,  though  the  supply 
was  large  and  sales  heavy ;  but  even  here  the  average 
was  reduced,  by  considerable  quantities  of  wheat  being 
presented,  which  did  not  realize  more  than  £2,  58.  a 
quarter.    Such  low-priced  wheat  is  unfit  for  making 
bread,  and  is  purchased  for  making  starch,  and  such 
other  purposes.    The  potato  crop  in  Scotland  appears 
genenUly  to  have  turned  out  well,  but  in  Wales  and 
Ireland  it  is  undoubtedly  deficient.    Owing  to  the  long 
continuance  of  wet  weather,  it  was  impossible  to  take 
up  the  crop  at  the  proper  period.    Great  quantities  have 
been  found  to  have  rotted  in  the  ground ;  and  in  some 
parts  of  Ireland,  not  one-half  of  the  potato  crop  has 
been  saved.    In  England  and  Ireknd,  as  well  as  ia 
France,  there  have  been  serious  floods,  by  which  the 
wheat  already  sown  has  been  much  injured,  and  a  great 
extent  of  ground  intended  for  that  crop  has  remained 
unsown.    Disease  among  the  cattle  and  sheep  has  again 
made  its  appearance  in  East  Lothian  and  other  districts, 
but  not  with  such  severity  as  last  year ;  and  as  it  is  now 
ascertained  that  no  great  danger  attends  it,  if  not  aggra- 
vated by  improper  treatment,  the  disease  has  not  created 
much  alarm.    Notwithstand[ing  the  weekly  increasing 
agitation  for  the  repeal  of  the  Com  and  Provision  Laws, 
farmers  feel  no  hesitation  in  taking  &rms  at  higher 
rents,  for  they  are  now  pretty  well  convinced  that  they 
have  little  to  fear  even  from  the  most  perfect  freedom  in 
trade.    The  stimulus  which  such  a  measure  would  give 
to  our  manufactures,  and  the  additional  demand   for 
agricultural  produce  which  would  thereby  be  created, 
would  very  quickly  compensate  for  any  temporary  fall  in 
the  price  of  grain,  and  place  the  agriculturist  in  a  mnch 
more  fovourable  position  than  he  at  present  holds. 


Printed  by  Wiixux  Tait,  107,  Prince's  Street,  Edinburgh. 


TAIT'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


FEBRUARY,  1842. 


THE  NEXT  MOVE  OF  THE  REFORMERS. 


Whuhsr  are  we  first  to  witness  the  immediate 
and  total  abolition  of  the  Bread  Tax,  and  a  free 
trade  in  the  prime  necessaries  of  life, — or  a  Na- 
tknal  Combination,  consisting  of  all  denomina- 
tjow  of  Reformers,  to  obtain  for  every  citizen 
his  oHutttntional  right,  the  enjoyment  of  the 
elective  franchise  ? — To  this  alternative  we  have 
&iz)y  e<mie.  One  or  other  of  these  things  must 
take  priority;  and  from  present  appearances 
ve  tie  kd  to  conclude  that,  after  all,  the  first 
m  order  must  be  a  general  agitation  for  com- 
pete Suffrage.  The  Free  Trade  party— the  voice 
of  the  country,  more  properly,  if  ever  it  was  de- 
ddedlj  uttered  upon  any  question,  has  declared, 
that  BO  compromise  with  the  Monopolists  can  be 
sabmitted  to ;  that  nothing  less  will  meet  the  exi- 
geney  than  absolute  and  unconditional  repeal  of 
the  imposts  upon  the  People's  food,  and  the  knock- 
^  off  of  the  fetters  which  trammel  their  industry. 
^*ow,  the  landowners  and  other  monopolists  will, 
weierily  believe,  as  readily  yield  the  Sufirage  as 
■mDder  their  darling  monopolies. 

The  re^te  craved  by  Sir  Robert  Peel,  when  he 
hd  the  boldness  to  assume  office,  is  fast  hastening 
to  a  dose,  and,  doabtless,  he  now  has  his  grand  pa- 
ttoea  prepared.  "We  shall  not  be  surprised  to  see 
the  Arong  head  of  a  strong  Tory  Government, 
ennpeUing  the  great  Duke  of  Buckingham  himself 
to  iwiDow  the  new  Sliding  Scale,  for  the  concilia- 
^  <rf  themamifacturing  and  commercial  interests. 
Bat  will  the  barren  victory  of  Peel  over  Bucking- 
^  neet  the  necessities  of  those  suffering  interests, 
^  the  views  of  the  earnest  and  thoroughgoing  men 
^  raised  their  voices  against  the  Com  and 
IWiaion  Laws  at  the  late  formidable  gatherings, 
and  emphatically  declared  that  they  will  never  rest 
atiified  till  every  vestige  of  those  cruel,  oppressive, 
impolitic,  and  unchristian  monopolies,  which  grind 
the  poor  and  corrupt  the  rich,  are  for  ever  swept 
**iy1  Now,  by  whiat  instrument  or  agency  is  tWs 
to  he  aeeomplished  ?  In  the  present  state  of  the 
'•pWKatation,  b  it  to  be  expected  from  any  Tory, 
«,  fer  that  matter,  firom  any  Whig  Government  ? 

On  the  prorogation  of  Parliament,  when  Sir 
Kebert  Fed  had  received  the  days  of  grace  for 
jWi  he  prayed,  and  when  the  course  which 
he  iBurt,  of  necessity,  take,  was  pretty  clearly  in- 
Jf**«d  by  the  sort  of  men  of  whom  he  had  formed 
htt  Government,  it  was  remarked  in  this  publica- 


tioa»-» 


•  TaU'f  Magatine  for  October. 
^  xcnik-^TOL.  IX. 


^  Of  the  Corn-Law  agitation  abating  there  ie  little 
chance.  Hunger  will  keep  it  alire ;  many  pressing  in- 
terests require  that  it  should  be  continued ;  and  now  it 
is  openly  encouraged  by  the  late  govemment.  But 
although  the  Com  and  other  monopolies  may  be  entitled 
at  present  to  take  precedence  in  point  of  date,  there  are 
principles  to  be  agitated  for  of  equal  importance.  The 
Tories,  under  the  guidance  of  Peel  and  the  pressure  of 
necessity,  may  extingmsh  some  of  the  grosser  monopolies; 
but  neither  Whigs  nor  Tories  will,  without  a  struggle, 
give  the  only  effSBctual  security  for  every  Reform  that  is 
required — ^for  the  permanent  means  of  aJl  improvements, 
whether  fiscal,  commercial,  or  social — namely,  a  fair,ftil], 
and  free  representative  system,  which,  besides  redressing 
past  grievances,  may  prevent  the  recurrence  of  similar 
injustice  under  some  new  name.*' 

Such  was  then  our  deliberate  opinion.  Subse- 
quent events  have  but  confirmed  it ;  and  we  have 
reason  to  know  that  such  is  now  the  opinion  of 
many  influential  men  among  the  middle  classes, 
who  but  lately  never  looked  to  a  time  when  they 
should  become  advocates  and  agitators  for  Univer- 
sal Suffrage. 

If  the  Free-Trade  Middle-class  party  remain 
stanch  to  their  principle  of  no  compromise  with 
the  Monopolists,  they  must  perforce  be  driven 
farther  than  this.  It  is  satisfactory  to  know  that 
they  begin  to  perceive  it  is  in  the  right  direction  in- 
sane Tory  policy  is  driving  them,  when  the  denial 
of  justice  shall  compel  them  to  mske  conmion  cause 
with  their  fellow-citizens.  A  few  more  weeks  must 
show  every  reflecting  man  what  is  the  only  effec- 
tual remedy  for  the  ills  endured ;  the  essential 
principle  to  be  contended  for,  and  also  the  wisdom 
of  beginning  at  the  beginning.  It  is  in  vain  to 
consume  time  and  strength  in  attempting  to  purify 
the  stream  while  the  fountain-head  remains  pol- 
luted. There  is  in  this  view  much  to  console  Corn- 
Law  abolitionists,  who  are  also  Radical  Reformers, 
for  the  disappointment  and  defeat  awaiting  them 
after  all  the  efforts  that  have  been  made, — and  after 
the  sufferings  of  the  people  and  the  ruin  of  manu- 
factures have  been  demonstrated  beyond  even  the 
effrontery  of  Tory  denial.  If  ever  public  opinion 
was  decidedly  expressed  on  any  one  point,  it  is  at 
this  juncture  against  the  Com- Laws,  and  for  their 
instant  repeal.  The  array  of  moral  force,  the  jus- 
tice and  wisdom  of  the  measure,  and  the  urgent 
necessity  of  allaying  the  alarming  discontents  of 
the  fiimishing  millions,  must  have  some  influence 
even  with  the  Monopolists ;  and  yet  we  greatly  fear 
that  the  prayers  of  the  people  will  be,  if  not  openly 
scouted,  then  eluded,  and  finally  refused. 

But  if  the  ruling  class  deny  the  claims  of  jus- 


74 


THE  NEXT  MOVE  OF  THE  REFORMERS. 


tice  at  this  appalling  crisis,  on  what  motives  will 
they  ever  yield  ?  The  aspect  of  the  people  of  Britain 
at  this  moment  more  resemhles  that  of  the  Ameri- 
cans at  the  breaking  out  of  the  Revolutionary 
War,  or  of  the  Irish  Catholics  when  the  Emanci- 
pation Agitation  had  reached  the  crisis  which  made 
Peel  and  Wellington  quail,  than  anything  in  the 
recent  history  of  political  movements  in  this  coun- 
try. There  was  great  enthusiasm — ^hearty,  honest 
enthusiasm  for  the  Reform  Bill ;  but  that  move- 
ment, if  intense,  was  much  less  comprehensive  than 
the  present  agitation.  The  Dissenting  clergy  took 
no  active  part  in  it,  and  the  merchants  and  manu- 
facturers were  divided — ^many  of  them,  and  nearly 
all  the  great  ones,  who  are  now  free-traders,  being 
then  Tories.  The  Quakers  held  aloof — and  now 
we  have  the  wealthiest  manufacturers  courting  the 
cooperation  of  the  Chartist  workmen  ;  and  Joseph 
Sturge  declaring,  that  nothing  less  ought  to  satisfy 
the  people  than  the  principle  of  equal  rights,  and 
every  tax-paying  Englishman  enjoying  his  consti- 
tutional privilege — ^the  elective  franchise. 

Classes  as  well  as  persons  that  held  apart  during 
the  Reform  agitation,  are  now  united  and  active 
against  those  monopolies  which,  it  should  never  be 
forgotten,  only  exist  through  the  vicious  constitu- 
tion of  Parliament.  The  great  gatherings  of  Dis- 
senting ministers  and  other  delegates,  representing 
the  intelligence,  the  industry,  the  whole  manufac- 
turing capital,  and  much  of  the  other  property  of 
the  country,  will  hardly,  we  imagine,  be  described 
as  tumultuary  assemblies,  where  mobs  of  turbulent 
workmen  are  inflamed  by  the  harangues  of  seditions 
demagogues.  We  have  no  Cobbetts  nor  Hunts  in 
these  days, — ^useful,  rough  pioneers  as  they  were,  in 
the  march  of  improvement.  Yet  this  imposing  array 
of  moral  force,  resting  on  the  immutable  principles 
of  justice,  and  enforced  by  the  unprecedented  dis- 
tress of  the  country,  will  be  baffled,  or  openly 
resisted  by  a  strong  Tory  Ghvemment  and  a  sweep- 
ing majority  of  the  ^*  Representatives  of  the  People." 
Representatives  of  the  People !  Was  ever  grosser 
mockery  conveyed  by  that  hackneyed  phrase  than 
now?  A  few  more  days  will  exhibit  the  anomalous, 
and,  we  would  tell  Sir  Robert  Peel,  the  ominous 
spectacle  of  two  bodies  of  Representatives  of  the 
People  sitting  at  the  same  time  in  London,  now 
become  a  yearly  and  a  needful  custom :  the  one 
body  the  undoubted  Delegates  of  the  People,  sent 
up  to  support  their  claims  and  to  watch  for  their 
interests,  responding  to  their  needs  and  wishes ;  and 


theother  set  of  Representatives,  or  the  great  majority 
of  them,  diametrically  opposed  to  every  object  which 
these  Delegates  are  sent  to  advocate.  Which  of 
these  aggregations  of  men  will  the  People  consider 
their  true  Representatives  ?  It  is  a  strange  sight, 
this  same  Chamber  of  Delegates,  to  which  sucoessive 
Governments,  by  the  delay  or  denial  of  justice,  are 
familiarizing  the  country.  Would  that  we  had  one 
honest  and  fairly  chosen  House  of  Representatives 
instead  of  the  two  I  The  time  is  approaching  to  try 
for  it: — the  era  of  a  widely-based,  united  National 
Movement,  resting  upon  the  simple  principle  of  the 
equal  enjoyment  of  the  Suffrage.  The  organization 
of  this  movement — that  of  the  united  People  against 
the  Oligarchs  and  Monopolists — ought  not  to  be  lost 
sight  of  by  the  Delegates  about  to  assemble  in 
London,  and  who,  in  anticipating  the  sure  defeat  of 
their  main  object,  ought  to  have  something  to  fall 
back  upon.  The  sooner,  for  this  purpose,  that  Sir 
Robert  Peel  is  run  up  to  the  wall,  and  compelled 
to  own  that  he,  as  the  Minister  of  the  landowners, 
can  grant  nothing  commensurate  to  the  wants  of 
the  crisis,  the  better.  Every  rag  of  delusion  will 
then  be  stripped  away,  and  every  sbigle-hearted 
lover  of  the  country  will  then  know  what  he  has 
to  expect, — and  what  to  attempt  for  its  salvation,  if 
it  may  yet  be  saved. 

As  leaders  in  such  a  movement  as  that  which  we 
contemplate,  there  are  a  few  able  and  honest  men 
in  Parliament,  and  others  who,  though  to  its  shame 
now  out  of  it,  are  not  lost  to  the  cause.  And  to 
the  Humes,  Grotes,  and  Thompsons,  are  added  a 
new  class,  powerful  from  moral  weight,  represented 
by  such  men  as  Joseph  Sturge.  Nor  at  this  par- 
ticular time  would  zealous  Whig  auxiliaries  be 
wanting.  The  energetic  members  of  the  Anti- 
com-law  League  cannot  surely  sit  down  patiently 
under  ignominious  defeat,  while  every  interest  dear 
to  them  as  men  and  citizens  is  menaced  with  ruin. 
There  are,  besides,  cheering  svmptoms  of  renewed 
good-understanding  between  the  Working-men  and 
the  Middle-Classes,  whose  objects  and  interests, 
rightly  understood,  are  one.  Neither  of  them  want 
the  sagacity  to  perceive  that  their  jealousies  and 
dissensions  augment  the  temporary  strength  of  the 
common  enemy  of  both  classes.  From  the  blending 
of  these  kindly  and  natural  elements  may  we  not 
hope  for  that  glorious  aggregation  of  moral  force 
wliich,  by  first  securing  to  every  citizen  hb  con- 
stitutional rights,  will  best  promote  the  security 
and  wellbeing  of  the  entire  conmiunity  ? 


THE  SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS. 

NO.  n. THE  SONO  OF  FBBRUART. 

Ooem  hearkaone  toe  mee,  loteby  toe  ye, 
Chaimte  y  Bongw  of  moine  pleasaonte  fomyle : 
Moan  bee  yoore  fennes  whil  garnishe  owe  gle, 
Mirthlesse  ment  benizon  fyttefullie. 

Johannet:  Prior  of  BroomtoiohanL 


Weave,  weave  me  a  ohaplet  that's  meet  for  my  tears. 
Woe  is  me — woe  is  me — woe  is  me  ! 


Weave,  weave  me  a  chaplet.    The  Vernal  sprite  bears : 
The  snow-drop,  the  oroooa,  tiie  starwort  appears ; 


!mE  SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS. 


75 


At  MIebore  wiite^  to  «m  me  and  die, 
Aid  nreet  poIyMtims  peeot  up  at  the  sky ; 

So  wtaTt  me  a  ch»plet :— bat  why  should  I  wear 
Th»  tmblems  of  gladness  1    My  heart  is  all  bare 
To  the  sleet  and  the  tempest,  and  cold  as  the  moor 
Wbeit  ifciTers  and  shakes  the  poor  ebild  of  the  boor. 
Safcimged  are  the  pastarety^tlie  shepherds  eomplaiiiy-^ 
CMi  eoTer  the  mevntains, — fkst  patters  the  rain^ 
I  IB  wayward  and  weary,  what  can  I  but  mourn  1 
Woe  is  me — woe  is  me — woe  is  me  ! 
Bleak  demons  possess  me, 

Tbey  bowl  round  my  waUt  | 
No  fiMtivalfl  bless  me. 
No  mirth  in  my  halls : 
My  days  will  be  shortened,  I  haste  to  the  bourne, — 
Woe  is  me — ^woe  is  me — woe  is  me  ! 

Wkl  ss  paiBfU  at  j^easne  to  heurts  thai  bewail  I 

Wee  is  mt    woe  ie  iM-^woe  ia  mt  I 


In  the  sky  there  is  splendouis-iBotbe  spangle  the  yale  ; 
There  is  song  in  the  woodlands,  and  joy  in  the  gale  ; 
There  is  life  in  the  waters — there's  warmth  on  the  UU  ; 
The  robin  forsakes  me — the  tit  'b  at  the  rill ; 
The  noisy  rook  waketh  the  hoary-fkced  mom  ; 
The  plover  retnmeth — Uie  dieep  leare  the  com. 
But  wherefore  this  rapture  I    My  wet  weeds  will  bring 
Back  the  wild  winds  of  winter ;  thou  mockest  me.  Spring. 
Though  thy  voice  fills  the  air  in  the  tardy  noon-shine. 
Dun  morning  and  evening  still  echo  but  mine. 
If  I  breathe,  thy  fkir  blossoms  are  icy  and  dead,—* 
Woe  is  me — ^woe  is  me— woe  is  me  I 
They  pass  from  the  meadowa 

like  hope  that  deceives. 
Ere  dance  to  their  shadows 
The  merry  green  leaves. 
Fit  emblems  to  ftimish  my  premature  bed. 
Woe  is  me— ^woe  ia  me— woe  ia  me  I 

J.  A.O. 


THOUOHTS  ON  ANNIVERSARIES. 


BY  A  MIDDLB-AeED  OENTLBMAH. 


THii^offorty,alihough,unquestionably,re8peo- 
Uhk,  is,  in  some  points,  not  a  very  comfortable  one. 
The  mere  animal  spirits  have  become  less  buoyant, 
lew  eagrossing ;  the  intervals  of  reflection,  undis- 
turbed bv  passion,  are  longer ;  and  the  portion  of 
tbreescoreyears  and  ten  which  ia  to  ensue,  looks  por- 
tentously shorter  than  that  which  has  passed.  The 
dose  teems  just  at  hand,  and,  like  Master  Bamar- 
dme,  we  have  not  made  up  our  minds  to  be  hanged. 
Ajudversaries  of  the  new  year,  and  other  anniver- 
aries,  which,  at  an  earlier  period,  before  the  con- 
KkmsDMB  that  we  must  die  was  awakened  within 
us,  (for  whatever  young  people  may  be  taught  to 
»y,  they  cannot  feel  the  necessity  of  dying,)  were 
10  very  pleasant,  become  now  impertinent  reminis- 
ceaeei.  They  are  hints  that  the  years  which  re- 
B&ia  are  few  as  well  as  short.  It  is  a  passing 
twinge  which  we  get  over ;  the  rude  ceremony  of 
cnMBtDg  the  line ;  and  rougher  to  the  sense  than 
even  shaving  with  tar  and  a  notched  hoop  of  rusty 
boQ.  But  it  is  passing,  and  when  over,  we  buckle 
to  the  business  of  life  again,  fancy  we  have  taken 
I  lew  lease  of  existence,  and  with  every  succeeding 
fttr  calculate  upon  a  greater  number  of  years  to 
wne. 

Hence  the  ag«  of  forty,  or  a  year  or  two  on 

<i^  side  (tf  it,  is  guilty  of  more  absurd  pranks 

tW  any  other.    It  is  the  age  at  which  the  maxp- 

*>■  of  suicides  is  committed.    It  is  the  age  at 

vlueh,  daring  the  palmy  days  of  saintly  asceticism, 

ttn  were  most  liable  to  take  a  fancy  to  shut  them- 

^nsip  m  cells,  and  fast  and  scourge  themselves. 

Ottbe  two  foolish  periods  of  life — ^that  in  which  men 

^ia  to  think  love  Uie  business  of  life,  and  that  in 

'^"ciiittost  men  begin  to  think  it  less,  important — 

^  ktter  is  indubitably  the  more  absurd.    The 

^  ^  not  pretend  to  be  anything  more  than 

^  dave  of  an  instinct.     He  is  drunk  with  the 

^"l^ntaiion  of  his  own  being  ;  without  the  aid  of 

*•»  Of  opium,  he  plays  more  ecstatic  gambols 

^AewiBd-bibber,  and  revels  in  more  volup- 

I     ^ttdgoi^eousYisionBthan  the  opium-eater. 

^^KltettoB*— he  throws  away  opportunities — 

*  Vttnbwi^  thoM  ha  lovoi  best— he  rashes  upon 


death,  in  pure  gcMU  de  eomr.  6e  Is  enjoying  the 
moment  with  his  whole  soul,  and  knows  not,  believes 
not  in  the  existence  of  the  next.  But  the  follies  of 
the  middle  age  are  the  more  grotesque  from  their 
aping  the  airs  of  **  wisd  om,  gravity,  profound  conceit." 
The  fool  who  blows  out  his  brains  because  for- 
mer pleasures  begin  to  pall  upon  his  taste,  or  be- 
cause he  feels  that  his  first  prime  has  been 
wasted  in  dilapidating,  instead  of  accumulating 
stores  that  may  support  the  winter  of  his  life,  and 
misdoubts  his  ability  to  make  up  for  lost  time, 
looks  upon  his  jaded  feelings  as  a  sense  of  truth 
resulting  from  experience.  The  coward  who  seeks 
to  anticipate  the  punishment  which  he  is  conscious 
his  selfidiness  and  wilfulness  have  merited,  by  tak- 
ing the  whip  into  his  own  hand,  piercing  and  casti- 
gating his  body  till  he  lashes  himself  into  a  state 
of  inflated  vanity  more  dangerous  than  the  first, 
thinks  he  has  learned  wisdom.  There  is  fulness 
of  life  about  the  follies  of  the  young ;  but  the  fol- 
lies of  the  more  advanced  period  are  cold,  sha- 
dowy, imsubstantial  as  the  gibbering  phantas- 
mata,  half  will-o'-the-wisps,  half  Scotch  mists,  that 
souffh  and  whistle  in  the  rounded  periods  of  Mac- 
pherson. 

To  take  an  example  or  two : — ^The  follies  of 
Don  Quixote  (who,  we  take  it,  is  the  most  respect- 
able fool  on  record  on  the  wintry  side  of  forty) 
excite  alternately  laughter  and  commiseration* 
The  folly  of  Charles  y.,sick  of  the  world  in  which  he 
had  played  so  stirring  a  part,  seeking  relief  from  the 
emptiness  of  his  own  coward  soul,  in  mumming  ob- 
sequies, which  should  give  him  a  foretaste  of  how  he 
was  to  be  spoken  of  after  death,  excites  only  a 
languid  contempt.  But  the  pranks  of  Romeo  and 
Mercutio  are  no  laughing  matters — we  may  laugh 
with,  not  at  the  latter.  And  it  is  even  doubtful 
wheUier  they  are  objects  of  pity.  Up  to  the  mo- 
ment of  their  last  brief  pang,  their  career  is  one  of 
rich  enjoyment:  Mercutio  can  scarcely  be  con- 
vinced that  he  is  dying ;  his  soul  takes  flight  in  a 
jest ;  and  if  Romeo  whine  through  the  whole  five 
acts,  why,  ha  whines  because  ha  takes  pleasure  in 
'whining. 


:6 


THOUGHTS  ON  ANNIVERSARIES. 


It  b  on  this  aooonnt  that  middle-aged  people  are 
80  out  of  place  in  the  merry-makings  of  annual 
festivals.  The  animal  hobble-de-hoy,  between  boy 
and  lad,  is  an  awkward  lout  sure  enough,  but  not 
one-half  so  absurd  as  the  intellectual  hobble-de-hoy 
between  young  and  old  man.  He  sits  abstracted  and 
grave  amid  the  happy ;  either  increasing  their  sport 
by  furnishing  them  with  a  laughing-stock,  or  cast- 
ing a  chill  damp  on  their  gaiety,  or,  at  best,  having 
hb  presence  forgotten.  An  unforeseen  excitement 
may  make  him  a  good  companion  for  the  moment ; 
but  he  cannot  be  happy  with  '*  malice  prepense." 
Bums  has  caught  this  truth,  with  his  usual  happy 
instinct,  in  a  picture  of  new-year  festivities,  painted 
with  more  perfect  gusto  than  has  ever  been  accom- 
plished by  any  other  artist : — 

**  That  meny  day  the  year  begins, 
They  bar  the  door  on  frosty  winds ; 
The  nappy  reeka  wi*  mantling  ream, 
And  sheds  a  heart-inspiring  steam ; 
The  Inntin*  pipe,  and  sneei^'  mill. 
Are  handed  roond  wi*  right  gude  idll ; 
The  eantie  auld  folks  crackin'  crouse. 
The  young  anei  rantin'  through  the  house, — 
My  heart  has  been  sae  fain  to  see  them. 
That  I  for  joy  ha'e  barkit  wi'  them." 

There  are  none  of  your  ambiguities  here — ^none 
of  those  whose  habitual  feeling  is  akin  to  that  of 
the  poor  fellow,  who,  having  just  received  sentence 
of  death,  is  stunned  for  the  moment, — ^but  genuine 
old  people  and  ycung  people.  As  already  hinted, 
however,  the  uncomfortable  feeling  is  but  of  short 
duration.  It  is  the  pang  which  attends  every 
^  state  of  transition,"  (as  physiologists,  geologists, 
and  other  ologists,  term  it,)  whether  that  transition 
take  place  in  oiganic  or  inorganic  bodies,  in  com- 
mimities  or  individuals,  and  be  effected  by  volcanic 
agency,  advance  in  years,  reform  bills,  or  the  last  and 
most  startling  transition,  death  itself.  Our  periods 
of  gloom  are  as  brief  as  our  periods  of  rapture ; 
and  busy  life  is  the  spear  of  Achilles,  possessed  of 
the  double  power  of  inflicting  and  curing  wounds. 
''  The  earth  has  me  again ! "  exclaims  Faust,  when 
rudely  awakened  from  the  rapt  dream  of  super- 
natund  power ;  and  often  have  we  to  thank  the 
earth,  and  its  routine  of  cares  and  duties,  that 
absorbs  our  attention,  leading  it  away  from  dwell- 
ing upon  a  prospect  so  much  more  extensive  than 
its  power  of  comprehension,  as  to  look  like  vacancy, 
and  deaden  the  heart  with  a  sense  of  unreality  and 
preternatural  loneliness.  TVe  bite  our  lips,  shrug 
our  shoulders,  shake  off  the  dull  weight  of  thought 
with  an  effort,  and  in  a  short  time  are  as  cheerfully 
engrossed  with  our  usual  pursuits  as  if  it  had  never 
crossed  us. 

This  is  the  turning  point  in  a  man's  life,  which 
decides  whether  he  is  to  leave  anything  of  his  head 
and  handiwork  that  will  convey  to  posterity  a 
notion  of  his  powers.  There  is  an  essential  difi^ar- 
ence  between  the  works  produced  by  men  before 
and  after  this  period  of  life.  The  man  not  arrived 
at  middle  age  is  possessed  by  his  subject :  he  is  an 
instrument  or  an  object  of  contemplation — ^a  thing 
of  nature,  akin  to  the  rushing  of  a  river,  or  the 
sparkle  of  ocean  ruffled  by  a  Ught  breeze,  beneath 

an    unclouded    sun— the  rm  uvhat^  mfofid-/***  yOju-uMy 


or  the  nightingale's  full  tide  of  song ;  or  anyiiiing 
bright,  buoyant,  and  happy,  that  is  so  by  the 
necessity  of  its  nature,  llie  ripened  man  possesses 
his  subject,  and  makes  of  it  what  he  has  predeter- 
mined. Our  interest  in  the  poetry  of  a  young 
poet  is  mainly  personal ;  as  in  the  case  of  Keats, 
whose  fancies  and  even  rhymes  led  him  where 
they  would ;  or  Kirke  White  alternately  pale  and 
hectic-flushed;  or  Byron  pouring  out  his  own 
feelings  of  the  moment  In  poets  of  a  more  ad- 
vanced age,  it  is  the  subject  that  engrosses  us. 
^*  The  blind  old  man  of  Scio's  rocky  isle"  nowhere 
appears  in  his  poems.  Milton  only  once  or  twice 
refers  to  himself  in  his  great  epics ;  and  some 
allowance  may  be  made  for  his  isolated  positiony 
amid  a  busy  throng,  forcing  self  back  upon  him  ; 
and  as  for  Shakspeare,  there  is  so  little  of  the 
author  in  his  plays,  one  could  almost  fancy  them 
produced  by  the  same  power  which  produced  that 
society  of  whicli  they  are  a  counterpart,  without 
the  intervention  of  any  mere  human  mind. 

The  same  distinctive  character  may  be  traced  in 
the  deeds  of  the  active  spirits,  who,  as  logicians, 
politicians,  or  warriors,  aspire  to  mould  and  direct 
the  course  of  social  events,  according  to  their 
views.  The  young  are  theoretical  and  imaginative, 
and  work  by  the  contagious  influence  of  their 
enthusiasm :  the  mature  bring  the  stores  of  infor- 
mation, the  faculty  of  discriminating  character, 
the  patience  resulting  partly  from  the  abated 
impetuosity  of  youth,  and  the  knowledge  that  he 
who  waits  longest  has  the  advantage,  and  the 
dogged  pertinacity  of  will,  engrained  and  hardened 
by  years,  to  bear  upon  those  with  whom  they  have 
to  deal,  and  conquer  them  against  their  will.  It  is 
among  the  young  that  we  are  to  seek  for  the 
apostles  of  a  pure  and  imaginative  faith,  which,  by 
awakening  the  sympathies  of  those  to  whom  it  is 
preached,  can  make  for  a  time  their  aspirations  as 
unsullied  and  lofty  as  its  own  ;  and  the  memory 
of  which,  haunting  the  intervals  of  their  passion- 
fever  dreams,  may  serve  as  a  monitor  leading  back, 
after  every  aberration,  to  truth  and  holiness.  It 
is  among  the  young  that  we  are  to  look  for  the 
eflicient  advocates  of  any  great  social  change,  for 
which  the  course  of  events  has  ripened  society,  and 
the  mode  of  effecting  which  has  been  devised  by 
older  heads.  Theirs  is  the  energy  which,  never 
flagging,  is  urgent  ^  in  season  and  out  of  season," 
and  the  contagious  enthusiasm  which  wins  converts 
among  the  half-instructed.  It  is  to  the  young  that 
we  are  to  look  for  those  conquerors  who  have 
turned  the  matured  powers  of  a  nation  to  the 
pursuit  of  foreign  sway,  and  cheered  them  on  to 
perseverance,  when  baffling  events  deadened  the 
hopes  and  paralyzed  the  efforts  of  their  followers. 
But  it  is  to  the  old  that  we  must  look  to  evolve  in 
their  closets  those  abstract  truths  which  are  to  be 
preached  from  the  house-tops  by  the  young ;  to 
devise  those  modes  of  oiganization,  whidi,  forages 
after  they  are  laid  in  dust,  are  to  be  the  mould  in 
which  society  is  cast ;  or  to  accumulate  those 
materials  for  a  colossal  and  protracted  struggle, 
which  some  young  and  ardent  soldier  is  to  turn  to 
accoimt.  It  might  startle  the  prejudices  of  some, 
to  name  the  individuals  who  fall  under  the  class  of 


THOUGHTS  OX  ANNIVERSARIES. 


77 


dw  efficient  teachers  of  a  puro  and  high-toned 
monlhT;  but  whoever  will  recall  to  memory  his 
{ivomites  amoi^  those  who  have  advocated  social 
amebontioiui,  pro-supposing  a  change  for  the  hetter 
in  the  habtftoal  opinions  and  feelings  of  individuals, 
wiH  £od  that  the  most  active  and  influential  por- 
tioo  of  their  life  has  heen  from  twenty  to  thirty- 
fife.  This  was  the  age  of  the  most  powerful 
letim  m  the  French  Revolution :  this  was  the 
age  of  your  Alexanders  and  Napoleons.  But 
Akmider  would  have  come  in  vain,  had  not  his 
wily  and  experienced  father  prepared  hefore-hand 
the  materials  with  which  he  had  to  work ;  and 
.Vapoieon  merely  reunited  the  shattered  frame- 
iwk  of  that  army,  as  a  part  of  which  he  had  been 
cdnated.  He  recruited  its  ranks  with  fierce  ener- 
gKie  rerohitionlsts,  and  hurled  the  might  of  what 
bd  been  oiganizing  for  centuries  at  paralyzed 
Europe.  And  our  most  active  and  eloquent  advo- 
cates of  the  liberal  <»use  at  this  moment,  in  this 
tamtry,  what  are  they  doing?  One  and  all  of 
them  retailing  small  portions  of  Benthamism ; — 
and  would  that  they  would  take  the  trouble  to 
make  themselves  acquainted  with  his  system  as  a 
whole,  instead  of  merely  picking  out  what  suits 
their  porpose  for  the  moment,  and  as  often  mis- 
^ying  it  as  otherwise. 

If  men  would  but  reflect  that  all  tastes  and 
facilities  have  their  appropriate  sphere  of  useful 
action,  and  that  every  age  has  its  peculiar  duties ! 
Forty  is  a  dangeroufi  age  for  patriots.  The  young 
nan  is  soeked,  noways  reluctant,  into  the  vortex 
of  politia.  With  limited  partial  views  of  what 
can  he  done,  and  with  the  unbounded  confidence 
is  his  own  powers,  suggested  by  the  thrill  of  their 
mtfohfing  one  after  another,  he  fancies  that  all 
tiiat  is  to  be  achieyed  may  be  accomplished  by  a 
kief  strong  efibrt.  The  very  vagueness  of  his  con- 
options  of  the  task  he  has  taken  in  hand  is  one  of 
the  secret  sources  of  his  energy.  As  he  advances 
Q  years  and  experience,  the  extent  of  the  field  of 
Kt^  the  length  of  time  necessary  for  its  perform- 
oce,  grow  upon  him  with  the  rapidity  of  Jonah's 
S^nri  The  unreasonable  anticipations  of  his 
JRioger  friends  strike  him  as  proofs  of  their  igno- 
ince— their  impatience,  as  proofs  of  their  wanting 
^  adf-control  and  patience,  which  are  main 
KCRts  of  success.  Forgetting  that  he  was  once  as 
^  are,  he  becomes  a  harsh  and  captious  critic, 
ud,  mstead  of  their  more  experienced  adviser,  the 
«l>J6et  of  their  suspicion  and  opposition.  He  feels 
^  power  lessened  in  proportion  as  his  sense  of  the 
^ificvlties  to  be  OTercome  increases.  He  loses  heart, 
ud  snhsides  into  a  sceptical  sneerer  at  everything 
*Qi  erefy  person :  or  he  says,  since  no  genenJ 
Xood  is  to  be  accomplished,  why  may  not  I  as  well 
V  othen  take  a  share  in  what  private  good  is 
9^;  and  sinks  down  into  a  tool  of  those  who 
^  hj  abuse,  and  a  participator  in  their  wages. 
And  ^  meUneholy  stripping  off  of  "the  glitter- 
QfC  niment"  of  honest  Bunyan,  he  calls  wisdom — 
tfce&mt  of  experience. 

It  is,  indeed,  but  a  small  portion  of  those  who 
«▼«  hetti  active  patriots  before  forty,  who  have 
diffident  ekamina  to  steer  unship  wrecked  between 
^  moial  ScyDa  and  Charybdis  which  line  the 


shores  of  the  straits  of  the  fortieth  year.  It  is  not 
every  one  who  keeps  in  the  field  who  can  be  looked 
upon  as  having  escaped.  There  are  some  men 
whose  intellect  does  not  grow  with  years,  and  who, 
at  sixty,  as  at  sixteen,  are  boys  in  regard  to  their 
treasured  experience, — ^boys  in  regard  to  the  exten- 
sion of  their  views, — ^boys  in  everything  but  the 
fulness,  freshness,  and  sincerity  of  youUi.  Envi- 
able enough  creatures  some  of  iJiem  are,  and  there- 
fore to  be  admired,  were  they  not  such  bores  and 
interrupters  of  work.  These  are  your  men,  who, 
being  able  to  make  a  neat  little  speech  at  a  public 
meeting  or  dinner,  and  incapable  of  conceiving 
anything  beyond,  and  gifted,  moreover,  with  an 
equable  flow  of  animal  spirit^  and  poss^sed  of  at 
least  a  competent  fortune,  take  a  part  in  political 
business,  for  the  same  reason  that  others  go  to  the 
opera.  They  are  rather  averse  to  seeing  anything 
accomplished  by  their  party,  as  it  interferes  with 
their  habitual  routine,  and  puts  them  out.  They 
seek  to  cherish  the  complacent  feeling  that  they 
are  important  persons,  and  object  to  anything  that 
will  render  it  imnecessary  to  go  through  the  forms 
which  they  have  mastered  by  incessant  practice. 
They  could  go  on  singing  the  same  monotonous 
verse  to  all  eternity,  delighted  with  the  melody  of 
their  own  voices.  These  are  the  most  dangerous 
tools  of  the  jobbers  who  attach  themselves  to  all 
parties.  They  are  your  "  fine  old  Whiga;,"  who 
have  actively  and  consistently  supported  their 
party  for  so  many  years : — they  are  your  "  disinter- 
ested politicians  who  have  no  private  ends  in  view," 
as  if  a  man  who  did  not  need  money,  wanted 
energy  to  aspire  to  power,  and  whose  effeminate 
vanity  is  tickled  with  trifles  which  could  gra- 
tify no  one  else,  were  disinterested: — ^these  are 
the  Nestors,  held  out  as  men  of  ripe  experience  to 
raw  boys,  for  whom  the  cry  of  "  Wilkes  and 
Liberty  "  has  as  much  of  the  charm  of  novelty  as 
"  The  Charter,"  when  suspicions  are  to  be  insinu- 
ated against  those  who  are  dissatisfied  with  the 
"  managers"  of  a  party  for  idly  "  beating  time"  with 
their  feet  instead  of  advancing.  One  is  tempted, 
on  seeing  theatres  conyerted  for  a  time  into  tem- 
ples for  Qie  worship  of  such  monkey-gods,  to  wish 
that  they  had  had  a  little  less  of  that  consistency 
which  is  their  only  merit ;  they  do  the  cause  of 
right  so  much  harm  by  continuing  in  the  ranks, 
that  in  them  ratting  would  be  a  virtue.  How 
much  the  Liberal  cause  in  Middlesex  would  be 
benefited  were  Byng  to  follow  Burdett ! 

One  cannot  have  everything  in  this  world ;  or,  as 
the  proverb  expresses  it — "  You  can't  eat  your  caJce, 
and  have  your  cake."  It  is  possible,  by  means  of 
a  hot-house,  to  force  plants  into  more  early  de- 
velopment; but  it  is  not  possible,  by  any  means, 
to  give  plants,  so  forced,  the  prolonged  life  of  those 
which  have  reached  maturity  by  a  more  tedious 
growth.  The  most  useful  statesmen  are  those  who 
are  past  the  meridian  of  life ;  and  it  will  generally  be 
found  that  the  most  distinguished  are  those  who, 
if  they  have  turned  their  attention  at  all  to  public 
business  before  the  age  of  forty,  have  had  their 
powers  but  lightly  tasked.  Our  Luthers  and  Crom- 
wells  have  always  been  of  ripe  years  before  they 
buckled  to  the  tasks  for  which  they  seem  to  have 


is 


MfOUGHTS  ON  ANNIVERSARIES. 


been  sent  into  the  world.  There  is  a  most  over- 
powering monotony  of  mediocrity  in  the  exhibitions 
of  the  existing  raee  of  British  statesmen ;  and  there 
is  something  in  the  existing  organisation  of  political 
society  that  threatens  to  perpetuate  the  evil.  It  is 
an  expensive  amusement  to  become  a  member  of 
parliament.  The  whole  form  and  pressure  of  the 
system  makes  it  so.  Men  are  selected  for  the 
employment,  not  because  they  have  a  liking  for  it, 
or  the  necessary  talent,  but  because  they  can  afford 
it.  The  concentration  of  large  fortunes,  in  the 
hands  of  a  few,  limits  the  range  of  choice.  As 
these  compulsory  servants  of  the  public  grow  in 
years,  they  grow  in  indolence, — ^more  especially, 
since  constituencies  have  become  somewhat  more 
difficult  to  be  satisfied  with  their  members'  perfor- 
mances, and  seek  for  substitutes.  No  sooner  does 
a  young  man  of  property  escape  from  school  than 
he  is  laid  hold  of  by  the  parliamentary  conscription. 
The  extremely  juvenile  appearance  of  a  large  pro- 
portion of  the  members  of  the  British  legislature, 
reminds  one  of  the  infant  incarnation  of  the  Lama 
in  Thibet.  This  precocious  breaking  into  labour 
causes  the  most  prombing  lads  to  break  down  long 
before  they  reach  a  mature  age.  It  is  melancholy 
— ^it  is  cruel  in  the  extreme :  but,  in  a  country 
where  so  much  opposition  is  offered  to  any  propo- 
sal to  protect  the  gristle  of  children  from  dispropor- 
tionate bodily  labour,  what  hope  is  there  of  saving 
the  unknit  intellect  from  being  overtasked?  If 
**the  public"  do  not  feel  for  physical  sufferings, 
which  all  can  appreciate,  it  is  scarcely  to  be  ex- 
pected that  they  will  sympathize  with  mental  suf- 
ferings, which  can  only  be  conceived  by  those  who 
have  minds  of  their  own. 

Agitators  of  ten  years'  standing,  however,  like 
myself,  even  though  they  may  flatter  themselves 
that  they  have  escaped  the  dangers  that  lie  in  am- 
bush for  middle-aged  patriots,  have  at  least  learned, 
that  our  hold  on  the  future  is  precarious  and  un- 


certain, and  that  the  present  moment  ceases  to  exist 
even  while  we  are  in  the  act  of  naming  it.  They 
anchor  themselves  on  the  past :  of  its  memories  no 
power  can  rob  them.  [Thus  I  rambled  on  in  a 
reverie,  into  which  the  sight  of  an  early  copy  of 
Tait's  New  Year's  number,  lying  uncut  on  the  table, 
had  thrown  me.]  Leaving  to  younger  men  the 
excitement  of  the  ball,  which  has,  to  such  an  extent, 
superseded  the  more  homely  joys  of  first-footing, 
they  love  to  congregate  at  seasons  like  the  present, 
to  draw  out,  like  sympathetic  inks,  beneath  the 
cheering  influence  of  a  good  fire  and  genial  glass 
of  whisky-punch,  the  somewhat  faded  colours  of 
earlier  adventures,  and  by  comparing  notes  to  ren- 
der the  picture  more  complete,  lie  deep-toned 
bell,  which  is  just  tolling  the  last  hour  of  the  de« 
parting  year,  conjures  up,  in  my  recollection  .  .  « 
[But  the  Reminiscences  of  the  Middle-aged 
Gentleman,  pleasant,  doubtless,  to  himself,  and 
flattering  and  delightful  to  his  friends  and  cronies 
of  auld  langsyne^  may,  perchance,  be  of  less  mo- 
ment to  the  readers  of  this  Magazine,  until  a 
point  is  reached  of  great  and  general  concernment — 
when  came  his  tocist  of  the  evening,]  ''  Peosperitt 
TO  T ait's  Magazine" — the  child  and  champion  of 
the  era,  which  dates  from  the  meeting  of  the  Citi- 
zens of  Edinburgh,  to  congratulate  the  French 
people  upon  their  heroic  deportment  on,  and  after, 
the  Three  Days.  The  minds — multifarious  in  unity 
— which  build  up  this  intellectual  structure,  need 
fear  no  such  scrutiny  as  has  been  instituted  in  the 
above  remarks.  Undeterred  by  delay — ^unseduced 
by  languor — ^they  stand  true  to  their  faith,  and 
persist  in  treading  the  onward  path.  Less  sanguine 
of  immediate  results,  they  are  not  the  less  certain 
of  ultimate  triumph ;  for  theirs  will  be  no  victory 
clouded  by  sympathy  for  the  defeated,  inasmuch  as 
their  opponents  must  share  in  its  fruits.  They 
possess  the  equanimity  without  the  humdrum  of 
A  Middle-aged  Geittlevax  ! 


SPECIMENS    OP    MODERN    ROMANCE. 

HO.  n. — ^THE  COCK3SVT  NATTTlCAl. 

MONKEY  ISLAND;  A  YANKEE  YARN* 

MlOii  TttE  tK)STHtM0t8  PAPEBS  OP  THE  LATE  COLONEL  CROCKETT. 


Strolling  "downEa8t*'onefinemomiilg,IstTlm- 
bled  over  a  square-built  Yankee  sailor,  who,  with 
his  hands  in  his  canvass  trousers,  was  carelessly 
leading  along  a  monkey  attached  to  a  chain. 

"  Want  to  buy  a  monkey,  yer  honor  ?"  inquired 
the  son  of  Neptune,  regarding  me  with  a  pair  of 
twinkling  gray  eyes,  and  squinting  all  the  time 
like  a  necromantic  owl. 

"  You've  got  a  smart  animal  there,  I  guess," 
said  I,  chucking  the  individual  a  chestnut,  which 
he  began  forthwith  to  devour  with  the  glutton- 
ous rapacity  which  distinguishes  monkeys  who 
are  entirely  dependent  on  voluntary  contribu- 
tions. 

"  He's  like  a  mosquito  in  a  fall-play  steam- 
iofps^y  I  calculate/'  replied  the  ill-looking  tar; 


**  he's  up— niown — ^fly ;  and  asfor  being  wide  awake, 
I  wish  I  may  be  pittiklarly  well  dressed,  if  he  am't 
like  a  lawyer  at  ilection  time.  You  can't  get  him 
to  wink  without  paying  him  for  it." 

"  Stole  a  leaf  out  of  his  master  s  book,  may  be," 
I  suggested ;  "  and  writ  his  own  name  on  it.** 

"  Nevor  could  detarmine  where  he  stole  it  from 
'xactly,"  rejoined  the  Ocean's  pride,  looking^  very 
hard  at  his  nose.  "  My  believe's  he  takes  after  our 
tarnation  tax  makers — robs  every  one  as  mucli  as 
he  can,  and  borrows  the  rest.  What  should  yoa 
say  was  the  walley  on  him,  yer  honor  ? — he  cornea 
slick  from  Monkey  Island?" 

**  Monkey  Island  V  I  exclaimed,  with  awakened 
curiosity ;  *^  in  what  outlandish  latitude  may  thai 
be?" 


SPECIMENS  OF  MODERN  ROMANCE. 


79 


"Lord  love  yer!"  cried  he  of  the  converging 
optke,  "did  joa  never  hear  o'  my  grandfathers 
idrentaiei  on  Monkey  Island  V* 

HavisffaHdidly  acknowledged  that  I  never  had 
expeiiaued  that  pleasure,  the  nautical  monkey- 
dealer  took  a  mouthful  of  pig-tail,  and  without 
futinr  pre£Me,  obligingly  favoured  me  with  the 
Ulowing  ftttement  of  facts : — 

'^It  was  sometime  durin'  our  great  universal 
ntj  that  my  grandfather  was  coxs'n  on  board  the 
Bi^BMjfiany  80-gun  frigate,  and  one  of  the  splen- 
&taL  erafts  in  the  sarvice,  as  I've  heer  d  my  grand- 
^ther  declare  ever  and  over  agin ;  and,  as  he 
wini't  in  the  habit  o'  croitming  us,  either  with  wit- 
tdc  or  anything  else,  in  course  we're  all  bound  to 
bdkTe  him.  You  know  what  a  powder-monkey 
ky  Ter  honor  ? — it's  a  young  shaver  as  used,  afore 
the  inwention  o'  machinery,  to  get  into  the  big 
g!i»  for  the  object  o'  cleanin'  on  'em  out — a  sort 
o'  chimley  sweep,  on  all-fours,  wi'  no  elewation  of 
ioteOeet,  as  my  grandfather  used  to  say.  Well, 
yer  bonoor,  on  board  this  'ere  Bilfy-Ruffiany  there 
«u  oBe  o'  the  eomicalest  powder-monkeys  that 
«Ter  walked  itself  into  the  carawan  of  Natur's  cu- 
TkcHies.  Such  a  monkey-fied  countenance  might 
bare  eaosed  a  porpoise  to  turn  up  the  whites  of  his 
fjn  with  dewout  thankfulness  to  Providence  for 
Wing  bora  a  fish  in  plaoe  of  a  monkey.  His  wisage 
VIS  what  my  grandfather  called,  in  his  not- 
mnprehensible  lingo— a  ptm  upon  humanity;  and 
vImq  the  black  cook,  a  biggish  fellow  too,  fii*st 
sce'd  it,  he  tamed  r^flarly  pale  at  the  horrors  o' 
■gfisess.  Well,  yer  honor,  one  night  this  'ere 
powder  monkey  was  taken  wery  queer  in  his  wit- 
t%  department — wery  queer  he  was,  sure-ly — so 
*«ry  qneer,  indeed,  that  my  grandfather,  Mungo 
^  cook,  the  ship's  carpenter,  purser's  clerk,  and 
ese  or  two  stiflfish  marines,  act  wally  thought  he  was 
^ed  by  Davy  Jones,  to  sweep  the  dust  out  of  Aw 
l^ker.  Grandfather  supplied  mustard  poultices, 
pippies' heads,  and  everything  else  they  could  think 
•n:  bttt  nothing  did  powder-monkey  no  good ;  and 
M  be  tossed  and  tumbled  about  in  his  hammock, 
^  moaned  dismally,  and  cried  for  his  mother. 
^«v,  yer  honor,  my  grandfather  never  dreamt, 
tt  b«w  that  he  ever  had  a  mother ;  for  that  vhereas 
^  piek'd  him  up  at  sea  one  sunshiny  artemoon, 
'^  on  the  back  of  a  grampus,  from  which  cir- 
•■aitanoe  they  eon-eluded  amongst  theirselves, 
^  he  was  what  people  calls  a  nateral  bom  hin- 
^M*— a  specious  o'  dingy-brown  water-lily.  How- 
*ineiw  that  might  be,  about  eight  bells,  that 
^^  identioal  nighty  they  was  all  awoke  by  a 
«)nid  hullabaloo  on  deck — resembling,  for  all  the 
*orfd,  my  grandfather  used  to  say,  a  lot  o'  little 
derila  playing  at  fly-the-garter.  Presently,  yer 
Wa;  while  my  grandfather  lay  wondering  what 
la  oeataon  could  produce  this  'ere  tumultuous 
?«ooniena,  he  was  brought  to  his-self  by  hearing 
**  Watch  sing  out,  *  All  hands,  ahoy  I  *  and 
'•tog  on  deck,  in  a  state  of  almost  perfect  im- 
f^y  just  pictar  to  yourself  his  everlastin'  con- 
^^^"^wiwn,  when  he  diskivered,  about  a  cable's 
**8*^  oa  the  weather-bow,  a  lai^  canoe  afloat, 
*™^  by  about  sixteen  able-bodied  monkeys,  in 
*«  ttidit  of  which  respectable  party,  with  tears 


in  his  eyes,  sot  young  powder-monkey.  *Vell !' 
says  my  grandfather  to  Tom  Oakum,  capt'n  o*  the 
maintop,  who  was  whistling  '  Yankee  Doodle'  in 
the  lee-scuppers ;  *  Veil,'  says  he,  *  if  that  am't 
enough  to  make  a  alligator  laugh  till  the  tears  o' 
agony  rushes  down  his  throat  and  choaks  him, 
it's  a  pity.'  Well,  yer  honor,  while  they  was 
conwersing,  these  'ere  sixteen  monkeys  pulled 
away,  till  they  got  to  shore,  when  they  landed  along 
with  powder-monkey,  and  began  dancing  and 
capering  about  like  so  many  wild  Ingians ;  durin' 
which,  they  every  now  and  then  embraces  young 
powder-monkey  with  arduous  delight ;  then  giving 
three  loud  cheers,  they  hoisted  their  long  lost  bro- 
ther atop  o'  their  shoulders,  and  wagging  their 
tails,  wi'  tarnation  impudence  at  the  ship's  crew^ 
who  was  scrowdging  the  gangways  to  look  at  'em, 
they  sheer  d  off  into  the  woods,  and  my  grandfa* 
ther  seed  'em  no  more." 

"  Astonishing !"  I  observed,  interrupting  my 
veracious  informant.  "  I  always  fancied  that 
cheering  was  confined  to  members  of  Congress  and 
the  admirers  of  patriotic  sentiments." 

"  Bless  yer  hinnocence  ! "  replied  the  cross-eyed 
mariner,  "  not  by  no  means ;  but  what  I've  been 
telling  on  you,  won't  reach,  in  pint  o'  marvellous- 
ness  by  a  deuce  long  chalk,  to  what's  on  the  woyage. 
It  was  about  two  months  arter  these  remarkable 
tramsactions  that  the  Bilfy-Ruffian  happened  to  be 
cmising  off  the  Cape  de  Werds ;  when  the  cap- 
tain sent  my  grandfather,  his  mate  Tom  Oakum, 
and  another  or  two  on  shoi*e  to  get  water,  they  be- 
ing just  then  wery  hard  up  for  that  same  lick- weed 
element.  Well,  yer  honor,  it  Was  a  awful  sultry 
day ;  and  as  my  grandfather  and  Tom  Oakum 
rambled  thro'  the  woods  with  a  couple  o*  empty 
water- casks  on  their  shoulders,  they  came  over 
wery  faint  and  wolfish  like — consequence  o*  which, 
they  sot  down  under  a  banyan  tree,  and  began  to 
regale  theirselves  on  some  cold  taters  which  Tom 
Oakum  had  brought  with  him  in  his  handkercher. 
Well,  yer  honor,  whilst  their  attention  was  mainly 
occupied  in  stowing  away  this  'ere  belly-timber, 
they  was  all  on  a  sudden  considerably  startled  by 
hearing  loud  cries  o'  distress.  Up  they  jumped— 
whipt  out  their  mince-maids — ^" 

«  What  are  they  ?"  I  inquired. 

^^  Cutlasses,  yer  honor ;  and  taming  round  as  it 
might  be  so— may  I  never  get  another  odd  copper 
given  me  by  a  lib'ral  gen'l'man  like  yourself,  to 
buy  bacoos  vnth,if  my  grandfather  and  Tom  Oakum 
didn't  see  young  powder-monkey  lashed  to  the  back 
of  a  ourang-outang,  whilst  another  branch  o'  the 
family  was  a  flogging  on  him  with  a  rope's  end, 
summut  in  the  style  Qiey  does  in  the  sarvice,  only 
with  not  quite  so  much  sewerity.  Well,  yer  ho- 
nor, while  young  powder-monkey  was  a  kicking 
and  halloing,  who  should  come  up  to  the  scene  of 
action,  but  a  wenerable  looking  ourang-outang  with 
gray  whiskers  and  green  spectacles,  and  supporting 
his-self  by  a  bamboo  walking  stick." 

"  Do  you  call  yourself  a  monk^,  to  flog  a  fellow- 
crittur  in  that  way?"  said  Barnacles,  with  a 
virtuously  indignant  expression  o'  countenance ; 
"  you  ar'n't  worUiy  the  name  of  a  monkey— you're 


80 


SPECIMENS  OF  MODERN  ROMANCE. 


a  moM^-a  beef-eater!— a  monkey  would  shudder  at 
sicli  brutality.*' 

''As  good  a  monkey  as  you,  old  whitehairs," 
replied  the  chap  with  itxe  cat  o'  nine  taib. 

"  Why  do  you  punish  your  child  in  that  U-rope- 
ean  manner,  then  f  demanded  Barnacles,  striking 
his  bamboo  'phatically  on  the  ground. 

'''Cause  he's  been  sarcy  to  his  elder  brother," 
replied  the  vhipper-in,  "  that's  vhy." 

"  There's  a  proper  way  o*  correctin'  sarcy  young 
monkeys,  wi^out  resortin'  to  man-like  wiolence," 
said  the  old  gen'l'man,  mildly  looking  over  his 
barnacles  in  a  Pickwickian  sort  o'  way. 
^  "  Is  there,  old  square-toes  V*  returned  the  school- 
master with  a  sneer;  "but  suppose  I  choose  to 
doit— vot  then?" 

"  Why,  then,  I  say,  you're  no  monkey,"  replied 
Barnacles ;  and  tucking  his  bamboo  under  his  arm, 
off  he  trotted. 

"  You,  be  blowed  V*  cried  the  t'other,  looking 
after  him  ;  "  ar'n't  a  monkey  a  right  to  do  what 
he  likes  with  his  own— eh  T 

On  hearing  this  observation,  which  sartainly,  as 
my  grandfather  remarked,  was  more  worthy  of  a 
highly  intelligent  nobleman,  than  a  hignorant 
monkey,  my  grandfather  and  Tom  Oakum  bust 
into  a  loud  laugh,  when  down  drops  powder- 
monkey,  and  looking  at  my  grandfather  for  an 
instant  with  a  aspect  of  horrible  amazement,  he 
takes  to  his  heels  and  cuts  off,  like  a  fox  who  has 
accidentally  sing'd  his  brush  by  bringing  it  into 
contract  with  a  brick-kiln.  A  chase  was  imme- 
diately started  by  a  parcel  of  idle  young  monkeys, 
who  was  playing  at  dominoes  in  a  bush  close  by, 
and  my  grandfather  and  Tom  Oakum  followed  in 
pursuit ;  and  after  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
run,  they  got  a-head  on  'em,  pretty  well  winded 
as  you  may  suppose,  for  them  monkeys  are  plaguy 
hard  to  catch,  considerin  as  how  that  they'll  turn 
a  somerset  o'  twenty  yards,  and  keep  on  it  (as  I 
know  to  my  sartain  knowledge)  for  a  couple  o' 
miles  without  once  touching  terra  forma,  if  so  be 
that  they're  larkishly  inclined. 

"  I  say  old  fellows,"  cried  Tom  Oakum,  address- 
ing a  savage-looking  gang  of  ourangs  who  had 
drawn  theirselves  up  in  a  line,  whilst  powder- 
monkey  stood  behind  'em,  piping  his  eye,  and 
tremelous  all  over,  "  I  say,"  cried  Tom,  "  you 
must  give  up  young  powder-monkey,  you  must 
rale-ly." 

"  Cause  why  ? "  demanded  a  proud  upstart 
monkey,  sticking  a  quizzing-glass  into  his  star- 
board peeper. 


"Cause  why?"  replied  Tom,  "  cause  he's  de- 
sarted  from  the  sarvice,  to  be  sure." 

"  Fiddle-de-dee  ! "  cried  a  impudent  young 
monkey,  flourishing  his  tail  about  in  a  wery  pomp- 
ous manner. 

"  Tear  a  babby  away  from  its  nateral  parents ! " 
screamed  a  skinny  old  female,  who'd  only  got  one 
eye,  "  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  o'  yourselves, — you 
men,yon\" 

"  Yell,"  says  Tom,  scratching  his  head,  for 
neither  Tom  nor  my  grandfather  much  relished  the 
idea  of  being  pitched  into  by  this  awk'ard  squad  o' 
monkeys,  "  VeU,"  says  Tom,  "  ve'U  leave  it  to 
powder-monkey's  decision :  if  he  likes  to  go  with 
us — good, — if  so  be  he  prefers  staying  in  your 
highly  cultiwated  society,  and  larning  all  your 
iligant  monkey  discomplishments,  vhy  then,  on 
behalf  of  our  vorthy  capt'n,  whose  humble  sar- 
vant  stands  afore  you,  I  says,  good  agin. — So  speak, 
young  flipperty-gibbet, — Show's  it  to  be  ?" 

Powder-monkey  look'd  first  effectionately  at  the 
old  gal  with  the  wall-eye, — (he'd  got  on  the  blind 
side  of  her)  then  at  the  savage  old  monkey  who 
had  givin  him  the  tannin',  and  who  was  cutting- 
his  stick  with  a  bowie  knife,  (wulgarly  called 
wittling,)  then  at  his  beloved  brothers, — artful 
young  monkeys,  who  was  twigging  him  'cause  he 
hadn't  got  a  ornamental  tail  like  theirselves,  and 
then,  with  a  wiolent  internal  struggle, — ^nateral 
feelin'  predominatin, — ^he  rush'd  into  the  arms  of 
his  wet-nurse,  and  buried  hb  face  in  her  hairy 
busom.  It  sartinly  beat  all  the  affectin'  sights 
that  ever  my  grand-father  witnessed, — ^the  melan- 
choly spectacle  of  a  hinnocent  young  female,  unitin* 
herself  to  a  wery  infirm  old  genTman,  labourin* 
under  spasmodic  asthma  and  80,000  dollars,  not 
accepted ;  and  though,  p'rhaps,you  may  smile  at  my 
grand-father  s  veakness,  he  and  Tom  Oakum  ac- 
tivally  blubbered,  till  the  water  that  fell  in  their 
handkerchers,  might  have  filled  a  quart  tankard. 
Findin'  it  was  no  use  'temptin'  to  argufy  the  ques- 
tion, they  shook  hands  with  powder-monkey,  and 
bid  good-by  both  to  him  and  to  Monkey  Island 
together. — Got  a  odd  copper,  just  to  buy  bacoa, 
yer  honor  ?" 

This  interestin*  query  having  been  answered, 
satisfactorily,  I  proceeded  home,  where,  on  taking 
off  my  hat,  I  f  oimd  my  hair  to  be  all  on  end,  and 
as  stiff  as  bristles,  so  that  I  couldn't  get  on  u^y 
nightcap  for  nearly  a  fortnight  afterwards.  Thinks 
I  to  myself,  if  these  Yankee  sailors  can't  spin  it  of 
a  toughish  texture,  now  and  then,  my  name  isn't 
Crockett :  and  so  much  for  Monkey  Island ! 


TORY-SOCIALIST  REMEDIES  FOR  THE  NATIONAL  DISTRESS. 
No.  n.— "THE  REGULATION  OF  MACHINERY." 


When  the  deputation  from  Paisley  lately  waited 
on  Lord  Stanley,  for  the  purpose  of  calling  his  at- 
tention to  the  miserable  condition  of  that  town,  his 
Lordship  told  them  that  the  whole  distress  arose 
from  the  increase  of  machinery.  He  was  met  with 
the  decisive  answer  that  it  coiUd  not  arise  from  that 
cause,  simply  for  the  reason,  that  machinery  was 


not  at  all  used  in  the  production  of  the  stifle  t 
tides  of  manufacture  in  Paisley.  In  the  report  oj 
the  conferences  held  with  Sir  Robert  Peel,  an.d 
several  of  his  colleagues,  by  G.  A.  Fleming,  tli* 
Editor  of  "  The  New  Moral  Worlds**  andSocialisi 
Lecturer,  Joshua  Hobson,  publisher  of  TheNortiem  ^ 
Story  and  three  others,  one  of  them  a  reporter  £cu 


TORY  REMEDIES  FOR  THE  NATIONAL  DISTRESS. 


81 


ti»  nme  p^wr,  ttsoming  the  title  of  a  deputation 
firom  the  ^loii  Time  Committees  of  the  Weet 
mdmg  of  Yorkshire,  we  fiad,  in  the  report  of  their 
coofernee  with  Sir  Robert  Peel,  that  they  uiged 
on  him  tbe  necessity  of  passing  a  Bill  prohibiting 
ibsmpbyiDg  any  person,  under  21  years  of  age, 
abow  e«n  hours  a-day  in  a  fectory,  and  ^^thegrch 
M  wiiidrawal  of  all /males  from  the  factorieg." 
Thedepotation  did  not  state  that  they  were  autho- 
riirf  kj  the  women  of  Yorkshire  to  obtain  a  law 
to  prohibit  them  from  exerting  their  industry  in 
£KtorieB,  neither  did  they  point  out  in  what  man- 
Krthey  were  to  be  kept  in  a  state  of  idleness;  they 
qipctr  only  to  have  regarded  the  Mo^  aspect  of  the 
que^kML    We  presume,  the  only  reason  that  can 
be  giren,  for  females  working  in  the  factories,  is, 
that  they  have  not  of  themselves  the  means  of  sub- 
■fltence  witiiout  such  work,  and  that  the  men  are 
both  miable  and  unwilling  to  keep  them  in  idleness. 
AAcr  some  fiutiier  discnseion,  we  find  the  following 
rtttement  regarding  machinery,  which  we  consider 
to  be  highly  important^  as  coming  firom  those  who 
tbink  it  the  chief  cause  of  the  existing  distress : — 

The  QzpcxAnoN. — Hitherto,  Sir  Robert,  the  interests 
flfibe  oculists  hATe  been  attended  to  idmost  exclnsiye- 
I7;  iBd  the  eoDBeqnence  is,  that  the  introduction  of  self- 
ic^  ■eefainery,and  machinery  requiring  the  attendance 
vtwmm  and  children  only,*  together  with  intense  com- 
petitioB  between  onr  own  merchants,  has  thrown  Tast 
nabera  oal  ai  worl^  and  reduced  the  wages  of  those 
*bi»e  employed  to  the  barest  pittance  which  can  sup- 
porttxutaee.  This  etU  u  likdy  to  be  Ml  fiaiher  ag- 
gM*irf  *r  ^  mmeM€  increan  of  machinmy  abroad. 
m  policy  of  the  late  Government  had  been  to  allow 
arthihpald  be  fifcely  exported.  Of  late  years  machinery 
Ml  hteu  €xU%$ifdy  introduced  on  the  continent,  Belgium, 
KMy,  Prusia,  and  other  places  hare,  instead  of  taking 
•*  fB*fa,  soceeeded  in  their  primary  object— <i^  ^ 
^W  tknr  own  fiMrhet$:  im  tome  inttancet  they  haw 
^Jkrtk^,  and  now  compete  successfully  with  us  in  neu- 
*™  Mfirft;  and  in  some  articles  even  come  into  direct 
•^P^i^iw  via  us  in  our  own  markets.  Above  all, 
^fne*  if  a  rival  that  threatens  ultimately  to  destroy 
■e  of  the  staple  mannfActores  of  this  country— cotton. 
«« be  shown,  that,  in  consequence  of  the  American 
■*«»«rtnpcr  possessing  the  advantage  of  having  the  raw 
Weinl  almost  at  his  own  door,  he  is  enabled,  notwith- 
J^iding  ft  higher  price  of  labour,  inferior  machinery,  and 
^^eeoQoiiuQal  proeeases  of  management,  which  give  an 
*["*>«•  to  the  British  manufacturer  of  17  per  cent., 
tte  Anericin  is  yet  enabled,  with  his  water-power,  and 
C"^9  nw  material,  in  all  ftbrics  in  which  qqantity  la 
^>  natter  of  consideratiw  than  quality,  to  beat  ns 
atfceeadbyasmallpereeBtage.     How,  the  di^>arity 


JjjweM  be  supposed,  from  the  elamonr  made  about 
^PwpBg  vomen  and  children,  that  it  is  a  recent  in- 
2J^  But  what  is  the  fact  ?— **  We  have  conversed 
'^^^^  dd  persons,  who  remember  when  the  weavers, 
^Vwfcctors,  travelled  about  from  cottage  to  cottage 
^»**ar  pack-hoists,  to  collect  yarn  from  the  spinsters 
^2?  P*y™^  *  ™<>«t  exorbitant  price  for  it,  which  ab- 
"Jjf^j^pwfite  of  weaving.  Thin  was  the  commence- 
^  «  the  ejstem  of  infimt  labour,  which  was  at  its 
**«  flwyrffltert  height  before  anybody  thought  of  afac- 
■J^Spimdiig  was  so  profitable,  that  every  child  in  the 
2y  wiefewed  to  help  in  the  jwocess— picking  the 
»w3?^  the  yarn,  and  arranging  the  card-ends. 
"If^^fiither  was  a  weaver,  and  the  mother  a  spin- 
!7^J*™h  i»M  very  commonly  the  case — the  tasks  im- 
L^y  the  children  were  most  onerous.  One  of  my 
^^■^a  man  over  eighty  years  of  age,  declared  that 
B^E^'^  ^  ^  inftuioy  without  shuddering.'*— 
*^  *  ^Kvuiu^  Century. 


at  present  existing  between  us  as  respects  machinery,  cheajf 
labour,  and  superior  management,  must,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  be  continually  lessening,  and  a  closer  approxima- 
tion take  place.  The  population  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  by  natural  Increase,  aided  by  immigration,  will 
lower  the  cost  of  labour ;  improvements  vnll  be  daily  m- 
trodueed  in  the  machinery,  effecting  more  with  a  less 
expenditure  of  power ;  and  experience  will  improve  their 
modes  of  management,  until  at  length  they  will  be  on  a 
par  with  us  in  sJl  these  points ;  while  the  substantial  and 
permanent  drawback  of  having  to  send  to  America  for 
our  raw  material,  bring  it  home,  and  retransport  it  for 
sale  in  its  manufactured  state,  will  still  press  upon  us. 

Sm  Robert  Peel. — Well,  but  do  you  not  think  that| 
according  to  your  own  admissions,  the  arguments  against 
any  interference  which  might  aid  the  process  whi^  you 
have  so  clearly  and  strongly  described  as  now  going  on^ 
are  very  much  strengthened. 

The  Deputation. — Pardon  us.  Sir  Robert,  such  is  not 
the  case  according  to  the  light  in  which  we  view  the 
subject.  It  is  an  axiom  in  political  economy,  that  price 
is  dependent  upon  supply  and  demand.  If  an  article  is 
scarce  in  the  market,  however  small  the  deficiency  may 
be,  the  price  of  all  the  stock  in  the  market  is  raised.  In 
like  manner,  if  there  be  a  surplus,  however  small  thai 
surplus  may  be,  it  affects  not  merely  the  surplus,  but  the 
whole  of  the  commodity,  which  is  thereby  reduced  in 
price.  Now,  we  can  show,  by  statistical  facts  and  irre* 
fatable  documents,  that  since  the  year  1815,  there  has 
been  a  constant  introduction  of  self-acting  machinery,  or 
machinery  which  imposed  greater  labour  on  the  smaller 
number  of  adult  operatives  retained ;  thus  cheapening 
the  cost,  and  increasing  the  amount  of  production.  Ana 
what  hsie  been  the  consequence  I  Why,  exactly  in  pro- 
portioi^  as  this  has  taken  place,  the  profits  of  the  capitalist f 
and  the  wages  of  the  labourer,  have  regularly  decreased  ^ 
until  at  length,  in  1832,  we  received  no  more  money  for 
thr6e  times  the  amount  of  raw  material  manufkotured, 
than  we  received  in  1 8 1 5  for  the  one-third.  This  residt» 
in  onr  opinion,  is  clearly  traceable  to  the  unreguUued  use 
and  extensive  introduction  of  machinery,w]nch  has  either 
superseded  adult  labour  entirely,  or  replaced  it  by  the 
cheaper  labour  of  women  and  children.  What  is  now 
the  consequence  f  Throughout  the  manufacturing  districte 
the  mills  wre  nearly  closed.  The  capitalists  and  middle 
classes  are  in  difficulties — insolvent  or  bankrupt :  while 
the  operatives  are  in  a  state  of  destitution,  which  must 
make  every  heart  bleed,  and  which  arises  from  causes 
over  which  they  themselves  have  no  control.  Now,  if 
this  insane  course  had  been  checked — ^if  over-prodnctioa 
had  been  discouraged  by  wise  laws,  and  a  prudent  sys- 
tem of  trade  pursued,  wages  and  profits  would  have  been 
better,  and  employment  more  permanent  and  more  equal- 
ly diffused  over  the  year.  We  should  not  have  had 
flushes  of  prosperity,  succeeded  by  long  periods  of  de- 
pression; a  continual  recurrence  of  gluts  and  panics, 
each  crisis  following  the  other  at  shorter  intervals,  and 
finding  us  less  prepared  to  bear  it  than  its  predecessor. 
For  these  reasons,  Sir  Robert,  we  believe  that  the  dic- 
tates of  sound  political  vrisdom  coincide  with  the  dictates 
of  humanity,  morality,  and  religion,  in  calling  upon  us  to 
retrace  our  steps,  and  arrest  the  progress  of  a  system  Triiich 
is  spreading  disease,  disorganization,  and  diEaffiBction  in 
the  factory  districts. 

•  "Sir  Robert  Peel  directed  the  conversation  to 
the  broad  question  of  machinery y  which,  he  said,  was 
oi^e  of  the  greatest  consideration."  "W^e  do  not^ 
however,  find  that  the  Deputation  was  prepared  to 
take  up  the  "  broad  question,"  but,  on  the  contrary, 
shirked  the  subject ;  and  as  a  remedy  for  the  evils 
felt,  the  Deputation  had  only  to  suggest  the  pass- 
ing of  the  ten-hours'  factory  bill,  the  total  repeal  of 
the  new  poor  law,  and,  in  regard  to  machinery,  all 
they  had  to  propose,  was  the  appointment,  at  an 
early  period  of  ^e  session,  of  a  committee  of  expe- 
rienced, practical,  moderate  men  of  all  parties,  to 
inquire  into  the  causes  of  e:dsting  distress,  and 


TORY  REMEDIES  FOR  THE  NATIONAL  DISTRESS, 


especiallj  into  the  workings  of  machinery  at  home 
and  abroad  since  the  close  of  the  war  in  181 5,  with 
a  view  to  the  adoption  of  a  comprehensive  and 
efficient  remedy. 

After  the  Deputation  had  made  a  variety  of 
other  observations,  Sir  Robert  Peel  replied,  stating, 
after  some  preliminary  remarks — 

I  also  fear  that  an  eatention  of  our  manufitcturet  wiU 
not  afford  the  relief  dmred;  for  past  experience,  I  think, 
shows  that  such  an  extension  would  only  bring  into  play 
more  machinery,  and  not  employ  manual  labour  in  any- 
thing like  the  rate  of  the  increase  in  the  machine  de- 
partment. 

Those  who  flatter  themselves  with  obtaining  a 
relaxation  of  the  restrictive  system,  and  an  ap- 
proximation to  the  principles  of  free  trade,  from 
the  present  (government,  will  see,  from  the  preceding 
reply,  what  probability  there  is  of  having  their 
expectations  realized. 

The  Deputation  expressed  themselves  highly 
gratified  with  their  reception  by  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
but  they  were  by  no  means  so  well  pleased  with 
their  interview  with  Sir  James  Graham.  After 
stating  their  views  to  him,  he  asked  them,  if  they 
did  not  think  that  carrying  their  views  into  efiect 
would  very  much  aggravate  the  evils  and  distress 
they  complained  of.  The  Deputation,  of  course, 
said  they  thought  it  would  not ;  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  show,  at  considerable  length,  that  the 
destitute  condition  of  the  operatives  in  manufac- 
turing districts,  arose  from  the  neglect  of  the  very 
first  principles  of  political  economy — a  neglect 
which  led  to  an  over-supply,  a  supply  greatly 
beyond  the  substantial  demand  for  their  produc- 
tions. Since  1811  there  had  been  a  continual 
improvement  going  on  in  machinery,  by  which 
three  times  the  amount  of  goods  was  now  manu- 
factured with  less  adult  manual  labour  than  was 
required  in  the  previous  period  for  the  smaller 
quantity. 

Sir  J.  Gbaham,  in  reply,  urged  most  of  the  reasons 
adduced  by  the  free-trade  party.  He  dwelt  with  great 
emphasis  upon  the  possible  results  of  a  policy  which,  by 
pladng  our  manufitcturers  in  a  comparatively  worse 
position  than  the  manufacturers  of  the  Continent  and 
America,  might  ultimately  render  the  capital  of  the 
former  altogether  profitless,  and  thereby  induce  them  to 
close  their  mills  altogether. 

The  Deputation  proceeded  to  say,  that  according  to 
the  arguments  presented  in  favour  of  the  policy  of 
causing  the  operatives  to  be  dependent  on  a  foreign 
maricet  for  employment,  it  was  admitted  that  our  as- 
cendancy in  those  foreign  markets  could  only  be  kept  up 
by  a  continuous  cheapening  of  the  cost  of  production. 
How  was  that  to  be  effected !  It  could  not  be  done  by 
reducing  much  lower  the  wages  of  the  adult  operatives. 
That  class  of  labourers  were  as  near  the  bare  ^  subsist 
tence  level,"  when  in  full  employ,  as  it  was  possible  to 
place  them. 

Did  it  not  occur  to  the  Deputation,  that  by 
reducmg  the  expense  of  the  food  of  the  operatives 
to  the  continental  level,  and  thus  placing  the 
master  manufacturer  of  thb  country  in  an  equally 
favourable  position  with  his  continental  rival,  some 
good  might  accrue  ?  Although  their  meeting  with 
Sir  Robert  Peel  and  Sir  James  Graham  was  on 
the  same  day,  they  suggested  a  remedy  to  the 
latter,  besides  those  they  proposed  to  the  former 
— viz.,  home  colonization, — ^tlie  passing  of  "a 
general  waste-land  enclosure  bill,  which  should 


tnake  prtmsumfor  reoimabk  e(>mpen8aU(m  f^ 
interested  in  such  lands,'  and  the  raising  of  a  loan, 
to  settle  down  the  unemployed  operatives  on  them. 
Where  the  money  for  these  purposes  is  to  come 
from,  is  not  pointed  out ;  nor  do  we  think  that 
weavers,  tailors,  and  printers,  are  persons  wdl 
fitted  for  the  laborious  task  of  bringing  our  moors 
and  bogs  into  cultivation.  The  Spitalfields  sUk 
weavers  at  least,  we  suspect,  are  not,  by  any  means, 
converts  to  the  home-colonization  system ;  for  at 
a  meeting  lately  held,  complaints  were  made  of  the 
hardships  the  weavers  were  exposed  to,  if  they  ap- 
plied to  the  parish,  by  being  put  to  stone-breakiiig 
— ^not  certainly  so  severe  an  employment  as  digging 
unreclaimed  ground  foi*  the  first  time, — and  it  was 
resolved,  that  ^'This  meeting,  from  the  various 
accounts  given  by  the  several  victims  of  stcne- 
hreakingy  are  disgusted  with  the  practice;  and, 
further,  are  of  opinion,  that  it  is  unoomHitutioMl 
€md  unchristian''  The  home-colonizatioii  scheme 
may  be  very  well  to  talk  about^  but  is  not  likely 
to  become  popular  with  manufacturing  operatives ; 
nor  is  there  any  chance  that  the  settling  of  unem- 
ployed weavers  on  their  estates,  will  ever  be  looked 
on  with  a  favourable  eye  by  the  landowners. 
They  have  a  great  dislike  at  having  their  privacy 
intruded  on,  and  have  especial  fear  of  trespassers, 
poachers,  and  poor  rat^  It  would  be  no  easy 
matter  to  raise  the  many  millions  they  would  con- 
sider a  compensation  for  the  land  that  would  be 
required  to  make  a  fair  trial  of  such  a  scheme— a 
scheme  which  bids  fair  to  reduce  our  operatives  to 
the  condition  of  the  Irish  cottars. 

The  Deputation  waited  on  several  of  the  other 
Ministers :  but  nothing  occurred  worth  noting,  ex- 
cept that  Lord  Stanley  was  as  intractable  as  Sir 
James  Graham,  and  was  decidedly  opposed  to  any 
committee  of  inquiry,  saying,  that  committees  and 
commissioners  had  become  a  byword,  and  ridicul- 
ing their  proceedings  and  the  concoction  of  a  ^Blue 
Book."  Though  the  report  of  the  Deputation  occu- 
pies six  of  the  large  and  closely  printed  columns  of 
The  Northern  StaVy  the  only  allusion  we  find  in 
it  to  the  Com  Laws  is  the  following  : — 

The  extent  to  which  a  repeal  of  the  Ck>m  Laws  would 
operate  in  relieving  the  labour  market  from  its  present 
depression,  was  also  fhlly  discussed  with  his  Lorddiip 
(Stanley,)  and  the  inutility  of  that  measure  was  exposed 
by  the  Deputation ;  while  at  the  same  time,  they  asserted 
its  abstract  justice  and  propriety. 

No  doubt  it  was  very  easy  to  convince  Lord 
Stanley  of  the  "  inutility"  of  free  trade ;  but  per- 
haps the  Deputation  might,  without  impropriety, 
have  favoured  the  public  with  a  few  of  their 
reasons  for  thinking  that  the  inmiediate  repeal  of 
the  Corn-Laws  would  be  of  no  utility  to  the  work- 
ing-classes. 

After  the  very  satisfactory  reasons  stated  by  the 
Deputation  itself,  as  well  as  by  Sir  Robert  Peel,  it 
is  hardly  necessary  for  us  to  say  a  word  to  ex- 
pose the  futility  of  the  schemes  proposed.  As  to 
home  colonization,  it  must  require  years  to  cany 
it  to  such  an  extent  as  to  produce  any  appreciable 
efiect ;  and  the  removal  of  women  and  children 
from  factories  would,  at  the  outset,  unquestionably 
— whatever  it  might  do  afterwards — aggravate  the 
distress.    As  to  the  complaint  about  machinery. 


TORY  REMEDIES  FOR  THE  NATIONAL  DISTRESS. 


83 


«e  ahoiild  Uke  to  know  what  is  meant  by  ^  rega- 
latingmadimery.''  Ifyasthronghoat  the  conference 
aptpean  to  have  been  again  and  again  asserted, 
the  wages  of  the  operatives  have  uniformly  de- 
cfeised  with  the  increase  and  improvement  of 
inafttiinfffy,andthatitisthe  great  cause  of  the  present 
dktnn,  not  onlvy  as  is  maintained,  by  degrading 
aod  fUrring  the  workman,  bnt  by  mining  the 
master,  it  ought  not  to  be  ^r^^nlated,"  bnt  de- 
tttojrd ;  and  a  h&w  should  be  passed  for  the  destruc- 
tion  of  all  machinery  of  a  greater  amount,  or  of  a 
raperior  oonstniction  to  that  used  in  1815.  Not 
only  oogfat  all  manufacturing  machinery,  but  all 
the  thraahing-machines  erected  in  England — all 
gmUiera,  horse  rakes,  and  other  agricvdtural  im- 
pkmentaintroduced  since  that  date,  to  be  destroyed ; 
tnd  it  ahoald  be  rendered  a  capital  offence  to  con- 
struct  or  use  any  improved  machine,,  engine,  or 
im[4eBMEnt ;  or  to  make  any  improvement  on  such 
mafihiiieB  or  implements  for  the  fature.  How  far 
this  desAmction  would  extend,  we  do  not  know. 
Bot  why  stop  at  the  year  1815  ?  Why  not  destroy 
the  machinery  in  use  at  that  date  ?  Why  not 
*"  regulate  "  the  hand-loom  ?  Coarse  and  simple  as 
it  i%  they  have  a  coarser  and  ruder  one  in  India, 
wbich  has  the  great  desideratum  now  searched  for, 
lix^  with  double  the  quantity  of  human  labour,  it 
only  produces  one-half  of  tiie  cloth  produced  by 
our  own.  Why  allow  thread  of  any  sort  to  be 
|T«hioed  by  any  means  but  the  common  spinning- 
wiieel,  which  again  will  require  "  regulation,"  since 
itwie  an  ^^improvement"  on  the  distaff,  which,  in  its 
tern,  must  be  regulated,  as  it  was  an  improvement 
eii  a  stick  stuck  through  a  potatoe,  with  which 
^  have  seen  xery  good  worsted  span,  as  the  spin- 
ner joomeyed  through  the  fields,  collecting  fron^the 
Iwfaes  the  wool  which  had  accidentally  fallen,  or 
ksdbeen  torn  from  the  sheep's  backs  ?  What  is 
the  use  of  ploughs  and  harrows  ?  The  ground  may 
he  as  wen  cultivated,  and  with  double  the  expendi- 
tne  of  human  labour,  with  spades  and  rakes.  So 
^bere  are  we  to  stop  in  **  regulating  ?"  Evidently 
Bowfane,  till  we  have  reduced  man  to  the  state 
«f  the  birds  and  beasts,  and  forced  him  to  per- 
fenn  every  operation  with  hb  bare  fingers — ^the 
oily  machinery  which  nature  has  judged  it  proper 
to  bestow^  on  him.  So  much  for  the  absurdity  of 
thesdieme. 

Kow  to  the  practical  result*  And  as  the  Depu- 
tatiaii  did  not  explain  how  far  they  meant  to  '^  regu- 
late "  machinery,  we  shall  take  up  a  position  they 
cannot  object  to.  We  shall  merely  assume  that 
they  thmk  aUfitrther  improvement  should  be  stopped. 
In  thia  event,  we  should  soon  be  outstripped  by 
foreign  nations,  for  we  have  no  means  of  ^'  regu- 
lating'* Aeir  machinery ;  and  their  governments  are 
aot  likely  to  be  so  foolish  as  to  adopt  our  example 
ia  lesttaining  the  use  of  machinery.  At  present, 
we  have,  in  various  branches  of  trade,  the  utmost 
^fficohy  in  meeting  foreigners  in  our  own  market. 
Maay  artieks  of  cotton  manufacture  are  now  im- 
pefted  from  the  continent,  and,  after  paying  a  high 
duc^,  soM  at  a  cheaper  rate  than  our  own.  Two- 
thirda  of  what  are  called  Paisley  shawls  worn  in 
this  eountty  are  of  foreign  manufacture ;  and  our 
\  iiwliuft  merchants,  instead  of  now  purchasing 


them  at  Paisley,  procure  them  from  the  continent 
for  the  American  markets.  To  hint  at  the  impro- 
priety of  preventing  machines  being  exported  is 
ridiculous.  It  was  not  till  all  attempts  to  effect  this 
object  were  fouiid  futile,  that  the  law  was  relaxed ; 
and  there  is  no  more  real  difficulty  at  this  moment 
in  exporting  prohibited  than  in  exporting  any 
other  machinery.  It  is  only  necessary  to  ship  the 
different  parts  from  different  ports.  If,  then,  our 
manufacturers,  with  better  machinery  than  foreign- 
ers, have  the  utmost  difficulty  in  keeping  pace  with 
them,  what  chance  would  there  be  if  the  foxeigner 
was  possessed  of  the  superior  machinery,  and  our 
manufacturers  of  the  inferior  ?  Is  there  any  pro- 
bability, if  that  were  the  case,  that  more  opera- 
tives would  be  employed  by  our  manufacturers? 
Is  it  not  certain  that  much  fewer  would  be  em- 
ployed ?  And  can  it  be  doubted,  that  on  the  first 
hint  of  a  proposal  by  Government  to  restrict,  or  in 
any  way  interfere  with  the  use  of  machinery,  a 
great  number  of  our  leading  manufacturers  would 
transfer  their  capital  to  countries  where  they  were 
allowed  to  use  it  at  freedom  ?  They  would  then 
manufacture,  not  only  for  the  supply  of  foreign 
markets,  but  employ  foreigners  in  supplying  the 
home  markets.  The  extension  of  commmerce  is 
treated  by  some  Socialists  as  an  evil.  Are  they  pre- 
pared to  dispense  with  the  foreign  market?  Are 
they  aware  that  more  than  one-half  of  the  cot- 
ton twist  and  cotton  manufactures  of  this  coun- 
try— to  the  extent  of  twenty  millions  annually 
— is  exported.  What  would  be  the  effect  in 
Lancashire  and  Lanarkshire  were  this  market 
closed? 

The  present  opponents  of  machinery  appear  to 
limit  their  hostility  to  the  improvements  of  the 
last  thirty  years.  But  they  cannot  fail  to  be 
aware  that  formerimproved  machinery  was  equally 
the  object  of  hostility  to  the  ignorant.  Hargreaves 
was  one  of  the  greatest  improvers  of  the  cotton 
manufacture.  He  invented  his  "  Spinning  Jenny" 
in  1767,  and  it  occasioned  great  alarm  among  those 
who  earned  their  subsistence  by  the  old  mode  of 
spinning,  and  even  produced  popular  commotions. 
A  mob  broke  into  his  house,  and  destroyed  the 
machine  ;  and  sometime  after,  when  a  better 
knowledge  of  the  advantage  of  his  invention  had 
begun  to  bring  his  Spinning  Jenny  into  general 
use,  the  people  rose  a  second  time,  and  scouring 
the  country,  broke  to  pieces  every  spinning  and 
carding  machine  they  could  find.  Is  it  proposed 
to  have  another  crusade  of  this  sort  against  ma- 
chinery ?  A  complaint  is  made  that  a  man  now 
produces  three  times  the  quantity  of  goods  that 
he  did  formerly,  without  any  increase  of  wages ; 
from  which  it  is  left  to  be  inferred,  that  he  is  three 
times  more  hardly  wrought ;  but  the  truth  is,  that 
the  production  of  additional  quantities  of  goods  is 
entirely  owing  to  the  larger  capital  now  invested  in 
roanufactui'es,  the  more  expensive  machinery  em- 
ployed, and  the  great  improvements  which  have 
taken  place  in  its  construction.  Before  1767,  in  the 
cotton  manufacture,  each  spindle  required  a  man 
to  work  it ;  now  one  man,  with  the  aid  of  a  few  chil- 
dren as  piecers  to  take  up  and  join  his  broken  ends, 
can  work  a  thousand  spindles.    A  million  and  a 


84 


TORY  REMEDIES  FOR  THE  NATIONAL  DISTRESS- 


half  of  people  are  employed  in  the  cotton  manu- 
facture of  this  country.  Is  it  possible  to  imagine 
that  had  it  not  been  for  the  inyentions  of  Har- 
greares,  Arkwright^  Crompton,  and  others,  and  the 
application  of  steam  power  to  the  various  processes 
of  carding,  spinning,  and  weaving,  one-third  of  the 
above  number  of  persons  could  ever  have  been  so 
employed  ?  Under  this  system  of  machinery  not 
only  have  the  masters  refdized  large  fortunes,  but 
common  operatives  have  become  the  greatest  ma- 
nufacturers of  the  kingdom.  In  illustration  of  this 
fact)  we  take  the  following  quotation  from  a 
Chartist  newspaper,  which  deprecates  machinery 
and  the  extension  of  commerce.  In  addressing 
the  master  manufacturers,  the  writer  exclaims — 

You  know,  too,  that  ve  know  how  rnoti  of  tou  then 
were.  You  know  that  we  know  that  Benny  (Jott  sat 
upon  a  stool  in  the  counting-house,  as  a  hired  book-keeper. 
You  know  that  we  know  that  John  Marshall  was  a 
journeyman  flax-heckler.  You  know  that  we  know  that 
Tom  Starkey  and  Job  Sta&key  were  journeymen  crop- 
pers. You  know  that  we  know  that  John  left  the 
shear-board  in  his  clogs  to  go  get  wed.  You  know  that 
we  know  the  particulars  of  most  of  yon  ;  and  that  we 
know  the  particulars  relating  to  ourselves.  And  you 
ahM)  know  that  we  know,  that  whiU  you  hate  become  m- 
men$dy  rxoh,  we  hare  become  deplorably  poor. 

Ought  a  system  that  has  made  *'  hired  book- 
keepers," **  journeymen  flax-dressers,"  and  "  crop- 
pers," among  the  most  opulent  of  the  land  to  be 
lightly  interfered  with?  These  men  did  not  live 
before  the  introduction  of  machinery  into  their 
respective  trades.  If  they  had,  they  would  never 
have  risen  to  their  present  station ;  but  they  lived 
and  laid  the  foundation  of  their  fortunes  before  the 
Com  Laws  restricted  the  importation  of  food,  and 
raised  up  rirab  to  them  in  every  part  of  the 
world.  Hargreaves  and  Arkwright  were  in  their 
graves  before  the  Gotts  and  Marshalls  were 
bom.  It  is  indeed  a  remarkable  fact,  that  the 
year  in  which  the  Com  Laws  were  made  operative 
is  the  date  at  which  the  operatives  are  said  to  have 
begun  to  receive  less  wages. 

Another  objection  to  machinery  is,  that  it  creates 
an  over  supply.  Are  the*  people  of  this  country 
over  supplied  with  clothing  ?  Are  the  thousands 
in  every  city,  the  hundreds  in  every  town  and  vil- 
lage who  have  nothing  for  a  bed  but  a  few  shav- 
ings or  straw,  over  supplied  with  bedding?  Cer- 
tainly not.  And  why  are  they  so  destitute  ?  Be- 
cause it  takes  every  shilling  of  their  earnings  to 
purchase  food.  We  showed  incontrovertibly  in 
last  number,  that  the  price  of  grain  consumed 
by  man  alone  in  this  country  in  1840,  was  twenty 
millions  more  than  the  same  quantity  cost  in  1835 ; 
and  it  is  too  clear  to  require  argument,  that  these 
twenty  millions  must  have  been  vdthdrawn  from 
the  purchase  of  clothing ;  for  in  what  can  a  labour- 
ing man  retrench  except  in  clothing,  miserable  as 
it  often  is.  He  must  have  a  house  to  protect  him 
from  the  weather,  food  of  some  sort  or  other,  a  fire 
to  warm  him  and  cook  his  victuals^  whatever  be 


the  price  of  food  ;  and  in  all  cases  of  men  who 
with  their  families  do  not  earn  more  than  20s.  or 
26s.  a-week,  four-fifths  or  five-sixths  of  their  wages 
are  expended  on  food  alone.  Take  the  case  of  a 
man  and  his  wife  with  two  children,  and  give  th^n 
merely  the  jail  allowance  of  food  to  criminals— 
that  is  oatmeal,  coarse  bread  and  broth ;  no  but- 
cher meat,  no  tea  or  sugar,  no  tobacco,  no  malt 
liquor  or  spirits;  and  it  will  be  found  that  it 
will  require  l7s.  4d.  a-week  for  food  alone.  Yet 
this  allowance  is  felt  to  be  too  small  even  by 
men  confined  in  jaU.  In  1836,  the  same  quan- 
tity of  food  could  be  got  for  lOs.,  so  that  the 
family  could  expend  6s.  4d.  that  year  weekly  oa 
clothing,  as  easily  as  they  can  expend  Is.  now. 

But  why  is  there  an  over  supply  ?  Simply,  be- 
cause our  Crovemment  will  not  allow  our  manu- 
facturers to  take  from  foreigners  the  only  thing 
they  can  or  will  give— grain  and  animal  food.  Re- 
move the  Provision  Laws,  and  though  nuK^hines 
were  tenfold  increased  in  number,  and  improyed  in 
efficiency,  and  three  times  the  number  of  operatives 
employed,  there  would  be  found  to  be  no  over  sup- 
ply of  clothing,  no  more  than  there  would  be  found 
to  be  an  over  supply  of  food  in  this  country.  It 
is  indeed  curious  diat  we  never  hear  complaints  of 
an  over  supply  of  food.  We  never  heard  of  our 
farmers— gmmblers  as  they  are  professionally- 
complaining  that  the  harvest  was  too  abundant,  or 
that  their  cattle  were  getting  too  fat.  In  fact,  it 
can  be  shown,  that  the  more  abundant  the  crop, 
thebetter  for  the  farmer ;  and  a  remarkable  instance 
occurred  within  these  few  years.  In  1836,  the 
wheat  sold,  in  the  one  hundi^  and  fifty  manufac- 
turing towns  where  the  average  is  struck,  was 
4,393,000  quarters.  The  average  of  the  two  pre- 
ceding years  was  only  3,847,000  quarters  :  slew- 
ing an  increase  of  14  per  cent,  in  quantity ;  while 
the  annual  average  price  was  5s.  9d.  a  quarter 
above  the  average  of  1834, 1835.  Thus  the  fanner, 
who  sold  in  these  one  hundred  and  fifty  towns» 
drew  about  ^125,000  more  for  their  wheat  crop 
alone,  in  the  year  1836,  than  on  the  average  of 
each  of  the  preceding  two  years :  yet  more  foreign 
wheat  was  entered  for  home  consumption  in  1836, 
than  in  1835.*  More  cotton  wool  was  consumed  in 
1836  than  in  the  preceding  years;  and  thousands  of 
additional  hands  were  employed  in  our  manufactures: 
yet  there  was  no  over  supply — ^no  glut.  Wages  were 
not  only  higher,  but  employment  was  more  con- 
stant than  in  dear  years.  With  high  prices  of 
provisions,  there  will  always  be  over  supj^es  of 
clothing :  but  there  is  not  the  least  probability  of 
an  over  supply,  were  free  trade  established,  and  the 
markets  of  the  world  thrown  open  without  restric- 
tion to  British  enterprise.  We  should  then  cease 
to  fear  improvements  in  machinery.  The  only  dan- 
ger would  then  be,  if  it  improved  more  n^idly  in 
other  countries  than  among  ourselves. 

*  «  Facts  and  Figures,"— pp.  4,22. 


85 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 

A  TALE. — PROM  THE  GERMAN. 


f^iz>EiacK  William  the  First,  the  second  in 
succesion  of  the  Prussian  monarchs,  had  quitted 
Potsdam  to  risit  Magdebuig,  and  inspect  the  walls 
and  fbitificstioiiSy  then  newly  constructed  by  his 
cmnmaDd.  On  the  day  following  his  arrival,  the 
king  was  to  go  on  horseback,  accompanied  by  a 
miiDenms  and  brilliant  staff,  in  solemn  procession, 
from  the  new  town  to  the  old,  traversing  the  whole 
length  of  the  city  to  the  castle,  or  Prince's  house  as 
it  WIS  called.  Early  in  the  morning  the  whole  city 
V18  in  motion  ;  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor,  all 
who  could  and  who  could  not  leave  their  shops, 
nmnting-housesy  work-shops,  kitchens,  and  cellars 
were  in  the  streets  on  that  occasion ;  for  to  see  a 
king,  and  their  own  king,  with  their  own  eyes,  was 
then  no  small  matter  in  the  opinion  of  the  Magde- 
bargew.  Great  was  the  honour  and  glory  accruing 
to  tU  parties  concerned ;  but  those  who,  besides  seeing, 
codd  rdate  some  circumstance  relative  to  this  great 
evmt— suchaSyto  wfaLomhismajestyhad  spoken;how 
he  bad  put  his  hand  to  his  hat  when  he  condescended 
to  acknowledge  a  greeting ;  and  how  he  had  cleared 
his  royal  month  of  its  superfluous  moisture ;  felt 
tKemaelves  an  incht  taller  for  a  year  and  a  day 
afterwards.  A  kin^  went  for  something  in  those 
4tb  ;  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  controller  of  eternal 
ii^my,  a  national  godhead  in  a  human  form.  No 
one  at  that  time  presumed  to  doubt  the  divinity  of 
a  crowned  head ;  ex.cept,  perhaps,  the  chamberlains, 
pife^  body-gnardsy  court  physicians,  &c.  who  might 
txmt  in  direct  contact  with  such  potentialities. 

Afl  brooks  and  smaller  rivers  contribute  their 
«aten  to  swell  the  waves  of  a  mightier  stream,  so 
^i  the  courts  and  alleys  of  Magdeburg  pour  forth 
tiEieir  population  to  increase  the  living  mass  in  the 
^naeipal  street  o^  the  city.  This  street  (the 
Broadway)  of  nne^jual  width,  and  very  irregular 
othitecture,  extended  its  two  rows  of  buildings  of 
lU  ana,  ages,  shapes,  and  degrees,  above  a  mile  in 
fcngtii,  from  one  g^te  to  the  other.  The  windows 
ia  every  storey  of  every  house  were  crowded  with 
^•ctators  looking  down  upon  the  throng  below, 
lad  affording  occasion  in  their  turn  for  gaping  ad- 
omatkni,  or  sly  remark.  On  one  side,  where  the 
^Tqwd  had  ranged  themselves,  heads  over  heads  as 
IB  an  amphitheatre,  upon  the  blocks  of  stone  scaf- 
Uifiag,  and  sloping  roofs  of  the  masons'  sheds  he- 
fere  the  church  of  St.  Katherine,  the  stir  and  bustle 
tabled  that  of  any  other  part.  A  considerable 
■vmber  of  schoolboys  had  8<»led  the  highest  points, 
«wi  were  amnsing  themselves  after  their  customary 
^toshion,  in  watching  their  opportunity  to  push 
«ch  other,  when  they  thought  themselves  securest, 
■poo  the  heads  of  the  multitude  below ;  or  sliding 
■hojether  down  the  slippery  planks  that  covered 
the  seats  of  the  stone  masons,  till  they  lighted  on 
the  ground  a  living  avalanche,  with  more  noise  and 
Bttk  lea  danger  to  the  bystanders. 

**  A  tibonaand  devils,"   cried  a  rough  voice  from 
the  crowd,  and  accompanied  the  outcry  with  a 

».  XCVIU^ — VOL.  IX. 


flourish  of  a  formidable  knotted  stick,  that  served* 
the  owner,  an  invalided  soldier,  as  an  auxiliary  to 
his  wooden  leg,  ^  The  imps  of  satan  will  bring 
down  the  two  black  towers  upon  our  heads !  Be 
quiet  there,  you  young  vagabonds !  or  I'll  cut  you 
to  pieces!" 

Tlie  boys  stretched  their  necks  over  the  edge  of 
the  precipice,  and  gazed,  with  their  usual  noble 
thirst  for  information,  without  heeding  the  loose 
stones  they  sent  rattling  down  upon  the  heads  of 
those  below,  into  the  abyss  beneath,  whence  issued 
the  aforesaid  gentle  warning.  Some  of  them  were 
well  inclined  to  renew  their  diversion  at  the  expense 
of  the  volunteer  peace-keeper;  but  the  greater  part 
lost  all  fancy  of  the  kind  at  the  first  glance  of  a 
countenance  that  resembled  an  old  grizzled  bear's. 
There  was  a  head  stuck  between  a  pair  of  herculean 
shoulders,  that  might  have  frightened  their  fathers, 
much  more  themselves ;  a  hard,  bony,  swarthy  face, 
decorated  with  a  mighty  hooked  nose ;  an  enormous 
grizzled  beard  and  mustaches;  and  two  black  eyes 
that  kindled  like  live  coals,  from  under  shaggy 
pendant  brows,  that  might  have  afibrded  hair 
enough  for  the  chin  ornament  of  any  moderate 
man. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Crabb?"  said  a  richly  clad, 
long-legged  old  gentleman,  who,  standing  a  yard 
higher  than  the  surrounding  crowd,  like  a  stately 
pine  among  the  underwood,  reached  over  their 
heads  to  tap  the  invalid  on  the  shoulder.  "  Leave 
the  children  alone :  the  more  you  scold,  the  better 
fun  they  will  think  it."  The  old  soldier  took  oflF 
his  cap  respectfully  to  the  speaker,  but  swore  by 
thunder,  hail,  and  lightning,  that  if  he  caught 
them  he  would  soon  drive  the  fun  out  of  them,  and 
that  nothing  was  like  to  be  half  so  serviceable  to 
the  whelps  as  a  sound  drubbing.  ^'Boys  must 
be  kept  in  order,  Mr.  Wilmson,"  said  the  sol- 
dier, shaking  his  cudgel  significantly.  "The  chil- 
dren of  Beelzebub !  They  would  make  little  of 
kicking  up  the  same  row  in  the  presence  of  his 
royal  majesty  himself,"  added  he,  turning  up  his 
formidable  visage,  with  a  look  of  menace,  towards 
the  juvenile  mob,  congregated  above  his  head; 
whereupon  they  all  drew  back  with  a  loud  yell,  as 
much  in  mockery  as  in  fear,  and  down  came  a  fresh 
shower  of  stones  and  dirt. 

"Still,  still!  quiet  there!  hatsoff^!"  cried  a  num- 
ber of  voices  from  the  foremost  of  the  crowd.  "  The 
king  is  coming :  will  you  put  the  city  of  Magdeburg 
to  shame  before  his  majesty?" 

Old  Crabb,  to  whom  a  king  was  a  deity  upon 
earth,  and  something  more,  took  off  his  cap  with 
greater  reverence  than  if  he  had  been  entering  a 
church,  and  passed  forwards,  followed  by  Mr. 
Wilmson.    There  wm  a  dead  silence. 

"  See,  Mr.  Wilmson !  grand,  glorious !  Thunder 
and  lightning !  this  is  an  honour  not  to  be  had 
every  day  I  That's  the  king,  the  foremost  one  with 
the  star  on  his  blue  coat,  and  the  cane.    Doesn't 

I 


86 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


he  know  how  to  nse  it  ?  the  hest  corporal  in  the 
service  does  not  handle  such  a  stick.  I  remember 
once  at  Wollin " 

^'  And  who  is  the  old  general  riding  by  him,  but 
a  little  behind?  do  you  know  him?"  asked  Mr. 
Wilmson. 

'*  Know  him,  in  the  name  of  the  three  devils !  I 
believe  I  do ;  my  shoulders  will  not  forget  him  to 
the  day  of  judgment.  I  had  not  been  six  weeks  in 
the  regiment  before  I  felt  the  flat  of  his  sabre  across 
my  back,  because  my  tail  was  not  the  regulation 
length.  That's  old  Dessau,  he  is  as  true  as  steel, 
and  as  hard  as  a  flint.  You  should  have  seen  him 
in  the  year  '4  at  Hdchstadt,  when  we  took  Mar- 
shal Tcdlard  prisoner,  and  gave  the  French  a  drub- 
bing !  Whew  I — ^how  the  grenades  flew  about  our 
heads !  At  first  we  did  not  like  it  so  well,  but  the 
old  boy  ordered  them  to  play  up  Dessau  s  march, 
and  away  we  went  in  the  thick  of  the  fiery  rain. 
Holla  I  be  quiet  there — ^here  they  come ! " 

There  was  a  profound  silence.  The  king  rode 
slowly  onwards  in  conversation  with  his  renowned 
General,  Field-marshal  Prince  Leopold  of  Dessau, 
and  followed  by  a  numerous  suite  of  officers.  Just 
as  he  passed  ^e  group  of  which  Crabb  and  Mr. 
Wilmson  stood  among  the  foremost,  the  king  rein- 
ed in  his  horse  a  moment,  threw  a  sharp  ghmce  at 
the  lengthy  merchant,  and  then  turning,  said 
something  to  the  Prince  of  Dessau.  The  prince 
stopped  till  the  commandant  of  Magdeburg  rode 
up ;  they  spoke  together  a  few  minutes,  still  look- 
ing at  Mr.  Wilmson,  and  then  followed  the  king. 

"  Crabb,"  said  Mr.  Wihnson,  "  I  will  bet  ten  to 
one  the  king  recollects  you,  and  your  wooden  leg, 
and  BO  does  old  Dessau :  they  were  certainly  speak- 
ing of  you.  There  is  some  good  fortune  in  store 
for  you,  perhaps." 

^  Hang  me  if  I  was  not  just  thinking  so ;  I 
hardly  Imow  whether  I  stand  on  my  head  or  my 
heels ;  and  yet  I  could  almost  take  my  oath  it  was 
jroM  they  were  talking  about,  Mr.  Wilmson,  instead 
of  poor  old  Crabb.  But  Dessau  must  know  me  too ! 
for  it  was  I  who  struck  down  the  Bavarian  officer 
who  had  seized  our  colours  at  Hochstadt,  and  gave 
them  to  the  Prince.  He  snatched  them  out  of  my 
hand  as  soon  as  he  had  got  fast  hold ;  hang  me  if 
he  did  not.    Mr.  Wilmson,  I  say " 

Here  the  veteran  discovered  that  Mr.  Wilmson 
had  been  forced  forwards  by  the  throng  that  fol- 
lowed the  royal  procession,  and  that  he  was  telling 
his  story  to  people  he  had  never  teen  in  his  life  be- 
fore. Crabb  looked  for  his  man  on  all  sides :  he  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  With  a  hearty  imprecation, 
he  turned  about,  and  was  making  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  when  his  arm  was  seized  by  a  tall  hand- 
some young  man,  who  seemed,  like  himself,  to  be 
in  search  of  some  one. 

"Thunder and  lightning!  Fritz, is  it  your  cried 
the  old  man.  "  Did  you  see  the  king  ?  you  should 
have  been  with  your  father  and  me ;  I  have  such 
a  story  to  tell  you." 

"  Not  now,  I  have  not  time,  Crabb,"  said  young 
Wilmson  liastily.  "  Did  you  see  a  young  lady  in 
mourning  hereabouts,  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"My  boy,"  responded  Dessau's  old  trooper, 
curling  his  nose  and  his  mustaches,  "  when  one  | 


can  have  a  look  at  the  king  and  old  Dessau, 
mourning  young  ladies  may  go  to  Jericho  for  me. 
Harkye,  Fritz,  my  boy,  I  have  got  something  to  tell 
you  better  worth  listening  to.  Your  father  and  I 
can't  make  out  whether  his  majesty  the  king  spoke 
to  Prince  Dessau  about  him  or  me.  Upon  my  soul 
and  body  I  think  they  were  talking  of  me !  The 
king  must  have  noticed  my  uniform  and  my  wooden 
leg ;  and  old  Dessau  can't  have  forgotten  where  I 
lost  my  own  good  stump.  Fritz,  I  had  two  legs 
as  well  shaped  as  yours !    and  so — ^why,  Fritz,  I 

say **    But  the  young  man  had  disappeared^ 

and  the  bystanders  were  laughing  to  hear  the  old 
man  gesticulating,  and  talking  so  loudly  to  him- 
self. 


In  the  meantime,  young  Wilmson  was  renewing 
his  search  after  the  unknown  beauty.     While 
awaiting  the  king's  appearance,  his  attention  had 
been  suddenly  captivated  by  a  slender  graceful 
figure,  clothed  in  the  deepest  mourning,  with  a 
large  black  veil  thrown  back  over  her  head,  dis- 
playing a  brow  of  snow,  half-covered  with  black 
crape,  cut  into  a  point  coming  down  between  the 
eyebrows,  according  to  the  fashion  of  mourning  at 
that  time.    Young  Wilmson  made  way  for  her  to 
stand  before  him  ;  the  young  lady  turned  her  head, 
looked  at  him  a  moment  with  a  pair  of  clear  blue 
expressive  eyes,  and  smiled  gently  in  acknowledg- 
ment.   Wilmson  could  have  seen  perfectly  well 
over  her  head,  if  he  had  not  preferred  admiring  the 
head  itself,  with  its  profusion  of  rich  hair,  clustering 
like  fine-spun  gold,  under  the  sable  folds  of  crape. 
A  few  longer  curls  clung  caressingly  round  the 
dazzlingly  white  and  beautifully  rounded  throat, 
whose  beauty    would    have   riveted   the    whole 
attention,  but  for  the  graceful  symmetry  of  tlie 
shoulders,  and  exquisitely  turned  waist,  whicli 
Wilmson  was  persuaded  he  could  have  spanned,  if 
he  had  dared.    So  entirely  was  the  young  man. 
absorbed  in  this  interesting  study,  that  although 
at  the  cry  of  "hats  off!"  his  hand  moved  mecha- 
nically to  his  head,  he  would  have  been  exceedingly- 
puzzled  to  say  why  ;  and  when  the  fair  stranger 
again  turned,  and  courteously  inquired  if  he  had 
had  a  good  view,    he  hesitated,  coloured,  half 
inclined  to  think  die  was  laughing  at  him.    The 
general  movement  recalling  to  his  mind  where  he 
was,  and  that  the  beauty  probably  referred  to  ihe 
royal  procession,  and  not  to  her  own  fair  person, 
Wilmson  contrived  to  stammer  forth  a  suitable 
reply.    The  lady  bowed,  and  endeavoured  to  move 
forwards ;  but  as  she  was  visibly  incommoded  hy 
the  crowd  that  still  pressed  on  ail.  sides,  Wilmaon 
was  under  the  necessity  of  offering  his  arm,  an.<i 
the  lady  of  accepting  it ;  and  thus  they  moye<l 
slowly  through  ^e  throng — ^the  youth  in  silen.^ 
rapture  by  the  side  of  the  fair  girl,  and  feeling  &s 
if  the  whole  festival  had  been  prepared  in  honoia.iK' 
of  him. 

"  I  live  so  far  from  here,  by  the  Sudenburg  gate,** 
said  the  young  stranger,  stopping,  when  they  ha^l 
cleared  the  crowd,  "I  will  not  trouble  you  any 
further."  "Do  not  speak  of  it ;  I  am  amply 
rewarded,"  repHed  Wilmson  ; — ^  but  your  wiiX 
shall  be  respected.    I  wiU  leave  you  when  my 


B£  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


«7 


aAtmdanee  is  no  longer  necessaiy.  I  must  learn 
self-denial ;  no  one  can  expect  to  be  happy  always 
— eren  you  are  not," 

"No,  certainly  not,"  said  she,  in  a  low  tone. 
Then,  ifter  a  pause,  she  added,  turning  towards 
him,  with  the  gentle  smile  that  always  lighted  up 
ber  sweet  face  as  she  spoke — ^  I  haye  not  the 
hoooor  of  knowing  you.  How  haye  you  learned 
m  much  of  me,  and  that  I  am  not  happy  ?" 

"I  sfaonld  haye  guessed  it  by  your  dress,"  said 
Wifanson. 

"Oh,  I  am  in  mourning  for  my  mother — ^fbr  my 
dear  mother !"  said  she,  in  a  tremulous  yoioe.  **  I 
hc/pt  that  is  a  grief  you  haye  not  known." 

^'Kor  ever  shalL  I  lost  my  mother  before  I 
eodd  know  her ;  but  my  father  is  so  much  the 
dearer  to  me." 

*0h,  yon  are  happy  then — ^you  are  happy !  I 
bd  lost  my  father  long  before  ;  I  am  an  orphan, 
and  alone  in  the  wide  world." 

The  tone  of  sorrow  in  which  these  words  were 
'rtteied,  went  to  the  heart  of  the  young  man. 
Beanty  and  grace  bewitch  the  senses  with  their 
Buieless  spells,  and  awaken  a  tender  admiration 
tkat  may  quickly  ripen  into  loye  ;  but  the  sacred 
tonch  of  sympathy  is  more  powerful  than  either. 
The  youth  felt  his  whole  nature  moyed  by  a 
tendemesB  of  compassion,  indescribable  in  words. 
How  gladly  would  he  haye  offered  the  balm  of 
wwJatbn,  had  he  known  more  of  his  loyely 
^onpanion ;  how  did  he  long  to  que^ion  her 
Anther!  But  the  fear  of  appearing  obtrusiye,  the 
^iwd  of  tearing  open  wounds,  so  imperfectly 
dosed,  withheld  him. 

While  he  yet  hesitated  in  what  manner  to 
«p««  eompassion,  the  young  stranger  suddenly 
■ttoed  a  loud  cry,  and  dropped  his  arm.  **  Oh, 
^•▼ens!  what  shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  say  ?  what 
^  become  of  me  V  cried  she,  with  a  look  of 
^^'stemation,  endeayouring  in  vain  to  look  for 
■■Kthing  in  the  crowd. 

"What  is  the  matter  T  asked  Wilmson,  hastily. 
Fwm  his  companion's  exclamations,  he  gathered 
tbt  she  had  lost  some  object  of  yalue  intrusted  to 
«r,  and  that  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  replace 
^  md  that  she  stood  in  great  fear  of  the  anger  of 
t«  owner.  **  Do  not  be  uneasy— comfort  yourself 
— -  ^  find  it,  if  it  is  in  the  city  :  walk  slowly 
<»^I  will  overtake  you,"  cried  Wilmson,  who  at 
we  moment  when  startled  by  his  companion  s  cry, 
«d  noticed  a  young  man  pressing  somewhat 
^^y  against  tiiem,  and  directly  after  force  a 
I**«ge  through  the  crowd  with  his  elbows,  and 
**ppe4r.  Wilmson  disengaged  himself  and  his 
««ttpanion  from  the  throng ;  and  without  waiting 
^  tt  answer,  darted  down  a  neighbouring  street, 
*  the  direction  taken  by  the  person  who,  he 
dwibted  not,  had  effected  the  robbery.  In  a  few 
^^J^rttt,  he  again  caught  sight  of  the  individual, 
^^he  leoc^gnised  by  his  light  green  coat,  and 
^  glittering  clasp  in  his  hat,  standing  still,  con- 
«»pWting  sometUng  he  held  in  his  hand.  The 
■**«*l»ing  was  wrapped  in  a  white  handkerchief, 
^^  he  recollected  the  young  lady  to  have  held 
f^hand,  when  he  first  accosted  her.  Any 
«tto  doubts  he  might  have  had,  were  quickly 


banished  by  the  proceedings  of  the  gentleman  in 
light  green,  who  had  no  sooner  perceived  Wilmson 
than  he  took  to  his  heels,  and  made  off  with  all  the 
speed  he  could  muster.  The  green  ooat  had  con- 
siderably the  advantage ;  nevertheless,  after  a  thne, 
either  his  mind  changing,  or  his  breath  failing,  ho 
stood  still,  till  Wilmson  came  up  with  him. 

"  Why  do  you  run  after  me  ?  what  do  you  want 
with  meT  cried  he,  panting  for  breath,  as  his 
pursuer  approached  ;  and  endeavouring  to  thrust 
the  handkerohief  into  his  pocket. 

"  On  my  word,  I  should  scarcely  have  taken  you 
for  a  thief.  If  your  flight  and  the  handkerohief  you 
are  trying  to  hide  did  not  betray  you,"  said 
Wilmson,  looking  with  some  surprise  at  the  guilty 
person,  who  was  a  handsome  young  man,  and 
extremely  well  dressed  ;  and,  without  further 
ceremony,  snatched  the  prize  from  his  hand. 

^  Scoundrel  1"  cried  the  other,  bursting  with 
rage ;  and  darting  forwards,  aimed  a  blow  at 
Wilmson,  which  was  immediately  returned  with 
such  good  will,  that  the  blood  spurted  from  nose 
and  mouth,  over  the  green  coat,  and  its  wearer 
staggered  and  fell  to  the  ground.  Without  troubling 
himself  any  further,  the  conqueror  immediately 
retraced  his  steps,  to  relieve  the  anxiety  of  the  fair 
one  with  the  golden  locks.  It  was  on  his  return 
that  he  had  encountered  old  Crabb.  The  curious 
crowd  had  advanced  considerably  in  the  meantime ; 
but  the  beauty  was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  He  ran 
up  street  and  down  aUey,  looking  backwards  and 
forwards,  and  right  and  left,  and  inquired  of  every 
acquaintance  he  met.  No  one  had  seen,  or  no  one 
had  noticed,  a  young  lady,  in  mourning.  With 
impatience  and  uneasiness  increasing  at  eveiy 
step,  he  traversed  the  city  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  till  he  reached  the  Domplatz,  where  the 
king  and  his  retinue  had  just  alighted  from  their 
horses.  If  all  the  kings  of  the  earth  had  held  a 
congress  at  Magdeburg  that  moment,  they  would 
have  been  of  no  more  account  in  Wilmson's  eyes 
than  a  swarm  of  gnats  on  a  summer  evening. 
Like  the  Will  o'  the  Wisp  to  the  benighted  wan- 
derer, every  visible  black  point  drew  him  another 
way  ;  but,  on  his  approach,  the  black  object 
became  now  the  cloak  of  a  senator,  now  the 
petticoat  of  a  peasant  woman,  the  sable  apron  of  a 
maidnservant,  or  the  garment  that  enveloped  the 
reverend  person  of  an  ecclesiastic.  At  last  the 
sight-loving  crowd  dispersed,  having  nothing  more 
to  stare  at :  the  Domplatz  was  empty.  Once 
more  young  Wilmson  traversed  the  broadway  from 
the  Sudenburg  to  the  Kroten  gate.  Not  a  female 
figure— not  a  window  passed  xmobserved ;  and 
the  better  to  attract  her  observation,  if  she  were 
watching  for  him  from  any  house,  he  held  the 
white  handkerchief  conspicuously  fluttering  in  his 
hand.  In  yarn;  the  beautiful  mourner  was  no- 
where to  be  seen. 


Wearied  and  dejected,  Wilmson  at  length  re- 
turned home,  where,  for  the  first  time,  he  unfolded 
the  handkerchief,  not  out  of  curiosity,  but  in  the 
hope  of  finding  some  clue  to  the  beautiful  owner. 
But  he  found  nothing  but  the  letters  C.  yon  St. 
embroidered  in  one  comer,  and  an  enormous  and 


88 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


very  magnificent  Meerschaum  pipe-head,  with  the 
letters  J.  P.  v.  G.,  engraved  on  the  lid. 

His  embarassment  in  the  possession  of  another's 
property  was  so  much  the  greater,  because  he  was 
to  leave  Magdeburg  on  the  following  day,  for  a 
considerable  time,  in  order  to  escort  his  father's 
widowed  sister  back  to  Switzerland.  She  had 
come  to  Magdebui^g  to  see  her  brother,  to  whom 
she  was  fondly  attached ;  and  had  lingered  long, 
with  the  hope  of  persuading  him  to  renounce  his 
extensive  mercantile  speculations,  and  pass  the 
remainder  of  his  life  in  her  society. 

As  usual,  the  elder  Mr.  Wilmson  was  passing 
the  evening  in  a  summer-house  in  his  garden,  in 
company  with  his  sister,  Frau  von  Moos,  and  his 
son.  They  were  speaking  of  the  approaching 
journey,  and  the  solemn  parting  banquet  to  be 
given  by  Mr.  Wilmson  in  honour  of  his  sister, 
when  the  old  invalided  Crabb  came  halting  into 
the  garden,  to  smoke  his  evening  pipe  in  the  air. 
The  old  man  was  laid  up  in  snug  quarters  for  life, 
in  the  house  of  the  wealthy  merchant,  to  whom  he 
had  rendered  an  important  service  in  the  war  with 
Sweden,  in  preserving,  at  the  hazard  of  his  life, 
some  warehouses,  fiUed  with  costly  wines,  from  a 
band  of  marauding  soldiers. 

On  approaching  the  group,  Crabb  took  off  his 
cap,  and  taking  the  well-used  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
cried  out,  in  a  triumphant  tone — 

**  My  soul  and  body,  madam,  but  I  am  sorry  for 
you  !  In  Magdeburg,  and  not  to  see  the  glorious 
king  of  Prussia !  when  he  rode  by  so  grand,  and 
everybody  bowed  before  his  royal  majesty.  My 
soul,  but  I  felt  an  all-ovemess,  as  if  St.  Nicholas 
himself  had  come  down  from  heaven.  Hey,  Master 
Fritz,  that  was  a  sight !" 

The  young  man  coloured  and  made  no  answer, 
not  holding  it  advisable  to  let  the  old  soldier  into 
the  secret,  that  the  fair  neck  of  a  maiden  had  made 
him  quite  unconscious  of  his  majesty's  presence. 

"  Don't  be  unhappy  on  my  account,  Crabb,"  said 
the  lady.  "  I  revere  the  great  only  when  wisdom 
and  virtue  exalt  them  above  their  fellows — ^not  for 
their  outward  show  and  glitter." 

Crabb  looked  somewhat  confounded.  "  Yes,  yes ; 
that  is  quite  true,  no  doubt,"  with  as  respectful  an 
air  as  he  was  master  of ;  "  but  then  you  know,  St. 
Nicholas!  a  king  is  not  a  man  like  one  of  us." 

«  What  is  he  then  ?     An  angel  ?" 

"No,  not  exactly;  but  I  would  say,  madam, 
with  all  respect,  that  you  won't  deny  but  a  king 
is  (xod's  representative  and  deputy  upon  earth." 

"  That  is  blasphemy,  Crabb.  God  is  ever  present 
himself,  and  wants  no  deputy." 

But,  madam,  madam,  my  soul !  he  is  king  by 
the  grace  of  God." 

^'  As  you  are  an  old  soldier  by  the  grace  of  God 
— ^without  whose  grace,  by  the  king's  grace,  you 
might  have  starved  to  death,  after  being  crippled 
for  life  in  his  service." 

.  "  Well,  but  who  knows  but  our  gracious  king  is 
sorry  for  having  forgotten  me  so  long.  We  can't 
rightly  make  it  out,  whether  he  was  pleased  to  look 
at  me  or  your  honourable  brother  there.  Only 
hear,  madam," — and  old  Crabb  went  on  to  relate 
jhe  story  of  the  moQarch'9  ^gnificant  glance  in 


his  neighbourhood,  with  his  own   commentary 
thereon. 

"Is  the  old  man's  story  true,  brother T  asked 
Frau  von  Moos,  hastily,  with  an  anxious  look  at 
the  elder  Wilmson. 

"  Partly,"  answered  he,  smiling ;  "  but  Crabb 
makes  too  much  of  it.  I  am  convinced  that  neither 
of  us  arrested  his  majesty's  attention  above  a 
second,  if  at  all.  The  whole  affair  is  a  trifle,  not 
worth  your  notice." 

"  Heaven  grant  it  may  be  so  !  But  every  action, 
however  slight,  is  of  importance,  as  from  the  great 
and  powerful  who  decide  the  weal  or  woe  of 
millions.  How  many  an  innocent  person  has  their 
fiat  deprived  of  property,  life,  honour,  as  I  myself 
have  experienced!  01^  the  very  thought  makes 
me  shudder !" 

"My  dearest  aunt,"  cried  young  Wilmson  ; 
"you  are  a  little  too  severe  in  your  judgment. 
Kings  in  our  time  are  not  mere  barbarians,  as  of 
old.  They  feel  as  other  men ;  and  many  find  the 
same  satisfaction  in  the  happiness  of  their  subjects, 
as  fathers  in  the  happiness  of  their  children." 

Frau  von  Moos  smiled  sadly.  "  They  are  kings  ! 
I  have  bloody  experience  of  their  tender  mercies. 
A  word,  and  my  innocent  husband  was  the  sacrifice ! 
Fathers,  do  you  call  them  ?  Will  they — can  they 
act  as  such?  A  father  has  the  laws  both  human 
and  divine  before  his  eyes  ;  and  stronger  than  all, 
he  feels  the  sacred  bands  of  nature  attach  him  to 
his  children.  Fritz,  in  the  very  year  you  were 
bom,  a  king's  command  tore  my  husband  from  my 
side,  to  perish  in  a  dungeon.  And  my  husband 
was  innocent !  The  king  himself  judged  him — the 
king  himself  condemned  him, — and  yet  he  was 
innocent !  All  this  misery  was  caused  by  a  mistake 
of  names  and  persons,  and  the  rashness  of  the  king. 
The  error  was  discovered  too  late  !  and  the  repre* 
sentative  of  Grod's  eternal  justice  and  onmipotence 
could  not  recall  murdered  innocence  to  life.  And 
this  destroyer  of  my  peace  and  of  my  husband,  is 
now  a  hero  for  men  to  gape  and  wonder  at !  Woe 
to  mankind,  wJien  such  are  heroes !" 

*^  My  dear,  dear  aunt !  you  speak  of  Charles  of 
Sweden  ;  but  we  are  happy  under  the  milder  sway 
of  Frederick  William.  He  may  have  his  faults  ; 
he  may——" 

"  My  child,  let  none  possess  unbounded  powerj^ 
but  the  one  who  has  unbounded  wisdom,  and 
unbounded  goodness,  too  !  Unholy  is  the  alliance^ 
when  despotic  might  is  linked  to  human  passions 
and  infirmities.'' 

"  Thunder  and  lightning,  madam !"  exclaimed 
old  Crabb,  unable  whoUy  to  restrain  his  wrath  at 
her  unheard-of  audacity,  even  out  of  respect  to  his 
patron's  sister  ;  "  you  make  my  hair  stand  on  end, 
as  Tm  a  Christian  man,  Frau  von  Moos.  Don't 
think  to  talk  me  out  of  honouring  my  king.  He 
always  means  right— he  always  does  right — • 
wouldn't  hurt  a  child, — and,  what  is  more,  there 
is  not  a  better  soldier  in  the  world !  What !  have 
you  no  master  in  your  country,  among  the  moun- 
tains there?" 

"  None,  but  He  who  is  master  of  all,  Crabb.** 

"  Ah,  ah  I"  answered  Crabb,  "  we  have  him 
here,  too ;  but  you  have  no  Mount  Sinai  among 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


89 


joor  hill^  wliere  the  laws  were  giyen,  as  we  read 
in  the  Bible." 

"No,  eertamly  doV'  sftid  the  lady,  smiling; 
**  hat  our  citixeDS  meet  together  to  make  laws,  and 
choose  nuigiBtrates  to  see  tliem  put  in  execution." 

"Whew!  that  must  be  a  queer  kind  of  a 
HoUeotot  goTemment." 

*^SQt  at  all.  Everything  goes  on  as  regularly 
aspoasUe." 

**Ah,  hahy  madam !  I  understand,''  said  the 
Tetenn,  with  a  knowing  look  ;  **  you  have  good 
Amt  gairisons  to  keep  the  folks  in  order." 

''Not  a  single  soldier.  A  constable,  with  his 
staff,  is  sent,  if  it  be  necessary, — and  all  obey." 

''Mnch  good  may  it  do  them,"  said  Crabb, 
tvirling  his  iron-gray  moustache  with  a  look  of 
great  contempt.  *'  A  country  without  soldiers,  is 
tike  a  town  without  houses,  or  a  forest  without 
trees.  Our  king  knows  better — sent  his  father's 
hundred  gentlemen  of  the  bed-chamber  to  the  right 
about— keeps  a  firugal  house,  and  feeds  an  army  of 
fifty  thousand  men  with  the  savings — and  such  an 
aimj,  that  has  not  its  like  on  the  face  of  Grod's 
earth.  Pray,  if  I  may  be  so  bold,  madam,  what 
would  they  do  in  that  comical  land  of  yours  if  a 
war  broke  out,  and  the  enemy  were  close  upon 
yoQT  frontiers,  with  cavalry  and  infantry,  artil- 
]aj  and  sharpshooters,  cannon-baU,  musket-balls, 
boinbg,  and  the  devil  knows  what  besides  ?  Would 
they  send  their  constable  and  his  stick  to  tell  them 
tomoreoffr 

"My  good  Crabb,  every  one  is  a  soldier  with  us 
vho  can  cany  a  weapon,  to  defend  his  honour,  his 
home,  his  wife  and  children ;  and  do  you  think  a 
man  will  not  fight  more  valiantly  for  such  a  cause, 
^  for  the  pay  of  a  hireling?  Let  your  fifty 
thoosand  come,  and  they  will  be  met  by  a  hundred 
tkviand  unbought  defenders  of  their  country's 
fiecdom." 

*  Well,  well,  madam,  every  one  to  their  taste  ; — 
■oofenoe,  I  hope,  but  in  mind  you  must  live  like 
Wf -savages.  Hearen  be  praised,  I  was  bom  a 
Pniflian  subject  I  Zounds,  madam,  have  you  ever 
««a  onr  Sonday  parade,  in  the  New  Square  ?  My 
«wl  and  hody !  there  is  order  and  discipline  for 
yw.  Eyes  right — one  goes  left — whack  comes  the 
(tte,  perhaps  from  our  gracious  king  himself — 
thrtb  what  I  call  order  and  discipline ;  and  to 
the  de?a  with  your  old  woman  of  a  constable,  with 
bit  Inoomstick  ! — no  offence,  madam,  as  I  said 
Wae." 

Before  Frau  von  Moos  could  reply,  if  she  meant 
to  make  any,  the  garden  door  was  suddenly  opened 
by  a  servant,  and  an  officer  in  fall  uniform  entered. 
Ail  roee  regretfully ;  Crabb  drew  himself  up  per- 
Pfadicnkrly,  with  his  arms  stuck  as  tightly  to  his 
"Mauif  they  and  he  had  been  cut  out  of  wood. 
The  elder  Wilmson  advanced,  bareheaded,  to  meet 
the  new  comer,  who  returned  his  courtesy  with  a 
*^  nod  and  haughty  air. 

**  You  are  the  merchant Wilmson-^are  you  not?*' 
Aid  the  officer. 
At  your  service." 

*  Have  you  any  children  V* 
.  "^  »n,  who  has  the  honour  to  stimd  now 


"  How  old  are  you  T 

"  Fifty-nme." 

**  And  the  young  man  there  T 

'*  Between  twenty  and  one-and-twenty." 

'^  The  commandant  wishes  to  speak  to  both  of 
you.  It  is  his  orders  that  you  should  be  at  his 
quarters  to-morrow  morning  at  nine." 

**  I  shall  obey  him.  Might  I  presume  to  inquire 
what  are  his  commands,  and " 

**  Don't  know — ^no  one  has  any  right  to  ask- 
good  night.  To-morrow  at  nine  precisely,  re* 
member." 

The  officer  turned  on  his  heel,  and  went  whistling 
through  the  garden.  Mr.  Wilmson  followed,  still 
holding  his  cap  in  his  hand;  the  officer  did  not 
observe  him  apparently,  and  flung  the  door  to 
almost  in  his  face. 

"  Hurrah  1"  cried  the  veteran,  flinging  up  hb 
cap,  and  snapping  the  fingers  of  both  hands,  ^^  did 
not  I  say  so  ?  It  was  not  for  nothing  that  the  king 
looked  our  way,  and  spoke  to  Prince  Dessau. 
Luck  will  come  of  it  you  will  see,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  honour." 

"  Evil  will  come  of  it,  I  fear,"  said  Frau  von 
Moos,  reseating  herself,  trembling. 

**  Bah,  madam !  if  anything  were  amiss,  the 
officer  would  not  have  been  so  uncommonly  polite." 

**  Polite,"  said  Madam  von  Moos,  in  a  tone  of 
irritation — ^*^he  was  insulting !  Allowed  mj  brother 
to  stand  with  hb  gray  hairs  uncovered,  and  never 
moved  his  own  cap,  not  even  in  th^  presence  of  a 
woman." 

*^  Ay,  madam  ;  an  officer,  you  see,  never  forgets 
his  right  to  command.  He  must  be  every  inch  an 
officer,  but  he  was  as  polite  as  if  he  had  been 
talking  to  one  of  his  equals, — ^and  he  a  nobleman 
too;  think  of  that,  madam.  The  commandant 
sends  a  nobleman  to  talk  to  a  merchant !  Thunder 
and  lightning,  that  must  mean  something !  The 
king  is  at  the  bottom  of  it.  There's  luck  in  store 
for  the  whole  family.  You  must  not  go  to-morrow, 
madam,  when  luck  is  falling  on  us  by  pailsfull." 

"  Ah,  brother,"  said  Frau  von  Moos,  turning  to 
the  elder  Wilmson ;  "  would  to  heaven  that,  instead 
of  to-morrow,  I  could  go  to-day,  and  take  you  with 
me.  Oh,  brother,  if  it  be  possible,  let  us  go  to-day, 
while  it  is  yet  time !  It  is  ill  to  be  defenceless  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  lion." 

Mr.  Wilmson  laughed,  and  shook  his  head. 
"  Fear  not,  Juliana,"  said  he,  soothingly ;  "  neither 
king  nor  commandant  will  harm  me.  Had  I  been 
accused,  or  even  suspected,  of  any  crime,  I  should 
not  be  invited  to  attend  him,  but  put  under  arrest. 
As  to  the  good  fortune  Crabb  prophesies,  I  have 
just  as  little  feith  in  that.  I  have  done  the  state 
no  particular  service  that  I  am  aware  of,  and 
Frederick  still  less.  Whatever  extraordinary  For- 
tune has  in  store  for  us,  she  gives  unexpectedly  : 
whatever  we  anticipate,  is  never  so  good,  or  so  bad, 
as  we  expect." 

"  Heaven  grant  all  may  go  as  smoothly  as  you 
seem  to  think !"  sighed  his  sister.  ^^I  do  not  tremble 
before  men,  but  before  those  who  are  less,  or  would 
be  more  than  men."  "^ 

Mr.  Wilmson  patted  his  sister,  smilingly,  on  the 
Qhe«k,    **  Away  wiUi  tbe^e  idle  f«aw,    I  le?  you 


90 


H£  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


are  still  the  same  Juliana  that  you  were  twenty 
years  ago — always  shuddering  at  imaginary  spec- 
tres !  Come,  we  will  go  into  the  house  :  we  have 
sat  too  long  here — it  is  oold.  We  will  take  a  glass 
of  good  wine  to  warm  us  and  raise  our  spirits. — 
Frits,  go  into  the  oellar^  and  get  us  a  hottle  of 
Malvosier." 


The  following  morning,  all  the  house  was  in 
motion,  preparing  for  the  banquet,  given  by  Mr. 
Wilmson  in  honour  of  his  sister.  In  his  orcUnary 
housekeeping,  the  worthy  merchant  was  moderate 
and  frugal,  almost  to  parsimony ;  but  on  extra- 
ordinary occasions,  his  liberality  knew  neither  stint 
nor  measure.  The  costliest  dainties  were  to  be 
procured  at  any  price ;— *the  richest  wine  flowed 
in  profusion  ; — ^the  best  rooms  in  his  house,  which 
were  generally  locked  up,  were  thrown  open  on 
these  state  occasions  ; — ^the  floors  covered  with  the 
most  expensive  Persian  carpeting  ; — the  ordinary 
dinner  utensils  replaced  by  a  magnificent  service 
of  plate.  Above  fifty  persons  were  invited  to 
partake  of  this  splendour,  whose  ears  were  to  be 
regaled  with  the  choicest  harmony  from  unseen 
musicians,  and  their  noses  with  the  rich  perfume 
of  the  rarest  flowers,  in  vases  of  the  finest  porcelain, 
placed  round  the  banqueting  room.  Mr.  Wilmson 
himself  walked  from  room  to  room,  to  see  that  all 
was  arranged  in  the  exactest  order,  and  agreeably 
to  his  orders.  Nothing  was  too  dear,  or  too  difficult 
to  be  procured.  Before  the  dinner  was  over,  his 
sister  and  his  son  were  to  withdraw  in  silence,  and 
without  bidding  farewell,  that  the  necessary  atten- 
tion to  his  guests  might  diminish  the  pain  of 
parting.  ^^I  hold  with  TiU  Eulenspiegel,"  said 
the  worthy  merchant — 

When  Fortune  smiles,  beware  her  goiles  : 
Her  frowns  defy  with  steadfost  eye. 


When  Frau  von  Moos  met  her  brother  at  break- 
ftaiy  she  could  not  forbear  reverting,  even  with 
tears,  to  the  commandant's  invitation.  **  It  fore- 
bodes us  evil,  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  she.  Wilmson 
laughed.  "You  may  laugh,  brother,  but  I  am 
right ;  and  oh,  I  had  such  a  terrible  dream  about 
you  and  my  nephew !" 

"  A  dream,  had  you?  Ah,  Juliana,  that  came 
of  despising  good  advice  L  you  would  eat  those 
imlucky  lampreys.  I  told  you  they  were  the  most 
indigestible  things  in  the  world." 

Frau  von  Moos  drew  back  somewhat  offended ; 
but  her  reproof  of  her  brothel's  incredulity  was 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  young  Wilmson 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  which  had  been  left  for 
his  father  by  a  strange  servant.  There  was  no 
signature,  and  it  contained  only  the  following 
words  :^ 

"  A  friend  warns  Mr.  WUmson,  on  the  receipt  of 
this,  to  go  immediately  to  bed,  and  feign  extreme 
illness.  The  said  friend  knows,  from  good  autho* 
rity,  that  Mr.  Wilmson  has  pleased  the  king  too 
well :  sapienH  sat** 

At  the  first  reading  of  these  enigmatical  lines,  Mr. 

Wilmson  felt  a  little  disturbed :  the  handwriting 

^as  unknown  to  him  ; — then  looking  at  his  sister 

h  a  sly  smile,  he  put  it  ia  his  pockety  and  said 


no  more  about  it.  Frau  von  Moos  did  not,  or 
would  not,  notice  his  suspicion  ;  and  his  son  was 
too  full  of  his  yesterday's  adventure  with  the 
unknown  beauty,  to  observe  his  father  s  proceeding. 
To  Mr.  Wilmson  8  great  satisfaction,  Frederick 
drew  his  aunt's  whole  attention  on  himself,  by  the 
extraordinary  animation  he  displayed  in  describing 
the  charms  of  his  fidr  acquaintance. 

"  I  could  not  have  believed  that  there  existed  on 
earth  a  mortal  form,  so  like  the  creature  of  a 
dream,"  said  he.  "  She  seemed  not  to  walk,  but 
to  float  on  the  air ;— every  motion  had  the  same 
enchantment  of  harmony  to  the  eye,  that  music  has 
to  the  ear.  Her  voice  was  more  like  the  sweet 
accords  that  sometimes  bless  our  ears  in  sleep,  than 
the  tones  of  a  mere  mortal  organ  :  her  countenance 
had  the  rapture  and  purity  of  a  seraph's." 

^^  In  a  word,  it  was  a  heavenly  vision  of  light  and 
glory,  and  not  an  earthly  maiden,"  said  Mr. 
Wilmson,  laughing  at  his  son's  enthusiasm. 

"Icould  almost  have  thought  so,"  replied  theyonng 
man  quite  seriously.  **  There  was  a  sort  of  clear- 
ness, a  transparency  in  her  countenance,  that  is  not 
to  be  expressed  in  words,  or  bodied  forth  in  colours. 
So  long  as  I  breathe  I  shall  never  forget  that  face, 
that  form,  the  magic  that  hung  around  her  T 

Frau  von  Moos,  who  had  long  had  a  little  plan 
of  her  own  for  uniting  her  nephew  to  a  young  re- 
lation and  favourite  of  her  own  in  Switzerland, 
made  a  grimace  at  this  last  flight. 

"  Your  future  wife,  Fritz,"  said  she,  **  will  not 
feel  particularly  delighted  at  the  strength  of  your 
memory." 

^  If  your  seraph  has  not  flown  back  to  her  na- 
tive skies,"  said  his  father,  "she  must  appear 
again  to  you  and  me.  I  will  have  the  handkerchief 
and  the  Meerschaum  head  cried  in  the  streets,  and 
advertised  in  the  papers ;  we  will  have  handbUIs 
stuck  up  at  the  comers  of  the  streets,  and  even  on 
the  church  doors." 

While  they  were  yet  talking  the  clock  struck 
nine,  and  Mr.  Wilmson  and  his  son  prepared  to 
attend  the  commandant.  They  walked  silently 
through  the  streets,  each  busied  with  his  own 
thoughts:  the  elder  Wilmson  thought  chiefly  of 
his  dinner ;  and  the  younger  of  his  love.  Tho 
same  officer  who  had  brought  the  summons  on  the 
preceding  evening,  was  standing  at  the  door  of  the 
commandant's  house.  He  conducted  father  and 
son  up  a  broad  staircase  into  a  magnificent  saloon. 
Before  the  door  stood  two  grenadiers  with  pointed 
caps  and  fierce  black  moustaches;  officers  of  difi^rent 
regiments  were  walking  up  and  down,  not  one  of 
whom  condescended  to  take  the  slightest  notice  of 
the  new  comers,  or  to  return  their  respectful  bows. 
After  a  while  a  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  saloon, 
was  opened ;  an  officer  of  the  guard  put  in  his 
head,  and  called  out  ^Are  the  merchant  and  his 
son  tiiere?"  The  two  Wilmsons  approached,  and 
on  a  sign  from  the  officer  followed  him  into  an 
antechamber.  "Wait  here  till  you  are  called  for,'* 
said  the  officer ;  and  left  the  room  for  a  few  seconds 
by  another  door,  and  then  returning,  ordered  Mr. 
Wilmson  to  attend.  "  You,  I  mean  the  old  one,'* 
said  the  military  hero,  in  the  same  courteous  tone 
as  before :  "  the  young  fellow  is  to  wait.** 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


Dl 


in  thif  nxmient^  Fritz  foigot  even  his  beautiful 
nnknown,  in  the  eagerness  of  his  desire  to  know 
what  Ute  monarch  could  poasibly  hare  to  say  to 
his  father.  A  chamberlain,  or  some  such  person, 
whose  dreoB  was  so  thickly  covered  with  gold  lace, 
as  afanost  to  hide  the  cloth,  was  the  only  person, 
benda  iumself ,  in  the  roonu  This  glittering  gen- 
lleiBsn  stood  facing  the  window,  on  which  he  was 
besting  a  march ;  in  a  few  minutes  he  turned  round 
vith  an  audible  yawn,  when  his  eyes  encountering 
Fritz  Wilmson's,  he  started  back,  set  his  teeth  hard 
together,  and  murmured  in  a  tone  of  stifled  rage : 
**What,  the  devil! — ^you  here  again!"  Young 
Wihnsoin,  on  his  side,  was  scarcely  less  astonished 
wben  he  recognised,  in  his  amusing  companion, 
the  handkerchief  snatcher  of  the  preceding  day, 
whoee  swollen  nose  still  showed  unequivocal  proofs 
of  the  vigour  of  Frite's  fist.  The  gold  jacket, 
measared  him  from  head  to  foot  with  looks  meant 
to  be  withering,  approached  a  few  paces  nearer, 
md  murmured  between  his  set  teeth,  "  You  are 
the  scxmndrel  who  presumed  yesterday ^" 

Frederick's  eyes  sparkled ;  he  stepped  back. 
"  Let  me  beg  of  you.  Sir,  no  blackguardim,  or  that 
fine  jaidcet  ^  your*s  will  be  no  protection." 

The  other  also  retreated  with  a  sneering  laugh ; 
young  Wilmson  turned  his  back  upon  him,  and 
KFnt  to  the  window.  At  that  moment,  a  carriage 
waititwifng  several  ladies  rattled  by  ;  one  of  them 
looked  up, — it  was  the  mourning  beauty.  Fritz 
hastOy  threw  up  the  window,  and  flung  himself 
half  out  to  look  after  her.  She  had  certainly  oIh 
nved  him,  and  kept  her  head  out  of  the  carriage 
window  till  it  had  turned  the  comer.  '^  It  is  she 
knel^"  sighed  Fritz,and  I  am  here.  ''The  lady 
ks  ju^  driven  past,"  said  he  aloud,  turning  sud- 
iegify  round  upon  the  enemy. 

''What  lady!"  asked  the  chamberlain. 

"  The  lady  whom  you  robbed  of  her  handkerchief 
jc^oday  in  the  crowd," 

"Fool,"  muttered  the  other,  ^'Irob!  I  was 
ye^datg  with  her,  nothing  more ;  she  knows  me 
nil  eiMmgh ;  but  as  to  the  Meerschaum  head— -^" 

At  the  sound  of  the  words  "  she  knows  me," 
ywmf  Wilmaon  forgot  his  anger  with  the  indivi^ 
hal  who  uttered  them,  and  advancing,  eagerly 
caaf^  him  by  the  hand.  "How,  Sir,  do  you 
icaDy  mean  that  you  know  her  ?** 

**Do  I  know  her?**  repeated  the  worthy  in 
green  and  gold,  in  a  scornful  tone.  **  What  if  I  do 
kaow  her  ? — ^but  hands  off  if  you  please,  and  don't 
he  ^te  so  familiar." 

Young  Wilmson  would  now  have  willingly  given 
all  he  posBCODod  in  the  world  to  purchase  forgive- 
ness from  his  adversary !  He  vras  actually  on  the 
paiat  ^  stammering  forth  an  apology  when  the 
dMT  onee  more  opened,  and  his  father  entered.  "  I 
Ml  not  wait  for  you,"  whispered  he  in  passing 
his  son.  **  I  must  go  home  directly.  Come  after 
me  as  soon  as  you  are  dismissed." 

''What  does  he  want  with  us?"  said  the  young 

sian.  **  What  did  the  commandant ** 

"  Hush ! "  said  his  father  in  a  low  voice.  **  The 
king  himself  is  there,"  pointing  to  the  room  he 
had  JBst  left.  **  I  cannot  exactly  make  out  why  I 
vas  sent  for ;  he  asked  a  number  of  indiflerent 


questions  about  my  age  and  situation  in  life ;  and 
also  about  you  and  your  acquirements.  I  was  then 
dismissed  with  a  gracious  promise  to  do  something 
for  you  if  you  pleased  him.  His  majesty  seems  in  a 
very  good  humour;  but  be  careful  how  you  accept 
any  offer  that  may  be  made  you,  however  advan- 
tageous it  may  appear.  Ask  time  for  consideration. 
Farewell  for  Uie  present." 

With  these  words  Mr.  Wilmson  hastily  with- 
drew. However  important  his  approaching  inter- 
view with  a  monarch  might  have  appeared  formerly 
to  young  Wilmson,  he  now  felt  neither  hope,  fear, 
nor  ambition  awakened  within  him,  nor  even  cu- 
riosity. All  his  faculties  were  absorbed  by  the 
declaration  of  the  arrogant  gentleman  in  gold  lace, 
that  he  knew  the  sable  clad  beauty,  and  by  the 
means  of  acquiring  the  good  will  of  that  person, 
whom  he  would  have  held  altogether  unworthy  his 
attention  only  half  an  hour  ago :  but  a  ray  of  a 
goddess  had  fallen  on  him  from  the  sunny-haired 
divinity  of  the  preceding  day,  and  transformed,  in 
the  eyes  of  her  lover,  an  insolent  domestic  into  an 
individual  whose  esteem  he  desired  above  all  things 
to  obtain. 

His  meditations  were  broken  in  upon  by  the 
summons  of  the  officer  on  guard,  to  the  presence  of 
majesty.  The  young  man  entered,  and  bowed  with 
due  reverence  on  all  sides,  though  he  could  not  well 
make  out  whereabouts  the  monarch  might  be.  A 
cloud  was  before  his  eyes,  not  exactly  caused  by  the 
reflected  splendours  of  royalty,  or  his  ownbadiful- 
ness,  but  because  the  coi^ned  apartment  was  filled 
vrith  tobacco  smoke  from  the  pipes  of  several  gene- 
ral officers,  every  one  of  whom  was  puffing  away 
with  equal  zeal  and  gravity.  They  were  standing 
bareheaded  around  a  small  table,  by  which  sat,  hat 
on  head,  and  pipe  in  mouth,  a  person  whom  young 
Wilmson  recognised  as  the  monarch  himself,  when 
the  bluish  vapour,  that  had  hitherto  obscured  his 
royal  visage,  was  somewhat  dispersed.  . 

The  king  looked  for  a  while  vrith  evident  satis- 
faction at  the  tall,  handsome  figure  before  him,  and 
then  nodding  to  the  officers  around,  said, — 

"  And  he  is  scarcely  twenty-one !  He  will  grow 
yet,  he  has  a  good  four  years  before  him !  We  may 
make  something  of  that  lad ;  perhaps  fugleman 
to  the  life-guard."  Then  turning  to  the  young 
man,  "  Now  tell  me  freely,  my  lad,  what  should 
you  like  to  be?" 

"  Sire,  my  father  intends  me  for  his  successor ; 
my  own  taste  is  for  agriculture,  or  a  learned  pro- 
fession." 

"  Learned,"  asked  the  king  sharply ;  "  what  do 
you  know  then?  Latin,  Greek,  Hebrevr,  Chaldee, 
what » 

"  Your  majesty,  I  am  tolerably  well  acquainted 
with  the  two  first ;  I  have  studied  history  and  ma- 
thematics, and  the  literature  of  France  and  Italy." 

"  Pshaw,  nonsense,  boy ;  you  must  not  be  a  mere 
bookworm !  Fie  upon  it !  Reading,  writing,  and 
arithmetic  are  all  very  well.  I  will  promote  you." 

"  May  it  please  your  majesty — "  stammered  the 
youth  in  a  ^ght,  as  a  sudden  light  burst  upon  his 
mind,  touching  his  majesty's  notion  of  promotion. 
The  king  went  on  vrithout  heeding  his  consterna- 
tion. 


92 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


"I  will  admit  you  among  my  guards, — ^you  shall 
go  with  me  to  Potsdam ;  do  you  hear?  You  must 
be  a  soldier;  that  is  the  only  trade  for  a  young  fel> 
low  of  spirit. — He  will  be  six  feet,  or  six  feet  two, 
perhaps ;  he  bids  fair  for  it  ,'*  added  the  monarch, 
glancing  round  upon  his  attendants. 

**  Your  majesty " 

"And,  if  you  behave  well,  you  will  not  remain 
six  weeks  in  the  ranks.  I  want  sharp  fellows  in 
my  guard.  But,  hark  ye !  one  thing  more,*'  said 
the  king  recollecting  himself ;  "  hare  you  got  a 
sweetheart  yet?" 

At  this  very  unexpected  question  Wilmson's  in- 
tended remonstrance  died  on  his  lips,  and  his  colour 
rose  to  scarlet. 

**  Look  at  the  smooth-cheeked  booby,  he  blushes 
like  a  girl,"  said  the  king  laughing  loudly,  and 
looking  again  round  to  the  attendant  officers. 
"  That  will  do,  my  lad,  you  need  say  no  more ;  but 
recollect  that,  without  my  special  permission,  you 
must  not  think  of  marrying.  I  will  look  out  for 
a  fit  wife  for  you  myself.  You  like  a  soldier's  life, 
hey?" 

"No,  your  majesty,"  replied  the  young  man 
boldly  ; "  I  am  a  freeman :  I  wish  to  remain  so." 

"  Ten  thousand  devils ! — ^young  man  take  care 
what  you  are  about.  What  do  you  mean  by  thatr 

"  I  have  not  the  honour  to  be  your  majesty's 
subject.    I  am  a  citizen  of  the  United  Provinces." 

"  No  matter,"  said  the  king,  waving  his  hand 
impatiently. 

"  I  wish  to  return  to  my  native  country." 

"Oh,  ho!  you  will  forget  that  before  you  have 
been  a  week  in  Potsdam." 

"I  will  demand  the  protection  of  their  High 
Mightinesses  the  States  General." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  'fool,"  cried  the  king  in  a 
rage,  "  or  I  will  give  you  earnest  of  the  service 
over  your  back,  instead  of  in  your  hand." 

"  Your  majesty,"  said  the  young  man  firmly, 
"  is  too  just  to  compel  a  free  man  against  his  wiU." 

"  Silence ;  you  know  m^  will,  and  that  is  enough ; 
I  want  no  free  men,  but  faithful  soldiers :  conduct 
yourself  accordingly. — Go,  you  will  receive  a  hand- 
some sum  as  bounty." 

"With  your  majesty's  permission,  I  want  no 
bounty, — I  will  not  accept  of  bounty ;  my  father 
is  in  more  than  easy  circumstances ;  he  is  rich ;  he 
will  pay  any  sum  for  my  freedom." 

"  You  shall  not  have  it ;  you  are  a  soldier — a 
soldier  you  will  remain.    Go." 

"  Sire,  as  a  free  man  I  enter  my  solemn  protest 
against  this  arbitrary  proceeding.  I  will  rather 
die  than  take  the  oath." 

"  H — ^11  and  the  D — ^1,"  cried  the  enraged  mon- 
arch, springing  from  his  seat,  and  raising  his  stick, 
he  approached  Wilmson,  as  if  to  fell  him  to  the 
earth.  The  latter  did  not  stir,  but  looked  the 
king  full  and  firmly  in  the  face.  His  majesty  let 
the  stick  sink  slowly,  threw  a  furious  glance  at 
the  unruly  recruit,  and  thundered  out.  "The  guard 
or  the  gallows ! — remember  that." 

"  With  your  majesty's  leave,  I  choose  the  latter," 
said  Wilmson  calmly. 

The  king  raised  his  stick  again  in  renewed  fury, 
dropped  it  again  as  suddenly,  and  said  to  the  com- 


mandant, ^'  Drag  the  scoundrel  hence!  to  the  bar- 
racks or  the  guard-house  with  him ! — ^to-morrow  he 
marches  with  the  other  recruits.  If  he  makes  the 
slightest  resistance  keep  him  in  solitary  confine- 
ment upon  bread  and  water,  till  he  comes  to  his 
senses ;  or,  since  he  is  so  tough,  let  him  have  a  taste 
of  the  rack."  He  pointed  towards  the  door ;  the 
commandant  seized  Wilmson  by  the  arm,  and  with 
a  rough  push  over  the  threshold,  dismissed  him 
with  more  haste  than  ceremony  from  the  royal 
presence. 

In  the  saloon,  the  unwilling  candidate  for  mili- 
tary glory  was  delivered  over  to  two  subaltern  offi- 
cers, to  be  conducted  to  the  depot,  with  a  repetition 
of  the  king's  command  to  keep  him  on  bread  and 
water,  &c.,  &c.,  in  case  of  resistance. 

"  Your  excellency  will,  at  least,  allow  me  to  see 
my  father,  once  more  to  bid  him  farewell,"  said  the 
young  man. 

"  What's  the  use  of  that  ?  I  see  no  occasion  for 
it/' 

"  I  request  it  as  the  only  favour  your  excellency 
or  the  king  can  now  grant  me." 

The  commandant  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if 
hesitating,  went  back  into  the  room  they  had  just 
left,  and  then  returning,  said,  "  You  must  go  to  the 
depot :  word  will  be  sent  to  your  father  if  he  wishes 
to  see  you." 

"Your  excellency  will  permit  me  to  return 
home,  if  it  be  only  for  half  an  hour,  to  provide 
myself  with  the  necessary  linen  and  clotMng  for 
a  journey, — I  cannot  travel  in  that  I  have  on." 

"  Be  off  with  you  to  the  depot— or  the  devil," 
cried  the  commandant  angrily.  "Settle  about 
your  trumpery  with  your  father, — ^I  shall  send  to 
him." 

The  two  subalterns  took  Wilmson  between  them, 
and  hurried  him,  without  further  ceremony,  into 
the  street,  where  a  corporal,  armed  with  a  stout 
cane,  also  favouixMl  him  with  his  attendance. 


The  young  man,  who,  by  the  single  act  of  a 
despot,  had  thus  lost  at  a  blow,  home,  country, 
kindred ;  all  joy  in  the  present,  all  hope  in  the 
future,  to  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life  among  the 
refuse  of  the  people;  now,  swelling  with  indignation 
too  great  for  utterance,  accompanied  his  guides 
without  offering  further  resistance. 

"  Come,  come,  my  friend,  cheer  up!  don't  look  so 
melancholy  about  it,"  said  one  of  the  officers,  who 
appeared  to  feel  some  compassion  for  the  victim  to 
the  royal  admiration  for  tall  men. 

"I  am  anything  but  melancholy!'*  answered 
Fritz,  grinding  his  teeth. 

"  That's  right !  The  guardsmen  are  well  taken 
care  of.  Patience,  and  all  will  go  right  enough  at 
Potsdam ;  only  try  to  keep  up  your  spirits,  and 
don't  think  of  what  is  passed,  and  can't  be  helped.'* 

"To  lose  all,  all  that  I  now  possess,  or  ever 
hoped  for!"  murmured  the  youth  half  to  himself. 

"  Fancy  it  all  swallowed  up  by  an  earthquake, 
and  think  no  more  of  it." 

"  Then,  I  should  feel  melancholy." 

"Why  then?"  asked  the  officer  in  a  tone  of 
curiosity. 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


03 


^  Who  could  fed  more,— who  would  complain  of 
cakmitjr  inflirtad  hj  the  hand  of  Providence  ?  Bat 
to  be  dragged  from  my  home,  from  my  friends,  to 

be  made  a  alaye  of— Heaven  and  Hell !  that  is " 

The  officer  wfaistled  and  looked  away ;  he  did 
not  onderatand  him,  and,  perhaps,  it  was  as  well 
for  Fritz  that  he  did  not. 

At  the  bsETacks,  the  new  recmit  was  given  in 
diaige  to  the  officer  in  command,  and  led  into  a 
long^  low,  smoke-blackened  room,  where  a  number 
of  youths,  similarly  circumstanced,  were  sitting  by 
a  long  table,  eating,  drinking,  swearing,  singing, 
and  smoking  detestable  tobacco.  This  agreeable 
drde  saluted  lum  with  an  uproarious  shout,  and 
oAiered  him  m  seat  among  them.  He  declined  it, 
and  duew  himself,  with  folded  arms,  upon  a  bench 
^art  from  the  table.  They  drank  to  him  with 
mock  civility;  and  some  gravely  begged  to  know 
how  Ids  mother  did.  He  took  no  notice  of  their 
Aodcery ;  he  scarcely  heard  them ;  he  was  brooding 
ofer  all  sorts  of  imposrible  schemes  of  vengeance 
sod  escape.  A  hundred  times  he  swore  to  himself 
nther  to  die  than  submit,  and  leave  the  world  an 
example  of  how  little  despotic  power  could  bind 
one  renlved  to  be  free,  and  careless  of  life  without 
freedom.  Hb  companions  had  just  left  the  room 
with  much  stnmblii^,  struggling,  and  clamour,  to 
finisfa  their  pipes  in  the  open  air,  when  the  officer 
cadntyretnnied,  accompanied  by  theelderWilmson. 
At  the  sig^  of  his  father,  the  young  man's  high- 
wiDsght  feelings  gave  way,  and  as  he  threw  himself 
^Qo  his  parent's  neck,  tears  of  mingled  rage  and 
lotrow  borst  from  his  eyes,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts 
to  restrain  them.  The  officer  made  a  grimace,  ex- 
pieaRve  of  litUe  liking  for  the  task  imposed  on 
Mn,  and,  on  some  pretence,  quickly  left  them  to- 
gether. The  elder  Wilmson  did  not  utter  a  word. 
He  aDowed  the  anger  and  despair  of  his  son  to  ex- 
kaafc  themselTes;  and  it  was  not  till  Fritz  had 
wpplicatcd,  threatened,  wept,  stormed,  uttered  im- 
fRcalions  on  the  king,  himself,  and  all  mankind — 
t^  tyrants,  and  those  who  endured  their  tyranny, 
skd  had  finally  thrown  himself  once  more  on  the 
Wndi,  worn  out  by  the  variety  and  vehemence  of 
im  onotions,  that  the  father  broke  silence. 

"Frederick,*  said  he,  gravely,  but  kindly  taking 
his  son's  hand,  "I  expected  to  see  a  man/  onemas- 
ter  of  his  destiny,  not  mastered  by  it.  I  find  an 
Mgiy  boy :  your  person  is  coerised ;  your  soul 
.  be.     All  is  not  lost^  if  you  can  but  control 


•*  Not  lost — how  ?  "  cried  the  young  man,  spring- 
ing 19;  ^  will  you,  can  you,  free  me  firom  this  in- 
Setnal  slavery  r 

*I  can,  I  win  ;  but  be  tranquil— listen  to  me. 
It  caanot  be  so  soon,  perhaps,  as  you  expect.  I 
^  purchase  your  fireedom ;  I  have  offered  an 
(som,  the  king  wiU  not  listen  to  me.  He 
has  set  his  heart  upon  having  you  in  his  guard,  and 
hae  his  will  is  law.  You  must  obey  ;  you  must 
go  to  Potsdam — ^you  must  yield  to  your  fate." 

**  And  you  q>^  of  it  so  coldly,  father ! " 

*  "Tott  must  yield  to  your  fate !  I  will  send  you 
dothea,  money,  everytldng  of  which  you  may  be  in 
aeed.  Go  to  Potsdam — accommodate  yourself  to 
chamutaooes  as  you  best  may.    It  is  my  wish 

s^  zcvmv— VOL.  IX. 


that  you  conduct  yourself  so  as  to  acquire  the  confi- 
dence of  all  about  you.  I  claim  thus  muchfrom  your 
obedience  as  ason.   Willyougiveme  yourpromlse?  " 

"  I  cannot,"  said  young  Wilmson,  pacing  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  imcontrollable  agitation. 
"  Submit  quietly  to  such  infernal  tyranny !  I  will 
make  my  escape  the  first  opportunity,  if  I  am  cer- 
tain of  death  in  consequence." 

*^  I  will  not  hear  of  such  an  attempt ;  I  insist  on 
your  listening  to  me  quietly  and  wiUiout  interrup- 
tion. Sit  down."  Frederick  obeyed  in  sullen  silence. 
His  father  continued: — "The  least  indiscretion 
will  ruin  us  both.  We  are  here  beyond  the  pro- 
tection of  the  law ;  avoid,  above  all  things,  awak- 
ening anger  or  suspicion :  your  imprudence  may 
destroy  all  hope<— but  your  imprudence  alone. 
Leave  me  to  act ;  I  will  yet  save  you,  if  your  im- 
patience does  not  frustrate  my  designs." 

He  paused  for  a  reply.  Frederick  was  silent  for 
some  time ;  he  was  evidently  engaged  in  a  violent 
conflict  with  his  own  feelings. 

"  And  for  how  long  do  you  require  me  to  act  this 
detestable  farce  ?"  said  he  at  length.  "  How  long 
do  you  require  me  to  be  a  slave,  and  wear  the 
livery  of  one?" 

**  Until  I  myself  am  firee— until  my  property  is 
converted  into  paper,  and  out  of  the  Prussian  terri- 
tory. Then,  and  not  till  then,  we  can  take  a 
decisive  step.  Trouble  yourself  no  further ;  but 
bear  your  present  misfortune  like  a  man." 

"  But  the  oath,  father,  you  have  foigotten  that ; 
how  can  I  take  the  oath  of  fidelity  to  this ^" 

"  How  can  you  help  yourself?"  interrupted  his 
father.  "  An  oath  taken  on  compulsion  is  no  oath 
at  all.  You  are  not  called  on  to  throw  away  your 
life  in  a  useless  contest  with  overwhelming  might. 
God  and  reason  absolve  us  from  obligations  imposed 
by  force.  If  such  oaths  were  suffered  to  weigh 
against  the  principles  of  eternal  justice,  we  might 
be  compelled  to  swear  to  deeds  that  would  deprive 
us  of  all  claims  to  humanity — ^that  would  degrade 
us  below  the  level  of  the  brutes ! " 

"  I  will  obey  you,  father,"  said  the  youth  with  a 
heavy  sigh. 

"  You  will  do  well.  Let  none  despair  but  those 
who  have  done  something  to  repent  of.  The  king 
has  spoiled  my  grand  dinner  party,  that  is  all. 
My  sister ^" 

<<  Ah !  my  dear  aunt ! — does  she  know  what  has 
happened?" 

**  She  does ;  I  told  her  myself.  I  said,  *  Sister, 
your  wishes  will  be  fulfilled.  I  will  leave  Magde- 
burg, and  retire  with  you  and  Fritz  to  a  land  of 
freedom,  as  soon  as  I  can  free  myself  ^m  all  ties 
to  this  place,' 

"  She  was  almost  beside  herself  with  joy.  By  de- 
grees I  told  her  all  that  had  happened,  and  disclosed 
my  plans  for  the  future.  At  first  she  thought  of 
her  dead  husband,  and  uttered  the  bitterest  invec- 
tives against  the  mighty  of  this  earth ;  but  in  the 
end  she  said — '  At  last,  then,  I  shall  have  some- 
thing to  thank  a  king  for.  Against  his  own  will, 
he  vrill  gild  the  evening  of  my  days.  I  shall  end 
them  in  the  society  of  idl  I  love  on  earth.  Let  me 
leave  this  hateful  city  as  quickly  as  possible  :  the 
earth  bums  under  my  feet.* " 

K 


94 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


The  calmness  with  which  Mr.  Wibnson  gave  all 
these  details  to  his  son  had  a  better  effect  ap<Hihis 
mind  than  anhour's  consolation  would  have  done.  By 
degrees  his  heart  grew  lighter,  and  his  brow  cleared 
up.  His  forced  entry  among  the  guards  of  Frede- 
rick William  had  eyen  its  ridiculous  point  of  view. 
He  would  look  upon  it  as  a  masquerade  somewhat 
of  the  longest.  He  parted  &om  his  father  with 
some  appearance  of  cheerfulness^  and  charged  him, 
above  all,  not  to  forget  to  send  him  the  handker- 
chief with  the  head  of  the  Meerschaum. 

On  the  following  morning,  at  sunrise,  the  recruits 
were  marched  out  of  the  city.  That  he  might  not 
attract  attention,  Friti  had  changed  the  more  ele* 
gant  habiliments  he  had  worn  in  his  interview  with 
the  king,  for  the  oldest  garments  in  his  wardrobe. 
He  was  among  the  foremost,  and  walked  with 
downcast  eyes,  without  looking  either  to  the  right 
or  the  left,  when  his  attention  was  roused  by  the 
sound  of  his  own  name  from  the  other  end  of  the 
bridge  he  was  crossing. 

^  Thunder  and  lightning,  Friti  I— my  heart's 
blood,  who  would  have  guessed  yesterday,  that  a 
spark  would  have  fallen  into  the  magaaine  to  blow 
us  all  up  sky-high  ?  But  never  mind,  my  boy ;  die 
king  and  old  Dessau  mean  honestly  by  you  ;  hang 
me  if  they  don't,  for  all  that's  said  and  done.  It 
is  all  your  own  £&ult ;  as  I'm  a  sinner,  it's  all  your 
own  doing.  Why,  in  the  devil's  name,  must  you 
grow  so  handsozne,  and  taller  by  the  head,  t^an 
anybody  else  ?  Why  were  you  not  little,  or  crooked, 
or  lame  ?  Thunder  and  lightning !  you  knew  our 
good  king's  whim  well  enough  1" 

It  was  the  veteran  Grabb,  vHio  had  hobbled  down 
to  the  bridge,  as  fuBt  as  his  wooden  leg  would  let 
him,  to  say  farewell  to  his  patron's  son,  ^ose  mis- 
fortune, in  being  thus  kidnapped  by  the  giant-lov- 
ing old  despot,  a£fected  him  much  more  than  he 
chose  to  acknowledge. 

Young  Wilmson  shook  hands  with  him  in  si- 
lence ;  and  the  old  man  limped  by  his  side,  trying 
hard  at  some  fragments  of  a  camp  ditty.  In  praise 
of  a  soldier  8  life ;  but  his  voice  broke  down  com- 
pletely in  the  middle  of  a  stanza,  and  Crabb  was 
fain  to  prove  his  fortitude  by  voUiesof  hard  words, 
and  raiUng  at  the  road,  the  weather,  his  wooden  leg, 
and  finally  at  the  melancholy  visible  in  his  young 
companion's  face. 

*^  Sapperment — thousand  devils !"  said  the  vete- 
ran, making  a  hideous  grimace,  to  hide  the  tear 
that  fell  on  his  griszled  beard,  as  the  recruits 
halted  at  the  foot  of  the  bridge  ;  and  Frits  signified 
to  him  that  here  they  must  part.  ^  Hang  it.  Frits, 
show  more  courage,  man  I  you  look  as  moping  as 
an  owl  in  the  sunshine.  Look  at  me  !  a  soldier 
should  care  for  nothing,  and  nobody.  Talking  of 
that — ^if  I  had  but  time  now,  I  could  tell  you  a  story 
of  old  Dessau,  that  would  make  you  split  your 
sides  with  laughing.'* 

**  No,  never  mind  now,  Crabb  ;  good-by,"  said 
young  Wilmson,  holding  out  his  hajad. 

The  old  man  wrung  it  hard, — tried  at  a  parting 
joke,  which  ended  in  an  imprecation  on  the  head 
of  MMneftodpr,  and  then  at  a  song ;  but  that  failing 
also,  he  gave  his  favourite's  hand  another  squeese, 
that  brought  the  tears  into  hia  eyes,  and  then  turn- 


ing his  back  abruptly,   returned,  weeping    as 
cursing,  over  the  bridge  to  Magdeburg. 


The  recruits  reached  Potsdam  by  short  marcho 
where  they  were  mustered,  and  drafted  into  difie: 
ent  regimenlB.  Wilmson  went  into  the  foot  giiav 
According  to  the  promise  exacted  by  his  father,  1 
digested  his  wrath  as  he  beet  could :  learned  tl 
puppet-like  movement^  the  shouldering,  grounding 
recovering,  and  wheeling  right  and  left,  and  eve 
put  on  the  tawdry  disguise  qf  the  uniform  withoi 
any  open  manifMtation  of  repugiumoe.  Withoi 
any  effort  on  his  own  part,  he  rapidly  acquire 
favour  and  distinction  with  his  officers.  He  vm 
without  dispute,  the  handsomest  man  in  the  reg 
ment,  and  promised  to  be  the  tallest ;  andhis  whd 
mAnnftr  and  demeanour  betrayed  an  evident  sup* 
riority  of  education  and  eondition  to  his  comrade 
Nor  were  his  various  acquirements  long  unknow 
or  unnoticed  ;  and  as  he  was  liberal  of  his  monej 
and  freely  used  his  influence  with  his  superiors  i 
their  favour,  his  fellow-soldiers  were  willhig  to  foi 
give  him  his  advantages,  and  even  to  overlook  hi 
disinclination  to  their  society.  It  was  well  know 
that  he  had  been  forced,  against  his  will,  into  th 
service, — ^many  others  were  so  far  similarly  ciroun 
stanced ;  but  as  their  talents  and  station  in  life  wer 
evidently  far  inferior  to  Wilmson  s,  it  awakene 
neither  surprise  nor  ill-will,  when  he  received  pa 
miision  &om  the  colonel  to  inhabit  a  separate  rooB 
out  of  the  barrack ; — and  this  favour,  which  he  ha 
ardently  desired,  rendered  him  as  happy  as  in  sud 
a  situation  it  was  possible  for  him  to  be.  Haviuj 
once  entered  on  the  task  &'  signed  him  by  his  fatha 
he  resolved  to  go  throu^  it  with  ^irit  and  resolu 
tion ;  and  so  far  mastered  his  feelings  as  to  show 
on  all  occasions,  a  satisfied  and  even  cheerful  coun 
tenance  :  listened  with  every  appearance  of  plea 
sure  to  the  congratulations  of  his  fellow-soldicrB 
when,  within  three  months,  he  was  advanced  t< 
the  rank  of  seigeant,  by  express  desire  of  the  king 
and,  in  short,  played  his  part  so  wdl,  that  it  wa 
generally  believed  that  the  failure  of  all  the  at 
tempts  made  by  the  elder  Wilmson  to  procure  hi 
son's  release,  was  as  much  to  be  attributed  to  tb 
indifference  of  the  young  man  himself  as  to  the  un 
willingness  of  the  king  to  part  with  his  long-legge< 
recruit.  His  object  was  obtained ;  he  had  the  eon 
fidence  of  all ;  and  many  privileges  were  grante( 
him,  of  which,  however,  he  seldom  made  use,  an^ 
never  abused.  The  colonel  called  him  **  My  son,' 
whea  he  spoke  to  him ;  employed  him  as  his  eecre 
tary,  and,  as  such,  frequenUy  brought  him  to  hi 
house,  where,  though  he  could  not  invite  him  U 
his  table,  Wibnson  was  treated  with  more  friend 
liness  and  consideration  than  his  officers  could  oftei 
boast  of. 

In  the  meantime,  he  maintained  a  diligent  oo^ 
respondence  with  his  father,  and  his  hopes  of  re- 
lease grew  daily  brighter.  By  degrees,  the  eldei 
Wilmson  disposed  of  the  greater  part  of  his  ware- 
housed goods  in  Magdeburg ;  and  such  as  could 
not  be  sold  without  great  lose,  wwe  deposited  iB 
warehouses  beyond  the  Prussian  frontier.  Hu 
out-lying  capital  was  gradually  collected,  some- 
times at  a  disadvantage,  under  the  pretext  that  the 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


95 


hutkn^y  of  somd  foreign  honses  rendered  some 
redaeticfii  in  the  number  of  his  specnlationB  neoes- 
nry.  It  was  admitted  on  all  sides,  that  he  was  im 
bonest  man ;  but  his  credit  as  a  merchant  suffered 
propeitioiiahlj— a  result  he  had  expected  and  cal- 
edated  on,  and  which  rendered  his  subsequent  pro- 
ceeding of  eonverting  his  possessions  in  house  and 
land  in  Magdeburg  into  ready  money  perfectly  in- 
tdligible.    At  last  he  wrote  to  his  son  : — 

**Ina  lartnlght  I. shall  leave  Magdeburg,  and 
await  jour  coming  at  my  sister  s  house  by  the  lake 
of  Constance.  It  is  thought  here  that  I  am  return- 
br  to  the  Netherlands.  I  await  you  with  fear  and 
tr»nbling.  You  have  a  weighty  task  to  aooom- 
pKah.  Make  your  preparations  with  the  utmost 
care  and  forethought.  If  you  haye  not  money 
oxnigh,  I  will  send  you  more  immediately.  Agree- 
ably to  your  wish,  Crabb  will  leave  me  to-day  for 
Potsdam ;  tiieold  man  is  out  of  his  wits  with  joy. 
He  win  be  a  great  assistance  to  you  in  your  escape. 
Brii^  him  with  yon  to  Switzerland.  The  veteran 
wiahes  to  end  his  days  with  us.  To  avoid  suspi- 
cion, it  will  be  better  not  to  be  seen  together  in 
pabUc ;  you  will  act  more  freely  in  consequence. 
I  bate  tdun  care  he  shall  not  want  for  money." 
The  sergeant  of  Potsdam  had  already  projected 
the  neans  of  flight ;  all  that  was  wanting  to  the 
fan  accomplishment  of  his  plan  was  a  fEuthful 
nmliaiy,  whom  he  dartd  not  look  for  in  Potsdam. 
It  was  titerefore  he  had  required  the  presence  of 
Crabb.  The  old  man  was  to  travel  as  a  rich 
n»rchant  from  Berlin  to  Potsdam,  where  he  could 
tadlj  find  means  to  smuggle  Fritz  into  the  car- 
riage ;  and  once  over  tie  frontier  into  Saxony,  and 
they  were  safe.  All  succeeded  according  to  his 
•lah ;  Crabb  came  in  state  to  Potsdam,  and  cried 
for  joy,  when  he  found  himself  hi  Wilmson's  little 
chamber,  where  he  was  received  with  heartfelt  joy, 
and  the  whole  project  explained  to  him. 

**  HoQa  !*  cried  the  veteran,  rubbing  his  hands, 
and  chnckling  with  delight ;  «  now  its  all  daylight 
'ith  me.  Devil  punch  me  dead,  if  I  could  make 
oat  why  the  old  gentleman  in  Magdeburg  furbished 
tte  ont  m  this  way.  Fritz,  you  should  see  my 
«»«ga2inc ;  a  chest  full  of  clothes,  fit  for  a  privy- 
«mnciDor  or  a  burgomaster.  Hang  me,  if  I  don't 
look  like  one  w^en  my  beard  is  scraped  off.  The 
«W  himself  wouldn't  know  old  Crabb  agam." 

An  the  details  of  the  projected  flight  were  now 
^<w«d  on.  Crabb  was  to  fix  his  head-quarters  at 
•«e  of  the  beet  hotels,  and  keep  himself  quiet  till  the 
''wpt  of  Mr.  Wilmson's  last  letter  from  Magde- 
^,  announcing  his  departure  from  that  city, 
*hai  the  hist  step  was  to  be  taken  without  farther 
^.  Punctual  to  the  day,  Mr.  Wihnson  wrote 
*J' ^  wn ;  Crabb  received  another  letter  nearly  to 
«*wnc  effect.  With  his  credentials  in  his  hand, 
«dd  man  hastened,  as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  to  the 
■^^da.  To  hisnosmall  astonishment,  he  found 
^rom^  sergeant  seated  in  a  melancholy  atti- 
^  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hand  ;  and  far 
wm  Aaring  in  the  veteran's  joy,  it  was  evi- 
««t,  fsom  his  short  and  cold  replies,  that  he 
*"^y  heard,  and  paid  no  attention  to  what  was 

^hb  knew  not  what  to  make  of  this,  and  stood 


with  his  mouth  open,  staring  at  the  young  gentle* 
man  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"Are  you  ill,  Mr.  Frederick  ?"  said  be  at  length. 

"No,  Ciabb." 

'^  Any  accident  happened,  then  ?" 

"  None  that  I  am  aware  of." 

"  Hang  me,  young  gentleman,  if  I  know  what  to 
make  of  you,  fhen.  Here,  ^binks  I,  he  will  be 
ready  to  jump  over  the  moon  for  joy ;  and  there  you 
sit— -God  foigive  me ! — ^like  a  sinner  on  the  stool 
of  repentance !  Shan't  I  go  to  Berlin  to-morrow 
morning,  to  buy  the  travelling  chaise?" 

"  There  is  no  huny  far  it,  Crabb,"  answered 
Frederick  coldly. 

"  No  hurry! — ^whewl-^what'sinthe  wind  now? 
What  am  I  to  do,  then.  Master  Fritz?" 

"  Leave  me— nothing !  I  don!t  know,"  said  the 
young  man,  resuming  his  meditative  posture. 

"  Hdlla !  the  fiat's  in  the  fire  with  a  vengeance. 
You  don't  know — who  does  then  1  Don't  you  re- 
collect that  your  father  is  almost  at  his  journey's 
end  by  this  time?  What  will  he  say  to  your 
*  don't  know,'  Master  Frita?" 

^*  I  shaU  remain  here  some  time  longer ;  leave 
me,  Crabb. 

With  these  words  young  Wihnson  rose  from  his 
seat,  took  a  few  rapid  turns  up  and  down  the  room, 
and  then  making  a  sudden  halt^  he  laid  both  hands 
upon  Crabb's  shoulders,  and  looked  at  him  with  an 
inexplioable  expression  of  happiness  in  his  whole 
countenance  and  manner.  Crabb  stood  as  mute  as 
a  fish,  with  mouth  wide  open,  all  eyes  and  ears,  in 
expectation  of  hearing  something  extraordinary. 
Instead  of  giving  the  wlshed-for  oommuni<»tion, 
however,  another  change  came  over  the  young 
mans  spirit;  he  withdrew  his  hands,  his  head 
dropped  on  his  breast,  and  he  resumed  his  walk 
with  a  slower  step,  and  folded  arms. 

"  The  Lord  be  merciful  to  us,  and  forgive  us  our 
sins  I"  muttered  Crabb,  in  a  fright ;  "  he  is  cer- 
tainly cracked!" 

"Be  silent,"  said  Frederick,  turning  sharply 
round.  "  The  affair  stands  now  on  a  very  differ- 
ent footing.  Once  for  all,  I  shall  remain  here  at 
present.  I  will  not,  I  cannot,  leave  Potsdam.  To- 
morrow, or  the  day  after,  perhaps,  I  may  be  able  to 
tell  you  more ;  perhaps  not  for  three  motiths,  or  a 
year.  The  aspect  of  my  afiairs  has  changed,  I  tell 
you— go." 

"  So,  so,  so, — a  pretty  story  this ! "  grumbled  the 
veteran.  **  Off  I  set,  ready  to  break  my  neck  in 
my  hurry  at  a  moment's  notice,  to  help  a  fellow  to 
desert,  cheat  the  king,  and  put  my  own  head  in 
the  noose;  for  it  Would  be  ^run  together,  hang 
together,'  if  we  were  caught ;  and  the  whole  busi- 
ness ends  in  smoke !  and  I'm  packed  off  with  a 
flea  in  my  ear,  to  lie,  like  a  bear  in  cold  weather, 
sucking  my  paws,  for  a  year  may  be !  Thunder 
and  lightning !  I'd  rather  be  hanged  at  once." 

Young  WUmson  paid  no  attention  to  his  follow- 
er's remonstrance ;  but  when  Crabb  ventured  to 
push  them  a  little  farther,  he  said,  with  a  look 
and  tone  that  showed  him  to  be  in  earnest — "  No 
more,  friend  Crabb— let  me  hear  no  more  of  this. 
I  am  unfortunately  situated — I  cannot  go  yet — ^I 
am  fixed  to  this  place  for  a  while — I  must  remain 


06 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


here.  If  the  king  himself  were  to  send  me  over 
the  frontier,  I  would  return  of  my  own  free  wUl. 
Now,  go :  it  may  he  that,  in  a  few  days,  you  shall 
know  all ;  hut  go  now ;" — and  with  these  words  he 
led  the  old  man  to  the  door. 

Crahh  offered  no  further  resistance ;  hut,  with  a 
significant  pointing  to  his  own  head,  to  indicate 
his  opinion  of  the  condition  of  Frederick's,  he  re- 
turned, muttering  curses,  to  the  hotel. 


The  motive  of  Fritz  Wilmson  s  unexpected 
change  of  mind  and  resolution  to  hug  his  chains, 
was  simply  this : — ^The  day  hefore  CrahVs  last 
visit,  he  had  heen  on  guard  at  the  palace,  where  he 
remained  till  twelve  o'clock.  He  was  sauntering 
among  the  statues  in  the  square,  and  enjoying  the 
beauty  of  the  morning,  when  his  notice  was 
attracted  by  a  young  girl,  in  half-mourning,  who 
was  walking  up  and  down  before  the  holises,  in 
evident  embarrassment,  looking  right  and  left,  and 
at  length  directing  her  steps  towards  the  spot 
where  he  stood.  Since  his  Magdebui^  adventure, 
he  never  saw  a  young  female  in  mourning  without 
a  certain  palpitation  of  the  heart ;  however,  the 
dress,  and  the  basket  on  the  arm,  showed  the 
condition  of  the  person  before  him,  to  be  that  of  a 
maid-servant.  When  she  approached  nearer,  and, 
addressing  him  timidly,  asked  if  he  could  direct 
her  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Major  Malzahn — ^when 
he  heard  the  soft  flute-like  voice,  that  had  once 
touched  him  to  the  heart  with  the  words,  *^  I  am 
an  orphan,  and  alone  in  the  wide  world" — ^looked 
on  the  child-like  purity  of  expression  in  her  coun- 
tenance, and  met  the  gaze  of  the  soft,  dear,  smiling 
eyes — ^hls  breath  grew  shorter,  and  a  dimness  came 
before  his  sight. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?*'  murmured  he,  at  length.  "  For- 
give me  ;  but — ^have  you  a  relation  in  Magdeburg, 
who  resembles  you  strongly — a  sister  ?— or  was  it 
yourself  I  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  there,  in 
another  dress  ?— or V 

She  looked  at  him  again  more  earnestly,  and 
with  a  faint  blush.  "  Giiod  Heaven ! "  exclaimed 
she,  involuntarily,  "  if  it  were  not  fof  that  uni- 
form ;  but,  no,  it  is  not  possible ! " 

^  I  am  the  person  *you  take  me  for,"  said  he, 
sadly.  ^'I  am  the  son  of  the  merchant  Wilmson, 
of  Magdeburg,  forced  by  the  despotic  will  of  a 
monarch  to  wear  this  hateful  livery ;  I  have  en- 
dured the  slavery  now  six  months.  Ah !  the  day 
was  at  once  the  happiest  of  my  life,  and  the  most 
fetal  to  me." 

*^  That  day  decided  my  fate  also,"  said  the  feir 
stranger,  sighing  and  casting  her  eyes  on  the 
ground.  "  I  remember  you  perfectly,  Mr.  Wilm- 
son, and  I  never  believed  the  evil  that  was  spoken 
of  you — ^never." 

*'  Who  could  have  spoken  of  me  to  you  good  or 
evil?"  asked  young  Wilmson,  in  some  surprise. 

**  A  person  of  the  name  of  Kiek,  in  the  service 
of  Privy-councillor  Von  Gundling.  He  asserted 
that  you  were  that  you  had  robbed  Aim  of  that 
unfortunate  handkercl^ef  with  the  meerschaum 
head,  that  I  lost  in  the  crowd ;  but,  I  assure  you, 
I  never  thought  ill  of  you  for  a  moment." 

^^  Pid  he  dare  ?    0,  that  I  had  found  you  again 


at  that  moment !  Your  property  is  safe.  I  have 
kept  your  handkerchief  as  a  sacred  relic  always 
by  me ;  but  your  name  I  could  not  discover :  the 
letters  C.  v.  St.  were  marked  in  the  comer." 

^^  Clementina  Stem,"  said  she,  in  a  low  tone. 

^* Clementina  Stem?"  he  repeated;  ''then  it 
must  be  Clementina  von  Stem?"  As  Wilmson 
hesitatingly  put  this  leading  question,  his  eyes  fell 
unconsciously  on  the  well-filled  basket  on  the 
round  white  arm,  which,  with  the  apron  of  coloured 
linen,  black  neck  handkerchief,  and  white  cap 
with  a  black  ribbon,  was  at  that  time  the  usual 
costume  of  female  servants,  when  they  adopted 
something  of  the  town  fashions. 

Clementina  seemed  to  understand  the  inquiry 
implied  by  his  looks  better  than  he  was  aware  of. 
She  blushed  deeply,  as  she  answered,  ''  That  vhu 
my  name,  but  my  family  has  long  since  abandoned 
such  vain  distinctions.  Since  the  death  of  my 
dear  fether,  as  subrector,  and  the  melancholy 
journey  to  Berlin,  undertaken  by  my  mother,  in 
the  vain  hope  of  assistance  from  some  rich  rela- 
tions, my  misfortunes  reached  their  climax :  I  lost 
my  last  dear  parent^  and  I  am  reduced  to  servi- 
tude as  my  only  resource."  As  she  spoke,  a  few 
pearly  drops  fell  on  her  soft  rose-tinted  cheek. 
^Bo  not  mistake  the  cause  of  my  sorrow,  Mr. 
Wilmson.  I  have  no  false  shame  for  the  humility 
of  my  condition;  I  did  but  think  what  would 
have  been  my  mother's  feelings,  if  she  could  have 
foreseen  my  future  destiny." 

"  Oh,  Frfiulein,  if  I  might  venture—" 

''Do  not  call  me  FrSulein,"  interrupted  she, 
hastily,  as  if  the  sound  grated  on  her  ear ;  but 
when  she  saw  the  tears  in  her  own  eyes  reflected 
in  Frederick's,  her  voice  again  softened.  "And  are 
you,  too,  no  longer  happy?"  asked  she. 

"  Happy,  when  I  see  you  weep  ?"  said  Frederick. 
There  was  a  pause,  which  was  broken  at  length  by 
an  inquiry  as  to  when  and  where  he  might  restore 
the  handkerchief  and  its  contents. 

"  Oh,  let  me  never  set  eyes  on  it  again !"  cried 
Clementina — her  colour  deepening  as  she  spoke  ; 
"  it  has  been  the  cause  of  all  my  late  uneasiness^ 
or  rather  it  was  the  unconscious  instrument  of  the 
detested  Kiek." 

Frederick  found  little  difficulty  in  drawing  from 
her  all  the  circumstances  connected  with  her  loss. 
The  owner  of  this  magnificent  pipe  was  Privy- 
councillor  Von  Gundling,  who,  being  a  lover  of 
finery,  valued  himself  not  a  little  on  the  possession 
of  such  an  article.  He  had  given  a  large  sum  for 
it  in  Magdebuig,  whither  he  had  come  in  the  royal 
suite,  and  sent  it  to  a  goldsmith  to  have  his  arms 
engraved  on  the  lid.  Clementina,  then  a  depen- 
dant on  some  part  of  the  cotmcillor  s  family,  had 
been  desired  to  fetch  it  back.  Kiek,  the  gentle- 
man in  green  and  gold,  who  imagined  that  Cle- 
mentina's poverty  reduced  her  to  his  level,  had  for 
some  time  persecuted  her  with  his  addresses  ;  and 
meeting  her  on  Wilmson's  arm,  in  the  crowd  that 
followed  the  king,  he  took  him  for  a  favoured 
rival,  and  snatched  the  handkerchief,  partly  with 
the  design  of  provoking  her.  Wilmson  s  violence 
confirmed  Kick's  suspicion.  On  the  return  of  the 
fiunily  to  Berlin,  he  learnt  that  the  admired  meer- 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


97 


hgd  TkOi  been  restored  to  its  owner,  who, 
in  coiMeqiience  thereof,  had  been  in  a  towering 
pttnum  erer  ainoe.  lliis  gentleman,  Kiek,  now 
tried  to  pnfit  hy  poor  Clementina's  embarrassment, 
and  praniied  to  find  means  to  quiet  the  privy- 
eouBcillor,  if  the  proud  beauty  would  show  him 
•one  fiToor  in  return ;  but  meeting  with  a  still 
man  deeided  repulrie,  1^  detailed  the  adventure  in 
Magdelnug,  with  some  additions  of  his  own.  He 
told  his  master  that  he  had  heard  Clementina's 
coiBpaninii  adc  her  to  give  him  the  meerschaum 
for  a  ke^mke,  which  she  had  at  last  agreed  to ; 
that  he,  Kkk,  had  snatched  it  out  of  the  fellow's 
hand,  hot  was  set  upon,  in  return,  by  the  robber 
tad  Mnne  of  hb  comrades,  and  so  compelled  to 
surender  what  he  would  never  have  patted  with 
to  oneu  As  Clementina's  own  account  agreed  in 
Mme  particolars  with  Kick's  fictions,  it  was  held 
as  an  entire  eonfirmation  of  them.  No  one  would 
b^ere  lor  m  moment  that  the  person  in  question, 
90  fitf  inoMk  being  her  lover,  was  not  even  known 
to  her.  She  was  obliged  not  only  to  pay  the 
worth  of  the  missing  valuable,  and  leave  the  house ; 
but  wns  told,  in  pretty  plain  terms,  that  she  might 
tiiink  herself  fortunate  to  get  off  so  easily.  Re- 
duced to  the  brink  of  despair,  by  such  a  concur- 
renee  of  unhappy  accidents,  Clementina,  after 
inaiiy  froitkas  attempte  to  procure  an  employment 
more  suitable  to  her  birth,  left  Berlin  and  came  to 
PMndam,  in  the  humble  situation  in  which  young 
WHmson  found  her. 

Wifanaon  listened  with  the  deepest  interest  to 
Ckmmtina's  recitaL  ^Let  the  scoundrel  but 
OMs  mj  path,"  muttered  he,  through  hb  teeth, 
"and  I  will  run  him  through,  were  he  in  the  royal 
yiieencel  I  understand  now,"  said  he,  aloud, 
"^  why  the  raecal  did  not  accuse  me  of  the  theft 
he  saw  me  dragged  &om  the  king's  pre- 
He  feared  your  innocence,  and  bis  own 
v3kny  would  be  made  manifest  Ah,  Clemen- 
tina !  how  much  have  you  suffered  through  my 
fiiok!  If  I  had  not  been  your  companion  on  that  un- 
fintunale  day,  one  sorrow  had  at  least  been  spared 
joa.  Be  it  my  task  to  redress  your  wrongs — ^I  can, 
I  win.  Bow  much  have  you  endured  since  we  first 
»et,  how  much  do  you  still  endureT 

**  No,  Mr.  Wilmson,  I  have  now  nothing  to  en- 
dure ;  I  have  found  a  good  mistress." 

^The  best  mistress  is  still  a  mistress,**  said 
Wibnaon,  hastily  ;  **  and  you,  0  dearest  Clemen- 
tina !  you  must — ^you  shall  bo— your  own  mistress. 
Yon  see  me  now  as  a  soldier ;  but  I  am  rich,  my 
filher  is  rich.    Do  not  doubt  me.    I  am  not  like 

tfatt  wretched  fellow— that " 

"  I  do  not  think — I  never  did  think — ^you  were," 
hitemipted  Clementina.  ^  I  thank  you  for  your 
ofas,  Mr.  Wilmson ;  you  are  very  kind ;  but  I 
am  my  own  mistress^  so  long  as  I  am  free  &om  all 
oUigBtion." 

^Tnm  out  the  guard,"  calWthe  sentinel,  as  a 
gcaend  officer  rode  by.  The  sergeant  could  only 
bow  to  his  £ur  companion,  before  he  sprang  into 
his  place ;  the  general  rode  on,  the  soldiers  turned 
into  the  guard-house  again.  Frederick  turned  to 
look  iorClemenUna,  but  she  was  gone.  He  paced 
iio^y  backwards  and  forwards^  plunged  in  a  de* 


licious  reverie.  The  unexpected  visitm  had  changed 
his  whole  frame  of  mind,  la  the  agitation  caused 
by  her  fluctuating  feelings,  Clementina  appeared 
sUll  lovelier  than  at  their  former  meeting  in  Mag- 
deburg. He  murmured  her  words  softly  to  him- 
self ;  he  stood  on  the  spot  where  she  had  stood ; 
something  of  her  still  seemed  to  linger  around  and 
hallow  it.  Potsdam,  the  city  he  had  hitherto  be- 
held as  a  dungeon,  was  suddenly  transformed  to 
a  fairy  kingdom  in  his  eyes ;  and  the  command  of 
the  king,  so  often  execrated  as  the  mandate  of  a 
despot^  appeared  as  the  right  hand  of  a  divinity 
leading  him  to  the  object  of  all  his  hopes  and 
wishes.  He  blessed  the  monarch ;  he  blessed  his 
fate ;  Clementina's  presence  would  have  changed 
a  heJl  into  a  heaven  in  his  eyes.  It  was  in  this 
mood  that  Crabb  found  him  after  the  receipt  of  his 
father's  letter. 


It  will  scarcely  be  doubted,  that  every  moment 
Wilmson  could  spare  on  the  following  day,  was 
devoted  to  the  discovery  of  Clementina's  abode. 
Potsdam,  though  a  Toyal  residence,  was  but  an 
insignificant  city,  and  even  less  remarkable  for 
ito  population  than  ito  size.  Every  one  who 
has  read  romances,  knows  that  lovers  are  sure  to 
find  one  another  in  the  end,  even  if  they  must  first 
traverse  every  quarter  of  the  world ;  it  was,  there- 
fore, not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Wilmson  had 
scarcely  employed  three  hours  upon  his  voyage  of 
discovery,  before  he  was  again  blessed  with  the 
sight  of  her  he  sought.  In  the  first  floor  of  a 
large  house,  Clementina  was  standing  at  a  win- 
dow, from  which  she  occasionally  looked  out,  as  if 
she,  too,  were  in  search  of  somebody  or  something. 
As  soon,  however,  as  he  came  right  opposite,  and 
took  off  hiscap  to  salute  her,Clementma's  eyesunac- 
countebly  missed  him,  and  she  not  only  drew  back 
and  shut  the  window,  but  drew  the  curtein  before  it. 

His  smiling  heaven  was  suddenly  obscured  and 
saddened,  as  if  a  snow-storm  had  fallen  upon  the 
earth,  while  glowing  in  the  beauty  and  freshness 
of  Spring.  He  returned  gloomily  to  his  cell,  and 
entered  on  a  long  struggle  with  himself,  in  which^ 
in  his  own  mind,  he  came  off  victorious.  He 
blushed  at  the  violence  of  his  passion  for  an  un- 
known, who  scorned  his  respectful  homage,  and 
resolved  to  think  of  his  escape  in  good  earnest. 
He  spoke  to  Crabb,  and  appointed  the  day  and  the 
hour.  Crabb  was  to  go  to  Berlin,  and  return  with 
a  carriage  and  post-horses,  as  a  wealthy  merchant 
travelling  in  haste  through  Potsdam,  late  in  the 
evening,  when  he  was  to  take  up  Wilmson,  dis- 
guised as  his  servant,  and  make  the  best  of  his 
way  over  the  frontier.  The  day  he  was  to  set  off, 
Crabb  had  occasion  to  pay  Wilmson  a  last  visit. 
The  old  man  came  chuckling,  and  rubbing  hb 
hands,  into  the  room  where  thf  y oimg  sergeant  was 
lying  before  the  window,  lookbig  into  the  street, 
with  so  much  attention,  that  he  did  not  observe 
Crabb's  entrance.  Clementina  had  just  passed, 
looked  up,  and  returned  his  salute  with  a  smile 
and  a  blush ;  and  when  she  reached  the  comet  of 
the  street,  the  beautiful  head  was  once  more  turned 
in  his  direction,  and  as  quickly  averted.  Frederick's 
Spring  laughed  out  once  more ;  the  snow  melted 


98 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


away,  and  the  bowed  but  unbroken  flowen  reared 
their  heads  once  mor«.  After  waiting  some  time, 
Crabb'0  patienoe  failed  him,  and  he  pulled  Wilm- 
son  by  the  shoulder  to  make  him  aware  of  his  pre- 
sence. The  young  man  turned  round  with  spark- 
ling eyes  and  cheeks  glowing  crimson.  *^  I  shall 
remain/'  said  he ;  '^  I  do  not  mean  to  go  at  all.  If 
I  were  sure  that  an  earthquake  would  destroy  the 
town  in  a  few  hours^  I  would  stay  and  be  swal- 
lowed up  in  it.** 

Crabb  Mt  very  much  as  if  he  were  threatened 
with  a  similar  accident  at  this  unexpected  turn. 
He  stormed,  entoeated,  Wept  and  swore,  and  swore 
and  wept  by  turns,  while  Wilmson,  without  heed- 
ing him,  lay  before  the  window,  and  looked  at  the 
stones  that  Clementina's  foot  had  inched  and  con- 
secrated. After  two  hours  spent  in  ueeless  endeav- 
our, the  old  man  gave  up  the  point,  and  withdrew, 
muttering  and  grumbling,  to  title  next  beer-cellar ; 
and  the  young  man,  forgetting  him  and  all  the 
world  besides,  remained  in  quiet  enjoyment  of  his 
prospect  from  the  barrack-room  window. 


The  next  time  fortune  smiled  on  Wilmson  was 
in  the  garrison  church,  where^  to  the  grievous  in- 
jury of  his  devotioii,  he  saW  Clementina  in  com- 
pany witii  an  aged-  lady.  Sflie  was  too  well  en- 
gaged to  notice  him ;  however,  in'  going  out,  he 
expected,  at  least,  a  look  of  recognition  in  answer 
to  his  humble  inclination ;  the  beauty*8  colour 
rose  a  little,  but  she  passed  and  gave  no  sign.  The 
evening  of  the  same  day  they  met  again  in  a  pub- 
lic walk,  and  this  tim^  Wilmson  mustered  up 
courage,  not  to  bow  but  to  speak  I  "  How  happy 
am  I  at  length  V*  stammered  he.  But  his  happiness 
wiks  quickly  put  an  end  to  by  the  countenance 
with  which  the  fair  one  heard  him,:  it  seemed  to 
betray  astonishment  beyond  the  power  of  expres- 
sion at  his  impertinence.  "  What  is  your  mean- 
ing. Sir,  in  thus  addressing  tne  V  said  she  coldly; 
**  I  do  not  know  you :  you  have  made  some  mis- 
take—you are  speaking  to  the  wrong  person." 
And  without  deigning  to  look  at  him  a  second 
time,  she  turned  away  with  some  yoUrig  persons 
who  were  walking  with  her.  The  poor  sergeant 
was  thunderstruck,  and  stood  for  some  minutes  as 
stock-still  as  if  he  had  been  on  parade  before  some 
martinet  of  an  officer ;  then  suddenly  startil]^  from 
his  bewilderment,  he  left  the  walk  with  a  firm  step 
and  indignant  air,  in  double-quick  time,  execrating 
the  weakness  of  man  and  the  coquetry  of  woman, 
from  the  time  of  Helen  downwards.  "Am  I  then  her 
dupe  only,  her  laughing-stock,  ipdien  I  thought — 
heaven  and  hell !  what  a  tone  she  assumed— *^  I  do 
not  know  you — ^you  are  addressing  the  wrong  per- 
son:' if  ever  I  put  faith  in  woman  again 1" 

What  was  likely  to  happen  in  the  case  therein  predi- 
cated, was  lost  to  the  world  by  his  running  into  the 
house  where  old  Crabb  had  taken  up  his  quarters, 
and  ordering  him  to  set  out  for  Berlin  forthwith. 
The  veteran  did  not  wait  for  a  second  thought,  but 
with  an  audible  thanksgiving,  that  the  young  gen- 
tleman had  at  last  recovered  the  use  of  his  wits, 
he  hired  horses,  and  drove  out  of  the  town  before 
Wilmson  found  himself  in  his  own  room  again.  | 
The  young  sergeant  plumed  himself  not  a  little  in  I 


his  own  mind  on  the  dignity  and  deci^on  of  his 
proceedings,  and  repeated  a  himdred  times  to  him- 
self that  he  was  miserable,  and  should  always  be 
miserable,  so  long  as  he  remained  in  the  same  city 
with  a  being  whose  charms  and  caprices  made  it  a 
question  whether  she  most  deserved  his  love  or  his 
hatred.  Before  night,  however,  he  found  reason 
to  doubt  of  the  di^ty,  and  repent  grievously  of 
the  decision.  It  happened  late  in  the  evening,  when 
he  had  left  his  room,  and  refreshed  himself  with 
a  solitary  walk  in  the  great  square,  that  he  stood 
still  to  consider  whether  it  would  be  better  to  go 
back  and  moralise  on  the  coquetry  and  incon- 
stancy of  the  other  sex,  in  his  solitary  chamber, 
or  to  forget  both  in  the  first  cofFee-liouse  he  came 
to.  He  had  not  quite  made  up  Ms  mind,  when  a 
low  musical  voice  bade  him  good  evening,  address- 
ing him  by  his  name.  It  was  Clementina.  Wilm- 
son bowed  with  extraordinary  polit^ess^  and  was 
walking  off,  as  he  flattered  himself,  with  a  particu- 
larly well-acted  air  of  indifierenoe;  but  she  was 
evidently  prepared  to  say  something  more,  and 
common  decency  required  that  he  should  hear 
what  it  was. 

"  Do  not  be  angry  wiUi  me  for  my  rudeness  this 
morning,"  said  the  musical  voice  timidly;  "  I  was 
compelled  to  act  as  I  did,  heaven  knows.  I  have 
had  no  peace  since.  How  ungrateful  and  insolent  I 
must  have  appeared  to  you  I "  After  such  a  decla- 
ra^Uy  parting  was  of  course  impossible*  Wilmson 
was  too  just  not  to  feel  it  a  positive  duty  to  remain, 
and  not  condemn  a  person  unheard.  Clementina, 
^o  had  probably  forgotten  that  her  old  mistress 
was  waiting  for  her  with  a  lantern  to  light  her 
home  from  her  card-party,  stood  still  likewise. 
She  had,  apparently,  no  wish  to  be  seen,  or,  per- 
haps, she  was  afraid  of  wasting  the  candle,  for  she 
extinguished  the  light  t  whereupon  Wilmson  re- 
collecting that  the  sudden  darkness  could  not  but 
subject  her  to  imminent  danger  of  stumbling,  ofiered 
his  arm  as  he  had  done  in  Magdebuig:  it  was  ac- 
cepted, and  they  walked  on  for  some  time  in  silence. 
By  degrees  the  fiill  heart  of  the  maiden  was  un- 
laden to  her  sympathizing  companion,  and  the 
cause  of  her  apparent  incivility  explained.  Her  old 
enemy,  Kiek,  had  attended  his  master  to  Potsdam  ; 
had  renewed  his  persecution  of  Clementina,  and 
revenged  himself  for  her  coldness,  as  he  had  done 
before,  by  a  repetition  of  the  calumny,  that  she 
was  connected  with  a  dissolute  fellow  in  the  King's 
Guard  *  the  girl  wanted  good  looking  after,  &c.  &c. 
Clementina's  mistress, — a  lady  of  the  fiercest  virtue^ 
— ^had  preached  her  a  sermon  two  hours  long  on  the 
one  deadly  sin  that  included  the  other  six,  of  looking 
at  any  young  man,  more  especially  a  young  man  in 
uniform,  refused  to  hear  a  word  of  the  poor  girl's 
justification,  and  finished  by  a  plain  declaration^ 
that,  out  of  pure  morality,  and  a  Christian  desire 
to  wean  her  from  her  evil  ways,  she  would  turn 
Miss  Clementina  into  the  streets  forthwith,  if  ever 
she  spoke  to,  or  looked  at  a  soldier  again. 

The  poor  orphan  wept  bitterly  as  she  related  her 
story ;  but  forgot  her  own  sorrow,  when  Wilmson, 
in  Ms  turn,  b^n  to  account  for  his  appearance  at 
Potsdam  in  so  difierent  a  station  from  that  he  had 
fiUed  in  Magdeburg. 


H£  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDlEfi. 


•Good  Heareill**  cried  she,  "why  do  you  le- 
nam  hoe  ?  In  yoar  place,  I  would  not  be  in  Pots- 
dam SBotiiCT  day.  You  have  money  at  command ; 
ihe  fkam  frontier  is  not  £ar  distant ;  your  father 
18  ab«dj  in  safety ;  what  hare  you  to  fear?  what 
keeps  joa  here  another  minute  I       ■" 

"  Ton,  GlemeoAina !"  answered  Wilmson,  inro- 
hmteifly. 

*  It  imposBible !  How  can  I  be  an  impediment  ? 
We  have  not  the  most  distant  connexion  with  one 


*  And  thetcfore  is  it  that  I  remab.  I  cannot 
hate  Potsdam  while  it  holds  you.  I  will  stay 
hat  tilL  you  hare  learned  to  know^ — tiU  you  have 
karaed  to  trust  me,— tiU  you  hare  learned  to  look 
on  me  as  a  brother.  When  you,  too,  will  leave 
this  hatefal  place,  which  you  have  as  little  cause 
to  love  as  I,  and  seek  a  rel^ige  with  my  father  and 
mj  waxd ;  then  Clementina  I  will  fly!'' 

She  was  silent,  half  terrified ;  and  uncertain  how 
to  nndentsDd  him,  or  what  to  answer. 

"  Lean  this  misrtress  of  yours  at  once,"  pursued 
WflmsMi ;  "you  must  not — ^you  shall  not  remain  in 
jeorpreieiit  condition.  My  means  are  ample— —'' 

"  hnpoisible !  quite  impossible !  Mr.  Wilmson," 
said  Gaoentina  quickly  ;  '^  you  cannot  be  think* 
in;  of  what  you  are  sayii^." 

''I>o  you  mistrust  me  so  much,  Clementina  V* 

"Have  I  shown  mistrust  in  the  relation  of  my 
part  or  present  droomstances?  What  more  can 
ywi  required 

*  Mwih  laore,  if  I  oould  hope  to  convince  you  of 
tbe parity  of  my  feelings  towards  you;  but  I  will 
art  we^  you  beyond  your  wishes.  I  yrUl  be  sUent 
tOl  you  can  no  longer  doubt  me.  Have  you  a 
ftiail— any  female  firiend  in  this  city?" 

"Not  one!"  said  she  sadly. 

"Let  me  tiien  be  esteemed  worthy  to  bear  so 
FRooas  a  name !  I  dare  venture  to  call  myself 
nv  ooDsdoQs  that  I  have  no  end  in  view  but  your 
k^»pliieai :  no  hope  but  in  yours  to  find  my  own." 

"I  befieve  you,  and  I  thauk  you,  Mr*  Wilmson ; 
tnt  that  I  may  remain  worthy  of  your  esteem,  I 
^  aee^notiiing  beyond  it  from  your  hands*  If 
jw  HTBh  to  preserve  my  confidence,  you  will  not 
iwewihese  offers.  I  can  work ;  labour,  and  the  con- 
«w»ess  of  integrity,  will  save  me  from  despair." 

"I>eaK8t  Clementina,  you  misunderstand  me ; 
pwhape  you  see  in  me  but  another  persecutor  of 
.▼ovbdplesBness,  like  that  wretched  Kick*" 

"Yottcamwt  think  that,  Mr.  Wilmson,"  answered 
^^CfiBBthia,  with  some  earnestness,  leaning  slightly 
on  Ids  arm,  as  if  she  would  give  him  some  assurance 
tf  herfuth,  and  half  unconscious  that  she  did  so. 

It  was  now  Wilmson s  turn  to  be  silent;  the 
^pRsmre  of  her  little  hand  put  all  Aw  eloquence 
to  fiigfat  in  a  moment ;  he  did  not  even  hear  her 
?eak  to  him,  although  she  spoke  more  than  once. 
His  flOenee  dSsturbed  her.  **  Are  you  angryr 
•A«d  she  sofUy.  Still  no  answer.  She  said  no 
■w»;  bat  her  rituation  grew  every  moment  more 
•"^^•mssii^,  and  more  mortifying.  At  length,  she 
^'^'^^ww  her  arm,  and  murmured  with  a  half- 
^  ^  «Good  night,  Mr.  Wilmson."  Her 
™d  was  hastily  seized — pressed  passionately  to 
hoick's  Upa-—«heev«i  felt  a  tear  foil  on  it.       | 


"What  ails  you,  Mr.  Wilmson? — dear  Mr. 
WUmson,"  asked  she,  trembling. 

"  Grood  night,  dearest  Clementina,"  said  he; 
"  you  have  made  me  very  unhappy,  though  you 
know  it  not." 

"  Unhappy! — and  through  me !  0,  no  ;  that 
must  not  be,"  said  Clementina,  with  an  involun- 
tary tenderness  of  tone,  that  emboldened  her  lover 
once  more  to  urge  his  request  in  a  somewhat  differ^ 
ent  form. 

"  If  my  peace  is  of  any  value  in  your  eyes,  Cle- 
mentina, promise  me  at  least  that  in  any  future 
embarrassment,  you  will  have  recourse  to  me  im- 
mediately, and  to  no  other." 

"  I  will ;  I  do  promise  that  much :  and  if  my 
peace  is  dear  to  you,  Mr.  Wilmson,  you  will  not 
ask  for  more^  We  part  here.  Grood  night,  dear 
friend." 

Before  he  had  time  to  answer,  Clementina  had 
disappeared  in  the  darkness.  He  did  not  venture 
to  follow  her,  but  remained  long  in  the  same  spot, 
softly  repeating  her  words  to  hhnself,  and  deduc- 
ing from  them  the  sweetest  hopes,  and  stUl  more 
from  the  tone  in  which  they  were  uttered.  For 
some  hours  he  rambled  about  the  streets  of 
Potsdam;  his  eyes  sparkling,  his  cheeks  burning, 
his  Inreast  foil  of  the  rapturous  dream  of  youthful 
happiness.  He  thought  no  more  of  freedom  or  of 
flight ;  he  thought  only  of  the  moment  when  he 
should  again  be  blessed  in  the  presence  of  the  love- 
liest of  her  sex.  He  felt  himiself  the  happiest  of 
mankind— he  swore  it — and  that  nothing  could 
ever  make  him  unhappy  again. 


As  to  the  latter  point,  Mr.  Frederick  Wilmson 
was  mistaken,  as  young  folks  are  apt  to  be;  and  if 
he  had  had  but  a  little  more  experience  in  life,  he 
would  have  expected  that,  precisely  because  he  was 
the  happiest  of  mankind  to-day,  he  stood  a  hand- 
some chance  of  becoming  a  ndserable  dog  on  the 
morrow. 

The  very  next  morning,  at  the  moment  when  in 
the  solitude  of  his  chamber,  he  was  revelling  in 
the  remembrances  of  the  preceding  evening,  the 
sword  of  fate  was  dangling  over  his  head,  suspend- 
ed by  a  thread  no  thicker  than  one  of  Clementina's 
own  golden  hairs. 

It  happened  that  his  most  gracious  Majesty 
Frederick  William  the  First,  was  taking  a  ride  in 
eompany  with  some  of  his  officers  without  the  gates 
of  the  city.  They  had  not  long  cleared  the  gate, 
when  the  attention  of  the  whole  party  was  arrested 
by  the  extraordinary  height  of  a  smartly  dressed 
damsel,  who  was  coming  towards  them  frrom  an 
opposite  direction. 

**  Where  did  that  jroung  giantess  spring  from  ?" 
asked  the  king,  throwing  an  admiring  glance  on 
the  daughter  of  Anak,  as  she  drew  nearer.  ^  Does 
any  one  know  her  T 

**  I  have  seen  the  gawky  Venus  somewhere,  and 
in  Potsdam,  I  believe.  Sire,"  answered  one  of  the 
officers.  *^  I  rather  think  she  is  in  service,  in  the 
household  of  War  Councillop— I  foiget  his  name. 
The  wench  might  befnglewoman  to  tixe  whole  fair 
sex  of  Potsdam." 

**  Upon  my  honour  I "  cried  the  monarch,  slack- 


100 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


ening  his  horse's  bridle,  ^  if  she  marry  one  worthy 
of  her — I  mean  a  man  that  deserves  Ihe  name,  and 
not  one  of  your  dwarfs — she  might  be  the  mother 
of  a  race  of  giants." 

^*  Assuredly  she  mighty  Sire,"  replied  the  officer; 
<<  but  the  devil  delights  in  maldng  folks  love  by  the 
rule  of  contrary.  I  would  lay  any  wager,  that 
the  two  yards  and  a  half  of  beauty  there  has  a 
fancy  for  some  Hop-o'-my-thumb  who  scarcely 
reaches  to  her  elbow." 

**  Hum !  that  may  be  amended,*'  said  the  king. 
^*  That  will  never  do  I  The  wench  deserves  some- 
thing better.  That  is  well  thought  of  1  She  shall 
have  a  handsome  yoilng  fellow,  to  whom  I  owe 
some  sort  of  reparation  into  the  bargain.  The 
boy  shall  have  no  cause  to  complain  of  me  this 
time,"  added  the  monarch,  with  a  chuckle  of  self- 
gratulation,  as  the  bright  idea  occurred  to  him. 
**  I'll  make  a  match  between  her  and  young  Wilm- 
son  of  Magdeburg :  he's  the  very  man ! " 

While  he  was  still  speaking,  the  young  Patago- 
nian  had  come  up  with  them,  and  looked  frightened 
out  of  her  wits  on  finding  her  path  completely  ob- 
structed by  the  officers,  who,  following  the  example 
of  the  king,  had  reined  up  their  horses,  and  occu- 
pied the  road  from  side  to  side. 

^^  Come  hither  my  pretty  maid,"  cried  the  king; 
^'  here,  this  way,  and  don  t  look  so  scared,  foolish 
wench !  I  am  not  going  to  eat  you.  Where  are 
you  going  to? — ^into  the  town,  hey?" 

The  long-backed  damsel  glowed  like  a  pan  of 
charcoal  under  the  operation  of  the  bellows,  and 
stammered  out  an  unintelligible  **  Yes." 

"  Good  I — ^then  you  can  do  me  a  little  service : 
you  can  take  a  note  from  me  to  the  commandant, 
and  get  a  crown  or  two  for  your  trouble,-~do  you 
hear?  Can  any  one  give  me  a  slip  of  paper?" 
added  the  king,  turning  to  his  suite. 

One  of  the  officers  gave  his  pocket-book,  out  of 
which  his  majesty  tore  a  blank  leaf,  and  writing  a 
few  lines  on  it  with  a  pencil,  twisted  the  paper  up 
into  a  peculiar  form,  and  addressed  it  to  die  com- 
mandant. 

"  You  will  take  it  directly  to  the  commandant — 
directfy,  mind.  You  know  where  he  lives?"  The 
damsel  made  a  frightened  curtsey,  and  was  making 
off  as  fast  as  her  enormous  legs  could  carry  her. 
"  Halt  tliere,"  cried  the  king ;  "  here  is  for  your 
trouble,  in  case  the  commandant  should  forget;" 
and  he  put  a  couple  of  ducats  into  her  large  fist. 
"  Are  you  married?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "  But  you  have  got  a 
sweetheart  ?"  The  poor  girl  made  no  answer,  but 
her  face  flamed  up  again,  and  her  head  was  once 
more  set  in  motion,  but  not  so  decidedly  as  before. 

"  Well,  well,  I  understand ;  that  wUl  do — ^you 
may  go,"  said  the  king,  laughing ;  "  but  the  com- 
mandant must  have  my  note  directly,  remember." 

The  girl  curtsied  again,  the  officers  made  way  for 
her,  and,  as  she  passed,  she  heard  a  stifled  laugh : 
they  had  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  contents  of  the  note! 

About  half  an  hourafter  this  rencontre,  an  orderly 
marched  into  Wilmson  s  little  chamber,  and  de- 
sired the  immediate  attendance  of  Sergeant  Wilm- 
son at  the  house  of  the  commandant.  The  sergeant 
obeyed  ^  prpmptly  ^  geigeftnt^  (i^  vls^x\  tbej^ 


can't  help  themsdves,  and  was  shown  into  a  large 
room,  where  he  found  his  excellency  the  com- 
mandant with  the  colonel  of  his  regiment,  and  a 
chaplain.  Apparently  something  uncommonly  \ 
droU  had  just  been  said  or  done;  for  all  three  had 
been  laughing  immoderately,  and  the  entrance  of 
the  young  sergeant  seemed  the  signal  for  a  fresh 
burst  There  is  a  difference  of  opinion  among  men 
on  most  points,  however ;  and  it  is  possible  that 
the  something  might  not  have  been  so  amusing  to 
all  parties — so  at  least  might  be  guessed  by  the 
wailing  and  heavy  sobs  that  proceeded  from  an 
inner  apartment,  and  formed  a  contrast  to  the  exu- 
berant mirth  of  the  two  military  gentlemen  and 
their  clerical  coadjutor,  more  striking  than  agree- 
able. 

*^  Sergeant  Wilmson,"  said  the  colonel,  when  he 
had  composed  his  countenance,  *'you  are  a  lucky 
fellow !  His  majesty's  favour  will  make  you  the 
envy  of  all  your  comrades." 

Wilmson  started  in  joyful  surprise ;  he  expected 
nothing  less  than  that  tl^  king  had  granted  his  dis- 
charge ;  and  forgetting  the  wooden  puppet  motions 
proper  to  the  soldier,  he  only  felt  as  a  man,  and 
hastily  advanced  towards  his  officer,  in  speechless 
eagerness. 

"  Can  you  guess  what  is  in  store  for  you  ?"  asked 
the  colonel  smiling.  ^  What  is  your  warmest  wish 
at  the  present  moment?" 

"My  discharge,  my  freedom ! "  replied  the  young 
man. 

"Pshaw,  nonsense,  trash!"  cried  the  colonel, 
knitting  his  brow ;  "  something  better  than  that 
What  tiie  devil  have  you  to  do  with  freedom  ?  I 
thought  you  had  got  rid  of  that  folly  long  ago. 
Come,  mend  your  guess;  what!  you  can't?  Well, 
it  is  not  fair  to  tantalize  you  farther.  His  majesty 
has  been  graciously  pleased  to  select  a  wife  for  you. 
What  think  you  of  that,  comrade  ?" 

Wilmson  opened  his  eyes  to  double  their  usual 
extent,  and  could  scarcely  articulate  for  astonish- 
ment :  "  A  wife  for  me ! — and  what,  in  Heaven's 
name,  am  I  to  do  with  her?" 

He  was  answered  by  a  fresh  burst  of  laughter* 
"  Do  with  her,  you  booby ! — as  other  people  do— as 
well  as  you  can." 

The  blood  of  the  young  man  mounted  to  his  tem- 
ples ;  he  drewhimself  up  proudly,  but  made  no  reply. 
V  "  Upon  my  honour,  she  is  a  fine  wench,"  pur- 
sued the  commandant,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff!.  **  I 
don't  believe  all  Potsdam,  and  Berlin  put  together, 
could  produce  a  more  perfect  beauty — ^hey.  Von 
Escher?"  turning  to  the  colonel. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Von  Escher,  applying  to 
the  snufi^-box  in  his  turn. 

"  I  would  not  marry  her  if  she  were  Helen  her- 
self," answered  Wilmson  coolly. 

"  You  are  not  asked  whether  you  wiU  or  no," 
said  the  commandant  drily.  "  We  have  the  kind's 
special  command ;  the  girl  is  waiting  in  the  viext 
room,  and  a  confounded  howling  she  makes,*' 
muttered  he  between  his  teeth !  "She  has  got  a 
fancy  for  some  other  too,  I  suppose.  His  reverence 
is  waiting  to  perform  the  ceremony ;  come,  Sir, 
C[uick,  despatch!" 

«*  Xh^  kuig'9  C9itti?wd,"   Qfi^  th?  y^uag  oiiui^ 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


101 


ifanoftt  diokiiig  with  rage ;    ^  what  has  the  king 
to  do  with  my  mairiage  V* 

*^EM  your  tongue ;  what's  that  to  ypu  ?  We 
hare  hb  niajesty's  command,  under  his  own  hand. 
Yoa  Bttj  see  the  billet  if  you  wUl — ^it  runs  thus, 
'  Yoa  are  to  see  Sergeant  Wihnson  married  forth- 
with to  the  bearer  of  the  note,  in  the  presence  of 
Colonel  Ton  Escher/  That's  enough,  I  hope.  I 
won't  liear  another  word,  either  from  you  or  the 

waiaL 

''Iheking'a  commands  may  effect  much ;  but  this 
ii  beyond  his  power/'  said  Wilmson  caknly.  ^^My 
hand  and  heart  are  at  my  own  disposal,  and  at  that 
of  no  other  mortal  breathing." 

"As  to  your  heart,  young  man,  you  may  do  as 
yoalike^  but  the  wife  you  must  have;  therefore, 
yoa  had  better  submit  at  once,  without  making 
«Dy  more  wry  faces,"  said  the  commandant. 

"  It  is  contrary  to  erery  law  of  €rod  or  man," 
ezdaiiiied  Wibnaon,  restraining  himself  with  dif- 
ficahy. 

''A  soldier,  and  preach  of  law !  the  fellow  is 
erasj.  What  has  lie  to  do  with  either  T  said  the 
offieer  angrily  • 

"Very  little,  indeed,  your  excellency,"  said 
Wilmson,  with  a  bitter  smile ;  **  but  I  have  not 
been  so  long  a  soldier  as  to  forget  that  I  am  a  man. 
Yoor  tyranny  may  dxiye  me  to  desperation ;  it  shall 
Befer  make  me  ihe  voluntary  instrument  of  my 
own  disgr&oe  and  misery.  I  am  free,  so  soon  as  I 
cbooee  to  be,  and  I  laugh  at  your  threats,  and  those 
of  your  king,  while  my  life  is  in  my  own  power." 

^'Come,  come,  my  lad,"  said  the  colonel,  step- 
ping up  to  him,  and  clapping  him,  in  a  friendly 
iBaaner,  on  the  shoulder,  ^*  no  rashness,  there's  a 
leaedy  for  everything  but  death.  The  king  must 
be  obeyed ;  but,  depend  upon  it,  you  will  have  no 
Rann  to  repent.  Obey  at  once  with  a  good  grace, 
fluee  obey  you  must.  If  the  king  gives  the  wife, 
he  gives  the  fortune  too ;  and  the  girl  is  really  a 
iweet  creature,  and  it  is  no  great  nusfortune  to  have 
a  pretty  girl  flung  into  your  arms !  Most  men 
would  endure  such  a  one  with  great  philosophy !" 
Wihnson  withdrew  coldly  from  the  colonel's 
kmd,  which  still  rested  on  his  shoulder.  ''  The 
king  can  bestow  nothing  on  me — no  equivalent  for 
that  he  haa  deprived  me  of.  He  has  torn  me  from 
a  happy  fiunily — ^&om  an  affectionate  father  ;  he 
has  aanSiilated  my  personal  and  social  freedom,  by 
»  the  single  exercise  of  his  will ;  he  has  degraded  me 
£ram  an  independent  rational  being  to  a  puppet, 
moTing  and  acting  at  the  bidding  of  others  ;  and 
now  he  makes  me  feel,  through  you,  that  there  is 
a  stall  lower  point  of  misery,  to  which  he  would 
lain  redoce  me.  But  he  is  mistaken  this  time.  I 
declare,  once  for  all,  I  will  not  obey;  if  you  have  re- 
eourse  to  violent  means,my  blood  be  onyourheads." 
**  Ncosense  I  fanfaronade !"  interrupted  the  com- 
;  angrily.  ^  Have  done  with  tiiis  insolence, 
by  heaven,  yon  shall  repent  it!  But  there 
.  be  an  end,  and  a  speedy  one,  to  this  business. 
Ho,  without  there !"  cried  the  officer,  turning  to  the 
door  by  which  Wilmson  had  entered.  Two  non- 
rmsiiiiiiMiuued  officers  of  the  guard  entered,  to  whom 
the  oosnnandant  wMspored  a  few  words,  and  they 
pnomtmi  wf&isx  tb9  door;  i»otioD)^98  09  9^ta^f 


Colonel  von  Escher  walked  hastily  up  and  down 
theroom,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  throwing, 
from  time  to  time,  glances  of  uneasiness  and  com- 
passion towards  the  unfortunate  Wilmson,  for 
whom  he  really  felt  a  strong  regard.  He  drew  the 
commandant  to  a  distant  window,  and  talked  with 
him  for  some  minutes,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice.  The 
shrugging  of  his  exc^ency's  shoulders  betrayed 
the  nature  of  the  conversation,  and  his  own  answers. 
The  stillness  in  the  saloon  rendered  the  sounds  of 
lamentation,  in  the  neighbouring  apartment,  more 
painfully  audible  ;  and,  from  time  to  time,  there 
was  an  eager  contention  of  female  voices. 

^^The  thing  must  come  to  an  end,  upon  my 
honour,"  said  the  commandant,  breaking  off  the 
conference  at  the  window  abruptly.  ^^  It  is  his 
majesty's  pleasure  ;  what  is  the  use  of  further 
talking  1    Chaplain,  make  ready!" 

With  these  words,  he  went  into  the  other  room, 
leaving  the  door  open.  One  of  the  women  uttered 
a  piercing  scream  as  he  entered  ;  two  others  seized 
her,  one  by  each  arm,  and  dragged  her  into  the 
saloon.  The  colonel  miked  hastily  away ;  Wihn- 
son did  not  move,  but  remained  with  his  eyes 
riveted  on  the  ground,  revolving  a  dark  purpose 
in  his  mind.  The  chaplain  approached,  and  spoke 
to  him  ;  it  was  evident  that  Wilmson  neither  saw 
nor  hefud  him ! 

The  colonel  came  up  to  him  a  second  time,  and 
shook  him  gently  by  ihe  arm.  *^  Come,  come,  my 
son,  submit,  since  there  is  no  help  for  it ;  have 
mercy  on  the  poor  girl." 

Wihnson  started  as  if  roused  from  a  heavy  sleep ; 
and  first  became  conscious  that  the  chaplain  stood 
before  him,  ready  for  his  office,  and  by  his  side  the 
unhappy  bride,  in  a  convulsion  of  sorrow,  her  face 
buried  in  her  handkerchief^  and  supported  on  either 
side  by  a  stout  handmaiden  of  his  excellency's 
household. 

**  Put  away  that  wet  rag,  child,  and  take  a  look 
at  the  husband  lus  majesty  has  picked  out  for 
you ;  you  might  have  done  worse  for  yourself,  I 
can  tell  you,"  said  the  commandant,  in  a  tone 
whose  roughness  was  not  altogether  natural ;  and, 
^a  he  spoke,  he  drew  the  handkerchief  from  her 
trembling  fingers,  but  without  rudeness. 

The  girl  again  uttered  a  faint  cry  :  her  swollen 
eyes  met  Wihnson's.  Heaven  and  earth,  it  was 
Clementina ! 

^  Wretches,  you  have  murdered  her !"  shouted 
Wilmson,  springing  forwards  and  tearing  the  now 
insensible  form  from  the  arms  of  the  women.  He 
bore  her  to  a  sofa,  knelt  down  by  her  side,  and 
watched  for  some  sign  of  returning  life,  with  an 
eagerness  that  rendered  him  unconscious  of  all  that 
was  passing  round  him. 

"  What's  in  the  wind  now  ?  who  have  we  herel" 
said  the  commandant,  aside,  to  the  colonel.  **  This 
is  a  new  scene  in  the  play.  No  matter,  the  young 
spark  is  out  of  his  heroics;  however,  let  us  make 
an  end  of  this  cursed  business,  before  the  storm 
begins  again.  Come,  parson,  begin  your  office^^ 
quick,  despatch-~do  you  hear  me  V 

"  Had  we  not  better  wait  a  little  ?"  interposed 
the  chaplain ;  ^*  the  young  mai^  seems  disposed  to 
be  ^:ea8o^able,  and— .--•" 


102 


fifi  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


^Not  a  minnte— not  a  BKoni^'*  cried  ti»  eom- 
mandant.  '^PixK^eed,  I  wyi  there  the  girl  has 
opened  her  eyes.  JViU  you  do  jour  duty,  Sir,  or 
notr 

Thus  admonished,  the  chaplain  prepared  to  ohey. 
Wihnson  neither  heard  nor  law ; — ^fais  soul  seemed 
flown  to  Clementina,  whose  life  appeared  fluttering 
on  her  lips.  No  questions  were  asked  of  hride  or 
bridegroom ;— the  rings*  were  not  exchanged,  but 
forced  upon  their  passive  fingers  by  the  by^standers, 
and  the  unceremonious  ceremony  was  orer. 

The  commandant  wiped  the  drops  fhnn  his 
forehead,  and  gate  orders  for  a  carriage  to  be 
brought  immediately. 

**  Let  me  only  get  the  silly  wench  out  of  my 
house,  before  she  gires  up  the  ghost  outright," 
muttcnred  he  to  himself.  *^  It  is  a  most  infernal 
business  altogether.  As  I  am  a  Christian  man,  I 
would  rather  ten  thousand  times  be  chaiged  at  once 
by  the  enemy  front  and  rear,  than  go  through  it 
again  I" 

Colonel  Ton  Escher  drew  Wilmson  aside,  who 
seemed  scarcely  yet  awakened  to  his  situation. 

**  My  son,  recollect  yourself ;  tiie  thing  is  done 
now,  and  cannot  be  undone.  Cast  off  those  wild 
notions  of  yengeanoe  that  you  uttered  a  while  ago  ; 
they  are  fit  for  none  but  fools  and  cowards  to  utter 
or  to  feel.  Look  at  that  poor  girl  there :  by 
hearen,  I  am  sorry  for  her  and  for  you  ; — but  she 
it  your  wife.  Treat  her  kindly ;  her  life  hangs  on 
a  thread,  which  one  harsh  word  from  you  may 
snap  asunder.  Be  a  man,  and  conquer  your 
disinclination ;  she  at  least  is  innocent  of  wrong 
towards  you.  Promise  me  to  take  no  farther  step 
till  you  are  cooler  ; — gire  me  your  hand  upon  it ; 
—you  shall  not  repent  your  compliance.  I  will 
act  as  a  father  by  you— come,  my  son,  your  hand 
and  word." 

Wilmson  gave  Ins  hand  mechanically  to  the 
kind-hearted  officer,  without  having  the  smallest 
idea  of  what  he  had  been  talking  about.  To  pass 
in  one  half-hour  from  hell  to  heaven,  might  well 
have  set  the  strongest  head  in  a  whirl!  The 
carriage  was  brought,  and,  on  a  sign  from  the 
commandant,  Clementina  was  carried  down  stairs 
by  the  women,  and  pUioed  in  it.  The  colonel 
followed  Wilmson. 

**  Remember,  my  son,"  said  he, "  you  have  g^ven 
me  your  word  of  honour  to  be  kind  to  this  poor 
girl ;  it  were  unworthy  of  a  man  to  act  otherwise. 
Her  fate  is  hard  enough  in  being  forced  into 
unwilling  arms :  let  it  not  become  still  harder 
through  your  fault." 

"Is  this  all  really  true,  or  do  I  dreamT  asked 
Wilmson,  as  the  carriage  rolled  on,  and  he  found 
himself  alone  with  his  pale  trembling  bride.  "  Oh, 
dearest  Clementina!  if  it  be  indeed  a  dream,  let  me 
dream  on !  if  it  be  an  illusion  of  the  senses,  may 
their  healthful  service  never  more  be  mine !" 

A  faint  smile  stole  over  Clementina's  face ;  her 
hand  half-returned  the  pressure  of  his,  but  the 
tears  still  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  The  words  that 
trembled  on  her  lips  died  away,  when  the  carriage 

*  In  German  marriages,  the  bride  and  bridegroom 

BXCHAMQB  rings. 


suddenly  stopped.  They  were  at  hom^^her  home 
now.  Wilmson  lifted  her  out,  and  carried  her  into 
the  house. 


**  Where  are  we  ?  Mr.  Wilmson,  where  are  you 
bringing  me?"  asked  Clementina,  standing  still,  as 
Wilmson  attempted  to  lead  her  onwards. 

"  Where  should  I  bring  you,  but  to  toy  home-^ 
to  yours,  beloved?  Henceforth  we  are  one,  my 
Clementina — without  our  own  consent,  certahily  * 
nor  can  I  yet  understand  by  what  means  our  union 
was  accomplished,  or  how,  or  by  whom,  a  secret,  I 
thought  locked  in  my  inmost  heart,  was  betrayed 
to  the  king.  One  sweet  assurance  cJone  is  mine — 
you  are  mine — mine  for  ever,  beyond  the  reach  of 
fate." 

Half  led,  half  carried,  by  her  husband,  Clemen- 
tina entered  Wilmson's  apartment.  It  was  a  large 
and  airy  room,  furnished  as  a  sergeant's  room  is  not 
often  famished,  though  somewhat  of  a  bachelor  s 
no-order  was  observable  throughout.  Books  and 
writing  materials,  several  small  articles  of  dress, 
flowers,  and  sheets  of  music,  lay  on  chairs  and 
tables—drawings  on  the  floor,  and  shoes  and  empty 
wine  bottles  in  the  ^Hndows. 

Wilmson  glanced  smilingly  around  his  disorderly 
apartment.  "Ah,  dearest  Clementina,"  said  he, 
"when  I  left  this  room  in  such  haste,  I  litUe 
thought  it  was  destined  to  receive  such  a  guest !" 

"  And  did  you  teally  know  nothing  beforehand 
of  what  has  taken  place  ?    Did  you  never  speak  to 

the  colonel,  or  to  the  king  himself?    Perhaps 

Ah,  Mr.  Wilmson,  confess  itr— I  was  not  the  object 
so  vehemently  solicited !" 

"  You  are  right,  my  Clementina  ;  I  would  never 
have  dared  to  gain  possession  of  what  I  most  desired 
on  earth,  by  such  means.  I  am  innocent  of  all 
previous  knowledge  of  the  transaction." 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Clementina,  the  tears  again 
stealing  down  her  cheeks ;  "  the  king  has  rendered 
us  both  miserable.  It  was  Ma'm'selle  Ida,  the 
companion  of  the  war  coimcillor's  lady,  whom  you 
sought ;  some  people  think  she  is  pretty." 

"  She  may  be  Venus  herself,  for  all  I  know  or 
care.  I  have  not  the  honour  of  knowing  the 
councillor,  his  lady,  or  her  companion.  It  was 
from  the  commandant  I  first  heard  of  this  strange 
fancy  of  the  king's.  I  threatened  to  blow  out  nay- 
own  brains,  if  such  unheard-of  tyranny  were  per- 
sisted in;  and  I  believe,  I  should  have  done  it.  ' 
How  could  I  dream  the  bliss  that  was  in  store  for 
me  I — ^you  were  never  once  named  to  me.** 

Clementina  heard  him  with  undisguised  astonish- 
ment ;  and  in  her  turn  related,  that  she  had  met 
the  lengthy  damsel,  who  had  made  such  an 
impression  on  the  royal  amateur  of  orergroWrt 
beauty,  by  accident,  an  hour  or  two  before  Wilm- 
son's summons.  They  had  some  acquaintance  with 
each  other  as  neighbours,  and  whether  Miss  Ida 
were  really,  as  she  said,  in  a  particular  hurry,  or 
had  some  private  objection  to  entering  the  com- 
mandant*s  house,  could  not  well  be  known  ;  but 
she  had  earnestly  requested  Clementina  to  deU-rer 
the  note  which  she  had  received  from  the  king — ^if 
it  were  the  king,  as  she  guessed.  Clementina 
readily  complied — gave  the  letter  to  an  adjutant 


HE  SHALL  Bfi  A  SOLDIER. 


103 


-•4iid  had  already  I«ft  the  house,  when  she  was 
itaaUed,  her  name  and  condition  inqnired,  and  the 
utoanding  intelligence  commnnicated,  that  it  was 
hk  majesty^B  pleasure  that  she  should  giye  her 
hand  fiMlhwith  to  a  handsome  young  soldier  of  his 
first  n^tmeiit  of  guards.  Clementina  was  thunder- 
itmek ;  she  declared  it  to  be  amistake  altogether, 
and  eagerly  explained  how  she  came  by  the  letter. 
She  was  only  laughed  at,  and  forcibly  detained — 
tile  eokmel  and  chaplain  sent  for— and  then  terror 
sad  ai^fuish  had  so  possessed  her,  that  she  had  no 
itesMscition  of  anything  that  had  passed,  till  she 
had  swooned  at  the  sight  of  Wilmson. 

Gementina'a  aeoount,  instead  of  solving  the 
caigma  hi  Wilmaon's  mind,  only  increased  the 


''So  it  was  not  you,  after  all,  the  king  meant  to 
bestow  upon  me?"  cried  Wilmson,  unable  to  re- 
ttnin  bis  laughter,  in  spite  of  his  bride's  agitation. 
**N«T«r  was  king  or  subject  more  thoroughly 
caught  fat  his  own  snare — never  before  had  blunder 
sudi  blcswd  consequences !" 

^But,"  said  Clementina,  looking  timidly  and 
anxioQsIy  round,  ^  what  will  become  of  me  ?  Such 
a  marriage  cannot  stand ;  I  will  not  be  forced  upon 
ytmtfaus." 

•*  You  are  mine  for  ever,  Clementina ;  the  dearest 
wiiheB  of  my  heart  are  f^JfiUed,  most  unexpectedly. 
An  aet  of  outrageous  despotism  has,  unwittmgly, 
bestowed  upon  me  aU  I  hoped  for,  as  the  reward  of 
loag  paasionate  lore.  Yes,  I  loved  you,  Clementina, 
from  the  first  time  I  saw  you  :  from  our  first 
OMeting,  hi  Magdeburg,  you  have  been  the  object 
«f  my  constant  thought.  See  there  your  beloved 
lame  in  every  book ;  on  every  window-pane  my 
fingers  traced  the  letters  unconsciously.  Ah,  that 
jtm.  amid  as  easUy  read  my  heart !" 

Clementina  turned  her  blushing  face  a  moment 
towards  her  lover,  and  then  again  towards  the 
door,  m  an  agony  of  maiden  shajne. 

*•  Will  you  then  leave  me,  dearest?— will  you  put 
asunder  tiiose  whom  heaven  has  so  wonderfully 
joined  together  ?  You  are  my  betrothed — ^my  bride 
—my  wife.  Oh,  Clementina,  what  a  future  para- 
ge Hes  m  that  word  !  And  whether  would  you 
g«?  Am  I  really  so  indifierent  to  you?  Have 
vou  no  trust,  no  fiiith,  in  my  heart — ^my  plighted 
wurdf* 

"All  fiuth  in  your  heart,  but  not  in  my  unex- 
pected happin^B.  I  was  alone  in  the  world ;  you 
were  my  only  friend.    I  have  always  trusted  you 

The  word  died  on  her  lips  ;  her  cheek  mantled ; 
her  eyes  sunk  beneath  the  passionate  glance  of  his. 
WQmson  clasped  her  to  his  breast.  '^Always 
what  f  whispered  he  softly. 

**  Always  loved  you,"  she  faltered,  in  a  voice  so 
low  that  none  but  a  lover's  ear  could  have  caught 
the  sound  ;  and  raising  her  brilliant  eyes,  full  of 
timid,  trusting  tenderness,  for  one  moment  to  his 
&ce,  and  the  first  kiss  of  the  bridegroom  was 
pressed  on  her  yet  unpro£aned  virgin  lips. 


The  houn  passed  swiftly  away,  and  seemed  but 
as  momentB  to  the  happy  lovers.  How  much  had 
they  to  relate^— how  much  to  hear  t    One  cloud 


alone  darkened  the  horison,— the  same  imperious 
will  that  had  united,  might  again  tear  them  asun- 
der. It  grew  late ;  the  fast  fading  day  scarcely 
afibrded  light  enough  to  discern  each  other's  faces ; 
Wilmson  had  just  detailed  his  plan  of  flight,  and 
calculated  that  Crabb  might  be  expected  on  the 
following  day,  when  a  knock  was  heard.  Could 
it  be  the  veteran  so  soon  returned?  Wilmson 
opened  the  door,  and  an  adjutant  stood  before  him. 
He  was  the  bearer  of  the  royal  command,  for  Ser^ 
geant  Wilmson  to  repair  forthwith  to  the  castle, 
with  his  newly-married  wife.  Clementina's  heart 
died  within  her  at  the  dreaded  sound.  Wilmson 
had  scarcely  time  to  whisper  a  word  of  encourage- 
ment; the  officer  would  not  hear  of  a  minute's 
delay, — ^not  even  till  Wilmson,  who  was  in  plain 
dothes,  could  put  on  his  uniform ;  he  only  waited 
for  Clementina  to  wrap  herself  in  a  silk  mantle,-— 
the  last  remaining  relic  of  her  former  rank,— aud 
then  hurried  ofi;  reiterating  the  king's  command 
for  their  immediate  appearance. 

They  were  scarcely  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
house,  when  the  knock  of  a  wooden  leg  against  the 
stones,  and  the  wind  of  a  whole  voUey  of  curses, 
announced  the  scarcely  hoped-for  presence  of  Crabb. 
Wilmson  stretched  forth  his  hand  in  the  darkness, 
and  caught  that  of  his  faithful  follower. 

"  Hush,  not  a  word,"  whispered  he ;  **  there  is 
some  one  within  hearing.  Is  all  ready  ? — ^where  is 
the  carriage  ? — quick,  only  say  where  I" 

The  hoarse  voice  of  the  veteran  muttered  the 
desired  information,  and  a  few  oaths  into  the  bar- 
gain. 

**  Enough,  go,speak  to  no  one :  Ishall  be  with  you, 
quickly,  I  hope." 

Clementina,  who  heard  nothing  that  passed,  stood 
still  trembling  in  every  limb.  Wilmson  whispered 
some  words  of  comfort ;  but  the  agitation  caused  by 
so  many  unexpected  occurrences,  crowding  one  on 
the  other,  betrayed  itself  in  the  tone  of  his  voice, 
and  his  visible  uneasiness  only  augmented  hers. 

They  reached  the  castle ;  a  deep  silence  reigned 
within,  broken  only  at  intervals  by  the  explosions 
of  a  loud,  harsh  voice  from  a  distant  apartment,-^ 
it  was  the  voice  of  the  king. 

In  the  saloon  where  the  king's  chamberlains,  in 
former  times,  were  accustomed  to  wait,  Colonel 
von  Escher  was  walking  up  and  down  in  evident 
discomposure.  He  stopped  when  he  became  aware 
of  Wilmson's  presence,  and  beckoned  him  to  ap- 
proach. 

"  Here  has  been  a  devil  of  a  blunder ! "  said  he, 
in  a  low  tone.  '*  The  king  is  furious !  He  meant 
you  to  have  had  a  long-legged,  bouncing  wench, 
whom  he  met  when  he  rode  out  this  morning,  and 
took  a  great  fancy  to. — ^I  can't  guess  how  the  mis- 
take occurred. — ^The  king  pities  you  heartily. — It 
is  a  cursed  piece  of  business !  But  what  do  you  do 
in  plain  clothes?  you  dare  not  show  yourself  to 
his  majesty  without  your  uniform." 

Wilmson  excused  himself  on  account  of  the 
haste  in  which  he  had  obeyed  the  royal  summons. 
"  It  will  never  do/'  said  the  colonel ;  **  it  will 
make  matters  worse  and  worse ;"  and  calling  for 
the  sergeant  on  guard,  he  ordered  him  to  change 
clothes  with  Wibnson  immediately.     His  toilet 


104 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


was  scarcely  completed  when  an  attendant  appeared 
to  conduct  him  and  Clementina  into  the  royal  pre- 
sence. 

His  majesty  was  evidently  in  a  tremendous  ill- 
hnmour,  and  cast  £rom  time  to  time  glances  of 
mingled  anger  and  contempt  on  the  slender  figure 
of  Clementina,  who  looked  ready  to  faint.  Wilm- 
son's  countenance  exhibited  mingled  grief  and  in- 
dignation ;  and  its  paleness  grew  yet  more  striking 
in  the  strong  light  of  the  apartment. 

^  Why  did  not  you  tell  the  commandant  that 
you  were  not  the  right  person,  it  was  not  to  you 
I  gave  the  letter,"  said  the  monarch,  roughly  ad- 
dressing Clementina. 

*^  Your  majesty,  I  did  say  so  a  hundred  times," 
said  Clementina,  rallying  as  well  as  she  could; 
"  but  his  excellency  would  not  listen  to  me." 

^  Your  majesty's  express  commands  were,  that 
I  should  listen  to  no  excuses,"  said  the  commandant, 
who  was  standing  by  in  evident  chagrin. 

^  Silence,"  thundered  the  king,  "  you  will  speak 
when  you  are  spoken  to.  Had  you  no  eyes  in 
your  head  ?  How  could  you  dreion  that  I  would 
tack  such  a  poor  slip  of  a  thing  as  that" — and  here 
his  majesty  bestowed  another  look  of  most  unmi- 
tigated scorn  upon  poor  Clementina, — ^*  to  the 
handsomest  fellow  in  my  regiment? — Never!" 

The  king  took  two  or  three  hasty  strides  through 
the  apartment,  then  turning  suddenly  towards 
Wilmson ;  **  Poor  devil,  I  am  sorry  for  you,  on 
my  soul,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  compassion.  *^  We 
will  see  what  can  be  done  for  you ;  I  meant  to  show 
you  some  favour,  and  I  have  been  the  means  of 
fastening  this  paltry  wench  on  you  for  life.  Well, 
well ;  you  miist  submit  to  your  fate  like  a  man, 
and  let  me  hear  of  no  rash  folly;  I  hear  you  threat- 
ened to  blow  out  your  brains.  Phoo,  phoo ;  no 
more  of  that.  A  fellow  of  your  inches  a  suicide ! 
Have  you  no  religion,  man, — do  you  want  to  be 
damned?  If  you  dare  think  of  such  a  thing,  I'll 
have  you  buried  under  the  gallows,  ril— — ^  hark, 
ye, — ^I  will  make  you  some  amends.  Ask  some 
favour  of  me,  and  I'll  grant  it, — ^but  I  can't  free 
you  from  the  yoke,  unluckily  that  would  be  against 
the  law  of  God, — ^but  anything  else,  and  I  will 
grant  it  willingly ;  speak,  what  do  you  wish  for?" 

"  My  freedom,  your  majesty,— -dismission  from 
your  majesty's  service,"  answered  Wilmson,  with- 
out hesitation. 

It  was  evident  to  the  bystanders  that  the  monarch 
was  taken  somewhat  more  literally  at  his  word  than 
he  had  expected.  He  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  was 
silent  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  bursting  into  a 
loud  laugh,  **  The  rascal  has  been  too  quick  for 
me  this  time,"  said  he,  '^  I  am  fairly  caught,  but  I 
will  not  break  my  word.  Go,  now ;  perhaps  after 
a  night's  sleep  you  will  think  better  of  it.  Go 
to-morrow  morning  early  to  Colonel  von  Escher, 
he  ¥rill  have  some  proposals  to  make  you  in  my 
name." 

The  doors  were  opened,  Wilmson  and  Clemen- 
tina obeyed  the  signal,  and  left  the  royal  presence. 
Quick  as  lightning  Wilmson  tore  off  the  borrowed 
uniform, — ^the  badge  of  his  slavery  ;  he  was  once 
more  his  own  master,  and  there  was  rapture  in  the 
thought*    As  he  fQond  himself  ag^ln  >vlthout  the 


castle,  he  clasped  his  young  wife  to  his  breast,  and 
cried  aloud  in  the  fulness  of  his  joy — ^^  I  am 
free !  I  am  free !  Father,  I  shaU  see  you  again." 
And  then  releasing  her,  he  drew  her  small  bond 
within  his  arm,  and  they  turned  their  steps  in  the 
direction  of  the  bridge,  where  they  expected  to 
find  Crabb,  to  make  him  a  partaker  of  their  joy 
instead  of  iheir  flight. 

*  The  heavens  were  dark  above,  but  the  piur  wan- 
dered on ;  a  heaven  of  unclouded  glory  was  within 
their  bosom,  and  the  glimmer  from  every  half-dosed 
window  was  to  them  as  the  morning  dawn  of  ever- 
enduring  joy. 

*'  Oh,  I  am  so  happy ! — too  happy !"  sighed  Cle- 
mentina ;  **  and  yet  I  have  scai^y  faith  in  my 
own  feelings.  I  fear  to  be  awakened  from  a  dream 
of  felicity,  or  that  some  new  sorrow  will  find  ns 
even  in  our  paradise." 

She  spoke,  and  it  seemed  as  if  fate  were  inclined 
to  make  her  words  prophetic.  Footsteps  were 
heard  behind,  as  if  in  rapid  pursuit  of  them. 
Wilmson  stood  still  as  soon  as  he  perceived  that 
the  person,  whoever  he  might  be,  was  approaching 
as  fast  as  the  darkness  would  permit.  The  pur- 
suer came  up,  and,  panting  for  breath,  could 
scarcely  find  voice  enough  to  exclaim — *^  Fly,  fly, 
leave  the  town  as  fast  as  you  can — ^you  have  not  a 
moment  to  lose,  in  ten  minutes  you  will  be  ar- 
rested,"— and  without  giving  them  time  to  aak  a 
single  question,  he  was  gone  as  quickly  as  he  came. 

^'What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  in  Heaven's 
name?"  said  Wilmson,  in  utter  consternation. 
*'  Has  the  king  repented  already  ?  Can  he  hare 
learned,  that  in  giving  you  to  me,  he  has  fulfilled 
my  dearest  wish  on  earth?  Yes,  Clementina,  -we 
will  hasten:  in  a  few  hours  we  shall  be  beyond  his 
reach  ;  the  warning  must  have  come  from  the  good 
colond." 

*^  I  cannot  hasten,"  said  Clementina,  exhausted 
with  conflicting  emotions.  ^'  My  limbs  will  bear 
me  no  further.     Oh,  my  foreboding  heart !" 

She  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground  if  Wihnsoii 
had  not  caught  her ;    she  was  evidently  unable  to 
proceed.  In  despair,  he  threwher  fainting  across  his 
shoulder,  and  hurried  on,  scarcely  conscious  of  her 
weight.    He  had  not  gone  far  before  he  perceived 
some  large  dark  object  under  the  shadow  of  tl&e 
trees — it  was  a  carriage  and  horses.     The  driver 
was  already  seated  on  the  box,  another  man  flung^ 
open  the  coach  door,  and,  in  a  hurried  whisper^ 
urged  Wilmson  to  speed :     "  Quick,  quick,"     re- 
peated he,  "  we  dare  not  stop  another  moment." 
Wilmson  made  no  reply,  but  lifted  his  unconscious 
burden  upon  the  seat,  and  sprang  in  after  her ;  '^e 
door  was  closed,  and  the  horses  set  ofi^  at  full  g^&l- 
lop.    Clementina's  fainting  fit  lasted  so  long,  th&i; 
Wilmson  forgot  all  other  danger ;  he  would  f&itx 
have  stopped  to  get  some  assistance,  and,  puttiix^ 
his  head  out  of  the  window,  he  called  alonrl 
«  Crabb,  Crabb,  I  say." 

"Ten  legions  of  devils!  are  you  possessed.  Z^ 
replied  a  harsh  voice  through  the  darkness ;  and  tlie 
horses  flew  on  with  unabated  speed.  Fortunatel^r^ 
the  night  air,  that  blew  refreshingly  over  her  f 
brought  Clementina  to  herself. 

^''^ere  am  I?"  sighed  she, 


HE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


105 


The  Toioe  and  caresses  of  Wilmson  reassured 
ber;  and  some  rich  jUialaga,  a  bottle  of  which 
Wihnacm  disooTered,  in  feeling  about,  in  one  of 
the  ooach  pockets,  did  wonders  for  bolJi.  Wilm- 
son thought  himself  in  heayen.  Love  and  liberty 
weie  before  him;  a  fair  young  wife  hanging  on  his 
breast^  and  the  noble  horses  flying  as  if  Uirough 
the  air! 

This  blessed  state  did  not,  however,  last  long. 
In  the  interral  of  the  carriage  slackening  its  speed 
a  few  minutes^  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  was  dis- 
tinetly  heard  behind  them ;  they  were  evidently 
porsiied! 
''Halt!  halt!"  roared  a  terrible  voice  from  behind. 
*^  Forwards ! "  shouted  Wilmson ;  and  again  the 
dashed  on,  over  stock  and  stone,  till  the 
i  of  pursait  was  heard  no  longer. 
On  they  tore,  through  village  and  wood  and 
fid4,  faster  and  faster,  till  the  road  lay  through 
a  heaTj  sand.  It  was  then  absolutely  necessary  to 
give  UbB  horses  a  iew  minutes  rest ;  again  the  sound 
of  puiBoit  was  heard ! 

**  Halt!  hah!"  cried  the  voice,  still  nearer  than 
before. 

**0n!  on!"  cried  Wilmson  in  reply.  The  whip 
cracked;  the  panting  horses  toiled  through  the 
htkrj  sand ;  a  shot  whistled  past,  another  entered 
the  carriage.  Clementina  screamed  aloud,  and 
chmg  yet  faster  to  Wilmson;  the  horses  were 
<noe  moire  in  full  gallop,  and  tiie  enemy  was  left 
bdiiiid  in  the  sand. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  they  drew  up  before  a 
lonely  inn, — ^fredi  horses  were  in  waiting.  Old 
Ciabb  had  performed  his  task  admirably, — they 
were  off  again  at  full  speed — another  hour,  and 
they  wese  in  safety, — ^they  were  beyond  the  Prussian 
irootier.  The  fugitives  breathed  again ;  the  driver 
daekened  hia  speed.  Worn  out  by  such  long  and 
violent  emotion,  Clementina's  head  drooped  heavily 
oa  Wihnaon's  shoulder,  and  she  fell  into  a  deep 
deep ;  Wilmson  gazed  for  some  time  in  silent  rap- 
ture on  her  calm,  sweet  face,  as  the  moonlight 
ftrcamed  upon  it^  and  then  weariness  overpowered 
ham  aiboy  uid  he  slumbered  by  her  side. 

It  was  already  broad  daylight,  when  both  were 
awakened  by  the  stopping  of  the  carriage,  and  the 
TMoat  of  a  violent  dispute  without, — in  which,  the 
hoaise  voice  of  Crabb  was  distinguished  above  all, 
in  a  tempest  of  execrations.  Apprehending  some 
newdai^^  Wilmson  hastily  let  down  the  window, 
and  there  stood  Crabb,  sabre  in  hand,  with  the  flat 
of  whidi  he  was  administering,  with  great  diligence 
and  effect,  a  regular  drubbing  to  the  driver  of 
Wifaitton  8  carriage, — and  who,  to  his  utter  amaze- 
ment, pTored  to  be  no  other  than  the  well-remem- 
beied  graitleman  in  green  and  gold — ^the  respectable 
Me.  Kiek  himself! 

**YoiU  infernal  scoundrel, — ^you  scum  of  the 
earth  r  cried  Crabb,  without  losing  a  moment  at 
his  work ;  **  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself, 
ihat  I  shaVt  spit  your  worthless  carcass  upon  the 
point  of  my  sword  1  Did  I  not  order  you  to  stop?" 
**  Let  me  go,"  roared  Kiek,  howling,  and  writh- 
ing in  the  veteran  s  iron  grasp.  "  You  have  no 
lengn*  any  right  to  meddle  with  me.  We  are  ofi"  the 
PruBian  territory." 


**  I  wish  I  had  lined  that  scull  of  yours  with 
lead  first,"  answered  Crabb,  continuing  his  corpo- 
ral's discipline  with  unabated  vigour. 

^Hold, hold, Crabb ;  are  you  stark  mad?"  shouted 
Wilmson,  springing  from  the  carriage.  "  What, 
in  the  name  of  Heaven,  has  the  man  done  to  yov, 
that  you  use  him  thus  1" 

^*  Done ! — thunder  and  lightning !  hasn't  he  run 
away  with  you,  and  led  me  a  dance  all  night,  as 
if  Satan  himself  had  been  at  my  heels  ?"  said  the 
veteran,  eying  his  enemy  like  a  dog  who  has  just 
been  deprived  of  his  bone. 

Kiek's  first  impulse,  when  released  by  Wilm- 
son s  appearance,  was  to  get  as  far  as  possible  from 
old  Crabb ;  but  when  he  saw  to  whom  he  owed  his 
deliverance,  his  surprise  almost  caused  him  to  for- 
get his  bruises.  "He  here  I  and  in  my  master's  car- 
riage!" cried  he, — more  he  could  not  say,  forCrabb's 
ready  sabre  began  to  fly  about  his  ears  again. 

"  He;  who  do  you  mean  by  he^  you  jackanapes? 
m  teach  you  better  manners  before  I  have  done 
with  you.  Do  you  think  you  are  speaking  to 
one  of  your  own  platter-licking,  shoe-bru^ing 
feUows?" 

Wilmson  threw  himself  between  the  belligerents, 
and  with  some  difiiculty  efiected  a  truce.  After 
many  questions,  and  much  talking  and  cursing, 
the  riddle  was  solved.  It  appeared  tiiat  the  worthy 
Mr.  Kiek,  who,  as  deputy  go-between,  had  assisted 
a  young  man  of  rank  in  some  intrigue,  which  was 
to  have  ended  in  the  flight  of  the  parties,  had  been 
intrusted  with  the  charge  of  providing  a  carriage 
at  an  appointed  time  and  place,  had  packed  in  the 
wrong  pair.  Crabb,  who  was  also  in  waiting  with 
his  chaise  and  pair  at  a  little  distance,  had  heard 
Wilmson's  voice  calling  for  assistance  for  Clemen- 
tina, as  he  passed  at  fall  speed,  and  never  doubting 
but  that  his  young  master  had  been  arrested,  and 
was  on  his  way  to  prison,  set  ofi^  immediately  to  his 
rescue.  He  it  was,  with  his  well-paid  postilions, 
who  had  kept  Wilmson's  horses  at  a  gallop^  and 
himself  in  a  fright  the  whole  night  through. 

This  explanation  completed  the  measure  of  Mr. 
Kiek's  despair.  "  Oh,  my  confounded  ill  luck !  O 
Lord,  my  master,  the  young  baron!  what  will  be- 
come of  him  ?  and  what  will  become  ofmef" 

"Become  of  you?  why,  you'll  be  hanged,  I  hope," 
said  Crabb  gruffly. 

Before  Kiek  could  muster  a  suitable  reply  to  this 
compliment,  a  new  shock  awaited  him,  in  the  ap- 
parition of  Clementina,  who  was  just  then  assisted 
out  of  the  carriage  by  Wilmson.  The  unlucky 
chamberlain  stood  there  doing  regular  penance  for 
all  past  sins  of  omission  and  commission,  when  he 
cast  now  a  fearful  glance  behind,  where  the  grim 
veteran  stood,  eying  alternately  Kiek's  back,  and 
his  own  sabre,  and  now  a  furious  look  of  mingled 
rage  and  jealousy  at  Wilmson  and  Clementina,  who 
were  slowly  sauntering  towards  the  inn,  before 
which,  the  carriages  of  Uie  pursued  and  the  pursuer 
had  drawn  up  ;  and  raved  and  cursed  by  turns,  at 
the  reflection,  that  to  his  own  act  and  deed  was 
owing  the  safety  and  happiness  of  the  people  on 
earth  he  most  hated.  As  it  was  now  clear  enough 
to  Wilmson,  that  the  warning  for  immediate  flight, 
and  the  threat  of  arrest,  had  been  directed  to  an  • 


106 


jHE  SHALL  BE  A  SOLDIER. 


other  indiyidualy  he  lost  no  time  in  despatching  an 
express  to  Colonel  yon  Esoher,  in  which  he  gave  a 
circumstantial  account  of  his  abduction,  by  the 
chamberlain  of  Priyy-councillor  Crundling,  and 
offered  to  return  to  Potsdam  if  his  flight  would  not 
be  looked  upon  as  desertion.. 

In  three  days,  the  messenger  returned  with  a 
formal  and  honourable  discharge  from  his  Prussian 
majesty's  Beryioe,  and  assurance  f|x>m  the  colonel 


that  the  king  had  laughed  heartily  at  the  blunder 
that  had,  so  fortunately,  saved  an  honourable  family 
from  a  disgraceful  exposure. 

On  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  the  young  pair,  at- 
tended by  the  faithful  Crabb,  set  off,  with  hearts 
at  peace  with  all  the  world,  and  passing  through 
Crermany  by  easy  stages,  were  welcomed,  with  open 
arms  and  tears  of  joy,  on  the  shores  of  the  l}eauU- 
ful  Lak^  of  Constance, 


TRAVELS  AND  SKETCHES  AMONG  THE  RED  INDIANS. 

(Concluded  from  the  December  No,) 


Wp  nearly  lost  sight  of  our  guide,  Mr.  Catlin, 
while  led  away  by  those  traits  of  intuitive  deli- 
cacy, devoted  affection,  and  tenderness  of  heart, 
which  distinguish  the  Indian  women,  degraded  as 
is  their  social  condition  ;  traits  which  mark  how 
much  more  powerful  are  the  genial  feelings  of 
nature  in  the  female  bosom,  than  the  evil  institu- 
tions of  man.  Before  returning  to  Mr.  Catlin's 
personal  adventures,  we  shall  pursue  this  engaging 
theme  a  little  farther. 

The  manner  in  which  the  Indian  women  carry 
their  infants,  by  lashing  the  baby  to  a  straight  board, 
which  is  tied  to  their  own  backs,  while  they 
pursue  their  customary  drudgery,  is  well  known. 
The  mother  shows  her  fondness  and  her  innocent 
vanity  by  ornamenting  the  bandages  of  this  sin- 
gular sort  of  cradle  with  beautiful  embroidery  of 
porcupine  quills,  and  by  fastening  trinkets  and 
little  bells  to  it  to  amuse  the  child.  Another  cus- 
tom mentioned  by  Mr.  Catlin,  and  illustrative  of  tlie 
warm  and  tender  affections  of  the  Indian  women, 
is  less  known  tlian  the  above.  This  is  that  of  the 
Mourning  Cradle, 

If  the  infknt  dies  during  the  time  that  is  allotted  to  it 
to  be  carried  in  this  oradle,  it  is  buried,  and  the  discon- 
solate mother  fills  the  oradle  with  black  quills  and 
feathers,  in  the  parts  which  the  child's  body  had  occupied, 
and  in  this  way  carries  it  around  with  her  wherever  she 
goes  for  a  year  or  more,  with  as  much  care  as  if  her  in- 
faat  were  aAxve  and  in  it ;  and  she  often  lays  or  stands  it 
leaning  against  the  side  of  the  wigwam,  where  she  is  all 
day  engaged  in  her  needlework,  and  chatting  and  talk- 
ing to  it  as  funiliarly  and  affectionately  as  if  it  were  her 
loved  infiint,  instead  of  its  shell,  that  she  was  talking  to. 
So  lasting  and  so  strong  is  the  affection  of  these  women 
for  the  lost  child,  that  it  matters  not  how  heavy  or  cruel 
their  load,  or  how  rugced  the  route  they  have  to  pass 
over,  they  will  ^ithfimy  carry  this,  and  carefully  fi-om 
day  to  day,  and  even  more  strictly  perform  their  duties 
to  it,  than  if  the  child  were  alive  and  in  it. 

In  the  little  toy  that  I  have  mentioned,  and  which  is 
supended  before  the  child's  Ikoe,  is  carefully  and  super- 
stitiously  preserved  the  f«m6t^icifj,  which  is  always  secured 
at  the  time  of  its  birth,  and  being  rolled  up  into  a  little 
wad  of  the  size  of  a  pea,  and  dried,  it  is  enclosed  in  the 
centre  of  this  little  oag,  and  placed  before .  the  child's 
ikoe,  as  its  protector  and  its  security  for  ^good  luek''  and 
long  life. 

This  is  almost  the  chikTs  caul  of  the  English  pea- 
santry. 

The  parental  affections  seem,  indeed,  as  strong 
and  as  refined  among  these  people,  as  in  highly 


civilized  life.  While  Mr.  Catlin  was  among 
the  Sioux^  he  painted  the  portrait  of  a  beautiful 
girl,  the  daughter  of  a  famous  chie^  named  Blad 
Rock,  The  girl  was  much  esteemed  by  her  tribe 
for  her  modesty  and  beauty.  When  sitting  for  her 
portrait. 

She  was  beautiftilly  dressed  in  skins,  ornamented  pro- 
ftisely  with  brass  buttons  and  beads.  Her  hair  was 
plaited,  her  ears  supported  a  great  profusion  of  curious 
beads — and  over  her  other  dr^  she  wore  a  handsomely 
garnished  buffalo  robe. 

So  highly  was  the  Black  Rock  esteemed,  (as  I  have  be- 
fore mentioned,)  and  his  beautifhl  daughter  admired  and 
respected  by  the  Traders,  that  Mr.  M'Keniie  employed 
me  to  make  him  copies  of  their  two  portraits,  which  he 
has  hung  up  in  Mr.  Laidlaw's  trading-house,  as  valued 
ornaments  and  keepsakes. 

The  end  of  this  story,  which  is  related  in  a  foot- 
note, written  some  years  after  the  date  of  the  oc- 
currence, is  exceedingly  affecting : — 

Several  years  after  I  left  the  Sioux  country,  I  saw 
Messrs.  Chardon  and  Piquot,  two  of  the  traders  ftx>m 
that  country,  who  recently  had  left  it,  and  told  me  in  St. 
Louis,  whilst  looking  at  the  portrait  of  this  girl,  that 
while  staying  in  Mr.  Laidlaw's  Fort,  the  chief.  Black 
Rook,  entered  the  room  suddenly  where  the  portrait  of 
his  daughter  was  hanging  on  the  wall,  and  pointing  to  it 
with  a  heavy  heart,  told  Mr.  Laidlaw,  that  whilst  his 
band  was  out  on  the  prairies,  where  they  had  been  for 
several  months  *^  makmg  meat,"  his  daughter  had  died, 
and  was  there  buried.  ^  My  heart  is  glad  again,"  said 
he,  ''when  I  see  her  here  alive ;  and  I  want  Uie  one  the 
medicine-man  made  of  her,  which  is  now  before  me,  that  I 
can  see  her,  and  talk  to  her.  My  band  are  all  in  moom- 
ing  for  her  ;  and  at  the  gate  of  your  Fort,  which  I  bare 
just  passed,  are  ten  horses  for  you,  and  Ee-ah-sa-pa's 
wigwam,  which  you  know  is  the  best  one  in  the  Sioux 
nation.  X  wish  you  to  take  down  my  daughter  and  give 
her  to  me."  Mr.  Laidlaw,  seeing  the  unutnaUy  liberal 
price  that  this  nobleman  was  willing  to  pay  for  a  portrait, 
and  the  true  grief  that  he  expressed  for  the  loss  of  his 
child,  had  not  the  heart  to  abuse  such  noble  feeling ;  and 
taking  the  painting  from  the  wall,  placed  it  into  his 
hands ;  telling  him  that  it  of  right  belonged  to  him,  and 
that  his  horses  and  wigwam  he  must  take  back  and  keep 
them,  to  mend,  as  far  as  possible,  his  hberal  heart,  which 
was  broken  by  the  loss  of  his  only  daughter. 

Mr.  Catlin,  some  years  after  he  had  travelled 
among  the  Sioux,  accompanied,  as  we  shall  after- 
wards see,  the  detachment  of  the  American  army 
which  was  sent  upon  an  amicable  expedition,  to  the 
warlike  Camanchees  and  Pawnees.  The  comman- 
der of  the  armament,  Colonel  Dodge,  carried  with, 
him  two  young  Indian  girls,  who  had  been  made 


CATLDfS  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 


lor 


prifcnen  b j  the  Ongesy  and  whom  lie  reatoied  to 
their  tribe,  in  token  of  friendly  feeling  ^  ^m 
tbeeondition  of  s  white  boy  being  given  up  vk,  -.^ 
who  was  known  to  be  in  their  village.  The  boy 
was  the  son  of  Jndge  White,  a  f aimer  living  on 
the  frontier,  who  had  been  killed  by  the  Indians 
in  a  hnnting  excursion  some  months  before.  When 
the  boy,  after  considerable  difficulty,  was  brought 


He  looked  aroond  sad  exelaimed  with  some  surprise, 
*  What !  are  there  white  men  here  1"  to  which  €k>lonel 
Dedge  reptied,  aod  asked  his  name;  and  he  promptly 
aaswcied,  **  my  name  is  Matthew  Wright  Martin."  He 
WBS  ttwB  Toeeired  into  Colonel  Dodge's  arms ;  and  an 
efder  was  immediately  given  for  the  Pawnee  and  Kiowa 
firis  to  be  brou^t  ft>nfard ;  they  were  in  a  few  minntes 
bnv^  into  the  eotmcil-honse,  when  they  were  at  once 
leeo^Bised  by  their  friends  and  relatives,  who  embraced 
them  with  the  aiost  extravagant  expressions  of  joy  and 
satisfbctioii.  The  heart  of -tiie  venerable  old  cUef  was 
mdted  at  this  evidence  of  white  man's  friendship,  and  he 
rose  VMB  Ms  fret,  and  taking  Colonel  Dodge  in  ms  arms, 
and  piad^  kis  left  cheek  against  the  left  cheek  of  the 
CeloBe],  held  him  for  some  minntes  without  saying  a 
werd,  whibt  tears  were  flowing  from  his  eyes.  He  tiien 
eaahraoed  each  officer  in  torn,  in  the  same  silent  and  af- 
feetiooate  maimer;  which  form  took  half  an  hoar  or 
mate,  before  it  was  completed. 

From  this  moment  the  council,  which  before  had  been 
a  very  grave  and  nncertaui  one,  took  a  pleasing  and 
friodly  torn.  And  this  excellent  old  man  ordered  the 
nemtu  to  supply  the  dragoons  with  sometlung  to  eat,  as 
they  were  hungry. 

^le  little  encampment,  which  heretofore  was  in  a 
weefnl  ecn^itioB,  having  eaten  up  their  last  rations  twelve 
boars  before,  were  now  gladdened  by  the  approach  of  a 
saaber  of  women,  who  brought  their  ^back  loads'*  of 
iobd  bulikle  meat  and  green  com,  and  threw  it  down 
asmigBt  them*  This  seemed  almost  like  a  proridential 
^dxreraoee,  for  the  country  between  here  and  the  Caman- 
dMes,  vras  entirely  destitute  of  game,  and  our  last  pro- 
riaemi  w«rs  oonsumed. 

Among  the  Pawnees,  many  of  the  young  wo- 
men, thoogh  very  dark,  are  pretty  both  in  fea- 
tares  and  shape.  The  women  of  all  the  tribes 
have  soft,  sweet  voices,  a  gentle  laugh,  and  deli- 
cately formed  feet  and  hands, — ^the  imagined  char- 
acteristic of  the  highest  bom,  among  the  most 
Ug^y  civiliaed.  Many  of  our  readers  must  re- 
Bsember  many  instances  of  the  sweet  and  womanly 
■atore  of  the  degraded  squaws,  that  are  related  in 
the  travels  of  Lewis  and  Clarke  on  the  Missouri, 
aad  aoroea  to  the  Pacific. 

Btat  to  return :— We  left  Mr.  Catlin  at  his 
fnt  station,  the  Fort,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Yellow 
Stoae  River,  painting  chiefs,  sachems,  and  braves j 
admiring  In^an  manners  and  scenery;  and,  by 
jwrchaeee  of  weapons  and  dresses,  laying  the  foun- 
datioa  of  his  splendid  and  unique  gallery.  When 
Una  place  was  exhausted,  he  laimched  his  canoe 
on  the  Missouri,  in  company  with  two  trappers, — 
fa  MSI  I II  MLows  both, — ^whom  he  had  oigaged  for 
the  voyage,  and  deeeended  the  river  two  hundred 
mOee  to  the  Mandan  village.  The  voyage,  abound- 
ing in  delightful  sylvan  adventures  and  moving 
iBodents,  occupied  a  considerable  time.  We  shall 
CoUsv  it  a  little  veay,  though  it  hardly  equals  in 
intocst  the  solitary  voyages  and  excursions  after- 
wards  made  by  the  artist  on  other  rivers,  and  in 
yet  fnikr  erafl. 
Whea  I  bad  c(»apleted  my  rambles  and  my  sketches 


in  those  regions,  and  Ba'tiste  and  Bogard  had  taken 
their  last  spree,  and  fought  thebr  last  battles,  and  for- 
gotten them  in  the  foial  and  aflbctionate  embrace  and 
fuewell  (all  of  which  are  habitual  with  these  game-fol- 
lows, when  settling  up  their  long-standing  accounts  wi^ 
their  fellow-trappers  of  the  BMHmtain  streams;)  and  after 
Mr.  M^encie  had  procured  for  me  a  snug  little  craft, 
that  was  to  waft  us  down  the  mighty  torrent ;  we  launched 
off  oae  ine  morning,  taking  our  leave  of  the  Fort,  and 
the  friends  within  it ;  and  aJso,  for  ever,  of  the  beautifel 
green  fields,  and  hills,  and  dales,  and  prairie  bluffs,  that 
encompass  the  enchanting  shores  of  the  Yellow  Stone. 

Our  canoe,  iriiich  was  made  of  green  timber,  was  heavy 
and  awkward ;  but  our  course  being  witii  the  current, 
promised  us  a  hii  and  suoeesefhl  voyage.  Ammunition 
was  laid  in  in  abundance — a  good  stock  of  dried  buffiilo 
tongues— a  dosen  or  two  of  beavers'  tails — and  a  good 
supply  of  pemiean.  Bogard  and  Ba'tiste  occupied  the 
middle  and  bow,  with  their  paddles  in  their  hands; 
and  I  took  my  seat  in  the  stem  of  the  boat,  at  the  steer- 
ing oar.  Our  larder  was  as  I  have  said ;  and  added  to 
that,  some  few  pounds  of  f^h  buflklo  meat. 

Besides  which,  and  ourselves,  our  littie  craft  carried 
several  packs  of  Indian  dresses  and  other  articles,  which 
I  had  purehased  of  the  Indians ;  and  also  my  canvass  and 
easel,  and  our  culinary  articles,  which  were  few  and 
simple ;  consisting  of  three  tin  cups,  a  coflfee-pot— -one 
jdate — a  ftying  pan — and  a  tin  kettle. 

Thus  fitted  out  and  embarked,  we  swept  off  at  a  rapid 
rate  under  the  diouts  of  the  savages,  and  the  cheers  of 
our  friends,  who  lined  the  banks  as  we  gradually  lost 
sight  of  them,  and  turned  our  eyes  towards  St.  Lmis, 
which  was  fiOOO  miles  below  us,  with  nought  intervening, 
save  the  wide-spread  and  wild  regions,  inhabited  by  the 
reaming  savage. 

At  the  end  of  our  first  day^  journey,  we  found  our* 
selves  handily  encamping  with  several  thousand  Assfame- 
boins,  who  had  pitched  their  tents  upon  the  bank  of  the 
river,  and  received  us  with  eyery  mark  of  esteem  and 
friendship. 

Of  the  village  of  Assianeboias  we  took  leave  on  the 
following  moi^ng,  and  rapidly  made  our  way  down  the 
river,  the  rate  of  the  current  being  four  or  five  miles 
per  hour  ;  through  one  continued  series  of  picturesque 
grass-covered  bluflb  and  knolls,  which  everywhere  had 
the  appearance  of  an  old  and  highly-cultivated  country, 
witii  houses  and  fences  removed. 

There  is,  much  of  the  way,  on  one  side  or  the  other,  a 
bold  and  abrupt  precipice  of  three  or  four  hundred  feet 
in  elevation,  presenting  itself  in  an  exceedingly  rough 
and  picturesque  form,  to  the  shore  of  the  river ;  sloping 
down  ih>m  the  summit  level  of  the  prairies  above,  which 
sweep  off  flpom  the  brink  of  the  predpbe,  almost  level, 
to  an  unknown  distance. 

It  is  along  the  rugged  and  wild  fronts  of  these  dift, 
whose  sides  are  generally  formed  of  hard  clay,  that  the 
mountain-sheep  dwell,  and  are  often  discovered  in  great 
numbers.  Their  habits  are  much  like  those  of  the  goat  j 
and  in  every  respeet  they  are  like  that  animal,  except  ia 
the  horns,  which  resemble  those  of  the  ram ;  sometimes 
making  two  entire  circles  in  their  coil ;  and  at  the  roots, 
each  bora  is,  in  some  instances,  i^m  five  to  six  inches  in 
breadth. 

On  the  seeond  day  of  our  voyage  we  discovered  a  num- 
ber of  these  animals  skipping  along  the  sides  of  the  pre- 

dpice Bogurd,  who  was  aa  old  hunter,  and 

well  acquainted  with  these  creatures,  shouldered  his 
rifle,  and  said  to  me — ^  the  game  is  up ;  and  you  now  see 
the  use  of  those  big  horns ;  when  they  lUl  by  accident,  or 
find  it  naoessary  to  quit  their  fbot-hold  in  the  crevice, 
they  fkll  upon  their  head  at  a  great  distance  unharmed, 
even  though  it  should  be  on  the  solid  rock.*' 

Being  on  shore,  and  our  canoe  landed  secure,  we 
whiled  away  the  greater  part  of  this  day  amongst  the  wild 
and  ragged  difb,  into  which  we  had  entered ;  and  a  part  of 
our  labours  were  vainly  spent  in  the  pursuit  of  a  war- 
eagle.  .  .  .  Our  day's  loitering  brought  us  through 
many  a  wild  scene ;  occadonally  across  the  tracks  of  the 
grizzly  bear,  and,  in  sight  merely  of  a  band  of  buffaloes; 
'^  which  got  the  wind  of  us,"  and  were  out  of  the  way, 


108 


CATLIN*S  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 


leaving  us  to  retarn  to  onr  easoe  at  night,  with  a  mere 
speck  of  good  lade  Jost  before  we  reached  the  rirer, 
I  heard  the  crack  of  a  rifle,  and  in  a  few  moments  Bo- 
gard  came  in  sight,  and  threw  down  from  his  shoulders 
a  fine  antelope ;  which  added  to  our  larder,  and  we  were 
ready  to  proceed.  We  embarked  and  trayelled  until 
nightfidl,when  we  encamped  on  a  beantifhl  little  prairie 
at  the  base  of  a  series  of  grass-corered  hhnSk  ;  and  the 
next  morning  cooked  our  breakfikst  and  ate  it,  and  rowed 
on  until  late  in  the  afternoon ;  when  we  stopped  at  the 
base  of  some  huge  clay  blnfi^  forming  one  of  the  most 
curious  and  romantic  scenes  imaginable.  At  this  spot 
the  riyer  expands  itself  into  the  appearance  somewhat  of 
a  beautiftd  lake ;  and  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  on  and  about 
its  sand-bars,  floated  and  stood,  hundreds  and  tiiousands 
of  white  swans  and  pelicans. 

Though  the  scene  in  front  of  our  encampment  at  this 
place  was  placid  and  beautifhl ;  with  its  flowing  water 
— ^its  wild-fowl — and  its  almost  endless  Tariety  of  grace- 
fhlly  sloping  hills  and  green  prairies  in  the  distance;  yet 
it  was  not  less  wild  and  picturesque  in  our  rear,  where 
the  rugged  and  various  coloured  blufb  were  grouped  in 
all  the  wildest  fimoies  and  rudeness  of  Nature's  acciden- 
tal v^eties. 

The  whole  country  behind  us  seemed  to  have  been  dug 
and  thrown  up  into  huge  piles,  as  if  some  giant  mason 
had  been  there  mixing  his  mortar  and  paints,  and  throw- 
ing together  his  rude  models  for  some  sublime  structure 
of  a  colossal  city ;— with  its  walls — its  domes — ^its  ram- 
parts-4ts  huge  porticos  and  galleriee — ^its  castles — its. 
fosses  and  ditches  ^-and  in  the  midst  of  his  progress,  he 
had  abandoned  his  works  to  the  destroying  hand  of  time, 
which  had  already  done  much  to  tumble  them  down,  and 
defkce  their  noble  structure ;  by  jostling  them  together, 
with  all  their  vivid  colours,  into  an  unsystematic  and  un- 
intelligible mass  of  sublime  ruins. 

We  must  say  no  more  of  these  adventures,  lest 
we  should  be  accessary  to  boys  and  lads  mnning 
away  from  desk,  school,  and  college,  to  become 
banters  and  fishers  in  the  Far  West  Since  first 
reading  Robinson  Cinsoe,  they  can  bare  been  un- 
der no  greater  temptation  to  burst  their  trammels, 
and  reflJize  the  free  and  daring  life  of  the  wilds. 
The  scenery  may  be  less  dangerous,  save  to 
iJtetckers;  but  as  there  is  no  end  to  its  picturesque 
beauty,  choice  is  bewildered. 

On  tiie  fifth  day  of  their  voyage  down  the  river, 
Mr.  Catlin  was  once  more  at  the  Chxmd  Detour— ot 
in  Yankee  nomenclature,  the  Biff  Bmd,  One  of 
the  most  singular  scenes  on  the  river  is  the  blufis 
here,  which  are  named  the  Chrand  Dome  and  the 
Three  Dumei;  but  they  can  only  be  understood 
by  looking  at  the  Plates,  Numbers  43  and  44, 
in  the  original  work ;  the  whole  work,  indeed,  is, 
as  we  have  noticed,  but  a  catalogue  raieonH  to  the 
gallery. 

Mr.  Catlin  seems  to  have  been  hospitably  enter- 
tained by  the  traders  wherever  he  met  witid  them, 
or  visited  their  stations,  and  to  have  been  treated 
with  great  liberality  by  whoever,  among  pubUc 
functionaries,  had  the  power  to  forward  his  views. 
When  he  descended  to  the  Mandan  village,  Mr. 
Kipp,  whom  we  formerly  mentioned,  at  once  or- 
dered his  luggage  to  be  carried  to  his  own  quarters, 
and  hb  canoe  to  be  taken  care  of. 

The  MandaiMy  whom  we  also  mentioned  in  de- 
scribing the  native  astonishment  and  awe  at  paint- 
ing, are — or,  alas!  short  as  is  the  intervening 
time,  we  must  now  say  toerv— a  highly  interesting 
tribe.  Mr.  Catlin  has  a  theory  of  their  origin, 
which  we  shall  afterwards  notice,  and  which  is 
somewhat  borne  out  by  peculiar  circumstances  con- 


nected with  them.  The  Mandans  were  then  heaUi 
on  the  west  bank  of  the  Missouri,  about  two  hun- 
dred miles  below  the  mouth  of  the  Yellow  Stone 
River,  and  eighteen  hundred  above  St.  Louis. 
The  clan  then  consisted  of  about  two  thousand 
souls,  living  in  two  villages,  about  a  mile  apart. 

In  his  letter  written  on  the  spot,  our  traveller 
says — 

Tl^eir  present  villages  are  beautifhlly  located,  and 
judiciously  also,  for  defence  against  tiie  asnults  of 
their  enemies.  The  site  of  the  lower  (or  principal) 
town,  in  particular,  is  one  of  the  most  beautifhl  and 
pleadng  that  can  be  seen  in  the  world,  and  even 
more  beautiful  than  imagination  could  ever  create. 
In  the  very  midst  of  an  extensive  valley  (embraced 
vrithin  a  thousand  graceful  swells  and  parapets  or 
mounds  of  interminable  green,  changing  to  blue,  as 
they  vanish  in  the  distance)  is  built  the  city,  or  principal 
town  of  the  Mandans.  On  an  extensive  plun  (which  is 
covered  with  a  geeen  turf,  as  well  as  the  hills  and  dales, 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  possibly  range,  vrithout  tree  or  bush 
to  be  seen)  are  to  be  seen  rising  from  the  ground,  and 
towards  the  heavens,  domes— (not  **  of  gold,"  but)  of 
dirt — and  the  thousand  spears  (not  ^spires")  and  scalp- 
poles,  &c.  &0.,  of  the  semi-subterraneous  village  of  the 
hospitable  and  gentlemanly  Mandans. 

These  people  formerly  (and  within  the  recollection  of 
many  of  their  oldest  men)  lived  fifteen  or  twenty  miles 
further  down  the  river,  in  ten  contiguous  villages ;  the 
marks  or  ruins  of  which  are  yet  plainly  to  be  seen.  At 
that  period,  it  is  erident,  as  well  from  the  number  of 
lodges  which  their  villages  contained,  as  from  their  tra- 
ditions, that  their  numbers  were  much  greater  than  at 
the  present  day. 

There  are  other,  and  very  interesting,  traditions  and 
historical  facts  relative  to  a  still  prior  location  and  con- 
dition of  these  people. 

The  Mandans  were  comparatively  a  mild  peo- 
ple, though  probably  their  weakness  from  dimi- 
nished  numbers  had  taught  them  forbearance. 
Their  women  raised  a  good  deal  of  Indian  com,  a 
rare  thing  among  the  wilder  tribes.  The  ground  on 
which  their  vill^  b  situated  is  admirably  adapted 
for  defence.  It  is  on  the  top  of  an  almost  perpen- 
dicular and  angular  rocky  bank,  forty  or  fifty  feet 
above  the  bed  of  the  river,  so  that  only  one  aide 
requires  artificial  defences. 

The  Mandans  are  undoubtedly  secure  in  their  villages 
from  the  attacks  of  any  Indian  nation,  and  have  nothmg 
to  fear,  except  when  they  meet  their  enemy  on  the 
prairie.  Their  riUage  has  a  most  novel  appearance  to 
the  eye  of  a  stranger  ;  their  lodges  are  closely  grouped 
together,  leaving  but  just  room  enough  for  widlong  and 
ri£ng  between  them  ;  and  appear  from  without  to  be 
built  entirely  of  dirt ;  but  one  is  surprised  when  he  enters 
them,  to  see  the  neatness,  comfort,  and  spacious  dimen- 
sions of  these  earth-covered  dwellings.  They  all  have 
a  circular  form,  and  are  ftrom  forty  to  sixty  feet  in  dia- 
meter.     

.  The  floors  of  these  dwellings  are  of  eartii,  but  so 
hardened  by  use,  and  swept  so  clean,  and  tracked  by  bare 
and  moccassined  feet,  that  they  have  almost  a  polish,  and 
would  scarcely  soil  the  whitest  linen.  In  the  centre, 
and  immediately  under  the  sky-light,  is  the  flre-plaoe — 
a  hole  of  four  or  five  feet  in  diameter,  of  a  circular  form, 
sunk  a  foot  or  more  below  the  surface,  and  curbed 
around  vrith  stone.  Over  the  fire-place,  and  suspended 
from  the  apex  of  diverging  props  or  poles,  is  generally 
seen  the  pot  or  kettle,  filled  vrith  buffiJo  meat ;  and 
around  it  are  the  family,  reclining  in  all  the  most  pic- 
turesque attitudes  and  groups,  resting  on  their  buffido- 
robes  and  beautiful  mats  of  rushes. 

A  great  many  individuals  lived  in  each  of  these 
lodges — ^the  families  being  all  patriarchal.     Tlie 


CATLINGS  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 


109 


wiOs  of  them  are  decorated  with  the  weapons, 
tnnoar,  and  aoeoatrements  of  the  men,  hung  on 
pegs. 

Tbis  amqgwwfmt  of  beds,  of  amis,  &e^  combining  the 
BOft  Tind  duf^y  and  arraogement  of  colonn,  of  ftin, 
of  triakei*— of  baibed  and  gUstening  points  and  steel — 
of  mptmes  and  boons  poena,  together  with  the  sombre 
aad  OMked  eokmr  of  the  roof  and  sides  of  the  lodge ; 
and  the  wild,  and  mde  and  red — the  graceful  (thongh 
aBd?il)(|wfei3ational,garnilons,story-telling and  happy, 
thsagb  igaorant  and  untutored  groupe,  that  are  smok- 
jag  tbeir  pipes — ^wooing  their  sweethearts,  and  embrac- 
ing tlnr  little  ones  abont  their  peacefhl  and  endeared 
liesidee ;  together  with  their  pots  and  kettles,  spoons, 
and  ether  eoliBary  artielee  of  their  own  mannftkcture, 
~  hem ;  present  altogether,  one  of  the  most  pio- 
eeenes  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger,  that  can  be 
,  aaea ;  aad  fkr  more  wild  and  viyid  than  conld 
ever  be  JangiBed. 

Seeder,  I  aaid  these  people  were  garmlons,  story-tel- 
ls^ and  happy ;  this  is  true,  and  literally  so ;  and  it 
bekii^i  ie  me  to  establish  the  fact,and  correct  the  error 
wbieh  eeeno  to  haTO  gone  forth  to  the  world  on  tins 
soloaot. 

Mr*  Gatlin  here  combats  the  ordinary  notion  of 
ChaBedlzMliaDsbdng  tacitom,  soUen,  and  unsocial. 
He  maintaina  that  they  are  fond  of  good  cheer ; 
that  tiiey  enjoy  fan;  and  loye  to  gossip,  and 
kngii,  and  joke  round  the  wigwam  fire,  much 
Eke  dmUzed  circles  in  similar  situations.  Eyen 
the  women,  before  ^  their  lot  is  on  them,"  are  gay 
lad  wporthre  creatoreB.  One  day,  Mr.  Catlin,  in 
the  co«ne  of  his  wanderings,  meant  to  pay  a  visit 
to  the  upper  village  of  the  MinatareeSy  another 
tiibe  on  ihe  Kiaeouri ;  and,  for  this  purpose,  had 
to  croaa  the  river,  which  he  did  in  a  ddn-canoe, 
sr  ovwcfa,  in  indiieh  an  old  chief  ordered  one  of  his 
Willi  I  to  ferry  the  stranger  over,  with  his  attend- 
aiBta,  Ba'tiste  and  Bogard.  But  he  must  tell  the 
adrratiire  with  the  laughing  water-nymphs  him- 
rif:— 


A  ridn  canoe  (more  Ikmiliariy  called  in  this  country 
a  bolUMnt)  made  in  the  Ibrm  of  a  large  tub,  of  a  buf- 
fQm\  Am,  stretched  on  a  frame  of  willow  boughs, 
^  catried  to  the  water's  edge ;  and  placing  it  in  the 
water,  sAde  signs  for  us  three  to  get  into  it.  When  we 
weve  in,  and  seated  flat  on  its  boHom,  with  scarce  room 
a  anywrny  to  a^jost  our  legs  and  our  feet,  (as  we  sat 
nMassaiilj  fheing  each  other,)  she  stepped  before  the 
b«K»  aad  palling  it  along,  waded  towards  the  deeper 
water,  with  her  back  towards  us,  carefiilly  with  the  other 
hni  ■Hanilliift^  to  her  dress,  which  seemed  to  be  but  a 
%la  dip^  aad  floating  upon  the  surfiuse  until  the  water 
vaa  ahofve  her  waist,  when  it  was  instantly  turned  off, 
her  bead,  and  thrown  ashore;  and  she  boldly 
1  fcrwmrd,  swimming  and  drawing  the  boat  with 
id,  fdddi  she  did  with  apparent  ease.  In  this 
r  we  were  eonveyed  to  the  middle  of  the  stream, 
t  we  were  soon  surrounded  by  a  dozen  or  more 
iU  nda,  from  twetre  to  fifteen  and  eighteen  years 
of  a^a^  lAo  were  at  that  time  bathing  on  the  opposite 


Ihej  al  swam  in  a  bold  and  graoefiil  manner,  and  as 
HidcBtlj  ae  so  many  otters  or  beavers ;  and  gathering 
asamd  ae,  with  thefar  long  black  hair  flcKating  about  on 
ha  wilier,  whilst  their  ifoes  were  glowing  with  jokes 
•d  Hm,  whUk  ttey  were  eraeking  about  us,  and  which 
et  ODaid  not  aadentaad. 

1m  the  aldat  oT  tbisdeh^itftil  little  a<iuatic  group,  we 
ineaitaoarlitUe  skin-bound  tub,  (like  the  ''three 
■te  wa  ef  Gotham,  who  went  to  sea  in  a  bowl,"  &c^) 
alaw  down  the  eunent,  losing  sight  and  all 


i  Aare,  which  was  equidistant  from  us  on 
r  aide ;  vhilst  we  were  amusmg  ourselves  with  the 
iit^fMmm  ef  tteae  dear  little  creatures,  who  were  float- 


ing  about  under  the  clear  blue  water,  catching  their 
hands  on  to  the  sides  of  our  boat ;  occasionally  raising 
one-half  of  their  bodies  out  of  the  water,  and  sinking 
again,  like  so  many  mermaids. 

In  the  midst  of  this  bewildering  and  tantalizing  en- 
tertainment, in  ^vdiich  poor  Ba'tiste  and  Bogard,  as  well 
as  myself  were  aU  taking  infinite  pleasure,  and  which 
we  supposed  was  all  intended  for  our  especial  amuse^ 
ment,  we  found  ourselves  suddenly  in  tiie  deli|^tful 
dilemma  of  floating  down  the  current  in  the  middle  of 
the  rirer ;  and  of  being  turned  round  and  round  to  the 
exceesive  amusement  of  the  villagers,  who  were  laugh- 
ing at  us  firom  the  shore,  as  well  as  these  little  tyros, 
whose  delicate  hands  were  besetting  our  tub  on  all 
sides ;  and  for  an  escape  from  whom,  or  for  fending  off, 
we  had  neither  an  oar  or  anything  else  that  we  could 
wield  in  self-defence,  or  for  self-preservation.  In  this 
awkward  predicament,  our  feelings  of  excessive  admira- 
tion were  immediately  changed  to  those  of  exceeding 
vexation,  as  we  now  learned  that  they  had  peremptorily 
discharged  from  her  occupation  our  frdr  conductress, 
who  had  undertaken  to  ferry  us  safely  across  the  river; 
and  had  also  very  ingeniously  laid  their  phms,  of  which 
we  had  been  ignorant  until  the  present  moment,  to  ex- 
tort from  us  in  this  way  some  little  evidences  of  our 
liberality,  which,  in  fact,  it  was  impossible  to  refuse 
them,  after  so  liberal  and  bewitching  an  exhibition  on 
their  part,  as  well  as  from  the  imperative  obligation 
which  the  awkwardness  of  our  situation  had  laid  us 
under.  I  had  some  awls  in  my  pockets,  which  I  pre- 
sented to  them,  aad  also  a  few  strings  of  beautifhl 
beads,  which  I  placed  over  their  delicate  necks  as  they 
raised  them  out  of  the  water  by  the  side  of  our  boat ; 
after  which  they  all  joined  in  conducting  our  craft  to 
the  shore,  by  swimming  by  the  sides  of,  and  behind  it, 
pushing  it  along  in  the  direction  where  they  designed  to 
land  it,  until  the  water  became  so  shallow,  that  their 
feet  were  upon  the  bottom,  when  they  waded  along 
vrith  great  coyness,  dragging  us  towards  the  shore,  as 
long  as  their  bodies,  in  a  crouching  position,  could  pos- 
sibly be  half  concealed  under  the  water,  when  they  gave 
our  boat  the  last  push  for  the  shore,  and,  raising  a  loud 
and  exulting  lau^  plunged  back  again  into  the  river ; 
leaving  us  £e  only  alternative  of  sitting  still  where  vre 
were,  or  of  stepping  out  into  the  vrater  at  half  leg  deep, 
and  of  wading  to  Sie  shore,  T^ch  we  at  once  did,  and 
soon  escaped  from  the  view  of  our  little  tormentors,  and 
the  numerous  lookers-on,  on  our  way  to  the  upper  vil- 
lage, which  I  have  before  mentioned. 

The  Mandans  had  many  peculiar  customs,  and 
some  arts  which  were,  not  known  to  the  other 
Western  tribes,  particularly  in  making  a  rude  kind 
of  pottery.  They  were  termed  by  the  traders, 
^*  the  polite  and  friendly  Mandans ;"  and  a  difierent 
origin  is  assigned  to  them  from  that  of  any  other 
Indian  nation.  They  were,  in  several  points,  ra- 
ther farther  advanced  in  civilisation.  Mr.  Catlin 
says : — 

There  are  a  great  many  of  these  people  whose  com- 
plexions appear  as  light  as  half-breeds  ;  and  amongst  the 
women  particularly,  there  are  many  whose  skins  are  al- 
most white,  with  the  most  pleasing  symmetir  and  pro- 
portion of  features  ;  with  hazel,  vnUi  gray,  and  with  blue 
eyes, — ^with  mildness  and  sweetness  of  expression,  and 
excessive  modesty  of  demeanour,  which  render  them 
exceedingly  pleasing  and  beautiful. 

Why  this  diversity  of  complexion  I  cannot  tell,  nor 
can  {hey  themselves  account  for  it.  Their  traditions,  so 
to  as  I  have  yet  learned  them,  afford  us  no  information 
of  their  having  had  any  knowledge  of  white  men  before 
the  visit  of  Lewis  aad  Clarke,  made  to  their  village 
thirty-three  years  ago.  Since  that  time  there  have  been 
but  very  few  visits  from  white  men  to  this  place,  and 
surely  not  enough  to  have  changed  the  complexions  and 
the  customs  of  a  nation.  And  I  recollect  perfectly  well 
that  Governor  Clarke  told  me,  before  I  started  for  this 
place,  that  I  would  flnd  the  Mandans  a  strange  people 
and  half  white. 

L 


110 


CATLIirS  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 


The  direnity  in  the  oolowr  of  hair  is  also  equally  as 
great  as  that  in  the  eomplexiMi ;  for  in  a  nonieroiis 
group  of  these  peo^e,  (and  more  partacnlarlj  amongst 
the  females,  who  ne^er  take  pains  to  change  its  natatal 
eoloor,  as  the  men  often  do,)  there  may  be  seen  eyery 
shade  and  oolow  of  hair  that  ean  he  seen  in  oar  owb 
country,  with  the  exception  of  ved  or  anbnm,  whidi  is 
not  to  be  found. 

And  there  is  yet  one  more  stnnge  and  nnaooountaiUe 
peculiarity,  which  ean  probably  be  seen  nowhere  else  on 
earth ;  nor  on  any  rational  grounds  aoeonnted  fbry— 
other  thin  it  is  a  freak  or  order  of  Nature,  for  which  she 
has  not  seen  fit  to  assign  a  reason.  There  are  very  many 
of  both  sexes,  and  of  eyery  age,  from  in&noy  to  manhood 
and  old  age,  with  hair  of  a  bright  silyery  gray  ;  and  in 
Bome  instances  almost  perfoctly  white 

To  repeat  what  I  haye  said  before,  the  Mandansarea 
pleasing  and  friendly  race  of  poo^e,  of  whom  it  is  pio- 
yeibial  amongst  the  Traders  and  all  who  eyer  haye 
known  them,  that  tluir  treatment  of  white  men  in  their 
oountry  has  been  friendly  and  kind  eyer  since  their  iret 
acquaintance  wi&  them — they  haye  eyer  met  and  re- 
ceiyed  them,  on  tiie  prairie  or  in  their  yillages,  with 
hospitality  and  honour. 

They  (are  handsome,  stvaij^  and  elegant  in  timir 
forms— not  tall,  but  quiek  and  gracefol ;  easy  tnd  polite 
in  their  manners,  neat  in  their  persons,  and  beautifoUy 
olad.  When  I  say ''neat  in  person  and  beautifoUy 
dad,"  howeyer,  I  do  not  intend  my  readers  to  under- 
stand that  such  is  the  case  with  tiiem  aU ;  for  among 
them  and  most  other  tribes,  as  with  tiie  enlightened 
wwld,  there  are  dHBE«ent  grades  of  society — those  who 
care  but  little  for  their  petsonal  appearance,  and  those 
who  take  great  pains  to  plsaae  themselyes  and  their 
friends.  Amongst  this  class  of  personages,  sudi  as 
diiefii  and  braves,  or  warriors  of  distinction,  and  their 
frunilies,  and  dandies  or  exquisites,  (a  class  of  beings  of 
whom  I  shall  take  due  time  to  speak  in  a  foture  Letter,) 
the  strictest  r^|;ard  to  decency,  and  oleanliness  and  ele- 
gance of  dress  is  obserred  ;  and  there  are  few  people, 
perhaps,  who  take  more  pains  to  keep  their  persons  neat 
and  cleanly  than  they  do. 

At  the  distance  of  half  a  mile  or  so  aboye  the  yillage 
is  the  customary  place  when  tiie  women  and  girls  resort 
eyery  morning  in  the  summer  months  to  bi^e  in  the 
riyer.  To  this  qwt  they  repair  by  hundreds,  eyery 
morning  at  sunrise,  where,  on  a  beantiftil  beaeh,  they 
can  be  seen  running  and  glistening  in  the  sun,  whilst 
they  are  playing  their  innocent  gambols  and  leaping, 
into  the  stream.  They  all  learn  to  swim  well,  and  the 
poorest  swimmer  amongst  them  wiU  dash  fearlessly  into 
the  boUing  and  eddying  current  of  the  Missouri,  and  ctoss 
it  with  perfect  ease.  At  the  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  back  from  the  riyer,  extends  a  terrace  or  eleyated 
prairie,  running  north  from  the  yillage,  and  fmning  a 
kind  of  semicircle  around  this  bathinff-place  ;  and  on 
this  terrace,  which  is  some  twenty  or  thirty  feet  higher 
than  the  meadow  between  it  and  the  riyer,  are  stationed 
every  morning  several  sentinels,  with  their  bows  and 
arrows  in  hand,  to  guard  and  protect  this  sacred  ground 
from  the  approach  of  boys  or  men  from  any  direction. 

At  a  little  distance  below  the  village,  also,  is  the 
place  where  the  men  and  boys  go  to  bathe  and  learn  to 
swim.  After  this  morning  ablution,  they  return  to  their 
village,  wipe  their  limbs  dry,  and  use  a  profusion  of 
bear^  grease  through  their  hair  and  over  their  bodies. 

The  Mandans  frequently  used  the  vapour  bath ; 
whi(^  is  by  several  tribes  employed  in  the  core 
of  disease.  We  have  notieed  above  their  ele- 
gant and  fandfol  costnmes ;  and  are  enabled  to 
see  more  of  their  private  life  at  a  tete-^-tete  din- 
ner, to  which  their  principal  chief, "  a  high-minded 
and  gallant  warrior,  as  well  as  a  polite  and  polished 
gentleman,"  carried  the  artist,  who  had  just  finished 
his  portrait : — 

The  simple  feast  which  was  spread  befeie  us  consisted 
of  three  dishes  only ;  two  of  which  were  served  in  wooden 


bowls,  and  the  third  in  an  eartiien  vessel  of  their  ovm 
manufacture,  somewhat  in  shH^  of  a  bread-tray  in  our 
own  country.  This  last  contained  a  quantity  of  pern- 
ean  and  marrow-fat ;  and  one  of  the  former  held  a  line 
brace  of  buiUo  ribs,  ddightftilly  roasted ;  and  the  ether 
was  SUed  with  a  kind  of  paste  or  pudding,  made  of  the 
flour  of  the  *^pomme  Uanoke^  as  the  FrsMk  caU  it,  a 
deUcious  turmp  of  the  prairie,  findy  flavoured  with  the 
bnfikto  berries,  whidi  are  collected  in  great  qaaatltlei 
in  this  country,  and  used  iritii  divers  dishes  in  ooddng, 
as  we  in  dvilized  conntries  use  dried  curfants,  wbkk 
t^ey  very  much  resemble. 

A  handsome  pipe  and  a  tobacco-poudi  made  of  the 
otter  skin,  filled  with  k^ick-k*ned^  (Indian  tobacco,) 
laid  by  the  side  of  the  feast;  and  when  we  were  seated 
mine  host  took  up  his  pipe,  and  deliberately  fUed  it; 
and  instead  of  lifting  it  by  tte  Are,  vriiich  he  ceuU 
easily  have  done,  he  drew  from  his  pouch  his  flint  and 
sted,  and  raised  a  spsjrk  with  which  he  kindled  it  He 
drew  a  few  strong  whiffis  through  it,  and  presented  the 
strai  of  it  to  my  mouth,  tibrough  which  I  drew  a  utiif 
or  two  while  he  held  tiie  stem  in  his  hands.  Thii  done, 
he  laid  down  the  pipe,  and  drawing  his  knife  ftvm  his 
bdt,  out  off  a  very  small  pieee  of  the  meat  firom  the 
ribs,  and  pronouncing  the  words  *^  Ho-pe-ne-diee  wa-pa- 
shee,"  (meaning  a  fa€<lictJi«saorifice,)  threwit  into  the  fire. 
He  then  (by  signals)  requested  me  to  eat.  and  I  com- 
menced, after  drawing  out  ftt>m  my  belt  my  knife  (which 
it  is  supposed  that  every  man  in  thb  county  carries 
about  him,  for  at  an  Indian  feast  a  knife  is  never  oftred 
to  a  guest.)  Reader,  be  not  astonished  that  I  sat  and 
ate  my  dinner  alonty  for  such  is  the  custom  of  this 

strange  land. 

The  dish  of  'pendcan  and  marrow-fet,"  of  which  I 
noke,  was  Urns: — ^Tfae  first,  an  article  of  fbod  used 
throughout  this  oountry,  as  fiuniliariy  as  we  nss  bread 
in  the  dvilized  world.  It  is  made  of  buflUo  meat  dried 
very  hard,  and  afterwards  pounded  in  a  large  wooden 
mortar  until  it  is  made  nearly  as  fine  as  saw-dust,  tiien 
packed  in  this  dry  state  in  bladders  or  sacks  of  skin, 
and  is  easily  canied  to  any  part  of  the  world  hi  good 
order.  ^  Marrow-fet"  is  collected  by  the  Indians  from 
the  buffido  bones  which  they  break  to  pieces,  yidding  a 
prodigious  quantity  of  marrow,  which  is  boiled  out  and 
put  into  buflklo  bladders  which  have  been  distended ; 
and  after  it  cools,  becomes  quite  hard  like  tallow,  aad 
has  the  appearance,  and  very  nearly  the  flavovr,  <Mf  the 

richest  yellow  butter. 

I  spoke  also  of  the  earthen  dishes  or  bowla  in  whidi 
these  viands  were  served  out ;  they  are  a  ftoiiliar  part 
of  the  culinary  fkmiture  of  every  Mandan  lodge,  and 
are  manufectiued  by  the  women  of  this  tribe  in  great 
quantities,  and  modelled  into  a  thousand  fbvms  and 
tastes.  'Hiey  are  made  by  the  hands  of  the  women, 
from  a  tough  black  day,  and  baked  in  kilns  which  are 
made  for  the  purpose,  and  are  neariy  equal  ha  hardness 
to  our  own  manufecture  of  pottery ;  though  they  have 
not  yet  got  the  art  ^  glaring,  which  would  be  to  them 
a  most  valuable  secret.  They  make  them  so  strong  and 
serrioeable,  however,  that  they  hang  them  over  the  fire 
as  we  do  our  iron  pots,  and  boil  their  meat  in  them  vriUi 
perfect  suocess.  I  have  seen  some  few  speeimens  oi 
such  manufecture,  which  have  been  dug  up  in  Indian 
mounds  and  tombs  in  the  southern  and  middle  states 
placed  in  our  Eastern  museum  and  looked  upon  as  i 
great  wonder,  when  here  this  novdty  is  at  once  dom 
away  with,  and  the  whole  mystery ;  where  women  eai 
be  seen  handling  and  using  them  by  hundreds^  and  the} 
can  be  seen  every  day  in  the  summer  alsoj  monldin| 
them  into  many  ftmdfel  forms,  and  passing  them  tbieu^ 
the  kiln  where  they  are  hardened. 

Whilst  sitting  at  this  feast^  the  vrigwam  was  as  siloil 
as  death,  although  we  were  not  done  in  it.  This  chid 
like  most  others,  had  a  plurality  of  vrives,  and  all  o 
them  (some  six  or  seven)  vrere  seated  around  the  ddel 
of  ^e  lodge,  upon  robes  or  mats  placed  upon  the  ground 
and  not  aUowed  to  speak,  though  they  were  in  readinea 
to  obey  his  orders  and  commands,  winch  were  uniforml; 
given  by  signs-manual>,and  ezeeuted  in  the  ne^iest  an! 
most  silent  manner. 


CATLDTS  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 


Ill 


Wb6B  I  «nwe  ia  rtinan,  the  pipe  through  which  we 
iiioMfced  WW  presented  to  me ;  and  the  robe  on  which 
I  liftd  8it>  be  gnceMlj  raised  by  the  oorners  and  ten- 
dered it  to  me,  explaining  by  signe  that  the  paintings 
iHddi  were  on  it  were  the  representations  of  the  battles 
«f  Uf  Uft,  when  he  had  iba|^  and  killed  with  hie  own 
band  teteen  of  hit  enemies ;  that  he  had  been  two 
wmk»  oifiged  in  painting  it  for  me,  and  that  he  had 
iarfted  ae  here  on  this  occasion  to  present  it  to  me. 

The  sioiy  delineated  by  thb  chief  on  the  robe 
which  he  presented  to  his  guest,  affords  a  remark- 
lUe  Uhutration  of  Indian  yindictiyeness,  and  thirst 
of  RTeoge.  We  commend  it  to  the  attention  of 
those  who  like  to  study  human  nature  in  all  its 
phases. 

While  residing  in  the  Mandan  village,  Mr.  Cat- 
lin  had  many  ower  good  opportunities  of  improv- 
ing his  knowledge  of  the  customs  of  the  Indians. 
He  witnessed  their  games,  and  saw  several  of  their 
solemn  dances  performed. 

The  wild  yicissitudes  of  savage  life  are  strikingly 
eTCTiplifwd  in  an  adventure  which  followed  one 
of  these  dances — the  JBujfalo  Dance — ^the  object  of 
which  1%  **  to  make  the  bufaloes  come.*^  It  is  told 
thot— 

At  dij  before  yesterday,  which^  though  it  «om- 
■ooed  ia  joy  and  uianksgiving  to  the  Great  Spirit  for 
(he  Bjp&l  saccess  which  had  attended  their  several  days 
tf  diadng  and  supplication,  ended  in  a  calamity  which 
ttnw  the  Tillage  of  the  Mandans  into  monming  and 
npMlMttean,  and  th»t  at  a  time  of  scarcity  uid  great 
teen.  The  signal  was  given  into  the  village  on  that 
Moiag  from  the  top  of  a  distant  bluff,  that  a  band  of 
tdfidoes  were  in  sight,  though  at  a  consideiable  distance 
i^aid  every  heart  beat  wi&  joy,  and  every  eye  watered 
li^liirtned  with  gfautaeas. 

Tit  daaee  had  lasted  some  three  qi  four  days,  and 
ifv, jostead  of  the  doleftil  tap  of  the  drum  and  the  beg- 

Bdisots  of  Ihe  dancers,  the  stamping  of  horses  was 
i  u  tiiey  were  led  and  galloped  through  the  village 
-fWBg  Ben  were  throwing  off  their  robes  and  their 
i^l^  were  seen  snat^iinga  handftalef  arrows  from  their 
^■wn,  and  stringing  their  sinewy  bows,  glancing  their 
tp$  aad  their  smnes  at  their  sweethearts,  and  mounting 

tkorpooies. 

A  fcw  nunutes  there  had  been  of  bustle  luid  boasting, 
■tibfcbows  were  twanging  aad  spetas  were  polishing 
ij  rmaaag  their  blades  into  the  ground — every  face  and 
cnry  eye  was  filled  with  joy  and  cladness — ^horses  were 
ftwkg  sod  snnf&ng  in  fury  for  the  outset,  when  Loui- 
ns  Fr6u^  an  interpreter  of  the  Fur  Company,  galloped 
^wgh  the  village  with  his  rifle  in  his  hand  and  liis 
PMiiii».honi  at  ma  side ;  his  head  and  waist  were  ban- 
^ifed  wilh  handkerehiefs,  and  his  shirt  sleeves  rolled 
B|  t»  his  Bhonlders — the  hunter's  yell  issued  from  his 
%  sad  was  repeated  through  the  village ;  he  flew  to 
^  Mift,  and  behind  him  and  over  the  graceM  swells 
*f  ^  prattle,  galloped  the  emulous  youths,  whose  hearts 
Wilt  WatiBg  high  aad  quiok  for  ihe  onset. 

la  the  viflagey  where  hunger  had  reigned,  and  starva- 
tin  WW  almost  ready  to  look  them  in  the  faae,  all  was 
iai^iatiy  turned  to  joy  and  gladness.    The  chiefis  and 
dwtoB  who  had  been  ror  some  days  dealing  out  mini- 
ma lalioiis  t*  the  community  from  the  pubUo  crib,  now 
^itai  hefort  tlieir  subjects  the  contents  of  their  own 
pifale  «adUf,  and  the  last  of  everytiiing  that  oould  be 
■utetd,  that  they  might  eat  a  thanksgiving  to  the 
umt  9pbft  for  his  goodness  in  sending  £em  a  supply 
«f  bi&k  meat.    A  general  carouse  of  buiqueting  en- 
■"•^whiflii  eeeapied  the  greater  part  of  the  day ;  and 
gfcjittim  st<»e8  which  might  have  fed  an  emeigency 
yj*iwl  weeks,  were  pretty  nearly  used  up  on  tile  oc- 
ttMVNMjB  were  half  picked,  and  dishes  half  emptied 
JJJJ^Ifcdedtothodogs.  J  was  not  fbigotten  neither, 
***f  ^>il  siuMt ;  several  large  and  generous  wooden 
^^nii§miiM*  aad  ether  palatable  food  were  sent  to 


my  painting-room,  and  I  received  them  in  this  time  of 
scarcity  with  great  pleasure. 

After  this  general  indulgence  was  over,  and  the  dogs 
had  licked  the  dishes,  their  usual  games  and  amusements 
ensued — and  hilarity,  and  mirth,  and  joy  took  possession 
of,  and  reigned  in,  every  nook  and  comer  of  the  village. 
In  the  midst  of  this,  screams  and  shrieks  were  heard  ! 
and  echoed  everywhere.  Women  and  children  scrambled 
to  the  tops  of  their  wigwams,  with  their  eyes  and  their 
hands  stretched  in  agonizing  earnestness  to  the  prairie, 
whilst  blackened  warriors  ran  ftiriously  through  every 
winding  maze  of  the  village,  uid  issuing  their  jarring 
gutturals  of  vengeance,  as  they  snatched  their  deadly 
weapons  from  their  lodges,  and  struck  the  reddened  post 
as  they  ftiriously  passed  it  by  !  Two  of  their  hunters 
were  bending  their  course  down  the  sides  of  the  bluff 
towards  the  village,  and  another  broke  suddenly  out  of 
a  deep  ravine,  and  yet  another  was  seen  dashing  over 
and  down  the  green  hills,  and  all  were  goading  on  their 
horses  at  full  speed  !  and  then  came  another,  and  an- 
other, and  aJl  entered  the  village  amid  shouts  and  groans 
of  the  villagers  who  crowded  around  them.  The  story 
was  told  in  their  looks,  for  one  was  bleeding,  and  the 
blood  that  flowed  from  his  naked  breast  had  crimsoned 
his  milk  white  steed  as  it  had  dripped  over  him ;  another 
grasped  in  Ma  left  hand  a  scalp  that  was  reeking  in 
blood — and  in  the  other  his  whip — another  grasped  no- 
thing, save  the  reins  in  one  hand  and  the  mane  of  the 
horse  in  the  other,  having  thrown  his  bow  and  his  arrowrs 
away,  and  trusted  to  the  fleetness  of  his  horse  for  his 
safety ;  yet  the  story  was  audibly  told,  and  the  fatal 
tragedy  recited  in  irregular  and  almost  suffocating  ejacu- 
lations— the  names  of  the  dead  were  in  turns  pronounced, 
and  screams  and  shrieks  burst  forth  at  their  recital--- 
murmurs  and  groans  ran  through  the  village,  and  this 
happy  httle  community  were  in  a  moment  smitten  with 
sorrow  and  distraction. 

Their  proud  band  of  hunters  who  had  started  fhll  of 
glee  and  mirth  in  the  morning,  had  been  surrounded  by 
their  raemy,  the  Sioux,  uid  eight  of  them  killed.  The 
Sioux,  who  had  probably  reconnoitred  their  village  dur- 
ing the  night,  and  ascertained  that  they  were  dancing 
for  buffaloes,  laid  a  stratagem  to  entrap  them  in  fhe  fol- 
lowing manner: — Some  six  or  eight  of  them  appeared 
the  next  morning  (on  a  distant  bluff,  in  sight  of  their 
sentinel)  under  the  skins  of  bufiUoes,  imitating  the  move- 
ments of  those  animals  whilst  graalng ;  and  being  dis- 
ooTcred  by  the  sentinel,  the  intelligence  was  telegraphed 
to  the  village,  which  brought  out  their  hunters  as  I  have 
described.  The  masked  buffaloes  were  seen  grazing  <Mi 
the  top  of  a  high  bluff,  and  when  the  hunters  had  ap- 
proached within  half  a  mile  or  so  of  them,  they  suddenly 
disappeared  over  the  hill.  Louison  Fr^nitf,  who  was 
leading  the  little  band  of  hunters,  became  at  that  moment 
suspicious  of  so  strange  a  movement,  and  came  to  a  halt. 

^  Look  !"  (said  a  Mandan,  pointing  to  a  little  ravine 
to  the  right,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  from  which  sud- 
denly broke  some  forty  or  fifty  furious  Sioux,  on  fleet 
horses  and  under  fall  whip,  who  were  rushuig  upon  them^ 
they  wheeled,  and  in  front  of  them  came  another  band 
more  fhrious  from  the  other  side  of  the  hlQ  I  they  started 
for  home  (poor  fellows),  and  strained  every  nerve ;  but 
the  Sioux  were  too  fieet  for  them ;  and  every  now  and 
then,  the  whizxing  arrow  and  the  lance  were  heard  to 
rip  the  fiesh  of  their  naked  backs,  and  a  grunt  and  a 
groan,  as  they  tumbled  fh>m  their  horses.  Several  miles 
were  run  in  this  desperate  race ;  and  Fr^nitf  got  home, 
and  several  of  the  Mandans,  though  eight  of  them  were 
killed  and  scalped  by  the  way. 

So  ended  that  day  and  the  hunt;  but  many  aday  and 
sad,  wUl  last  the  grief  of  those  whose  hearts  were  broken 
on  that  unlucky  occasion. 

Medicine  men  abounded  among  the  Mandans, 
and  of  these  one  order  was  the  Rain^MakerSy  anc* 
another  the  Rain-Stoppers;  drought  being  in  son* 
seasons,  as  fatal  to  the  com  crops  of  the  squa^y 
and  girls,  as  in  other  years  is  too  much  moistu'** 


114 


CATLDTS  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 


fiofa  herlMige  that  wm  under  thtir  feet^  but,  with  deep- 
drawn  aighe,  their  neoka  were  loftiljr  cnryed,  and  their 
eyes  widely  stretched  over  the  landscape  that  was  be- 
neath us.  From  this  eleyated  spot,  the  horizon  was 
bounded  all  around  us  by  mountain  streaks  of  blue, 
softening  into  azure  aa  they  Tanished,  and  the  pictured 
Tales  that  intermediate  lay,  were  deepening  into  green 
as  the  eye  was  returning  from  its  roamings.  Beneath 
us^  and  winding  through  the  waving  landscape,  was  seen 
with  peculiar  effect,  the  "  bold  dragoons,**  marching  in 
beautitVil  order,  forming  a  train  of  a  mile  in  length. 
Baggage-wagouB  and  Indians  (engagh)  helped  to 
lengthen  the  procession.  From  the  point  where  we 
stood,  the  line  was  seen  in  miniature ;  and  the  undulat- 
ing hills  over  which  it  was  bending  its  way,  gave  it  the 
appearance  of  a  huge  black  snake,  graceftiUy  gliding 
over  a  rich  earpet  of  green. 

This  picturesque  country  of  200  miles,  ever  which  we 
have  passed,  belongs  to  the  Creeks  uid  Choctaws,  and 
affords  one  of  the  richest  and  most  desirable  countries 
in  the  world  for  agricultural  pursuits. 

Scarcely  a  day  has  passed,  in  which  we  have  not 
erossed  oak  ridges,  of  several  milee  in  breadth,  with  a 
fandy  soil  and  scattering  timber;  where  the  ground  was 
almost  literally  covered  with  vines,  producing  the  great- 
est profusion  of  delicious  grapes,  of  five-eighths  of  an 
inch  in  diameter,  and  hanging  in  such  endless  clusters, 
as  justly  to  entitle  this  singumr  and  solitary  vrildemess 
to  the  style  of  a  vineyard,  (and  ready  for  the  vintage,) 
for  many  miles  together. 

An  attack  froiii  the  Indisni  was  daily  ezpeoted, 
and  the  troopa  were  eonstantly  on  their  guard  ; 
but  they  advanoed  unopposed  to  the  Camanchee 
Tillage ;  though  not  without  sundry  false  alanni, 
and  suffering  a  good  deal  of  hardship  bafors  ihej 
found  the  hordes  oi  which  they  had  come  so  feje 
in  quest.  At  last  a  war  party  was  seen  at  a  dis- 
tance, which  turned  out  to  be  Camanchees  on  the 
out-look  for  their  red  enemies.  The  encounter  was 
fairly  met  on  both  sides. 

The  regiment  was  called  to  a  halt,  and  the  requisite 
preparations  made  and  orders  issued,  we  advanced  in  a 
direct  line  towards  them  until  we  had  approached  to 
within  two  or  three  miles  of  them,  when  they  suddenly 
disappeared  over  the  hill,  and  soon  after  showed  them- 
selves on  another  mound  forther  off  and  in  a  diffi^nt 
direction.  The  course  of  the  regiment  was  then  changed, 
and  another  advance  towards  them  was  commenced, 
and  as  before,  they  disappeared  and  showed  themselves 
in  another  durection.  After  several  such  efforts  which 
proved  ineifoctual,  Gol.  Dodge  ordered  the  command  to 
halt,  while  he  rode  fi^ward  witii  a  fow  of  his  staff,  and 
an  ensign  carrying  a  white  flag.  I  joined  this  advance, 
and  the  Indians  stood  their  ground  until  we  had  come 
within  half  a  mile  of  them,  and  could  distinctly  observe 
all  their  numbers  and  movements.  We  then  came  to  a 
halt,  and  the  ^riiite  flag  was  sent  a  little  in  advance,  and 
waved  as  a  dgnal  for  them  to  approach ;  at  which  one 
of  their  party  galloped  out  in  advance  of  the  war-party, 
on  a  milk-white  horse,  carrying  a  piece  of  white  buffiuo 
skin  on  the  point  of  his  long  lance,  in  reply  to  our  flag. 

This  moment  was  the  commencement  of  one  of  the 
most  thrilling  and  beautifol  scenes  I  ever  witnessed. 
All  eyes,  both  fh>m  his  own  party  and  ours,  were  fixed 
upon  the  mancsavres  of  this  gallant  little  fellow/  and 
he  well  knew  it 

The  distance  between  the  two  parties  was  perhaps 
half  a  mile,  and  that  a  beautifol  and  gmitly  sloping 
prairie;  over  which  he  was  for  the  spaos  of  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  reining  and  q^urring  his  maddened  horse,  and 
gradually  approaching  us  by  tacking  to  the  right  and 
the  left,  Uke  a  vessel  beating  agamst  the  wind.  He  at 
length  eame  prancing  and  lei^Mng  along  till  he  met  the 

•  This  Napoleon  of  the  Camanchees  vras  afterwards 
Xnd  to  be  a  half-bred  Spaniard,  and  one  of  the  most 
y  V«^ished  warriors  of  the  nation.—^.  T.  M, 


flag  of  ^  regiment,  whto  he  leaned  his  spsar  for  a  ms- 
ment  against  it,  looking  the  bearer  full  in  the  &ee, 
when  he  wheeled  his  horse,  and  dashed  up  to  CoL 
Dodge,  with  his  extended  hand,  which  was  instantly 
grasped  and  shaken.  We  all  had  him  by  the  hand  in  a 
moment,  and  the  rest  of  the  party  seeing  him  reeeived 
in  this  friendly  manner,  instead  of  behag  saerifieed,  as 
they  undoubtedly  expected,  started  under  ''full  whip" 
in  a  direct  line  towards  us,  and  in  a  moment  gathered, 
like  a  black  cloud,  around  us  !  The  regiment  then 
moved  up  in  regular  order,  uid  a  general  ^bake  of  the 
hand  ensued,  which  vras  aeeonpUdied  by  each  warrior 
riding  along  the  ranks,  and  shaking  the  hand  of  every 
one  as  he  passed.  This  necessary  form  took  up  consi- 
derable time,  and  during  the  whole  operation,  my  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  gaUant  and  wonderfol  appearance 
of  the  little  follow  who  bore  us  the  white  fling  on  the 
point  of  his  lanoe.  He  rode  a  fine  and  spirited  wild 
horse,  which  was  as  white  as  the  drifted  snow,  with  aa 
exuberant  mane,  and  its  long  and  bushy  tail  sweeping 
the  ground.  In  his  hand  he  tightly  drew  the  reins  up- 
on a  heavy  Spanish  bi^  and  at  every  jump,  plunged 
into  the  animal's  sides,  tUl  they  were  in  a  gore  ii  blood, 
a  huge  pair  of  spurs,  plundered,  no  doubt,  fhm  the 
Spaniards  in  Uieir  border  wars,  which  are  eeatinnally 
waged  on  the  Mexican  frontiers.  The  eyes  of  this  noble 
little  steed  seemed  to  be  squeezed  out  of  its  head ;  and 
its  fright  and  its  agitation  had  brought  out  i^n  its 
skin  a  perq^iration  that  was  fretted  into  a  white  foam 
and  laUier.  The  warrior's  quiver  was  slung  on  the 
warrior's  back,  and  his  bow  grasped  in  his  left  hand, 
ready  for  instant  use,  if  called  for.  Hie  shield  was  on 
his  arm ;  and  across  his  thigh,  in  a  beautifol  cover  of 
buckskin,  his  gun  was  slung — and  in  his  right  hand  his 
lance  of  fourteen  feet  in  length. 

Thus  armed  and  equipped  was  tius  dashing  cavalier ; 
and  nearly  in  the  same  manner,  all  the  rest  of  the  party; 
and  very  many  of  them  leading  an  extra  horse,  which 
we  soon  learned  was  the  favourite  war-horse ;  and  from 
which  eiroumstanoes  altogether,  we  soon  understood  that 
they  were  a  war-party  in  search  of  thmr  enemy. 

After  a  shake  of  Uie  hand,  we  dismounted,  and  the 
pipe  was  lit,  and  passed  around.  And  then  a  ^  talk "  was 
held,  in  which  we  were  aided  by  a  Spaniard  we  luckily 
had  with  us,  who  eould  converse  with  one  of  the  Caman- 
chees, who  spoke  some  Spanish. 

Colonel  Dodge  explained  to  them  the  friendly  mo- 
tives with  which  we  were  penetrating  their  country — 
that  we  were  sent  by  the  President  to  reach  their  vil- 
lages— to  see  the  chiefo  of  the  Camandiees  and  Pawnee 
Picts — to  shake  hands  with  them,  and  to  smoke  the  pipe 
of  peaoe,  and  to  establish  an  acquaintance,  and  conse- 
quently a  system  of  trade,  that  would  be  beaefieial  to 
both. 

They  listened  att^tively,  and  perfectly  appreciated ; 
and  talcing  Colonel  Dodge  at  his  word,  relying  with  eon- 
fidence  in  what  he  teld  them,  they  informed  us  that 
their  great  town  vras  within  a  few  days'  mareh ;  and 
pointing  in  the  direction,  offered  to  abanden  their  ivar- 
excursion,  and  turn  about  and  escort  as  to  it ;  which 
they  did  in  perfect  good  faith.  We  were  on  the  march 
in  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  and  from  day  to  dav  they 
busily  led  us  on,  over  hill  and  dale,  encamping  by  the 
side  of  us  at  night,  and  resuming  the  mandi  faa  the 
morning. 

During  this  march,  over  one  of  the  most  lovely  and 
picturesque  countries  in  the  worid,  we  had  enough  con- 
tinuallv  to  amuse  and  excite  us.  The  whole  country 
seemed  at  times  to  be  alive  vrith  bulfoloes  and  bands  of 
wild  homes. 

We  had  with  us  about  thirty  Osage  and  Cherokee, 
Seneca  and  DeUware  Indians,  employed  as  guides  and 
hunters  for  the  r^ment;  and  with  the  war-party  of 
ninety  or  a  hundred  Camanchees,  we  formed  a  most  pic 
turesque  i^pearanoe  while  passing  ever  the  green  field 
and  consequently,  aid  havoc  ammigst  the  herds  of  h 
foloes,  which  we  were  almost  houriy  passing.    We  ir 
now  out  of  the  influence  and  reach  of  bread  stu&y 
subsisted  ourselves  on  buffaloes*  meat  altogether, 
the  Indians  of  the  different  tribes,  emulous  to  sho^ 

Oia 


CATLDTS  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 


115 


ddD  ia  tte  ehiM,  Md  ppsrs  the  metlk  of  ihak  hoifes, 
Utk  iM^mtm  pJMfue  in  dMUi^  into  oToiy  herd  that  we 
np^onched ;  b j  idiich  means,  the  regiment  was  abun- 
dvBtly  svppBed  fiom  day  to  day  with  fresh  meat. 

In  OM  of  those  spirited  scenes  when  the  regiment 
HWB  esttM  BftNii,  and  the  Indians  wHh  their  bowi  and 
mtwiwwe  elosely  plying  a  band  of  these  affirii^hted 
animaisy  tkey  nude  a  bolt  through  the  line  of  the  dra- 
gooB^  and  a  complete  breach,  through  which  the  whole 
herd  pAesed,  apeetting  horses  and  riders  in  the  most 
aaniiag  Bamier,  and  receiring  snch  shots  as  eame  from 
then  gVM  and  pistols  that  weie  aiwud,  and  not  fixed  off 

iHa  Ike  emplf  air 

n«  tract  of  country  oTer  which  we  passed,  between 
tte  False  Washita  and  this  place,  is  stocked,  not  only 
with  bnflkloes,  but  with  numerous  bands  of  wild  horses, 
many  of  whicAi  we  saw  erery  day.  There  is  no  other 
aniBal  en  Ike  pralties  so  wild  and  so  sagadons  as  the 
hHae;  aad  noae  other  so  di£Bcult  to  come  «p  with.  So 
icBai^abiy  keen  is  their  eye,  that  they  will  generally 
ma  *  at  the  sight,**  when  they  are  a  mile  distant;  being, 
■o  doubt,  able  to  distinguish  the  character  of  the  enemy 
ihaX  is  apfiMMdiiag  when  at  that  distance;  and  when  in 
Miitin,  wffl  saldoM  slop  short  of  three  or  frar  miles.  I 
■Ada  maay  attempts  to  approach  them  by  stealths  when 
they  were  graang  and  playing  their  gambols,  without 
erer  haTing  been  more  thaA  once  able  to  succeed.  In 
this  instance,  I  left  my  horse,  and  with  my  friend  Qiad- 
wiek,  dnilked  thronj^  a  raTine  for  a  eonple  of  miles ; 
■alfl  w  were  al  kogth  bveught  within  ffua-shot  of  a 
ina  herd  of  them,  when  I  used  my  pencil  for  some  time, 
while  wa  were  under  cover  of  a  Uttle  hedge  of  bushes 
wfaldi  eflbctuaQy  screened  us  from  their  riew.  In  this 
herd  we  saw  mil  the  eolouri,  nearly,  that  can  be  seen  in 
a  hnnal  of  KngHsh  hounds.  Some  were  milk  white, 
tsae  jet  black— others  weie  sorrel,  and  bay,  and  cream 
eeloai' — Biaii^  were  of  an  iron  gray ;  and  others  were 
pied,  containTng  a  variety  of  colours  on  the  same  animal. 
Their  manes  were  rery  proftise,  and  hanging  in  the 
widest  eeidlksion  orer  tiieir  necks  and  ihces ;  and  their 
kag  lailfl  twapt  the  gronnd. 

The  hunting  hr  hanea  by  emptoyiog  the  kaso, 
and  the  mode  of  taming  these  fine  aniinoials  when 
fi^g^  ue  pIcturesqnelY  described. 

One  of  the  hunters  who  accompanied  the  ezpe- 
,  named  Bestte,  ayoung  man  bom  of  French 
hut  bred  among  the  Osages,  and  whose 
hahite  and  manners  were  completely  those  of  an 
ladiaa^  became  an  expert  hunter  of  the  wild 
hanea.  Breakup,  or  ^oMti^them,  as  it  is  termed, 
b  a  desperate  and  cruel  process,  and  one  which 
gwf  iTIjr  destroys  the  spirit  of  the  animal.  It  is 
HBoie^  described  by  Mr.  Gatlin. 

The  arriral  at  the  metropolis  of  the  Camanchees 
is  aa  imposing  as  their  ^st  encounter  with  the 
troops: — 

liter  many  bsid  aad  tedious  days  of  traTel,  we  were 
at  hut  told  1^  onr  Ckmaaehee  guides  that  we  were  near 
Iheir  TfHage;  and  haying  led  ns  to  the  top  of  a  gently 
zisiac  deVmtioa  on  the  pnnrie,  they  pointed  to  thdr  Til- 
lage at  seretal  miles  distance,  in  ^  midst  of  one  of  the 
meet  soebaaAiBg  TaUeys  that  human  eyes  erer  looked 
■poa.  The  general  course  of  the  Talley  is  from  N.W. 
to  8JL,  of  sereral  fldles  in  width,  with  a  magniicent 
KBage  of  Aoantains  rising  in  distonce  beyond;  it  being, 
wtffaivt  donbt,  a  hnse  '<q>ur''  of  the  Roeky  Mountains, 
rniipisiiil  entiipely  of  a  reddiih  granite  or  gneiss,  corre- 
npiBiltag  wHh  the  other  links  of  this  stupendous  chain. 
In  te  midst  of  this  lerely  TaUey,  we  could  just  diseem, 
■'■^'■^  the  scattering  shrubbery  that  lined  the  banks 
of  Ifaa  wsto  eoaises,  the  tops  of  the  Camanchee  wig- 
wasB,  sal  the  smoke  eurUng  above  them.  The  ralley, 
hr  a  ads  distant  about  the  Tillage,  seemed  speckled 
with  hsnes  and  moles  that  were  grazing  in  it.  The 
I  eflhewa»farty  requested  the  rei^ient  to  halt. 


■ntil  they  eoald  ride  iui  aad  inform  their  people  who 
were  coming.  We  then  dismounted  for  an  hour  or  so ; 
when  we  could  see  them  busily  running  and  catching 
their  horses ;  and  at  length,  seyeral  hundreds  of  their 
brares  and  warriors  came  out  at  Ml  speed  to  welcome 
as,  and  forming  in  a  line  infront  of  us,  as  we  were  again 
mounted,  presented  a  formidable  and  pleasing  appear- 
ance. As  they  wheeled  their  horses,  Ihey  yery  rapidly 
formed  in  a  line,  and  **  dressed*'  hke  well-disciplined 
cayalry.  The  regiment  was  drawn  up  in  three  columns, 
with  a  line  formed  in  front,  by  Oolonel  Dodge  and  his 
staff,  in  which  rank  my  friend  Qiadwick  and  I  were  also 
paraded ;  when  we  had  a  fine  yiew  of  the  whole  ma- 
nceuyre,  which  was  picturesque  and  thrilling  in  the  ex- 
treme. 

In  the  centre  of  our  adtanoe  was  stationed  a  white 
flag,  and  the  Indians  answered  to  it  with  one  which  they 
sent  forward  and  planted  by  the  side  of  it. 

The  two  lines  were  thus  drawn  up,  faoe  to  ikce,  inth* 
in  twenty  or  thirty  yards  of  each  other,  as  inyeterate 
foes  that  never  had  met ;  and,  to  the  OTorlasting  credit 
of  the  Camanchees,  whom  the  world  had  always  looked 
upon  as  murderous  and  hostile,  they  had  all  come  out 
in  tills  manner,  with  their  heads  uncoyeied,  and  without 
a  weapon  of  any  kind,  to  meet  a  war-party  bristling 
with  arms,  and  trespassing  to  the  middle  of  their  coun- 
try. They  had  every  reason  to  look  upon  us  as  their 
natural  enemy,  as  they  have  been  in  the  habit  of  esti* 
mating  all  pale  ihoes;  and  yet|  instead  of  arms  or  de- 
fences, or  even  of  frowns,  they  galloped  out  and  looked 
us  in  our  foces,  without  an  expression  of  fear  or  dismay, 
and  evidently  with  expressions  of  joy  and  impatient 
pleasure,  to  diake  us  by  the  hand,  on  the  bare  assertion 
of  Colonel  Dodge,  which  had  been  made  to  the  ohiefo, 
that  ''we  eame  to  see  them  on  a  friendly  visit" 

After  we  had  sat  and  gazed  at  each  pther  in  this  way 
for  some  half  an  hour  or  so,  the  head  chief  of  the  band 
came  galloping  up  to  Colonel  Dodge,  and  having  shaken 
him  by  the  hand,  he  passed  on  to  the  other  ofilcers  in 
tir^,  aad  then  rode  alongride  of  the  different  cohimns, 
shaUng  hands  with  every  drajB^oon  in  the  regiment ;  he 
w^  followed  in  this  by  his  principal  chiefis  and  braves, 
which  altogether  took  up  nearly  an  hour  longer,  when 
the  Indians  retreated  sldwly  towards  their  vOlage,  es- 
oorting  ns  to  the  banks  ef  a  fine  dear  stream,  and  a 
good  spring  of  fresh  water,  half  a  mile  from  their  vil- 
lage, whioh  they  designated  as  a  suitable  place  for  our 
encampment,  and  we  were  soon  bivouacked  at  Uie  place 
horn  which  I  am  now  scribbling. 

The  vfllage  of  the  Camanchees,  by  the  side  of  which 
we  are  encamped,  is  oompoeed  of  six  or  eight  hundred 
skfai-oovered  lodges,  made  of  poles  and  bu&lo  skins,  in 
the  manner  precisely  as  those  of  the  Sioux  and  otiier 
Bilissouri  tribes,  of  which  I  have  heretofore  given  some 
account.  This  village,  with  its  thousands  of  irild  in- 
mates, with  horses  and  dogs,  and  wild  sports  and  domes- 
tic occupations,  presents  a  most  curious  scene ;  and  the 
manners  and  looks  of  the  people,  a  rich  subject  for  the 
brush  and  tiie  ym. 

We  white  men,  strolliog  about  amongst  their  wig- 
wams, are  looked  upon  with  as  much  curiosity  as  if  we 
had  come  from  the  moon ;  and  evidently  create  a  sort 
of  chill  in  the  blood  of  children  and  dogs,  when  we  make 
onr  appearance. 

The  nation  is  estimated  at  from  90  to  40,000,  of 
whom  six  or  seyen  thousand  are  warriors.  Traffic, 
by  barter,  was  immediately  commenced,  the  Ame- 
ricans mftlfipg  excellent  bargains ;  such  as  a  horse 
for  a  sorry  blanket,  and  a  butcher's  knife— or  for 
an  old  cotton  umbrella. 

Mr.  Catlin  describes  some  extraordinary  feats  of 
horsemanship,  that  are  commonly  performed  by 
the  Camanchees,  and  which  would,  we  apprehend, 
astonish  even  the  riders  at  Astley's. 

The  farther  quest  of  the  expedition  was  the 
Pawnee  Picts,  a  tribe  whose  mountain  villages  lay 
about  a  hundred  miles  fitrther  west,  on  the  banks 


IIG 


CAtLDi^S  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIAJ^S, 


of  the  Red  River,  and  in  a  wildly  monntunons 
region.  The  Tillage  contained  between  five  and  ax 
hundred  neatly  oonstructed  wigwams ;  and  to  the 
great  surprise  of  the  civilised  visiters,  the  people 
were  found  cultivating  ^^  extensive"  fields  of  Indian 
com,  and  raising  pumpkins,  melons,  beans,  and 
squashes ;  and  were  well  supplied  with  bufialo 
meat.  The  friendly  views  of  ihe  expedition  were 
next  day  explained  to  the  chiefs  of  the  Pawnees  at 
a  solemn  meeting  of  the  council  of  the  nation. 

Colonel  Dodge  opened  a  oonncil  with  the  chiefs  in  the 
chiefs  lodge,  where  he  had  the  most  of  his  officers  around 
him.  He  first  explained  to  them  the  friendly  views  with 
which  he  came  to  see  them;  and  of  the  widi  of  our  go- 
vernment to  establish  a  lasting  peace  with  them,  which 
they  seemed  at  once  to  appreciate  and  highly  to  estimate. 

The  head  chief  of  the  tribe  is  a  very  old  man,  and  he 
several  times  repHed  to  Colonel  Dodge  in  a  very  elo- 
quent manner,  assuring  him  of  the  friendly  feelings  of 
his  chief  and  warriors  towards  the  pale  faces,  in  the  di- 
rection from  whence  we  came. 

The  chiefs  consented  to  accompany  the  com- 
mander of  the  expedition,  Colonel  Dodge,  back  to 
Fort  Gibson,  to  receive  suitable  presents^  and  thus 
confirm  the  friendship  entered  into;  which  they 
did.  The  Pawnees  are  a  powerful  and  numerous 
nation,  consisting  of  many  clans  or  families.  The 
portraits  of  their  chiefs  and  women,  given  by  Mr. 
Catlin,  represent  a  more  intelligent  race  than  the 
Mandans  or  Sioux  ;  and  their  costumes,  though  not 
so  fantastic  and  gorgeous,  are  more  like  those  of 
rational  beings.  On  the  backward  march,  which 
was  pursued  by  a  different  route,  lying  by  the  Ca- 
nadian river,  and  partly  through  the  territory  of 
Texas,  the  troops  suffered  severely  from  fever, 
produced  by  the  extreme  heat  of  the  weather,  and 
the  bad  quality  of  the  little  water  that  was  to  be 
procured.  Mr.  Catlin  was  seized  with  fever,  and  had 
nearly  sunk  before  the  regiment  reached  Fort  Gib- 
son, diminished  in  numbers,  and  many  still  suffering 
under  the  disease.  But  the  object  of  the  enter- 
prise had  been  accomplished,  though  our  traveller 
rightly  doubts  if  it  will  be  of  any  ultimate  advan- 
tage to  the  Indians.  The  Camanchees  and  the 
Pawnees  will,  he  fears,  have  the  same  destiny  as 
the  extirpated  tribes.    He  remarks — 

Although  the  achievement  has  been  a  handsome  one, 
of  bringing  these  unknown  people  to  an  acquaintance, 
and  a  general  peace;  and  at  first  sight  would  appear  to 
be  of  great  benefit  to  them — yet  I  have  my  strong  doubts 
whether  it  will  better  their  condition,  unless,  with  the 
exercised  aid  of  the  strong  arm  of  Government,  they 
can  be  protected  in  the  rights  which,  by  nature,  they 
are  entitled  to. 

There  is  already  in  this  place  a  company  of  eighty 
men  fitted  out,  who  are  to  start  to-morrow,  to  overtake 
these  Indians  a  few  miles  from  this  place,  and  accom- 
pany them  home,  with  a  large  stock  of  goods,  with  traps 
for  catching  beavers,  &c.,  calculating  to  build  a  trading- 
house  amongst  them,  where  they  will  amass,  at  once, 
an  immense  fortune,  being  the  first  traders  and  trappers 
that  have  ever  been  in  that  part  of  the  country. 

I  have  travelled  too  much  among  Indian  tribes,  and 
seen  too  much,  not  to  know  the  evil  consequences  of 
such  a  system.  Goods  are  sold  at  such  exorbitant  prices, 
that  the  Indian  gets  a  mere  shadow  for  his  peltries,  &c. 
The  Indians  see  no  white  people  but  traders  and  sellers 
of  whisky;  and  of  course,  judge  us  all  by  them — ^they 
consequently  hold  us,  and  always  will,  in  contempt,  as 
inferior  to  themselves,  as  they  have  reason  to  demand 
they  neither  fear  nor  respect  us. 


The  conaaqseaoeB  ave  not  ill  to  divine.  Tbe 
vessel  of  clay  dashes  itself  against  the  vessel  of  iron, 
and  falls  into  potsherds. 

The  sickness  increased,  and  the  sufferings  of  the 
troops,  £rom  the  climate  and  the  journey,  were  ag- 
gravated by  the  exhaustion  of  all  their  luxuries, 
and  the  want  of  forage  for  their  horses,  as  well  as 
of  water  and  provisions  for  themselves.  Almost 
every  man  and  officer  was  attacked  by  the  fever, 
and  many  became  its  victims.  Though  he  seems 
to  have  held  out  long,  Mr.  Catlin  was  at  length 
laid  prostrate ;  but  after  a  time,  and  in  all  pro- 
bability feeling  himself  better,  and  still  seeing  his 
friends  dying  around  him,  he  was  seized  with 
the  irresistible  desire  of  leaving  this  doomed 
spot,  and  at  all  hazards  trying  to  make  his  way 
northward  and  homewUrd.  The  attempt  for  a  man 
in  his  condition  must  have  appeared  like  madness, 
though  it  is  probable  that  to  it  he  owed  his  life. 
He  set  out  alone,  save  for  his  sagacious  and  docile 
little  Camanchee  horse  *^  Charley,"  which  was  to 
him  in  the  wilderness  what  the  companion-steed  is  to 
the  Arab  in  the  desert ;  his  sole,  affectionate  and 
intelligent  friend,  in  traversing  five  hundred  miles 
of  forest  and  prairie,  in  which  the  debilitated  tra- 
veller had  no  means  of  sustaining  life  but  by  his 
rifle  and  his  fishing-tackle  and  the  small  quan- 
tity of  coffee,  and  a  few  pounds  of  hard  biscuits, 
that  were  stowed  in  his  portmanteau.  We  would 
fain  gratify  our  younger  p^'vders  with  a  sketch  of 
this  solitary  and  picturesq*.  ?  journey,  but  space 
has  failed,  and  we  must  be  content  to  tell  that 
Mr.  Catlin  and  his  faithful  Charley,  not  how- 
ever without  perilous  adventures,  happily  accom- 
plished their  solitary  and  romantic  journey,  his 
health  having  improved  every  day  after  living 
the  dismal  Western  Fort. 

We  have  left  ourselves  no  room  for  his  subsequent 
excursions  among  the  broken  tribes  still  inhabit- 
ing places  on  the  lakes,  or  on  the  Upper  MississippL 
The  name  of  the  Shavmee  Prophet^  or  KeenitMie-JMky 
the  chief  man  of  the  Kickapoos,  has  already  been 
heard  of  in  Europe.  His  portrait  gives  the  idea  of 
a  shrewd  and  intelligent  man.  He  is,  in  reality, 
one  of  the  most  extraordinary  men  now  alive  among 
the  Red  Indians.  His  tribe,  then  located  at  the 
south  end  of  Lake  Michigan,  has  since  been  re- 
moved by  the  United  States  government  beyond 
the  Missouri.  Of  this  remarkable  chief  Mr.  Catlin 
relates — 

He  sat  for  his  portrait ;  he  took  his  attitude,  which 
was  that  of  prayer.  And  I  soon  learned  that  he  was  a 
very  devoted  Christian,  regularly  holding  meetings  in 
his  tribe  on  the  Sabbath,  preaching  to  them  and  exhort- 
ing them  to  a  belief  in  the  Christian  religion,  and  to  aa 
abandonment  of  the  &tal  habit  of  whisky-drinkiiig, 
which  he  strenuously  represented  as  the  bane  that  was  to 
destroy  them  all,  if  they  did  not  entirely  cease  to  use  it. 
I  went  on  the  sabbath  to  hear  this  eloquent  man  preach, 
when  he  had  lus  people  assembled  in  the  woods;  and  al- 
though I  could  not  understand  his  language,  I  was  sur- 
prised and  pleased  vrith  the  natural  ease  and  emphasiB, 
and  gesticulation,  ^riiich  carried  their  own  evidenoe  of 
the  eloquence  of  his  sermon. 

I  was  singularly  struck  witii  the  noble  efforts  of  this 
champion  of  the  mere  remnant  of  a  poisoned  race,  so 
strenuously  labouring  to  rescue  the  remainder  of  hia 
people  firom  the  deadly  bane  that  has  been  brou^t 
amongst  them  by  enlightened  Christians.    How  for  the 


CATLtN'g  NORTH  AMERICAN  INDIANS. 


117 


eiffto  if  Ab  wnkma  man  hare  sacoeeded  in  cbristian- 
iii^  I  emol  telly  b«t  it  is  qnite  certain  that  his  ezem- 
pltry  and  eonstant  endeaTonrs  hare  oompietely  abolished 
the pnctke  of  drinking  whisky  in  his  tribe;  which  alone 
h  s  Tery  prsiseworthy  achievement,  and  the  first  and 
indiiianUe  step  towards  all  other  improyements. 

lUiBiB  iftlnother  of  tiie  funous  Tecnmseh,  and  qoite 
equl  is  his  wtedieine$  or  mysteries,  to  what  his  brother 
WW  in  ams;  he  was  blind  in  his  left  eye,  and  in  his 
ligbt  kasd  be  was  holding  his  '^  medicine  fire,**  and  his 
'*«amrf  jlriM  of  beans*'  in  the  other.  With  tiiese  mys- 
tciies  be  Bade  his  way  through  most  of  the  North  Wes- 
tern tdbes,  enlistfaig  warriors  wherever  he  went,  to  as- 
aA  T^KBBseh  in  e&cting  his  great  scheme,  of  forming 
a  coofedency  of  all  the  Indians  on  the  frontier,  to  drive 
back  the  whites,  and  defend  the  Indians'  rights ;  which 
ke  told  them  conld  never  in  any  other  way  1m  protected. 
Hii  pha  WIS  certainly  a  correot  one,  if  not  a  very  great 
•■e;  aad  his  luother,  the  Prophet,  exercised  his  asto- 
liddBg  ioiUience  in  raising  men  for  him  to  fight  his  bat- 
tles, and  carry  oat  his  pla^.  For  this  purpose,  he  started 
opsn  an  cnbassy  to  the  various  tribes  on  the  Upper  Itfis- 
soori,  nearly  aU  of  which  he  visited  with  astonishing 
siicce«;fiMhiting  his  mystery  fire,  and  using  his  sacred 
stziqf  «f  beaas,  which  every  young  man  who  was  willing 
to  go  to  war  was  to  touch;  thereby  taking  the  solemn 
oath  to  start  nhsa  called  upon,  and  not  to  turn  back. 

Among  the  broken,  small  tribes  then  inhabiting 
the  lake  country,  but  now  all  removed  beyond  the 
MissiKtppi  or  the  Missouri,  Mr.  CaUin  found  several 
ciTiliaed  and  intelligent  Indians,  wearing  the  dress 
and  speaking  the  langruage  of  the  English.  He  has 
presemd  the  portraits^  the  more  remarkable  of 
them.  Mr.  Catlin  coi^i^borates  his  frequent  tes- 
timony  to  the  good  <;haracter  of  the  Red  Indiana 
in  thdr  natural  oondition,  by  appeals  to  the  mia* 
sioiiaries  who  have  gone  among  Uiem,  as  well  as  to 
tnden^  and  especially  as  to  their  honesty  and  hospi- 
(d%,  qualities  never  denied.  Mr.  Catlin's  gallery 
and  hk  narrative  afford  ample  proofs  of  their 
knowledge  and  advancement  in  those  arts  abso- 
tatdy  required  by  their  condition.  Their  wig- 
nmsythdr  canoes,  their  dresses,  their  weapons 
lad  banting  implements,  their  furniture  and  culi- 
ttiy  utensils,  are  probably  equal  in  ingenuity  to 
tW  of  any  people  found  in  the  condition  of  hunt- 
ixif  men  still  living  by  the  chase  in  a  region  where 
pme  abonndsy  and  by  fishing.  Civilisation  the 
BMt  unperfect,  is  not  the  growth  of  a  few  short 
Soentions  of  men,  nor  yet  of  centuries.  The  Bed 
hi^kas  have  never  been  permitted  the  time  neces- 
^  to  pass  from  the  state  of  hunters  to  that  of 


agriculturists.  The  experiment  has  never  been,  and 
in  their  case,  never  will  be,  fairly  tried.  In  the  art 
of  dressing  skins,  though  they  are  unacquainted 
with  tanning,  the  Red  Indians  have  given  a  lesson  to 
Europeans.  Their  process  is  slow,  but  completely 
effective.  They  practise  an  ingenious  way  of  cur- 
ing buffalo  meat,  without  the  use  of  salt,  which, 
thus  preserved,  wUi  keep  for  any  length  of  time. 
This  is  a  process  which  may  be  found  very  useful^  so 
soon  as  the  working-classes  of  England  are  permit- 
ted to  exchange  the  products  of  tiie  loom  and  the 
forge  for  the  com  and  beef  of  South  and  North 
America.  Many  of  the  customs  and  arts  of  the 
Red  Indians  dii^lay  a  happy  and  ingenious  adap- 
tation to  the  necessities  of  their  condition; — such 
as  the  mode  of  swimming  practised  by  the  Western 
tribes ;  for  which,  with  many  other  things^  we  again 
refer  to  Mr.  Catlin's  book.  A  very  curious  way, 
(allovring  for  a  touch  of  the  supernatural,  or  the 
animal  magnetic,)  is  described,  in  which  bufialo 
calves  are  caught,  when  the  Indians  want  *^  a  bit 
of  veaL"  When,  during  the  hunting  season,  the 
vast  herds  of  buffaloes^  consisting  of  many  thou- 
sandsy  are  pursued  and  thrown  into  oonfusbn,  the 
frightened  calves  often  lose  their  dams,  and  try  to 
conceal  themselves  by  dropping  on  their  knees»  and 
burying  their  noses  in  the  long  grass,  where  they 
remain  as  if  fascinated.  When  touched,  they  butt 
furiously,  but  soon  yield  to  a  spell  described, 
which  reminds  one  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
famous  Irish  whisperer  channed  horses  and  **  made 
them  fain  to  follow  him.'* 

In  Mr.  Catlin's  oolleotion,  though  the  greater 
part  of  the  Indiana  neither  toil  nor  spin,  may  be 
seen,  as  he  tells — 

Specimens  of  their  spinning  and  weaving,,  by  which 
they  convert  dogs'  hair  and  tSe  wool  of  the  mountain* 
sheep  into  durable  and  splendid  robes,  the  production 
of  which,  I  venture  to  say,  would  bid  defiance  to  any  of 
the  looms  in  the  American  or  British  factories. . 

Many  other  curious  traits  of  character  and  pic* 
tures  of  manners  are  exhibited  in  these  large  and 
closely  printed  volumes,  which  will  remain  an 
interesting  record  of  the  Homeric  age  and  race 
of  North  America,  when,  save  a  few  wild  tradi- 
tions and  scattered  relics,  and  a  few  of  the  musical 
and  sonorous  Indian  names  of  lakes,  rivers,  and 
hunting-grounds,  every  other  trace  of  the  Red  Man 
¥rill  have  perished  on  that  vast  continent. 


LINES  TO  CIRCASSIA. 


^niTSiC  cm  THB  OCCASION  OP  THB  RBCBNT  RUSSUK  EXPBDITIOir  AGAINST  THB  CIBCASBIAN  PATftlOTB. 


An  riaO  the  thriee-erosbed  robber  vanquish  now-^ 
Am  am  file  eypnas  shade  the  patriot's  brow  1 
«artftMioftiends  but  Qod,and  bravery— 
^*"^to strike  in  unison  with  thee ! 
mi  A?"  ^  'Hff-flag  from  thy  mountain  towers ; 
^^vaad  nmparts  on  the  Russian  lowers ; 
^  "KphiH-wairiorB  are  not  conquered  yet : 
»w  art  a  Utttain-pasB,  or  ritnktr- 


A  rock,  a  vale,  a  hamlet,  but  shall  form 
A  rallying  spot  fbr  thee.    O,  'raid  the  storm 
Of  battle  should  thine  arm  or  spirit  Mi ! 
Think  upon  Poland,  and  her  bloody  tale  ! 
The  ice-bound  deserts  of  Siberia, 
A  Moon's  best  and  bravest  withering  saw. 
Think  of  the  knout,  the  exile,  and  the  chain,- 
No  mercy  from  the  wolf— then  strike  again  ! 


N. 


118 


DECENT  TBAVBLLERS  IN  RUSSIA. 


I.— NOTES  OP  A  HALF-PAY  IK  SEARCH  OF  HEALTH.    By  Captain  Jmb  ♦ 
n.— EXCURSIONS  IN  THE  INTERIOR  OF  RUSSL/^  AND  SCENES  tN  ST.  PETERSBURG, 

&c.  &c.    By  Robert  Brbmnbb,  Es<^ 
m.— A  RESIDENCE  ON  THE  SHORES  OP  THE  BALTIC,  IN  A  SERIES  OP  LETTERS. 

By  a  Lady.    2  voli.  8vp.    ||f  un«gr« 
IV.— STEPHEN'S  NOTES  OP  TRAVEL  IN  RUSSIA,  &o. 


Thb  krt  three  yean  have  added  eoHsiderably  to 
the  ameunt  of  &itifih  infbnnal^on  oh  the  social 
and  political  condition  of  Russia,  without,  upon 
the  whole,  showing  that  there  is  any  material  dif- 
ference, saYB  what  is  either  the  effdct  of  accident, 
or  merely  superficial,  since  Dr.  Clarke  went  over 
nearly  the  same  ground  that  has  lately  been  tra- 
Tcrsed  by  three  of  the  TraTcllers  named  at  the  head 
of  this  article.  The  boundaries  of  the  empire  have 
been  somewhat  extended  ;  and  a  little  progress  and 
improvement  are  tisible  in  sereval  of  the  public  de- 
partments ;  but  in  all  that  oonstitntes  the  internal 
strength  and  true  cifiHsaiion  of  a  country,  the 
Russia  of  1840  remains,  it  would  appear,  in 
exactly  the  same  state  as  the  Russia  of  1800.  Her 
ferty-firemillionsof  serfshayeundMPgoneno  change, 
woiihy  of  notice,  since  the  days  of  Peter  the  Great. 
1%ey  are  worshipping  the  emperor  In  their  sheep- 
skins, exactly  as  liien ;  without  a  new  want,  a  new 
capacity,  or  the  idea  of  a  new  enjoyment.  The 
very  talk  of  amelioration,  which  was  so  fa^onable 
during  the  pseudo-liberal  reign  <rf  Alexander,  seems 
to  have  died  out. 

AH  liberal  ideas  of  tfoteniaieiit  (flays  Gapisin  Jesse) 
died  with  Alexander :  It  is  now,  to  the  letter,  absolute 
and  military — two  ebaraoteristies  ssffieiently  appalling ; 
bat  the  latter  is  the  most  blighting  in  its  e£fects. 

Nor  is  the  political  or  civil  condition  of  the 
emancipated  crown  peasants  in  any  important  re- 
spect different  from  that  of  the  peasants  of  the  no- 
bility, who,  with  the  character,  retain  the  name,  of 
slaves.  The  animal  activity  and  energy  of  Nicholas, 
who,  hemmed  in  by  the  Baltic,  vexed  by  the  Poles, 
and  baffled  by  the  Circassians,  seems  as  restless  as  a 
caged  hyena,  together,  with  that  lust  of  conquest 
and  passion  for  war,  which  can  only  be  gratified 
by  a  vast  armed  land  and  maritime  force^  has  made 
him  strain  every  nerve  to  create  an  army  and  a 
navy.  But  the  fiat  of  the  Czar  is  not  more  potent 
than  the  absolute  shall  of  Napoleon ;  when,  by  a 
decree  he  attempted  to  create  *^  ships,  colonies,  and 
commerce."  If  we  may  implicitly  believe  report, 
the  attempts  of  Nicholas  to  form,  all  at  once,  a 
great  naval  force,  are  as  futile  as  those  of  the  child 
who  would  form  a  garden,  by  snatching  and  stick- 
ing living  flowers  and  foliage  into  the  earth.  And 
whatever  success  he  may  have  had  in  consolidating 
a  military  despotism,  or  whatever  Russia  may  have 
gained  intermdly,  whether  in  the  better  organiza- 
tion of  its  army  and  navy  and  administrative  sys- 
tem, since  the  accession  of  Nicholas,  has  been  loqt  in 
moral  influence  throughout  civilized  Europe*    The 


*  Two  vols,  oloth.    Madden  &  Co. 


prttHgt  which  the  mild  and  plausible  Alexander, 
and  a  sympathetic  hatred  of  Napoleon,  had  created 
in  England,  has  been  completely  destroyed  by  the 
career  of  his  successor.  Russia  aiKi  Russian 
policy  were  never  more  odious  in  the  eyes  of  free 
and  civilized  men  than  at  the  present  moment. 
Even  among  the  most  devoted  lovers  of  peace  it  re- 
niains  a  political  problem,  whether  the  cruel  and  ty- 
rannical extermination  of  the  Polish  nation  ought  to 
have  been  tolerated  by  the  civilized  States  of  Europe ; 
while  the  patriotic  struggle  of  the  brave  Circassians, 
though  it  may  not  justify  the  hostile  interference 
of  England,  as  a  Power,  nevertheless^  commands 
the  warmest  sympathies  of  the  whole  nation,  and 
of  all  nations  in  which  the  idea  of  patriotism  and 
of  national  independence  is  understood. 

Of  the  travellers,  whose  reports  we  are  about  to 
discuss,  so  far  as  they  bear  on  the  character  of  the 
emperor,  and  the  vaunted  symptoms  of  improve- 
ment in  his  dominions,  Captain  Jesse,  the  latest, 
is,  if  not  anti-Russ,  somewhat  irascible;  Mr  Brem- 
ner,  and  the  American,  are  both  well-tempered 
and  impartial ;  and  the  lady  is  strongly  disposed  to 
be  as  indulgent  and  favourable  in  her  judgment,  as 
the  conscience  and  tastes  of  an  intelligent  and  well- 
infbrmed  Englishwoman  will  at  all  permit.  Yet, 
allowing  for  individual  character  and  difference  of 
disposition,  it  is  surprising  to  find  how  well,  wh^i  ex- 
amined, their  several  reports  and  estimates  harmo- 
nize. The  letters  of  the  lady,  we  should  say,  bear 
the  hardest  upon  the  emperor  and  his  court,  and  the 
entire  body  of  the  Russian  nobility ;  as,  with  better 
opportunities  of  observation,  and  as  keen  a  glance, 
she  b  as  hesitating,  or  as  reluctant  a  witness,  as 
Captain  Jesse  is  a  frank  and  wUling  one.  To  place 
her  above  all  suspicion,  we  find  the  Quarterfy  Re- 
view  contrasting  her  account  of  Rusda  and  its 
higher  classes,  with  that  of  other  recent  travellens, 
and  drawing  from  it  a  favourable  judgment  for 
Russia,  on  ihe  very  points  under  discussion.  She 
saw  more  of  the  emperor  personally,  than  all  the 
other  travellers  together ;  and  she  seems  to  have  been 
domesticated  in  a  family  of  the  higher  nobility, 
during  the  whole  of  the  winter  gaieties  of  St. 
Petersburg,  in  which  she  spent  two  seasons.  One 
of  our  travellers  asserts,  that  more  depends  upon 
the  personal  character  of  Nicholas,  than  on  that  of 
any  other  man  now  alive.  And  this  is  true  of  that 
strong-willed  and  active  individual,  at  leaat  as 
regards  Russia,  and  those  countries  which  have 
become  inextricably  involved  in  the  toils  of  ita  po- 
licy. 

The  Emperor  is  now  in  his  forty-sixth  year.    As 
George  the  lY.  was  named  the  <^  First  Gentleman 


RECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSU, 


119 


«f  Europe,"    80  b  NieholaA,  and  with^  at  least, 
equd  traih,  named  "  the  handsomest  man  of  his 
time.*    Indeed,  one  of  the  trayellers  says  that  the 
imperil]  £unily  is  the  only  good-looking  fuuily  in 
BaMia ;  which  they  owe  to  their  German  blood. 
The  bb  letter- wiHer  alleges,  that  if  the  statue  of 
Nicholas  had  been  dug  up  in  classic  groimd,  it 
uncNild  haTe  been  taken  for  that  of  a  Grecian  demi- 
god.   As  a  god  he  is  regarded  by  nine-tenths  of  his 
•objects, — ^if  those  semi-barbarous  hordes  are  to  be 
described  aa  stdjects,  who  hare  no  ciyil  rights  what- 
erer,  and  no  political  existence.    When  a  peasant, 
a£nkl  to  giye  an  answer  to  any  simple  question 
wfaidi  his  debased  ocmdition  makes  him  dread  as 
dmgcniaB,  is  asked  one,  such  as  **  Does  it  rain  ? "  he 
replies,  **  God  and  the  Emperor  know."    In  all  the 
Diiblic  oflices  of  Russia  there  is  a  mysterious  affair, 
u&  fashion  somewhat  like  a  Metronome^  made  of 
copper  or  Iron-gilt,  set  up,  and  crowned  with  the 
In&perial  Eagle,  on  the  sides  of  which  are  engraved 
the  tables  of  the  wisdom  of  Peter  the  Great,  in  pithy 
exiuutaHons  to  functionaries  to  do  theb  duty,  and, 
aboTv  all,   to   eschew    bribery    and    corruption. 
Hus  Palladium,  this  Kaba,  this  visible  represen- 
tatxre  of  the  Emperor  and  of  his  omnipotence,  is  the 
object  of  universal  reverence.    No  Russian,  says 
Cftptain  Jesse, — 

Enters  the  room  without  taking  off  Ms  hat  to  it ;  the 
ndk  cany  this  fseliiig  still  ftirther,and  I  have  obserred 
u^  vi  them  who  had  asoidsiitly  eaaght  a  j^impse  of  it 
frsA  the  a^joinJHg  rooia,  bow  as  low  to  it  as  they  would 
hare  dome  to  the  altar.  Foreigners,  ignorant  of  the  sanc- 
tity of  this  emblem,  not  unfrequently  met  with  sharp 
nbsft  fbr  their  onwitting  neglect  in  not  saluting  it.  I 
■M  first  AwaksDod  to  the  necessity  of  so  doing,  by  a  tiireat 
if  haiiic  mj  hat  knocked  off. 

A  worthy  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends  lately 
|Qt  himself  into  an  unpleasnt  scrape  at  Odessa,  by 
leliising  to  pay  homage  to  this  image  of  power. 

The  Xietfteiv writer  never  tires  of  praising  the  phy- 
rfeal  perfectkms  of  the  Emperor,  who  is  certainly 
a  noble  spe^men  of  one  order,  though  that  not  the 
kigfaesty  of  manly  beauty.  The  sovereign  of  a  semi- 
barhaious  people  ^uld  always  be,  like  Nicholas, 
ax  feet  two.  She  saw  him  with  every  advantage, 
m  the  midst  of  fetes  and  pageants.  The  splendours 
«f  the  Court  at  the  New- Year's  fete,  given  at  the 
Winter  Palace,  which  our  fair  traveller  witnessed 
ftoB  ft  poixit  of  vantage,  read  like  a  fairytale : — 

A  JSmt  of  military  passed ;  then  a  body  of  chamber- 
irlien  the  band  broke  into  the  sonl-stirring 
hymn,  "Boje  Zara  ehranV* — ^the  troops  pre- 
rms,  Md  a  noble  figure  was  seen  advancing. 

this  WIS  the  Emperor^— the  plainest  dressed,  but  the 
■ssk  BSAificent  figure  present,  wanting  no  outward 
Mm  to  dedare  the  mi^esty  of  his  presence.  He  passed 
■lowly  OB,  aeeommodating  his  manly  movements  to  the 
Aatt  fiMbie  steps  of  the  Empress,  who,  arrayed  in  a 
Msse  of  jewels,  dragged  a  heavy  train  of  orange-  coloured 
veHvt  affler  her,  and  seemed  hardly  able  to  support  her 
ewB  weig^ift. 

hi  a  subsequent  part  of  the  ceremony,  she  over- 
losiked  him  in  the  diapel  during  the  long  and 


Here  stood  the  whole  oort^e  thickly  compressed  to< 
gfthst  oau  blase  of  diamonds,  stars,  and  epaulettes — 
wkile  la  sdraaee  of  the  rest  was  the  Imperial  family ; 
the  Eaprasy  oo  account  of  her  ill  health,  alone  seated  ; 
^  Eo^erar  on  her  right,  motionless  as  a  statue ;  the 
HtslMsfk  oa  her  left,  shiftiog  from  one  long  limb  tothe 


ether— all  crossing  themselves  and  bowing  at  intervals. 
The  service  lasted  two  hours,  varied  only  by  the  deli- 
cious responses  of  the  court  choristers.  It  was  perform- 
ed by  the  metropolitan  and  two  other  dignitaries  of  high 
rank,  in  high  wizard  caps  and  gorgeous  mystic  robes, 
who  looked  like  the  priest  of  Isis,  or  any  o^er  theatrical 
representation  of  sacerdotal  dignity. 

All  our  authorities  agree  on  the  fact,  that  no 
Russian  noble,  no  matter  how  high  his  rank,  dare, 
even  in  his  chamber,  whisper  to  those  nearest  and 
dearest  to  him,  his  opinions  on  the  conduct  of  the 
Emperor.  Wliile  in  Estonia,  the  English  lady 
lived  for  some  time  in  the  enchanted  palace  of 
Fall,  the  castle  of  Count  Benkendorff^  l^e  Gtfmd 
Vizier  of  Nicholas  (over  whom  he  ^msot^b^  a 
happy  influence)  and  the  second  spy  in  the  em- 
pire, the  Emperor  himself  being  the  first.  This 
minister  is  brother  to  the  Prineess  Lieven,  so 
well  known  in  the  circles  of  Londim  and  Paris, 
and  father  to  three  young  beauties,  to  whom, 
according  to  our  enthusiastic  authoress,  the  graces 
are  dowdies,  and  Helen  and  Cleopatra,  hildings  and 
gipsies.  It  might  be  imagined  that  the  sorew 
and  gag,  which  pervade  the  farthest  and  most 
minute  ramifications  of  the  Russian  empire,  would 
not  muzzle  the  privil^d  circles  in  which  she 
mingled ;  but  they  are  as  mute  on  the  proscribed 
topics  of  public  affairs  and  interests,  as  tiiose  with 
whom  to  hei»  is  to  obey.  There  is  no  confidence 
even  in  the  bosom  of  friendship,  no  relaxation  by 
the  domestic  hearth  or  the  social  board.  In  speak- 
ing of  Benkendorff,  Nesselrode,  and  other  grandees 
and  high  officials,  our  authoress  remarks- 
It  seems  natural  that  individuals  with  vdiom  politics 
necessarily  occupy  so  large  a  portion  of  time  and  thought, 
who  return  direct  from  the  senate,  or  from  the  private 
conference,  to  their  domestic  circles,  should  involuntarily 
continue  the  train  of  idea  aloud.  But  such  is  the  neces- 
sity or  the  habit  of  discretion,  tiiat  not  a  word  transpires 
te  betray  the  occupation  or  the  circle  they  have  just 
quitted ;  save  perhaps  te  a  vrife  or  daughter—**  VJEm- 
pereur  fa  tnmvie  biin  jolie  hUr  an  bcU,**  or  "  fa  mUe 
dUieieuse'* 

Once,  on  occasion  of  a  smaU  dinner  where  Prince 
Yolkonski,  Count  BenkendorfT,  the  venerable  Prince 
Lubetski,  and  other  distinguished  characters,  were 
united,  the  conversation  fell  upon  the  organization  of  the 
senate — the  difficulty  of  expressing  themselves  in  Rus- 
sian, now  the  language  of  the  state — the  little  practice 
which  the  nature  of  the  government  a£fbrds  for  address- 
ing numbers ;— but  of  the  matter  there  discussed,  GoU 
b^Hte  /  not  one  word.        •         .         .         .  . 

Mr  Bremner  in  aUuding  to  the  Marquis  of  Lon- 
donderry's eulogistic,  and  purblind  account  of  the 
eourt  of  St.  Petersburg,  remarks — 

Was  his  lordship — ^the  ffeted  of  the  court,  the  friend  of 
the  Emperor— in  the  best  position  for  hearing  the  real 
sentiments  of  those  vrith  whom  he  mingled  t  The  Rus- 
sian nobility  know  when  te  speak,  and  when  te  hold  their 

tongue every  courtier  would  vie  with  his 

neighbour  in  the  struggle,  who  should  best  deserve  the 
Emperor's  smiles.  Not  one  murmur  against  the  existing 
order  of  things — ^not  even  one  little  sigh  for  a  more  genial 
clime,  would  be  heard  from  the  well-disciplined  throng 
that  fluttered  around  him.  Plain-speaking  has  never 
been  proverbial  for  haunting  courte ;  and  of  all  the  courte 
in  Europe,  that  of  St.  Petersburg  is  the  last  where  it  will 
seek  to  intrude. 

In  short,  the  nobility  are  the  first  snfs  in  Russia, 
with  this  difierence,  that  being  muchless  affectionate 
and  loyal  to  an  Emperor  whom  they  know  too  well, 
and  beings  mdividually^  often  treated  with  greater 


120 


RECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSIA. 


severity  and  oontmnely  than  he  Bhows  to  the  lower 
orders,  they  much  more  frequently  plot,  conspire, 
and  revolt  against  him.  A  few  years  since,  the 
peasants  upon  an  estate  in  the  Ukraine  rebelled 
against  their  lord,  and  roasted  him  to  death  in  his 
own  oven.  Of  course  they  suffered  the  severest 
punishment  due  to  an  atrocity  so  unusual.  The 
noble  serfiB  are  continually  plotting  against  their 
master,  the  autocrat  for  the  time  being,  whether  he 
be  a  Paul,  an  Alexander,  or  a  Nicholas. 

Though  the  sketcher  is  a  woman,  and  a  Tory,  we 
n^ust  not  pass  her  coup  cTcril  of  the  political  state 
of  Russia,  before  noticing  her  account  of  the  pri- 
vate habits  and  amusements  of  the  powerful  indi- 
vidual upon  whom  its  destinies  may  be  said  to  de- 


From  carefd  observation,  and  the  jadgment  of  those 
longer  experienced,  it  would  appear  that  the  gaarantees 
for  the  oontinaed  stability  of  Russia  lie  excloaively  in 
the  person  of  the  monarch  and  in  the  body  of  the  people. 
In  the  nobility,  whose  elements  of  national  character  fall 
far  beneath  those  of  his  serf,  the  monarch  £nds  no  effi- 
cient help.  Foreign  education  and  contact  has,  with  a 
few  brilliaat  exceptions,  rendered  them  adepts  in  the 
luxury  and  frivolity  rather  than  in  the  humanity  of  civili- 
sation, or  grafted  them  with  democratic  Utopian  ideas 
that  in  no  state,  and  least  of  all  in  Russia,  can  bring 
forth  good  fruit.  The  Emperor,  therefore,  has  ftill  ground 
for  the  double  mistrust  with  which  he  views  money 
taken  out  of  the  empire  and  pernicious  ideas  brought  in. 

Again,  in  the  so-called  middle  class— here  the  mere 
excrescence  of  a  partial  ciTilisation,  who  have  renounced 
all  of  their  nationality  save  its  barbarity — all  real  sup- 
p^  to  the  Crown  seems  still  frirther  removed.  These 
occupy  the  lower  departments  of  the  state,  clogging  all 
straightforward  dealing,  perrerting  the  real  intention  of 
the  laws,  and  intercepting  every  humane  Imperial  act, 
by  the  most  cunning  and  unprincipled  dishonesty.  What 
will  be  said  of  other  and  more  important  intentions  of 
the  Emperor,  when  it  is  known  that  the  snuff-box  des- 
tined to  reward  some  act  of  benevolence,  which  leaves 
the  Imperial  hands  embossed  with  diamonds,  reaches 
those  of  its  destined  owner  deprived  of  every  stone ! 
And  no  redress  is  to  be  had  under  laws  where  an  equal 
accumulation  of  formalities  and  liability  to  abuse  meet 
the  innocent  at  every  turn. 

Despised  by  the  noUes,  this  class  retaliate  by  a  species 
of  persecution  which  it  is  impossible  to  guard  against. 
No  lion's  mouth  or  familiars  of  the  Inquisition  are 
needed  in  a  state  of  things  where,  ere  a  false  denuncia- 
tion can  be  sifted  and  dismissed,  the  denounced  is  equally 
ruined  in  purse  and  worn  out  with  constant  care  ;  and 
nowhere,  sad  to  say,  are  denunciations  of  this  kind  so 
frequent  as  at  this  time  in  Russia — ^nowhere  so  tedious 
and  ruinous  in  their  exposure.  Rank,  consideration, 
long  service,  and  high  reputation  are  of  no  avail.  Once 
an  accusation  is  laid,  however  it  may  bear  the  stamp  of 
malice,  it  must  distil  through  all  the  corkscrew  windings 
of  the  Russian  law,  ere  the  property  of  the  accused  be 
released  from  sequestration,  or  his  mind  from  the  most 
corroding  anxiety, — and  this  done,  there  is  neither  com- 
pensation for  the  injured  nor  punishment  for  the  injurer, 
who  has  thus  cloaked  his  cupidity  or  revenge  under  the 
semblance  of  what  the  people  honour  most,  viz.,  his 
loyalty. 

This  class  it  is  who  have  made  the  Russian  courts  of 
justice  a  byword  and  a  proverb — ^who  have  called  down 
upon  Russui  the  unmerited  sarcasm  of  being  '^pourrie 
atant  d*  itre  mure** — ^while,  by  a  natural  retribution, 
the  name  of  CkinovntL  or  the  betitled,  (for  these  men 
are  generally  distingoaAied  by  an  order,)  is  fiut  becom- 
ing die  synonym  for  low  dishonesty  and  intrigue.  The 
national  proverb  which  says.  No  Russian  without  **  Chai, 
Ttrhi,  and  Chin** — tea,  sour-krout,  and  a  title— is  per- 
fectly true;  but  the  sarcasm  on  the  latter  is  derived 
from  the  abuse  of  a  noble  principle.    Petor  the  Great, 


the  well-intentioned  founder  of  this  rage  for  orders  is 
Russia,  was  right  when  he  foresaw  the  veneration  with 
which  the  mass  of  the  people  would  regard  every  indi- 
vidual invested  with  an  insignia  emanating  direct  from 
the  sovereign,  and  calculated  thereby  on  putting  a 
wholesome  power  into  the  hands  of  the  middle  radn: 
but  he  reckoned  too  soon  on  the  formation  of  this  cIsm, 
which,  to  be  safe  or  to  be  usefhl,  must  be  gradual  and 
spontaneous  in  growth;  and  the  careless  and  lavish  hand 
with  which  orders  have  been  distributed  since  his  reign, 
has  only  debased  the  distinction  without  elevating  the 
possessor. 

It  is  predicted  that,  should  any  political  convulsion 
occur  in  Russia,  this  miserable  class,  who  suffer  the 
double  ill  fkte  of  ideas  below  their  station,  and  a  station 
above  their  maintenance,  would  meet  vrith  the  nobility 
in  jarring  collision,  and  vrith  equal  danger  to  both,  while 
the  crown,  firmly  seated  in  the  instinctive  loyalty  of  the 
people,  would  have  nought  to  fear.  By  a  providential 
adaptation  which  surpasses  aU  speculation  of  legislative 
philosophy,  the  people  of  Russia  venerate  their  sovereign 
simply  because  he  is  absolute.  With  them  respect  for 
the  anointed  sovereign  is  a  religion;  and  to  restrict  him 
by  human  ordinances  would  be  to  strip  him  of  his  divine 
credentials.  What  Zar  has  yet  been  dethroned  or  mar> 
dered  by  an  act  of  the  people  { 

What  a  magnificent  engine,  thus  weighted,  is  the  power 
of  a  Russian  sovereign  !  With  the  mind  filled  by  the 
absoluteness  of  his  sway,  and  the  eye  possessed  by  the 
magnificence  of  his  person,  Nicholas  I.  seein»too  grand 
a  combination  for  mortal  ken. 

As  citizens  of  a  free  state,  we  do  not  pretend  to 
understand  the  '^providential  adaptation"  of  an 
instinct  of  slavery  in  any  order  of  rational  beings  ;— 
but  let  that  pass.  The  nation  seems,  indeed,  drunk 
with  the  idolatrous  passion  of  slaves,  misnamed 
loyalty.  While  this  lady  was  in  Petersburg, 
Madame  Allan  and  Taglioni  were  attracting  crowd- 
ed audiences,  among  a  spectacle-loving  public.  In 
one  ballet,  the  latter  performed  for  sixty  nights; 
but  it  was  alternated  with  a  very  different  piece  : 

Namely,  the  performance  of  a  Russian  opera,  the 
first  ever  written,  called  **  Jitkn  ta  Zara"  or  **  Your 
Life  for  your  Zar :"  the  music  by  Glinki,  the  words  by 
Baron  Rosen.  This  opera,  equally  from  the  popularity 
of  the  subject  and  the  beauty  and  nationality  of  the 
music,  has  met  vrith  the  utmost  success.  The  plot  of  the 
piece,  as  far  as  we  could  fathom  it,  was  the  concealment 
and  subsequent  discovery  of  the  true  Zar,  and  his  final 
coronation  at  Moscow,  vrith  a  splendid  representation  of 
the  Kremlin.  This  is  woven  up  vrith  a  love-tale,  and 
rendered  interesting  by  the  fidelity  of  a  fine  old  Russian 
vrith  a  long  beard  and  a  bass  voice,  who  eventually  pays 
for  his  adherence  vrith  his  life. 

The  music  was  strikingly  national,  and  one  trio  in 
particular  appeared  to  combine  every  peculiar  beauty  of 
Russian  melody  and  pathos,  and  will  doubtless  acquire 
a  European  celebrity.  It  was  very  strange  to  see  true 
Russians  personating  true  Rnssiuis — ^gaSlery,  pit,  and 
stage  being  equally  filled  with  the  same  bearded  and 
cafUned  figures.  The  national  feeling  seemed  in  every 
heart  and  on  every  lip  ;  any  allusion  to  the  Zmp — and 
the  subject  was  thickly  strevm  vrith  them— was  pro- 
nounced by  the  actors  vrith  the  utmost  animation,  and 
responded  to  by  electric  shouts  from  the  audience.  Nor 
was  there  any  casual  inducement  for  this  display  of 
loyalty,  for  neither  his  Mi^esty  nor  any  of  the  Imperial 
family  were  present 

It  is  the  policy  of  the  Emperor  to  cherish  this 
idiotic  feeling,  (so  far  as  his  tyrannical  and  violent 
temper  admits  of  any  steady  course  of  policy,)  by 
every  clap-trap  possible.  He  is  the  first  coorier, 
and  the  first  fireman,  in  his  own  dominions.  In 
the  desire  of  keeping  alive  the  vulgar  sensation  of 
wonder,  as  in  higher  respects,  he  takes  Napoleon 


RECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSIA, 


121 


ibrliffiDodeL  His  grand  seeret  is,  Keep  moying ; 
Us  maiD  wish  to  **  devate  and  surprise ;"  and  in 
tike,  eyes  of  the  people  he  seems  to  possess  the 
iUribote  of  omnipresence,  or  some  magical  locomo- 
tiTe  power  dienied  to  ordinary  men ;  and  to  bear  a 
fhannfd  life, 

Mr.  Breniner  and  Captain  Jesse  relate  numerons 
instances  of  his  remarkable  vigilance  and  activity. 
He  has  no  efficient  smoothly- working  system  of 
lay  kind ;  but,  from  Cronstadt  to  Odessa,  he  is, 
in  some  meaaore,  his  own  executive ;  detecting  acts 
of  that  cormption  which  is  universal,  and  some- 
times redressing  abuses.  Partial  must  be  the  detec- 
tkm,  capricioQS  the  redress.  It  is  remarked  by  the 
kdy  traveller,  whom  we  cannot  help  thinking  ra- 
ther an  acote  politician,  as  well  as  a  fine  painter 
of  manners  and  scenery,  that — 

It  nesM  a  preTsiliiig  principle  with  the  Crown  to 
isteipaec  its  presence,  or  an  earnest  of  its  presence,  in 
every  ciresBstaiioe  of  life,  whether  usual  or  accidental, 
— ^to  prove  to  its  snbjeets  the  indispensability  of  its 
bdp— to  maintain  litmlly  the  relation  of  parent  and 
child  and  by  retaining  its  hold  over  every  department, 
aad  isaking  that  a  &vour  idiich  we  should  consider  a 
ngiit,  to  fiiohtate  the  immediate  exertion  of  its  power. 
With  the  amy  this  is  conspicuously  the  case.  The  offi- 
cer whose  strict  pay  is  so  paltry  that  it  is  far  from  de- 
fnjiag  the  expenses  of  his  wife's  wardrobe,  receives  in 
additioB  what  is  called  Tafd-gddy  or  table-money;  for, 
Kke  tte  soldiers,  he  k  supposed  to  be  boarded  at  the 
Emperor's  expense,  and  besides  this  may  expect  an  an- 
nsl  ptesent^  either  fh>m  his  Majesty  or  the  Grand  Duke 

HiAaelj  eqnal  about  in  amount  to  his  pay.    Lodging 

ssd  fimdtore  are  also  provided  him. 

No  officer,  no  functionary,  is  to  have  life  or  being 
sve  thzongh  the  immediate  favour  of  the  emperor ; 
and  he  takes  the  same  pains  and  means  to  gain  the 
aSeetioiis  of  the  soldiers,  seamen,  the  cadets  and 
/qsbin  the  military  schools,  that  Napoleon  did  to 
engage  the  enthusiastic  affection  and  fidelity  of  the 
tTM^  to  his  own  person.  Nicholas  is,  however,  a 
nan  of  difierent  nature ;  but  the  Russians  also  dif- 
fSer  materially  from  the  French ;  and  the  results  of 
the  policy  may  be  more  alike  than  could  be  antici- 
pated. The  emperor  does  seem  popular  with  the 
nldiers. 

In  hk  anxiety  to  form  a  navy  which  shall 
rival  or  eclipse  that  of  England,  Nicholas  some- 
tees  indulges  in  rude  horse-play  with  the  cadets 
who  aie  to  form  his  future  Hoods  and  Nelsons. 
Hr.  Bremner,  who  is  not  at  all  times  consis- 
tent in  his  opinions,  though  for  this  he  is  only  the 
HMne  tmst-worthy  as  a  reporter  of  what,  in  pass- 
ing, ftQ  under  his  notice,  remarks  of  the  playful 
pn^iensttaes  of  Nicholas — 

no  Eaipeior  em  even  vrith  his  young  naval  cadets. 
He  is  extremely  fimd  of  them,  making  them  often  come 
t»  tbe  pelace  of  Peterfaof,  and  there  playing  all  kinds  of 
faOies  wtfh  them.  Sometimes  he  amuses  himself  with 
■sking  then  ran  into  the  lake  to  charge  old  Neptune, 
or  Hmsmsi  and  his  lion;  promising  a  reward  to  those 
who  shaO  first  get  on  the  giant's  shoulders — in  which 
peiitioa  they  are  forced  to  remain  till  they  shiver  vrith 
eoM  «id  wet.  Sometimes  he  runs,  vrrestles,  and  leaps 
with  them ;  and  then,  with  a  flock  of  them  around  him, 
aUews  the  urduns  to  pull  him  about,  leap  on  his  back, 
sad  ose  every  fiuniliaiity  with  him,  exclaiming  to  some 
newiy-caariit  simpleton  firom  France  (or  England !)  beati- 
led  at  tnSk  smiable  condescension  in  one  whom  he  had 
stvays  beaid  spoken  of  as  a  gloomy  tyrant,  **  See  how 
wi  cbOifasB  lore  ise !"    All  of  which  goes  on  delight- 


fWy,  till  a  luckless  little  man,  in  the  excess  of  his  mirth, 
forgetting  how  dangerous  it  is  to  be  fiuniliar  vrith  au- 
tocrats, does  something  or  other  that  rouses  the  true 
lion,  and  in  a  moment  the  complacent  speech  is  changed 
to  ^  Go  to  the  black-hole,  sir  !*' — or  perhaps  some  more 
degrading  punishment  is  infl£ted. 

Madame  Junot,  in  speaking  of  the  Russians, 
makes  a  remark  which  is  especially  applicable  to 
Nicholas,  and  his  brother,  the  Grand  Duke  Michael : 
— <<  One  cannot  know  a  Russian  long  without  some 
day  perceiving  the  hearts  skin.*'  "We  hear  from 
Mr.  Bremner  of  an  officer  to  whom  Michael  took 
one  of  his  capricious  fancies,  and  whom  he  visited  at 
his  private  lodgings,  as  often  as  the  humour  struck 
him.  One  day  the  Grand  Duke  arrived  unexpect- 
edly, and  surprised  the  unfortunate  young  man 
without  his  s€ish  ;  a  high  crime  and  misdemeanour, 
which  no  degree  of  privacy  could  extenuate  in  a 
Russian  officer,  nor  royal  friendship  overlook  or 
palliate.  His  fate  was  sealed;  he  was  sent  off 
to  the  Caucasus.  This  fact  is  confirmed  by  anec- 
dotes told  of  both  brothers  by  the  lady.  The 
Grand  Duke,  using  the  privilege  of  hb  rank, 
invited  himself  to  certain  balls,  given  by  the  lady 
of  a  rich  merchant  in  Petersburg,  which  were  said 
to  be  exceedingly  pleasant,  and  which  were  very 
fashionable.    But 

Wherever  the  Grand  Duke  appears,  he  takes  the  strict 
disciplinarian  vrith  him.  Before  his  Imperial  High- 
ness had  been  in  the  ball-room  half  an  hour  he  knit  his 
brows  vrith  an  ominous  expression,  and,  striding  up  to  a 
young  officer  who  had  Just  halted  from  the  waltz,  and 
was  dreaming  at  that  moment  of  no  other  eyes  in  the 
world  but  bis  lady's,  the  Grand  Duke  startled  him  vrith 
the  uncomfortable  words,  *^  Vcuehe  Spome  teklisehhom 
^inie" — your  spurs  are  too  long — *'Aux  arriU :"  and 
sent  him  vrithout  farther  parley  from  his  partner's  arms 
to  the  guardhouse.  The  Imperial  frown  and  action,  and 
the  young  man's  discomfited  retreat,  were  seen  by  many, 
and  the  incident  was  soon  buzzed  in  whispers  round  the 
room,  greaUy  to  the  anxiety  and  annoyance  of  host  and 
hostess. 

This  simple  anecdote  speaks  volumes.  Even» 
vrithout  such  incidents  occurring,  these  balls, 
we  are  told,  '^though  dazzling  and  brilliant  in 
description,  are  in  reality  dulL"  The  truth  is, 
almost  every  one  is  dancing  in  chains,  and  with 
Siberia  in  the  vista. 

While^  admitting  that  Nicholas  may  have  been 
somewhat  violent  and  capricious  at  one  time  of  his 
life,  Mr.  Bremner  contends,  that  he  is  much  more 
amiable  and  gentle  now ;  and  indeed  with  foreign 
diplomatists,  and  those  whom  it  is  an  object  to 
dazzle  and  vrin,  he  is  quite  captivating ;  altogether 
irreristible.  The  proof  which  Mr.  Bremner  adduces 
of  the  Emperor  not  being  the  violent  man,  the 
hateful  tyrant,  that  English  people  generally  bna- 
gine  him,  is  about  as  conclusive  as  Sir  Anthony 
Absolute's  proofs  of  his  own  calm,  mild,  cool  tem* 
per,  while  in  a  furious  passion  :— 

Those  who  have  seen  the  imperial  fkmily  in  their  pri- 
vate moments,  when  free  from  the  oonstraint  of  pomp 
and  ceremony,  to  which  princes  are  slaves  before  the 
world,  speak  of  them  in  terms  of  rapture.  An  English 
gentleman,  who  was  honoured  vrith  many  opportunities 
of  entering  the  august  circle,  says,  that  more  happiness, 
more  a^ection,  more  simplicity,  it  would  be  impossible 
to  conceive.  The  unconstrained  and  innocent  amuse- 
ments of  their  evenings,  contrasted  delightftiUy  vrith  the 
notions  usuaJly  formed  of  imperii^  family  scenes.  In 
short,  from  all  that  he  beheld,  it  appeared  that  a  kinder 


122 


RECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSIA. 


husband  or  a  beiUr  fkther  tiian  Nicholas  does  not  exist. 
The  emperor^  too  quick  not  to  perceive  what  was  pass- 
ing in  me  mind  of  his  guest  as  he  mused  on  the  scene 
before  him,  said  one  erening,  stamping  his  foot  and 
grinding  his  teeth,  as  the  unpleasant  thought  rose  to  his 
mind,  '^  I  know  that  I  am  unpopular  in  England.  They 
hate  me — because  they  think  me  a  tyrant ;  but  if  they 
knew  me,  they  would  not  call  me  so.  They  should  see 
me  in  the  bosom  of  my  fkmlly !" 

To  say  nothing  of  the  ttamping  of  the  feet»  and 
grinding  of  the  teeth,  rather  singidar  proofs  of  mild- 
ness and  affectionateness  qf  nature  ;  to  say  nothing 
indeed  of  the  whole  scene,  which  seems  to  have  been 
got  up  for  effect — Nicholas,  from  his  domestic  feel- 
ings, has  about  the  same  right  to  be  exempted  from 
the  charge  of  love  of  war,  rage  for  conquest,  and 
a  tyrannical  disposition,  that  George  III*  had  to 
pass  unblamed  in  his  attempt  to  coeroe  the  Ameri- 
can colonies,  and  deny  justice  to  his  Irish  Catho- 
lic subjects,  because  he  was  an  exemplary  family- 
man,  killed  his  own  mutton,  and  dined  with  his 
children  at  two  o'clock.  But  the  Emperor  dare 
not  be  ciyil  to  his  own  nobles,  we  are  told,  lest  he 
should  excite  jealousy  among  them!  Hb  gra- 
ciousness  is,  therefore,  all  reserved  for  foreign  am- 
bassadors and  journalists ;  and  those  having  the 
power  to  aid  his  policy,  or  spread  his  fame  through- 
out Europe. 

There  is  great  discrepancy  between  Captain 
Jesse's  and  the  lady's  accoimt  of  the  state  of  morals 
among  the  nobility,  and  that  of  Mr.  Bremner ;  and, 
with  at  least  equ^  powers  of  observation,  she  had, 
out  of  sight,  the  fairest  means  of  judging.  Bremner 
says,  *^  From  having  been  the  most  profligate  of  all 
the  courts  of  Europe,  the  Imperial  circle  of  St. 
Petersburg  is  now  beconie  the  purest  and  most  ex- 
emplary." "  The  Emperor  himself  deserves  a 
great  share  of  the  merit  of  having  accomplished 
tills  much-needed  reform  in  Russian  manners ;"  and 
the  Empress  receives  the  most  exaggerated  praise, 
for  what  she  has  accomplished ;  for  which  praise 
the  reasons  are  far  to  seek.  The  Empress  seems, 
however,  as  strict  a  disciplinarian  in  court  costume 
as  is  the  Grand  Duke  Michael  in  spurs  and  sashes. 
She  hates  a  gown  that  has  been  too  often  seen,  with 
the  hate  of  an  abigail  whom  it  deteuds  of  her  law- 
ful perquisites.  But  we  shall  see  what  our  intelli- 
gent Tcfy  lady  says  of  the  Imperial  pair,  and 
especially  of  the  Empercn*. 

In  a  country  where  everything  depends  on  the 
one  man  whose  will  is  law,  whose  fiat  is  destiny  ; 
whose  only  restraint  is  his  own  pleasure,  and  who, 
as  is  here  said,  can,  with  his  consort,  according  to 
their  inclination,  render  moderation  habitudf  or 
extravagance  meritorious — morality  fashionable  or 
firivolity  praiseworthy — ^who  can  qualify  vices  to 
foibles,  or  ennoble  vanities  to  virtues ;  personal 
character  becomes  all  in  all,  the  example  of  the 
crown  being  as  imperative  in  private  life  as  in 
public  life. 

Disapprobation  of  the  empress,  a  frivolous,  sick- 
ly, and  meddling  woman,  is  hinted ;  and  as  for  the 
emperor,  we  shall  see  him  in  action.  However  he 
may  be  adored  and  worshipped  by  the  people,  those 
of  Uie  nobility  who  are  forc^  to  bear  his  honoured 
presence,  must  secretly  detest  him.  One  would 
imagine  that,  at  Ims  been  surmised  of  oiher  sove- 


reigns in  barbarous  ages,  he  and  the  empress  en- 
couraged extravagance  among  the  nobility,  and 
plunged  them  into  ruinous  expense  in  order  to  rs- 
duee  their  power,  by  impoveriJdng  their  fortunes. 

The  Emperor,  who,  as  Grand  Duke  Nieholas,  isu 
noted  for  the  simplici^  of  his  tastes,  and  oonld  haidlj 
be  indnced  to  enter  a  place  of  amusement,  now  resorts 
to  them  with  an  increasing  pleasure,  from  which  some 
augur  no  auspicious  result ;— frequents  the  houses  of  his 
nobility  and  generals,  who  would  spend  to  their  last 
kopeck,  and  often  go  beyond  it,  to  entertain  him  snii- 
ably — while  the  Empress's  lore  of  amusement  and  diess, 
besides  inoculating  her  august  spouse,  has  fixed  a  stan- 
dard for  merit,  and  exacted  a  rate  of  expenditure,  which, 
to  say  the  least,  was  not  required  to  stimulate  the  already 
too  expensively  disposed  Russian. 

For  instance  :  a  splendid  dije^ner,  which  is  to  tan 
winter  into  summer,  and  Russia  into  Arcadia,  is  I^ 
ranged  to  be  given  by  one  of  the  first  families  in  St 
Petersburg.  One  of  the  generals  in  closest  attendance 
upon  the  Emperor's  person  is  commissioned  to  intercede 
for  the  honour  of  his  Majesty's  presence,  and  obtains  a 
gracious  assent.  When  the  day  oomes,  however,  and 
money  is  wanted,  Baron  StiegUti,  the  great  banker, 
shows  how  fkr  the  wrong  page  of  the  aocount-book  his 
been  encroached  upon,  and  refuses  the  neeessary  ad- 
vances. What  is  to  be  done  t  Money  must  be  had.~ 
You  can't  put  off  a  monarch  till  a  more  convenient  sea- 
son (though  we,  thoughtless  mortals,  will  put  off  a 
weightier  monarch  than  he) — ^you  can't  ^  tie  up  you 
knocker,  say  you  are  sick,  you  are  dead," — ^when  the 
Emperor  and  Empress  of  all  the  Russias  are  expected. 
The  necessary  sum — ^and  in  a  country  where  Katuie 
gives  nothing,  Uie  expense  of  such  an  entertainment  is 
enormous — is  therefore  borrowed  in  haste,  and  at  a  usa- 
nous  interest — ton  fifty  per  cent,  is  demanded  and  ac- 
cepted on  such  exigencies — ^while  all  thoughts  of  fhture 
inconvenience  are  drowned  in  the  flattering  honours  of 
the  day :  ** UEmpereur  itait  tret  content^*  or, " Vlnpt^ 
ratrice  a  beaucoup  dansi,**  is  sufficient  atonement. 

But  if  you  examine  a  little  closer,  and  ask  afbw 
troublesome  questions,  it  will  be  found  that  even  this 
dearly-purchaJsed  honour  is  not  productive  of  the  plea- 
sure that  might  be  supposed.  Wherever  the  Imperial 
fomily  appear,  however  great  their  affability,  however 
sincere  and  obvious  their  desire  to  please  and  be  pleased, 
the  mere  fiust  of  their  presence  throws  a  restraint,  a 
gene  over  the  whole  assembly,  who  are  depreoed  rather 
than  exhilarated  by  the  cold  gaae  of  the  Imperial  eyej 
and  who  feel  that  the  whole  attention  of  their  hosts  is 
concentred  on  one  object. 

The  young  military  are  in  apprehension  lest  tiieir  uni^ 
form  should  not  be  found  in  strict  aooordanee,  to  the 
shape  of  a  button  or  the  length  of  a  spur,  with  the  latest 
regulation; — the  young  la^es,  and  equally  their  cha 
perons,  are  in  anxiety  lest  any  awkwardness  of  dress  oi 
manner  should  incur  the  censure,  however  pleasantly 
expressed,  of  her  to  vrhom  all  adjudge  Uie  purest  tast< 
in  toiUUe  and  tommure; — ^while  the  host  and  hostea 
suffer  real  fear  lest  any  unbecoming  speech  or  inoiden 
should  transpire  to  render  the  recollection  of  their  hos 
pitalities  obnoxious  to  their  illustrious  guests. 

The  anxiety  attendant  on  the  reception  of  any  men 
arch  by  his  subject  must  at  all  times  be  proportioned  t 
the  honour,  but  here  the  total  absence  of  all  etiqnett 
multiplies  the  difficulty  an  hundredfold.  For  it  mus 
be  remembered  that  the  more  limited  the  monaarch,  th 
more  absolute  the  etiquette — and  vim  vend.  In  Rassii 
therefore,  where  the  Zar  Ib  ^laloi  woanUy** — the  coi 
stitution  in  person — no  etiquette  can  exist,  or  rathe 
only  such  as  he  pleases  for  the  time  being.  Whatevc 
he  does  is  right — ^he  cannot  demean  himself.  His  actioi 
are  restrained  by  no  law  of  oeremony, — by  no  obligi 
tion  of  dignity, — ^by  no  fear  of  public  opinion.  His  ran 
takes  care  of  itself— it  wants  no  propping— 4t  is  in  oc 
piece,  like  his  own  Alexander's  oolumn.     .... 

But  to  return  to  etiquette.  However  tediotts  as 
troublesome  its  formalities,  they  are  not  half  so  oneroi 
to  a  host  as  his  perpetual  aaziety  and  real  reqwnsibiW 


BECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSU. 


m  a  ctit  where  thwB  is  no  rak  fbr  mMmen  except  tlie 
npri<e  of  tbe  monanh  or  the  taet  of  the  snbjeet. 

Thii  timth  ci  tbeee  raBaiiu  was  exemplified  at  a  ball 
ai  Pxisee  Y.'a,  whidi  hie  Imperial  Hajeetj  honoured 
wlOi  his  pftecnoe,  and  where,  though  he  was  obrioudy 
as  ■■rfeiienlinc  as  his  hosts  were  seahms,  yet  that 
statdy  igare  im  the  praial,  presiding  in  mending 
beaatf  like  a  being  tinm.  another  wodd^  wei^^ied  down 
the  Parity  of  aU  present. 

This  is  the  emperor  in  his  social  exhibitions. 
We  diall  DOW  see  bim  in  his  moments  of  relaxation^ 
doing  the  popular.  We  have  mentioned  those  equi- 
pseal  Mitertainmentfl,  the  masked  balls,  wh«»  the 
doraine  giTea  lieense  and  impnnity  to  the  one  sex ; 
and  where  the  other  requires  or  seeks  none. 

At  one  of  these  balls,  he  approached  the  noble 
paiij  which  our  anthorees  accompanied  ;  and  who 
aesm  to  hare  enjoyed  the  amusements  from  a  box^ 
without  mingling  in  the  promiscuons  crowd.  The 
Kngttdi  fur  stranger  became  thte  ol^ect  of  ouriP- 
sity,  and  we  are  told,-^ 

After  a  few  minutes  his  curiosity,  Hbe  unHiUing  attri- 
bute of  a  eiowned  head,  dieiated  the  words  ^  ETio  ^  «" 
— *  Who  is  tkatt**— and  being  satiBlled--^r  he  remarks 
fteiy  stfaage  fibee  that  enters  his  oapital—he  continued 
ehsnatoly  In  Rossiaa  and  Freneh  commenting  upon  the 


'PwMMM  ns  m^imtrifU4  ee  •ow}^  he  said :  ^  je  «#  wu 
fat  oe  qmsfai  fait  powr  perdre  ma  rijmtationy  nau  on  if« 
«Mt  M»  ife  moi."  As  he  stood,  rarious  masks  ap- 
|gtaeW4,  hut,  eitiier  tsvm  excess  of  embarrassment  or 
fraai  lack  of  wit,  after  rousing  the  lion,  found  nothing  to 
my.  At  length  a  couple  approached  and  stood  irrMO- 
hie,  each  motioning  the  other  to  speak.  **  Dfmmez-moi 
is  BMta,"  said  a  low  trsmbling  Toice.  He  stretched  out 
ka  noble  hand :  **et  toUu  Vautre  pour  vout,^  extending 
t^  other  to  her  companion ;  and  on  they  passed,  pro- 
UUy  Bsrer  to  forget  tiie  mighty  hand  that  had  ola^Md 
tbinL  Meanwhile  the  Empetor  oarefolly  seaaned  the 
cwwd,  and  owned  himself  in  search  of  a  viMtk  who  had 
ittacked  him  on  his  first  entrance.  ^  ^^nd  k  J^mrai 
Inmi,  je  Tomt  Vawkinerai ;"  and  so  saying  he  left  us. 

I  walched  his  figure,  which,  as  if  surrounded  with  an 
uinrihlf  hanier,  bore  a  Tacant  space  about  it  through 
AeAiekeet  of  the  press.  In  a  short  time  a  Uttle  mask 
ilepped  boldly  up  to  him,  end,  reaching  upwards  to  her  ut- 
BSit  stretch,  hun|(  herself  fearlessly  upon  that  arm  which 
vieMs  the  destinies  of  the  scTenth  part  of  the  known 
wiRid.  He  threw  a  look  to  our  box,  as  if  to  say,  "  I 
bre  feond  her  %^  and  off  they  went  together,  tn  fire 
niaates  they  passed  again,  and  his  Majesty  made  some 
Aft  to  draw  her  to  our  box,  but  the  Uttle  black 
ijU  resisted,  pulling  in  a  contrary  direction  at  his 
1^  ibomlder  with  all  her  strength ;  on  which  he  called 
out, *£Qe  me  rewt  pas  fujt  m*appro^  de  w>ut;  dU  dli 
fu  je  wmm  trap  mamtam  $oeidL**  Upon  the  second 
rtaai,  howerer,  he  succeeded  in  bringing  his  rebellious 
■h^  nearer;  when,  recognising  ms  manoeuyre,  she 
piii^ed  her  arm  away,  gare  him  a  smart  slap  on  the 
wrist,  sad,  saymg,  **  va  fen,je  ne  wux  plus  de  toi,**  ran 
isie  the  crowd.  The  Emperor,  they  assured  me.  ^^as  in 
m  unasnal  good  temper  this  evening. — I  think  there 
cabenodoabtoflt. 

Tkm  Heiitier  now  also  took  his  station  at  our  pillar. 
He  itfberits  his  fatiiers  mijestic  person,  and  somewhat 
ef  fle  riMTulaiity  of  his  fooe,  but  with  the  utter  absence 
ef  Ihe  Emperor's  unsympathicing  grandeur.  On  the 
y,  the  son  has  a  bee  of  much  sentiment  and 
the  lips  fhlV— 4he  eyelids  pensiTe^— more  ef 
I  Ihaa  of  character  in  his  expression, 
to  him  socceeded  the  Grand  Duke  Michael,  wipug 
he  heat  IhMB  his  forehead.  A  fine,  brayo  style  of  face. 
wifli  ssmt  whsl  ferocious  moustaches, — a  terrestrial 
Iftsaam  sf  the  Esqperor^— earUiIy  passions  written  en 
Us  hi|h  hmw,  bat  none  of  Jove's  thunderbolts. 

After  flris  fte  Enmeror's  arm  no  loiu^of  remained  va- 
taat,  heiageeeapied  by  a  succession  of  masks,  who,  by 


thel 


turps  amused^  flattered,  or  enlightened  the  Imperial  ear. 
In  like  manner  were  his  Highness  the  Prince  Yolkonski, 
Ministre  de  la  Cour — Count  Benkendorff,  Chef  de  la 
Gendarmerie,  de  la  Haute  Police,  et  de  la  PoUee  Se- 
crete—Oount  Tcheniitohei;  Ministre  de  la  Ouerro*-attd 
other  hi^  state  and  military  officers,  engaged ;  their 
attendance  at  masked  balls  being  a  part  of  their  ser- 
yice. 

A  Tery  pleasant  part  of  their  service  it  must  be 
to  then),  ^d  also  to  their  wives  and  daughters.  It 
is  said— 

The  Emperor,  when  a  mask  has  pleased  his  &ncy, 
nevet  rests  till  he  has  discovered  her  real  name,  and  sets 
his  secret  police  upon  the  scent  with  as  much  zest  as 
after  a  political  oflbnder.  The  mask  whom  we  had  ob- 
served at  the  theatre  on  such  fiuniliar  terms  ifith  him 
was  recognised  a  few  days  after  to  be  a  Uttle  nio4iete  from 
^e  most  iTashionable  milliner's  in  Petersburg,  whose 
JSrequent  errands  to  the  Empress  had  fhmished  ner  with 
a  few  graphic  teudies  o^  the  Imperii^  character. 

Our  traveller  was  present  at  another  entertaib- 
ment  of  the  same  kind,  held  in  a  splendid  room 
lately  erected  ^r  public  entertainments,  and  reckon- 
ed the  finest  of  the  kind  in  Europe.  The  Balle  de 
Noblesse,  as  its  name  imports,  is  limited  to  the 
amusements  of  the  nobility ;  but  H  is  probable 
that  the  intention  of  a  masked  ball  would  be  lost 
were  this  testriction  observed. 

At  the  Salle  de  Noblesse  none  who  are  not  noble  may 
find  access ;  but  in  the  latitudinarian  nobility  of  Russia, 
and  the  teaosferability  of  a  mask,  this  law  is  fluently 
evaded — and  at  the  tiieatre  the  grieettes  always  play  a 
conspicuous  part. 

The^mc^^,  the  ladies'  maids  and  milliner  girls, 
appear  to  be  the  liveliest  actors  in  the  motley  scene, 
where  the  wit  is  pertness,  and  where  no  particular 
respect  is  paid  to  those  restraints  of  delicacy  and 
propriety  which  it  is  the  main  object  of  such  mis- 
cellaneous meetings  to  throw  off.  The  women  of 
rank  use  their  priv^ege,  it  b  alleged,  only  to  mystify 
and  banter  their  acquaintances.  Thb  is  making  the 
best  ef  it.  '^  Two-thirds  of  the  masked  ladies,"  it  is 
added,  *^  in  this  Liberty  Hall|  were  married  womeui 
whose  husbands  knew  no^  or  cared  not  whether 
they  were  there."  One  advantage  those  masque- 
rades possess,  though  it  b  trival,  indeed,  when 
compared  with  the  amount  of  evil  which  they  must 
originate  and  spread — ^the  imperial  ear  may  some- 
times be  reached  by  an  unfortunate  petitioner,  and 
the  imperial  sense  of  justice  moved.  This  has  ac- 
tually been  the  ease.  Perhaps  the  emperor^  who 
likes  to  do  evetything  himself  may  have  a  fancy 
for  being  his  own  Lion's  mouth. 

More  than  once  the  Enqieror  was  observed  engaged 
with  a  made  in  conversation  which  had  eridenUy  di- 
gressed fh>m  lerity  into  a  more  serious  strain,  and  was 
overfaeud  to  thank  the  mask  for  her  information,  and 
promise  the  subject  his  attention.  In  consequence  of 
the  taste  which  his  Majesty  has  of  late  years  evinced 
for  this  species  of  amusement,  the  masked  balls  have 
greatiy  increased  in  number  and  resort.  Prerious  to 
beinx  hieapadtated  by  had  health,  the  Empress  ahio 
equidly  parto<^  of  them ;  and  it  is  said  greatly  enjoyed 
being  addressed  with  the  same  fkmiliarity  as  any  of 
her  subjects.  Her  Majesty  has  even  been  the  cause  of 
severe  terrors  to  many  an  unfortunate  individual,  who, 
new  to  the  scene,  or  not  recognising  by  filial  instinct  the 
maternal  arm  which  pressed  his,  has  either  himself  in- 
dulged in  too  much  license  of  speech,  or  given  the  Im- 
perial mask  to  understand  that  he  found  Hers  devoid  of 
interest. 

The  empress  does  not  seem  a  favourite  among 


124 


RECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSIA. 


her  subjeciBy  nor,  by  this  report^  to  merit  being  so ; 
but  as  for  the  emperor — 

His  high  monJ  ehftneter  bss  been  the  pride  of  the 
RosgUn  world  ;  uid  though  mooh  is  now  whispered  to 
inTftlidftte  this  opinion,  y^  by  one  of  the  lightest  and 
prettiest  women  in  the  high  eirdes,  it  was  said  of  him, 
with  an  accent  of  entire  sincerity,  *^Il  n$  pent  poi  itre 
U§er;  U  eons  dilt  Umt  crumwU  qu*U  eotft  trouve  joUe, 
mats  Hen  dejpiUu,^  Neyertheless,  in  her  Majesty's  place, 
I  should  rather  mistmst  this  passion  for  masked  balls  ! 

The  English  lady,  as  we  hare  mentioned,  makes 
a  much  lower  estimate  of  the  morals,  manners,  and 
education  of  the  upper  clasoeo  of  Russia  than  Mr. 
Bremner,  who  meiely  liyed  a  month  in  Petersbuig, 
in  the  dull  season,  while  she  lived  for  the  greater 
part  of  two  winters  in  intimacy  with  the  nobility, 
or  domesticated  among  them.  Her  strictures,  if 
less  yerbally  seyere,  are  as  decided  on  the  point  at 
issue  as  those  of  Captain  Jesse.  The  dissolute 
manners  which,  hardly  yeiled,  peryade  the  entire 
dase,  can  have  received  but  a  feeble  check  from 
the  example  of  the  Empress,  of  which  Mr.  Bremner 
speaks  so  warmly.  Formerly,  he  says,  the  educa- 
tion of  a  Russian  lady  of  high  rank  '^  was  not  un- 
justly said  to  be  limited  to  the  study  of  French, 
and  handling  her  fan.  The  young  beauty  was 
most  thoroughly  instructed  in  tiie  science  of  turn- 
ing her  personal  charms  to  the  greatest  account ; 
but  while  the  mode  of  captivating  a  lover  was  so 
oaiefnlly  instilled,  the  more  important  one  of  re- 
taining his  affections  as  a  husband  was  left  entirely 
out  of  view.  Such  a  state  of  things  could  not  be 
expected,  under  an  empress  belonging  to  the  most 
highly-educated  of  all  the  royal  families  of  Europe, 
and  who  had  herself  received  the  most  complete 
education  that  ever  a  princess  enjoyed."  The  in- 
telligent observer  who  came  after  him,  drew  very 
different  conclusions  from  sounder  and  wider  pre- 
mises. ^b»  considers  the  education  of  the  young 
ladies  as  superficial  and  vicious.  It  is  indeed,  like 
many  other  things  which  may  be  seen  in  Russia, 
a  bad  imitation  of  bad  French  customs.  In  speak- 
ing of  the  languid  balls,  which  ihejrigid  discipline 
of  the  court  renders  so  constrained  and  tiresome, 
she  thus  adverts  to  female  manners  :— 

"  A  "jeune  p^rsonne/* — in  other  words,  an  nnmarried 
woman — is  considered  a  mere  cipher  in  society,  danced 
with  seldom,  conversed  with  seldomer,  and  under  these 
circumstances  looks  forward  to  her  marriage  de  conve- 
nance  as  the  period  which,  as  I  said  before,  is  to  commence 
that  which  it  ought  to  close.  From  the  day  of  her  mar- 
riage she  is  free — ^responsible  to  no  one,  so  that  she  over- 
step not  the  rules  of  convention  for  the  liberty  of  her 
oonduct ;  while  her  husband  is  rather  piqued  than  other- 
wise if  her  personal  charms  fail  to  procure  her  the  par- 
ticular attentions  of  his  own  sex.  ^  Personne  ne  luifaU 
la  ootH*"  is  the  most  disparaging  thing  that  can  be  said 
of  a  young  wife. 

If  the  wife  is  but  moderately  handsome  she  is 
seldom  neglected.  What  shall  be  said  of  a  state  of 
society  which,  among  the  leading  class,  justifies 
the  following  melancholy  observations : — 

This  social  eril  is  seen  in  the  more  glaring  colours  f^m 
the  total  absence  of  all  rational  tastes  or  literary  topics. 
In  other  countries  it  is  lamented,  and  with  justice,  that 
literature  sad  education  should  be  made  the  things  of 
fMhion— how  infinitely  worse  is  it  when  they  are  con- 
demned by  the  same  law !  In  other  countries  all  fiwhion, 
as  such,  ii  eoBdeauied  as  bad— -how  infinitely  worse  is  it 


where  the  bad  is  the  fiMhion  !  Here  it  is  absolute  suw- 
9ais  genre  to  discuss  a  rational  subjects-mere  pMawterie 
to  be  caught  upon  any  topics  beyond  dressing,  dandBg, 
aada''^t«(o«nittr«."  llie  superficial  aocomplishmeots 
are  so  superficiaUsed  as  scarcely  to  be  conrideied  to  eziit 
— Russia  has  no  literature,  or  rather  none  to  attract  a 
frivolous  woman  : — and  political  subjects,  with  all  the 
iaeidental  chit-chat  which  the  observances,  anniversaries, 
&c.,  of  a  constitutional  government  bring  more  orlen 
into  erery  private  fkmily,it  isneedless  to  obserre,  exist 
not  What  then  remains  t  Sad  to  say,  nothing,  abso- 
lutely nothing,  for  old  and  young,  man  and  woman,  sare 
the  description,  discussion,  appreciation,  or  depreciation 
of  toilette — varied  by  a  little  ouitine  and  the  witless  wit 
called  Pesprit  du  talon.  To  own  an  indifference  or  as 
ignorance  on  the  subject  of  dress,  ftirther  than  a  conyen- 
tional  and  feminine  compliance,  would  be  wilfully  to  rain 
your  character  equally  with  the  gentlemen  as  with  the 
ladies  of  the  society ;  for  the  former,  from  some  incon- 
ceivable motive,  will  discuss  a  new  bracelet  or  a  new 
dress  with  as  much  relish  as  if  they  had  hopes  of  wearing 
it,  and  with  as  great  a  precision  <Kf  technical  terms  as  tf 
they  had  served  as  a  martikand  de  modet.  It  may  seem 
almost  incredible,  but  here  these  externals  so  entirely 
occupy  every  thought,  that  the  hif^iest  personage  in  the 
land,  with  the  highest  in  authority  under  him,  will  meet 
and  discuss  a  lady's  co^fure,  or  even  a  lady's  eoreet,  with 
a  gusto  and  science  as  incomprehensible  in  them,  to  say 
the  least,  as  the  emulation  of  coachman  slang  in  some  of 
our  own  eccentric  nobility. 

But  this  is  not  the  worst :  Than  the  depths  of 
frivolity  there  is  a  lower  depth. 

Added  to  this  wearying  theme,  it  is  the  bad  taste  of 
the  day  to  indulge  in  an  indelicacy  of  language  which 
some  arer  to  proceed  fh>m  the  example  of  the  court  of 
Prussia,  and  which  renders  at  times  cTen  the  trumperies 
of  toilet  or  jewellery  rather  a  grateful  change  of  subject 

There  are,  however,  some  gracious  exceptions ; 
though  this  is  the  report  of  an  intelligent  l^lish- 
woman,  desirous  to  be  as  favourable  to  her  Russian 
friends  as  truth  will  permit. 

When thepeculiartastesof  the  "highly-educated* 
Empress  are  considered,  it  is  not  wonderful  that 
in  her  court  the  toilette  should  be  an  absorbing  in- 
terest. She  prescribes  a  very  pretty  court  costume, 
and,  according  to  Captain  Jesse — 

Her  Imperial  Majesty  notices  the  toilette  of  those  of 
her  court  to  such  an  extent,  that  she  frequently  makes 
very  pointed,  and  sometimes  not  very  courteous  allusions. 
If  a  lady  presents  herself  at  the  palace  a  seoond  time  in 
the  same  gown,  it  seldom  escapes  her  obserration,  and 
she  is  said  to  have  remarked  more  than  once,  ^  Ah, 
Madame  la  Comtesse,  c'est  une  ancienne  connaissance." 
Or  if  the  jewels  have  been  reset,  ^  Ah,  Madame  la  Prin- 
cesse,  votre  parure  a  6i6  remont^.  Such  remarks  do 
not  fail  to  have  their  effect,  not  only  upon  those  to  "whom. 
they  are  addressed,  but  upon  the  rest  of  the  company, 
who  are  equally  open  to  them ;  and  this,  added  to  their 
natural  inclination  for  show  and  extraTaganoe,  makes 
them  lavish  to  excess.  It  is  not  an  unusual  thing  to  see 
ladies  of  a  morning,  when  they  are  not  expecting  com< 
pany,  dressed  as  if  for  a  weddug  breakfiist. 

But  very  strange  thingsmay,  nevertheless,  be  seen, 
where  so  great  attention  is  paid  tothe  toilette.  Even 
the  houses  of  the  nobility  swarm  with  vermin  of  all 
kinds ;  the  use  of  finger-glasses  is  the  occasion  d 
worse  than  American  abominaticms ;  smoking  i« 
allowed  in  drawing-rooms ;  and  even  the  ladies 
sometimes  indulge  isnsigarkos;  and  spitting-boxes, 
as  an  article  of  refinement,  form  part  of  the  fumi-* 
ture  of  the  Imperial  villa  at  Moscow.  Of  Rusaiaii 
manners  in  high  life.  Captain  Jesse,  among  many 
anecdotes  of  a  grosser  kind,  tells  the  following : — , 


BECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSIA. 


125 


I  raerikci  mtiag  *  BoMiu  at  St  Petenbnig  who 
Ind  goM  the  lomid  of  all  the  European  conrts,  had  been 
tBtiodiieed  at  Abnaeks,  was  intimate  with  the  Duke  of 

i  Lady  C^  and  many  other  persons  of  high  rank  and 

hshinn  amwigit  the  En^ish  nobility,  eome  into  a  draw- 
iaf-«oeBy  aad  hewing  meet  graoeftally  to  the  lady  of  the 
hmwt,  an  Kngiishwoman^  inilk  np  to  a  pier-glass  in  the 
roMi,  eooUy  take  oat  a  pocket-comb  and  arrange  his 
hair.  HaThig  performed  the  operation  to  his  satisfkc- 
tioa^he  did  not  forget,  arhe  replaced  his  carred  tortoise- 
Adl  in  his  pocket, to  takeout  the  loose  hairs  and  throw 
them  ea  the  floor.  Strange  and  addons  as  snch  Tio- 
lataooa  of  good  manners  may  be,  they  are  trifles  oom- 
pand  with  the  profligacy  which,  witii  honourable  ez- 
cffptfoMy  generally  perrades  society. 

Bvt  filthj  and  gross  customs  are  not  the  worst 
of  a  eoontiy  whm  a  free  nse  of  the  cane,  the 
wlup,  and  the  flst,  is  the  general  practice  ;  where 
th«  soperior  officer  strikes  the  inferior  at  his  plea- 
asn  ;  aad  where  both  cnff  and  kick  the  soldiers 
fike  dogs ;  where  the  hnsband,  whether  in  high  or  in 
hamble  IHe,  beats  his  wife  at  pleasure ;  and  where 
the  preacmoe  of  ladies  is  no  security  against  bruta- 
lity like  this,  which  is  recorded  by  Ci^^tain  Jesse  : 

In  Tfniriij  pdlished  maimers,  nay,  eren  the  decencies 
«f  Ufi»,  are  often  forgotten  in  the  Tiolence  of  temper  fos- 
tered by  the  possession  of  irresponsible  power ;  and  scenes 
E«metime8  occur  which  would  not  be  met  with  at  tiie 
tiUes  or  la  the  society  of  any  other  European  country. 
At  a  large  <Snner-party  at  which  a  friend  of  mine  was 
pRKot,  one  of  the  serrants  in  handing  a  wine-glass  had 
the  ndsfortune  to  let  it  &11.  The  master  of  the  house, 
&  Gcaeial,  totaUy  oblirious  of  the  presence  of  ladies,  rose 
from  hie  chMxr,  and  with  one  blow  laid  the  luckless  of- 
kwAer,  his  serf,  bleeding  on  the  ground  ;  a  few  excuses 
ft&wedy  as  r^idily  accepted  as  they  were  made,  and 
the  dfamer  ptoeeeded  as  if  nothing  had  taken  place. 

Mr.  Bienmer  tells  a  similar  story  : — 

the  Rassiaas  try  to  coneeal  from  strangers  that  they 
Atftiee  their  domestfo  serrants  In  this  way:  we  our- 
■drct  saw  an  instance  of  it,  but  we  have  been  told  by  an 
Ita&sB,  fa  whom  we  have  every  confidence,  who  had 
lived  lawg  the  nobles  in  the  country,  that  he  knew  it 


ti  be  a  regular  psmetice.  At  dinner  one  day,  in  the 
\mm  of  a  »aa  of  high  rank,  one  of  the  principal  ser- 
viatB,  eqpiraleBt  to  our  butler,  omitted  something  at 
tiUe— a  mere  trifle ;  but  the  master's  blood  was  chafed 
a  the  miitfalre — his  ftce  grew  black.  He  was  too  po- 
he,  hsrwefei',  to  say  a  word  before  a  stranger;  but  tiiis 
Htfeomaamd  did  not  sare  the  oifonder.  The  prwate 
ifmal  had  been  ^ven  to  the  man  of  the  scourge,  who 
mHfirstaadij  too  well  to  need  that  his  master  should  be- 
tay  his  harhariW  in  the  presence  of  foreigners;  and  that 
1^  a  reepeetaUe  domestic  hUd  for  an  oflbnce  which 
iwijwheiu  else  would  haTe  been  sufficiently  rebuked 
vithawMd! 

Kcae  are  more  strict,  he  said,  than  ladiei,  in  punishing 
tibeir  serrants.  The  executioner's  ofllce  is  neyer  a  sine- 
care  hi  foaHSes  where  there  is  no  master. 

GcBSfBlly  speaking,  nothing  can  be  more  brutal  than  the 
MBdact  ef  every  man  wewing  a  uniform,  whenerer  he 
has  it  in  his  power;  it  is  in  this  way  that  the  underling 
leiiages  himself  for  the  contumelious  treatment  he  is 
hsmsi  te  eadnre  from  those  above  him.  To  the  poor 
la  partMolar,  they  bdutve  in  a  way  which  it  makes  the 
cheek  ban  to  thfaik  cH  Fortunately,  howerer,  this  offi- 
dsihrrtalfty  is  aetimitiled  by  people  of  the  lower  ranks 
ia  Aair  ialeneoise  with  eaeh  other.  Their  taskmasters 
WKf  be  cnA  and  aihltraiy,  but  the  peanuts  among 
thwsthres  are  aflbetionate  and  sympathising  to  a  re- 
muk^Ue  degree. 

Captain  Jesse  tens:— 

DieoifGBe  is  kept  np  by  extreme  measures,  and  the 
le  is  ased  at  pleasure ;  but  a  man  who  has  receiyed 
tbs  ribboB  ef  Si.  Geme,  is,  by  the  regulations  of  the 
KTTiee,  exesipt  tnm  thia  speoies  of  punishment.    The 

90.  XCTIILr*T0L.  IX. 


officers  not  unfrequently  give  way  to  Tiolence  of  temper. 
I  once  saw  a  captain,  iuspecting  his  guard  near  the 
quarantine  at  Odessa,  strike  one  of  his  men  a  blow  on 
tiie  face  with  his  fist,  and,  seizing  him  by  both  his  ears, 
shake  him  until  he  pulled  him  out  of  the  ranks ;  the  man's 
cap  then  fell  off,  and  the  officer,  ordering  a  corporal  to 
pick  it  up,  jammed  it  down  on  his  head  wiUi  another  blow. 
The  whole  system  is  carried  on  in  the  same  tyrannical 
and  overbearing  manner. 

Though  we  gather  darker  facts  regarding  the 
treatment  of  female  serfs  by  their  masters  than 
the  following,  it  may  serve  as  another  specimen  of 
Russian  civilisation  : — 

The  manner  in  which  the  serfs  are  sometimes  treated 
is  perfectly  unmanly :  they  are  looked  upon  as  beings 
made  not  only  for  the  use,  but  to  submit  to  all  the  oa- 
jHrices  of  their  owners.  Anobleman,  whose  house  joined 
mine,  accosted  me  one  morning  wi^  ^  Bon  jour,  mon 
capitaine :  I  hope  you  were  not  disturbed  last  night"  I 
replied,  that  I  hsd  been  so,  by  some  persons  screaming 
and  crying.  ^  Ah,  were  you  f "  said  my  acquaintance  ; 
^  the  fact  was,  my  three  washerwomen  came  home  last 
ni|^  dead  drunk.  *  Con9eveB,  mon  cher,  traii/ewmuti 
ivres  mortes  ! '  Had  they  been  men  it  would  have  been 
bad  enough — ^but  women  !  I  could  not  stand  it,  so  I 
ordered  them  into  the  stable  to  be  fiogged."  And  fiogged 
they  were  by  the  men  their  fellow-serfs ;  and  the  mystery 
of  the  midiught  disturbance  was  folly  explained,  &ough 
not  to  my  satisfoction.  This  man  had  received  a  Parisian 
education,  was  rich,  and  a  general  officer ;  he  had  fought 
at  Leipsic,  and  was  covered  vrith  orders. 

Mr.  Bremner  tells  of  a  Russian  lord  who  ban- 
ished one  of  his  serfs  to  Sibeiia,  upon  the  same 
principle  that  made  David  send  Urii^  to  the  army 
of  Israel.  The  wifo  of  the  peasant  claimed  the  right 
to  accompany  her  husband,  but  this  would  have 
entirely  defeated  the  object  of  his  punishment ;  nor, 
though  the  villany  of  the  amorous  lord  was  well 
understood,  could  the  law  protect  the  innocent,  or 
at  all  interfere  between  the  tyrant  and  his  victims. 
This  shameful  case,  however,  occasioned  a  change 
of  the  law  ;  and  a  wife  is  now  at  liberty  to  go  to 
Siberia  with  her  banished  husband,  if  she  chooses. 

The  letter-writer  mentions,  *^  we  have  seen,  that, 
at  the  masked  balls,  there  were  many  married  wo- 
men, whose  husbands  neither  knew  nor  cared  where 
or  how  they  were  engaged ;"  and  Captain  Jesse 
thus  illustrates  the  remark  :^-* 

So  prevalent  is  light,  nay,  even  licentious  conduct,  that 
fow  women  possessing  these  [the  domestic]  virtues  present 
themselves  to'observation ;  and  the  finest  andmost  generous 
natures  are  soon  corrupted  by  contact  with,  and  the  perni- 
cious influence  of  the  many.  The  men  are  so  much  from 
home  on  military  duty,  that  their  fomily  attachments  are 
naturally  wei^ened,  and  their  admiration  of  women  is 
merely  that  of  the  moment ;  they  do  not  appreciate,  nor 
become  refiined  by  their  society.  In  the  short  intervals 
which  the  government  will  allow  either  a  husband  or 
son  to  be  at  home,  he  finds,  even  if  he  were  disposed  to 
enjoy  it,  very  little  there  to  induce  him  to  forego  the 
everlaking  balls,  theatricals,  and  the  excitement  of  the 
gaming-twle,  so  eagerly  sought  after  in  this  country  ; 
that  have  been,  when  off  duty,  his  only  resource,  and  to 
which,  from  habit,  he  has  become  entirely  devoted. 
Smokhig,  and  occasionally  a  book,  vary  the  routine  of 
his  meclanical,  servile,  and  trifling  existence  ;  his  lite- 
rary taste  is  of  the  same  exalted  character ;  for  he  seldom 
soars  above  a  novel  of  Be  Balzac's,  or  Paul  de  Kock. 
Few  years  of  married  life  are  passed  over,  before  a  Rus- 
sian couple  are  notiiing  to  each  other,  aad  mutual  delin- 
quency is  overlooked  on  both  sides  by  tacit  consent ;  ^>- 
pearances  are  scarcely  studied,  and  it  is  by  no  means  an 
uncommon  thing  to  see  a  man's  natural  children  brought 
up  by  his  wife.    Both  manage  their  «  affidres  de  ccsur " 


126 


RECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSIA. 


with  the  most  perfeet  eoolness  imaginable,  of  idiich  the 
fbllowing  anecdote  is  an  example.  A  nobleman's  wife, 
and  the  mother  of  his  ohildren,  was  the  object  of  the  at- 
tentions of  a  person  of  higher  rank,  and  greater  riches 
than  himself.  This  indaeed  her  to  aocept  &em ;  bat  ftur 
firom  its  interrapting  the  intereenrse  of  the  husband  and 
¥rife,  she  frequently  passed  a  part  of  her  time  with  him 
and  her  grown-np  daaghters,  and  when  her  paramour's 
carriage  arriyed  for  her  in  the  erening,  her  hnsband 
would  say,  in  the  presence  of  his  childien,  *^  Bon  loir, 
ma  chore,  la  Yoiture  t'  attend.**  This  state  of  things 
works  lamentably  well  for  its  own  continuuance ;  for  how 
should  parents  thus  cireumstaneed,  command  the  loTe 
and  esteem  of  their  children  1 — nature  speaks  in  Tain. 
They  grow  up,  without  a  sense  of  filial  duty  or  respect 
towards  either  father  or  mother,  and,  consequently!  with- 
out the  latter  to  themselves. 

An  anecdote  is  related  by  the  same  gentleman^ 
l^hich,  we  verily  hope  and  believe,  could  not  be 
paralleled  in  any  other  country  in  Uie  world :— - 

I  almost  witnessed,  on  my  way  to  the  Crimea,  the 
death  of  the  Princess  G.,  who  was  at  that  time  in  the  last 
stage  of  consumption.  Her  beauty  was  peoiHar,  and,  if 
anything,  heightened  by  this  fatal  and  insidious  malady. 
Though  suffsring  drea<Uhlly  from  a  eough  which  might 
be  heard  in  eyery  part  of  the  vessel,  she  gare  no  sign  of 
irritability  and  made  no  complaint,  and  h^  smile  betray- 
ed a  kind  and  affectionate  heart.  Her  stay  in  the  Crimea 
was  but  short,  for,  feeling  that  her  end  was  fksi  ap- 
proaching, she  requested  to  be  taken  back  to  Odessa. 
On  seeing  her  children  she  rallied ;  but  after  an  ineilbetual 
and  painful  struggle,  sunk  under  her  disease.  Two 
months  had  not  elapsed  when  I  met  her  husband  walk- 
ing down  the  most  public  street  in  the  town,  in  open  day, 
with  one  of  the  lowest  prostitutes  of  the  plaee.  But 
this  was  not  all ;  soon  after  he  hired  a  house  which  had 
been  forfeited  to  the  goyernment  by  Prince  V.,  for  the 
part  he  took  in  the  conspiracy  of  1825,  and  set  up  a  kind 
of  guinguette  in  the  garden.  Here  Russian  swings,  re- 
tired summer-houses,  and  a  temporary  ball-room  were 
erected.  A  restaurateur  was  also  engaged,  and  the 
prince's  own  band,  composed  of  his  serfr,  attended  in  the 
evening.  The  price  of  admission  was  five  rubles.  At 
this  garden,  the  prostitutes  of  the  town,  headed  by  an- 
other nobleman's  mistress  and  his  own,  held  their  satur- 
nalia ;  the  prince  acted  as  master  c^  the  ceremonies,  aid 
busied  himself  in  visiting  Uie  diftrent  tables  and  seeing 
that  the  counter  was  properly  attended  to. 

This  gtfUUman  was  the  brother  of  the  military  governor 
of  the  town.  And  was  he  cut  by  any  of  his  own  class ! 
Not  at  all.  Did  they  even  endeavour  to  keep  aloof  fttmi 
him  ?  No  such  thing ;  the  question  was,  whether  it  wae 
a  good  speculation  and  likely  to  answer. 

As  a  set-off  against  such  debasing  profligacy, 
and  the  low  and  vicious  state  of  moral  fSeeling  which 
these  anecdotes  aigue,  we  must,  from  the  lad/s 
letters  from  Petersburg,  though  not  quite  in  place, 
give  this  sentimental  anecdote  of  Taglioni. 

Taglioni  is  now  the  great  star  of  attraction;  and, 
earesiie  by  the  Imperial  frimily,  worshipped  by  the 
young  nobles,  applauded  by  overilowing  audiences,  and 
most  munificently  paid,  this  poetess  of  the  ballet  has 
every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  her  northern  visit. 
But  poor  Taglioni  has  sufi^red  deeply  here;  and,  vriiile 
she  dances  at  night  under  the  least  possible  encumbrance 
of  gauze  drapery,  appears  by  day,  her  little  girl  in  her 
hand,  shrouded  in  the  deepest  widow's  mourning — not 
for  her  husband,  but  for  a  lover,  who  it  seems  had  proved 
the  more  constant  friend  of  Uie  two.  At  all  events, 
there  are  not  many  in  Petersburg  who  may  throw  stones; 
— nor,  to  do  them  justice,  do  they  seem  disposed. 

This  does  look  like  charity  and  fellow  feeling. 

Next  to  being  a  slovenly  and  filthy,  and  a  kick- 
ing and  cuffing  people,  the  Russians  are  distin- 
guished as  a  kissing  nation.  At  Easter,  the  mis- 
tress kisses  all  her  maids ;  the  noblest  lady  saluting 


the  meanest  vassal  maidoi  of  her  hoosdiokl.  Oar 
brilliant  letter-writer,  on  New- Year's  eve,  was 
present  at  a  great  family  reunion.  When  the 
house-clock  sounded  midnight,  a  great  deal  of 
loud  and  hearty  kissing  took  plaos  among  friends 
and  relatives  ;  much  like  what  many  of  our  an- 
cient Scotch  readers  may  remember  to  have  seen 
in  their  younger  years;  though  the  custom,  wheie 
it  lingers  at  aU,  has  gradually  sunk  into  the  mois 
decorous  grasping  of  friendly  handa^  and  pledging 
of  healths.  But  the  Russians,  we  have  said,  are 
an  eminently  kissing  nation ;  and  the  kiss — 

The  national  salute  is  in  universal  v^gne  fttua  rsnote 
antiquity — rather  a  greeting  than  a  caress — derived 
equally  from  religious  feeling  and  frx)m  oriental  custom. 
Fathers  and  sons  kiss— old  generals  with  rusty  moi»ts- 
ches  kiss^whole  regiments  kiss.  The  Emperoor  kisses 
his  officers.  On  a  reviewing  day  there  are  aUnost  u 
many  kisses  as  shots  exchanged.  If  a  laUiDutian  coipi 
de  cadets  have  earned  the  Imperial  approvaL  the  Imi«* 
rial  salute  is  bestowed  upon  the  head  boy,  mo  panes  it 
on  witili  a  hearty  report  to  his  neighbour,  he  in  his  ton 
to  the  next,  and  se  on,  till  it  has  been  diluted  throii|^ 
the  whole  juvenile  body 

On  a  holiday  or  jour  de  fHe  the  young  and  delicate 
mistress  of  a  house  will  not  only  kiss  all  her  maid-ser- 
vants but  all  her  men-servants  too,  and,  as  I  have  men- 
tioned before,  if  the  gentleman  venture  not  above  her 
hand  she  will  stoop  and  kiss  Us  cheek.  As  for  the 
Russian  father  of  a  family,  his  affection  knows  no 
bounds  ;  if  he  leaves  his  cabinet  cTaffaireM  ten  times  in 
the  course  of  the  morning  and  enter  his  lady's  saloon 
above,  he  kisses  all  his  family  when  he  enters,  and  again 
when  he  leaves  the  room :  sometimes  indeed  so  me- 
chanically, that,  forgetting  whether  he  has  done  it  or  not, 
he  goes  a  second  round  to  make  all  sure.  To  judge  also 
frt)m  the  number  of  salutes,  the  matrimonal  bond  in  these 
high  circles  must  be  one  of  uninteirupted  fblieity— hi  gen- 
tkamn  scsMely  enters  er  leaves  the  room  withent  kin- 
iag  his  wife,  either  on  forehead,  eheek,  or  hand. 

This  Is  almost  too  much  of  a  good  thhig ;  ysl 
we  wish  the  Russians  had  no  worse  novel  customi 
than  this  primitive  and  rude  one. 

Mr.  Bremner  sums  up  a  view  of  Russian  civiHw 
sation,  which,  though  not  quite  consistent  witil 
what  this  hasty  observer  has  said  in  many  other 
places  of  his  work,  coincides  entirely  with  the  imrj 
pressions  hinted  at  by  the  lady,  and  the  opinioni 
openly  expressed  by  Captain  Jesse.  Having  d#J 
scribed  a  magnificent  dinner,  which  Is  much  iM 
same  as  a  similar  entertainment  in  Paris,  or  Vienn^ 
or  in  houaea  in  London,  where  foreign  manners  a^ 
affected,  he  proceeds :—  ^ 

With  all  his  wealth,liowever— with  all  his  passion  M 
travelling,  all  his  taste  for  languages,  and  all  the  elj 
gance  of  his  table— the  Russian  noble  is  still  but  I 
oirilixed.*    Such,  at  least,  is  the  opinion  of  those  ' 
know  him  best.    He  puts  on  the  dress,  and  learns 
manners  of  other  European  nations,  but  is  infinitely  I 
hind  them  in  all  the  qualities  that  constitute  real  refii 
ment.    This  sentence  may  appear  a  harsh  one,  but  ] 


*<*  We  have  seen  this  term  applied  by  an  ahle  writerj 
Bltuikwood,  te  the  Danes,  Norwegians,  and  Swedes ;  * 
snrely  vrith  little  jitttioe^  These  nations  aie  as  mi 
entitled  to  be  oalled  ^  civilized  "  as  ourselves.  Of 
indeed,  they  have  less  than  the  English;  but  of  Jrce 
stittUiofu,  though  differently  modified,  they  can  boast 
well  as  England ;  while  of  edueation^  taking  the  whl 
population,  they  display  even  a  higher  average  than  o« 
selves ;  and  these  certainly  are  good  titles  to  all  tl 
honours  of  civilisation,  even  when  wealth  is  deficient.'^ 
Bremner*  I 


HECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSIA, 


nv 


ftu  BiiO  Bi«re  lisnliy  as  expfesMd  io  ii«  by  a  ^ntleman 
iH»  M  etiiflied  iliem  fot  years.  ^  The  Russian,"  said 
k^'lni  Vat  tiie  «artmor  oif  a  drUiaed  man :  in  i^iwW  he 
h  wllibnilal  and  ernel— ndevoid  of  delleaoy  and  feeling. 
Befen  ikiaag«n,  he  is  smooth  and  plausible ;  in  the 
bason  «f  Mb  fkraily  he  is  rongh  and  tynnnical.  Fof  in- 
8teB0S--the  kindness  and  aii£otien  which  a  w^  expects, 
tad  is  eatiiled  to,  are  seldom  rendered  by  a  Rnssian 
ffosse.  He  treats  her  well  before  the  world,  beeanse, 
•tbtrwise,  he  wtnild  be  reminding  people  that  he  is  a 
Bisna;  but  in  priTate,  harsh  words — ay,  and  htrsher 
Mw    are  often  uiflicted  on  his  helpless  mate. 

Of  flie  real  imth  of  this  chaige,  no  stranger  can  know 
BBeh;  but  we  heard  from  a  Russian  hiimielf,  that  he 
kaew  the  practice  of  beating  their  wives  to  be  extremely 
common  amon^  people  of  rank;  fHiile  a  foreign  lady, 
who  baa  been  m  the  eoontry,  says,  ^  that  she  tutpeeUd 
h  in  many  caaes,  and  knew  that  it  was  done,  and  emelly, 
fat  several ;  one  victim,  of  high  rank,  having  often  bared 
her  an  and  shonlder  to  show  the  too  obvious  marks  of 
her  harimnd's  ferocity. 

Pexba^  in  what  follows^  Ur.  Breomer  intends 
a  kaadBcnie  reprehension  to  the  vnlgarities  of  the 
tame  tort,  which  are  admired  at  home,  when  pine- 
apples^ green  peas^  cherries,  and  strawberries  are 
puvhaaed  at  their  weight  in  gold,  to  grace  a 
^JBiier,  fiTea  within  perhaps  a  hsJf-mile  of  a  street 
fan  of  starving  Spitalfields' weavers.  If  Christian 
fc^Bg  be  the  tme  test  of  civilisation,  we  are,  in 
manj  respects,  not  greatlj  in  advance  of  our 
Dorthem  nelghbonrs. 

Thmi  their  civilisation  is  bnt  half  completed,  is  also 
proved  by  the  tasteless  splendour  of  the  entertainments 
iawUeh  aaay  indulge.  They  are  not  oontented  with 
^■4  amtme  can  ftirSsh,  but  they  must  oppose  nature, 
the  finest  ihnits  at  the  proper  seasons  are  not  enough 
Ux  them  :  some  display  the  rarest  delicacies  of  the  stove 
asd  the  carden,  in  the  months  when  art  must  help  the 
■Mssn.  Great  snms  are  expended  on  hothouses,  in  order 
la  pvedaee  grapes  aad  other  uaseasonable  raritiss  in 
wiater.    Cherries  are  to  be  seen  at  table  in  the  month 

rf  Febmaiy  at  a  guinea  a-piece.    Prince  P ,  who 

8sed  to  spend  £IZW  on  a  single  entertainment,  was  in 
tbe  habit  of  sarpaseiDg  this  cherry-f&te,  by  displaying 
rlusa»  peaches,  and  apricots,  at  the  expense  of  a  couple 
if  guineas  for  each  ^iece.  LitUe  wonder,  then,  that  he 
bs  BOW  got  rid  of  Ms  troublesome  wealth ! 

All  tra^i^era  denonnoe  the  system  of  Stpionape; 
ike  SecrH  PoHce  of  the  Rnssian  government.  Its 
ramificationa  are  minute  and  endless ;  it  is  pre- 
se&t^^«iUier  felt  or  understood — in  every  comer  of 
the  sBmira,  throwing  its  net*work  over  all,  and. 


if  we  may  believe  these  aeeounts,  comprehending 
Europe,  and  Asia,  and  America,  in  its  meshes. 
The  domestic  hearth  is  not  too  sacred,  the  privy- 
eonadl  not  too  close  for  its  approach.  The  lady, 
the  foast  of  the  man  at  its  head,  only  indicates 
ifes  ptesence  by  hints  about  hnsbands  and  fathers 
OB  fheir  return  from  court  or  council,  not  venturing 
to  open  their  lips  in  their  private  domestic  circle, 
save  in  mysterious  whispers,  of  the  emperor 
bong  in  good  or  in  tolerable  humour  on  that  lucky 
<^y.    Captain  Jesse  speaks  out  with  perfect  free- 


I 


However  dtfectiye  the  administration  of  the  law,  cus- 
tMBB,  aad  pviiie  police,  that  of  the  tewet  is  far  from  be- 
ins  *v »  His  one  of  the  most  powerfU  engines  of  Russian 
deapeHma,  and  immense  sums  are  expended  upon  the 
mahitniiMLs  of  its  emisBaiies  in  foreign  countries.  There 
m  acacceij  aa  embassv  that  has  not  one  of  these  gentU- 
•<»  atta^ed  to  it ;  for,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  they 
«oetiaM8,]iay,'not  nnfrequently,  present  themselves  in 
^U  rharaelij;  meve  humble  individuals,  however,  are 


to  be  found  in  this  capacity.  During  the  war  between 
Russia  and  Persia,  Sir  J.  Macdonald's  butler  acted  as 
one,  and  gave  all  the  information  that  he  could  to  a  per- 
son at  Teheran,  by  whom  it  was  regularly  forwarded  to 
Paskewitch,  through  Rosen,  who  commanded  a  division. 
No  one  ^o  has  read  the  correspondence  between  Sir 
J.  M'Neil  and  the  English  government,  can  doubt  that 
a  number  of  these  spies  were  employed  by  Count  Simo* 
nich  and  the  Russian  government  throughout  Central 
Asia :  they  are  so  at  the  present  moment.  One  of  theni, 
a  Baron  Dieskau,  alluded  to  by  O^.  Wilbraham,  was 
received  into  the  military  service  of  Russia  for  his  doings 
in  Afghanistan ;  and  Capt.  W.  adds,  ^  that  any  one  who 
has  been  in  India,  whatever  may  have  been  the  cause  of 
his  quitting  the  country,  is  received  with  open  arms.*' 
The  employ^  of  this  fearfol  inquisition  are  scattered 
amongst  all  classes  of  the  community.  They  are  to  be 
found  in  the  Imperial  residence,  and  the  drawing-rooms 
of  the  nobility  ;  in  the  General's  tent,  and  on  the  quarter- 
deck ;  in  the  barrack-room  and  below  decks ;  behind  ^ 
CQunter,  in  the  cabin  of  the  mujik,  and  among  ser- 
vants of  all  degreest  the  Oair  sei:  in  the  very  highest 
circles  are  sometimes  the  paid  agents  of  this  most  Isath* 
some  and  disgusting  organ  of  the  government. 

Captain  Jesse  tells  an  anecdote  of  BtnkendorfL 
which  might  have  challenged  the  admiration  ox 
Fouob^  iwd  thus  proceeds  :*^ 

Individual  liberty  may  be  said  to  depend  on  <he 
caprices  of  the  police  ;  it  is  by  no  means  neoessary  for 
them  to  assign  a  reason  for  any  arrest  that  is  made  ; 
any  one,  guilty  or  not,  or  merely  suspected,  can  be,  and 
often  is,  taken  up  and  imprisoned,  punished  or  banished 
without  ever  knowing  why,  unless  ms  memory  can  rake 
up  some  thoughtless  expression  against  the  government, 
vrhich  might  be  magnified  or  exaggerated  into  a  political 
crime  ;  but  very  p^bly  he  may  not  succeed  in  recol- 
lecting even  that. 

During  my  stay  at  Odessa,  two  French  booksellerf, 
the  only  good  ones  in  the  place,  were  visited  one  even- 
ing by  the  hirelings  of  this  department,  and  in  a  winter's 
nlgh^  with  the  thermometer  at  eighteen  degrees  below 
zero  of  Reaumur,  were  ordered  into  a  sledge  which  was 
ready  for  them  at  the  door,  and,  in  perfect  ignorance  of 
their  crime,  were  posted  off,  night  and  day,  to  Kief,  a 
distance  of  six  hundred  versts.  On  reaching  their  des« 
tfnation,  the  (Governor,  notorious  for  his  dastardly  eon- 
duet  to  the  Poles,  ordered  them  into  the  fortress,  where 
they  were  confined  in  a  damp  casemate  near  the  ditch. 
During  the  whole  of  this  time  they  were  kept  in  a 
wretched  state  of  filth,  had  nothing  but  straw  to  lie  up- 
on,and  the  little  money  that  they  had  with  them  when  they 
left  Odessa  having  been  taken  away  on  their  arrival,  they 
had  only  the  prison  fore,  black  bread  and  water,  to  live 
upon.  All  communication  was  cut  off,  eyen  from  their 
families.  Having  been  in  the  habit  of  dealing  with  one 
of  them,  a  quiet,  inoffensive  man,  I  went  several  times 
to  his  nephew,  who  carried  on  the  business,  to  see  whe- 
ther he  had  heard  from  him,  but  no  tidings  had  been 
received.  The  first  intelligence  he  had  of  Ms  uncle  was 
from  the  Austrian  territory,  for  after  an  imprisonment  of 
five  months,  the  aff^  ended  by  their  being  gi^oped  ove^ 
the  frontier  by  some  Cossacks,  and  turned  loose  like  wild 
beasts,  with  rather  an  unnecessary  recommendation  never 
to  recross  it.  Their  supposed  crime  was  having  sold 
some  Polish  national  songs. 

We  leave  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader  the 
reflections  which  this  condition  of  soeiety  diaws 
from  an  Englishman,  who  otherwise  ia  not  at  all 
remarkable  for  political  liberalism. 

Booksellers  are  a  description  of  traders  neither 
liked  nor  wanted  in  Russia.  European  publiea* 
tions  and  journals,  bearing  in  any  respect  upon 
public  aflFairs,  or  breathing  free  opinions,  are, 
without  exception,  proscribed.  The  only  English 
newspaper  allowed  to  enter  the  Russian  dominions 
is  the  MonmffPo9$y  which  probably  is  at  all  times 


Its 


JRECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSIA.. 


a  safe  imd  prot>^r  jouiilial,  and  that  for  reasons  and 
considerations  well  understood.  Even  the  harm- 
less ChUgnania  Mtnenger  is  now  excluded,  the 
current  gossip,  or  the  mere  eyery-daj  facts  of  the 
rest  of  Europe,  not  being  acceptable  in  the  em- 
peror s  dominions.  In  explaining  the  prevailing 
system  of  espionage,  Mr.  Bremner,  though  the 
most  lenient  and  courtly  of  impartial  travellers, 
makes,  on  we  know  not  what  authority,  this  ex- 
traordinary relation : — 

The  tact  of  NicheUs  in  selectiiig  the  men  fittest  for 
his  purpose,  is  eqnslled  only  by  the  wonderfU  quality 
which  he  has  of  inspiring  them  with  <2etiottoii  %o  km»(if» 
Those  who  serre  him  at  home  may  not  he  so  warmly  at- 
tached to  him;  on  them  foils  all  the  trouble  arising  from 
his  activity  and  vigilance.  But  his  foreign  agents  are 
too  flur  off  to  feel  the  lash.  They  hear  the  shouts,  and 
eatch  something  of  the  reflected  splendour  of  his  triumphs, 
without  being  soiled  by  the  dust  that  is  raised.  In 
short,  they  only  see  the  bright  side  of  their  master's 
eharacter,  and  are  not  in  the  way  to  be  fretted  by  his 
discipline.  Instead  of  the  sharp  rebukes  which  he  deals 
unsparingly  out  to  those  near  him,  ^tj  are  receiving  only 
compliments  and  encouragement.  Hence  it  is  that  we 
never  yet  saw  a  Russian  agent  in  any  part  of  ^the  world 
who  did  not  live,  as  it  were,  exclusively  for  the  Emperor. 
He  may  be  fond  of  gaiety,  of  this  or  that  pursuit,  but  it 
is  ever  secondary  to  a  higher  passion — a  desire  to  please 
his  imperial  protector,  by  the  most  unwearied  attention 
in  promoting  Russian  interests.  He  lives  but  for  this, 
and  often  is  not  over  scrupulous  about  the  means  he  em- 
ploys in  the  cause.  There  are  Russian  ambassadors  at 
some  courts — perhaps  all  of  them  do  the  same — who 
employ  spies  in  the  house  of  the  English  minister— who 
can  neither  receive  a  friend,  nor  give  a  dinner,  vrithout 
the  certainty  that  some  of  Us  servants  will  report  every 
word  that  has  passed  on  the  occasion.  Perfoi  aut  nefcu 
should  be  the  motto  of  Russian  diplomatists.  With  them 
the  end  Justifies  the  means.  If  they  can  serve  the  Em- 
peror by  it,  they  see  no  harm  in  breaking  through  the 
decencies  of  life. 

Nor  is  it  always  to  needy  lackeys  that  these  gentle- 
men trust  for  information.  Persons  who,  from  their 
profession  and  standing  in  society,  ought  to  be  above 
such  treachery,  are  often  dragged  into  this  base  traffic. 
No  Engh'shman  would  stoop  so  low ;  but  there  are  fo- 
reignen  in  Englitk  pay,  who  carry  tales  from  the  table 
they  dine  at. 

In  addition  to  such  auxiliaries,  the  emperor  has  lus 
regular  bands  of  well-salaried  scouts,  men  and  women, 
Russian  and  native,  in  every  capital  of  Europe,  whose 
duty  it  is  to  ascertain  the  sentiments  of  the  leading  men 
towards  Russia,  and  keep  the  ambassador  on  the  spot, 
or  the  political  police  at  St  Petersburg,  acquainted  with 
all  that  may  concern  the  views  or  wishes  of  the  emperor. 
It  was  said  the  other  day  by  one  residing  in  Paris,  and 
f^m  his  position  well  qualified  to  know  what  is  passing, 
^  We  have  five  hundred  well-dressed  men  and  women 
here,  moving  in  the  best  society,  who,  if  it  were  allow- 
able to  give  things  their  plain  names,  would  be  described 
as  nothing  else  tiban  Russian  spies." 

As  might  be  expected  from  its  vicinity  to  Poland, 
no  oount^  is  more  carefolly  watched  than  Germany. 
The  emperor's  vigilance  is  not  satisfied  with  placing  sen- 
tinels at  the  prindpal  cities  merely,  such  as  Dresden  and 
Munich ;  for  it  is  irell  known  that  he  also  maintains  a 
ipy  at  eadi  of  the  German  universities.  The  state  of 
opinion  among  the  students,  from  Kdnigsbeig  to  Frei- 
buig  in  the  Brisgau,  and  from  Kiel  to  Vienna,  is  as  well 
known  to  the  secret  police  of  St.  Petersburg  as  to  the 
criminal  Judges  of  the  universities  themselves,  ^t 
Russia  may  now  dispense  with  this  branch  of  her  espio- 
nage :  for  die  students  of  Crermany,  once  such  hot-headed 
revolutionists,  are,  now,  happily,  most  completely  cured 
of  all  their  political  enthusiasm. 

If  Russia  be  thus  vigilant  in  the  west  and  in  the  centre 
of  Europe,  we  need  not  be  surprised  to  find  her  even 
more  so  in  those  quarters  where,  as  we  haie  seen,  she 


has  still  a  greater  interest  at  stake.  It  !i  eUefly  in  the 
East  that  she  puts  forth  all  her  means  of  seduction  and 
etpioiMge,  The  whole  of  the  regions  indnded  under  that 

Sneral  term,  are  now  struggling  in  the  net  whidi  aha 
s  silently^q>read  over  them.  Disdaining  no  aid,  how- 
ever low,  provided  it  can  be  useful,  she  descends  so  &r 
as  to  employ  hdtel-keepers,  and  those  most  in  the  way 
of  seeing  strangers,  for  the  sake  of  watching  all  that  |^ 
or  come.  Hence  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  in  Greece  and 
Turkey  to  be  told,  '^  Take  care  what  you  say  before  your 
landlord — he  is  a  Russian."  Besides  this  stationaiy 
troop,  she  has  a  moveable  corps  of  agents,  who  are  con- 
stantly traversing  all  parts  of  Turkey  and  the  a4Jaoent 
regions.  No  traveller  can  move  any  distance  without 
meeting  some  of  these. 

Should  any  think  that  we  are  pushing  the  efl^eror's 
vigilance  too  for,and  giving  him  by  his  agents  an  almost 
ubiquitous  infiuence,  we  would  remind  tibe  reader,  that 
many  carry  his  interference  still  further.  Who  is  it  that 
incites  {the  Arabs  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Constaatina 
amnst  the  French  t  The  Parisian  journalists  answer, 
''The  Emperor  Nicholas."  What  has  stirred  up  tiit 
disturbances  in  Canada!  ^  Russian  gold,"  say  tht 
American  newspi^ers— which  ftarther  state,  that  there 
are  agents  of  tiie  emperor  busily  at  work,  even  in  the 
United  States,  rallying  the  malcontents  against  Eng- 
land !  After  these  spedmens  of  what  is  believed  bj 
some,  about  the  extent  of  Russian  interforenoe,  whs 
shall  accuse  us  of  exaggeration  in  saying  that  it  it  m 
actively  exerted  in  countries  where  the  emperor  makes 
no  secret  of  his  intrigues ! 

Mr.  Bremner  went  to  Russia  with  the  common 
opinion  that  Nichohia  was,  in  few  words,  what  his 
atrocious  conduct  to  the  Poles,  and  in  the  Caucasus^ 
and  often  in  his  own  dominions^  points  him  oui  to 
be;  but  he  saw  reason,  he  says,  to  change  or 
modify  his  unfavourable  opinions ;  and  he  makes 
those  apologies  for  Nicholas,  which  might,  with 
far  more  justice,  be  urged  to  extenuate  the  mon- 
trosities  of  Ivan  the  Cruel,  or  the  bmtality  of 
Peter  the  Great.    He  says  :— 

He  is  the  slave  of  a  vicious  system— tied  to  a  course 
from  which,  as  yet,  he  has  not  been  able  to  break  loose. 
The  worst  excesses  he  has  been  guilty  of  arise  from  an 
ungovernable  temper, which,  by  nature  suflldently  strong, 
has  been  forther  strengthened  to  such  a  degree  by  the  long 
exercise  of  unchecked,  uncontrolled  authority,  that  now 
it  often  bursts  out  in  the  most  fibtal  ebullitions.  His  de- 
fenders assert,  however,  that  when  the  passing  madness 
has  subsided,  he  is  the  first  to  regret,  and,  if  possible,  to 
atone  for  what  has  been  done,  'niey  will  not  allow  that  ^ 
the  stem,  vre  might  say  the  cruel  system  of  disoiplinsi 
which  prevails  in  the  fleet  and  the  army,  and  extends  ' 
officers  as  well  as  private,  can  with  justice  be  attoibuf 
to  him ;  for  it  is  not  of  his  creating,  but  has  been* 
down  f^om  the  times  when  Russian  officers  were  re; 
as  barbarous  as  Russian  privates ;  and  he  continues  ii 
because,  from  his  military  education,  he  believes  it  to 
the  best  In  fine,  those  who  know  him  most  intiniatel| 
assert,  that  hoiraver  violent  he  may  be  under  the  fits  e 
passion  alluded  to,  he  is  not  tyrannical  <m  tyttem,  or  firo^ 
innate  fierceness  of  disposition. 

If  neither  from  ^stem  nor  disposition,  frod 
what  proceeds  the  tyranny  of  tiie  Autocrat 
But  the  question  is  not  of  the  vicious  sjsteil 
which  Nicholas  found  in  existence,  but  wheth< 
instead  of  checking  it,  and  endeavouring  to  coll 
vate  the  arts  of  peace,  and  secure  the  happiness 
his  people,  he  has  not  exceeded  his  most  tyrani 
predecessors,  in  their  worst  failings, — ^thdr  milil 
and  despotic  propensities.  So  far  as  depends  on 
tastes,  the  empire  is  one  huge  camp  or  barrack, 
which  he  is  the  first  drill-sergeant,  making 
use  of  the  cane.    Of  hb  passion  for  soldiership 


RECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSU. 


Ida 


it!  BMMi  %iioUe  fozniy  Mr.  Bremnery  in  the  midst 
«f  Ilk  Uwared  Tiiidieation»  remarkflh— 

lUi  fnpeafBtj  d^genentM  abnoet  to  a  weaknen :  it 
it  Ua  gnat  aim  to  giro  the  whole  empire  the  i^pear- 
aaee  of  an  tneampment.  This  paanon  Ib  so  well  Imown, 
fhmX  the  Tery  ehildren  in  the  streets  are  made  to  affect 
the  air  miUtaxyy  stmtting  abont  in  a  white  eap  with  red 
baad  ^  PEmperemr.  On  entering  a  sehool,  the  boys  and 
gMi  rise  in  flies  to  salute  jon  after  the  military  fkshion, 
aW  max«h  onty  as  if  wheeling  to  the  sound  of  fife  and 
dnua.  In  the  Tery  prisons,  a  dash  ot  the  corporal's 
dfwTi|iRBr  is  Tisible ;  and  eren  in  the  hospitals  yon  would 
ay  the  old  nurses  ape  the  imperial  guard. 

Ereo  the  royal  nnrseries  are  arranged  on  the 
■dlitary  principle.  It  was  the  criticism  of  an  able 
oldK^n< — ^^  He  treats  his  army  as  a  little  girl  does 
\ia  doll ;  and  teaches  his  children  to  do  the  same.'' 
Bat  hoy  moieoTeTy  treats  it  like  a  passionate  little 
fiuy  of  ft  gixly  who  takes  all  manner  of  caprices^ 
and  who  as  readily  slaps  her  doll's  face,  as  she 
cazeaBM,  and  dresses^  and  nndresses  it.  Of  this 
affcctkmate  Cither,  who  has  ontlived  the  age  of 
nolent  paarionsy  Mr.  Bremner,  after  alluding  to 
the  eeJafaated  nation  made  in  Warsaw,  which 
■l>^rfwMwi  of  Imperial  and  Russian  eloquence, 
threats  made  good  by  speedy  acts,  Europe  will 
never  foiget, — gives  the  following  trait : — 

He  is  so  apt  to  be  earried  sway  by  passion  in  debate, 

that  weids  often  entirely  Ml  him.    He  has  a  way,  how- 

evtr,  of  fln&ig  op  the  pause :  in  an  interview  with  the 

ftasth  ambsMiilnrJlin  diseussion  became  so  warm  that 

Us  mijsetj',  dufed  by  opposition,  at  last,  in  the  agony 

«f  neWilling  werds,  summed  up  Ids  arguments  very  inh 

%dSigibl7,  by  striking  his  hand  with  great  violence  on  the 

tiMe    m  most  Impressive  figure  of  speech.    On  another 

nrsasioM,  i^en  hard  pressed  for  a  good  argument,  he 

aAad  «e  the  window,  threw  it  open,  and,  pointing 

ligniisantly  to  some  regiments  exerosing  below, clenched 

hJsweeMfngwith  the  words,  ^Totfa  ma  ^oftitf;  cen^at 

ikIb  wmK^sm  partie  ds  mon  arwu4l*'    The  Emperor 

latw  vreU  that,  after  all,  fbroe  is  the  best  tUtima  ratio 

The  Emperor  Is  Tery  religious  by  all  accounts, 
if  sa^  rninnmings  as  are  described  by  the  lady  and 
by  Mr.  Bremner  be  religion— a  question  which  we 
leave  to  diTinee  :•« 

His  isTeetnesn  vridle  in  chureh  is  extreme.  Some  say 
Ui  paift  is  here  overaeted ;  for  there  is  no  end  to  tlM 
^erafs  sod  aUntationa  between  him  and  the  officiating 
deny  when  the  service  is  over.  No  saint's-day,  or  for- 
■B^eT  the  cfanrdi,  is  ever  neglected  by  him ;  and  in 
tosfsUfa^,  ke  never  passes  a  steeple  vrithout  crossing 
tinasif  as  deveatly  as  ^e  yemtchik  who  drives  him. 
Ibe  iweer  of  his  superstition,  if  not  of  his  devotion,  is 
««fl  ihuwa  by  a  reoent  act,  which  is  spoken  of  with 
gnat  apphnee  by  the  priests.  He  has  added  a  new  saint 
to  ■ 


Tlie  toleraium  allowed  by  the  Emperor  is  of  a 
pieee  with  his  religion,  and  with  the  abolition  of 
tifftne,  long  boasted  of  in  Russia,  where  prisoners 
only  Jtmmted  to  make  them  confess,  not 


H  such  be  the  best  that  an  English  traveller  can 
mj,  who  confeesca  that  he  went  to  Russia  with 
pnjndioes  ag;a]n8t  the  Emperor  and  hb  goyexn- 
awafty  whidi  a  doeer  inspection  overcame^  what 
dtaU  we  eiqpeet  from  one,  who,  the  longer  he  re- 
Biaiaed  hi  that  country,  saw  ^e  more  reason  to 
wwdefm  the  man  and  the  system.  Captain  Jesse 
nee  in  IQ^oJas  the  legitimate  successor  of  Peter 
the  Gresty  in  his  worst  character  as  a  sovereign. 


All  liberal  ideas  of  government  died  with  Alexander, 
Military  despotism,  which  Peter  the  Great  first  syste- 
matised  in  this  country,  has  been  more  or  less  tiie 
prevailing  fsature  of  its  government  under  succeed- 
mg  monarchs;  and  peculiarly  fkUs  in  with  the  taste  of 
Nicholas.  At  a  late  inspection  of  one  of  the  military 
colonies  he  exercised  a  regiment  consisting  of  six  hun- 
dred boys — ^the  colonel  being  only  eleven  years  of  age ; 
and  they  are  said  to  have  gone  through  their  manoeuvres 
with  all  the  precision  of  old  soldiers.  The  lavish  ex- 
penditure in  reviews,  from  which  no  benefit  is  derived* 
and  which  take  place  merely  to  gratify  his  extraordi- 
nary passion  for  playing  at  soldiers,  is  perfectly  absurd. 

The  garrison  of  the  capital  amounts  to  one-fifth  of  the 
population.  Such  is  the  military  tone  and  otganiiation 
given  to  and  spread  over  the  social  system  of  the  coun- 
try, and  every  branch  of  the  government,  that  the  rank 
and  privileges  of  the  nobility  ;  foundling  hospitals  and 
education;  literature,  civil  law,  physic,  and  the  navy  are 
all  modelled,  and  the  aspirants  to,  or  students  in  either, 
are  drilled  alter  Had  most  approved  i^stem  of  military 
discipline.  Even  the  little  Qrand  Dukes  and  Grand 
Duchesses  are  surrounded  by  the  insignia  of  modem  war- 
fibre;  and  their  nursery  has  all  the  appearance  of  an 
arsenal  in  miniature. 

The  letters  of  the  lady  allude  to  the  general 
corruption  prevailing  among  the  public  fimction- 
ariee  of  Russia,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  and 
whether  in  the  Army,  Navy,  or  Civil  Service ;  if 
Russia  may  be  said  to  have  any  civil  service.  The 
Emperor  is  certainly  most  sincere  and  earnest  in 
his  endeavours  to  stop  peculation  and  bribery ; 
but  he  unfortunately  begins  at  the  wrong  end. 
Like  many  other  legislators,  he  has  no  idea  of  the 
virtue  of  prevention.  All  Russian  officials  are 
wretchedly  ill  paid.  The  pay  of  a  general-officer 
is  scarcely  equal  to  that  of  major  in  the  British 
service ;  that  of  a  surgeon  is  about  £80  a-year ; 
and  of  a  lieutenant  £28.  Pilfering  and  peciJation 
consequently  prevail  in  every  department.  Cap- 
tain Jesse  relates  several  instances  of  this  d^;radr 
ing  and  demoralising  system ;  and  gives  a  curious 
picture  of  the  beggarly  and  vnretched  appointments 
of  an  army  whidi  yet  wears  a  fair  and  a  gay  ex- 
terior. Of  bribery  in  the  administrative  depart- 
ments, Mr.  Bremner  is  constrained  to  say,  that — 

It  grinds  the  poor,  and  impoverishes  the  rich;  it  is 

{practised  in  every  branch  of  the  administration,  from  the 
owest  cleric  to  the  highest  minister;  it  paralyzes  industry, 
enterprise,  merit,  in  every  comer  of  the  empire.  If  you 
commence  a  lawsuit,  however  just  your  cause,  it  remains 
undecided  tn  years,  unless  you  bribe  the  judges  again 
and  again.  If  you  want  a  government  contract,  the 
heads  of  the  department  must  be  propitiated  vrith  half 
of  your  calculated  profits.  If  a  situation  is  procured,  it 
must  be  paid  for.  If  you  wish  to  have  your  passport^ 
especially  in  any  of  the  remote  provinces,  a  thousand 
difficulties  can  be  thrown  in  the  vray^  till  money  removes 
them. 

The  sums  drawn  in  the  shape  of  bribes  by  some  people 
in  ofilce  are  quite  enormous,  not  only  in  the  capital,  but 
in  the  piorinees  also.  Hiere  is  a  town  in  the  soutii  of 
Russia  vrfaere  the  director  of  police  has  an  income  of 
80,000  rubles  a-year  (£5,200),  though  his  reguhff  sahoy 
is  <mly  6000  rubles,  or  £240. 

When  Captain  Jesse,  after  living  for  nearly  & 
year  at  Odessa,  was  about  to  set  out  for  Moscow 
and  Petersburg,  he  was  compelled  to  go  through 
the  usual  tedious  and  irritating  forms  of  obtaining- 
a  passport,  which  prove  so  irksome  to  all  travel- 
lers, and  which  are  often  both  expensive  and  in- 
convenient After  all  appeared  to  be  concluded^ 
and  when  he  had  danced  attendance  for  several 


Ida 


RECENT  TRAVELLERS  IN  RUSSU. 


dftji,  and  been  fptiiig«d  hj  difimnt  tfabordinftte 
jAekf-in-offioe^  he  caixie  to  thit  eonelusion :-« 

The  following  day  1  was  onoe  more  at  my  poet;  bat 
tliis  time  it  was  eyiaent  that  the  legal  (thoagn  not  the 
illegal)  forms  and  demands  had  been  complied  with. 
My  papers  lay  duly  arranged  npon  the  table,  bat  the 
man  in  green  paid  no  attention  to  me;  and  though  many 
applicants  were  snocessfol,  the  crowd  aroond  him  ap- 
peared to  increase,  rather  than  diminish.  I  soon  saw 
how  matters  stood  ;  and  feeling  certain  that,  unless  I 
followed  the  example  of  those  vmo  had  retired,  I  should 
again  be  desired  to  ''call  again  to-morrow.*'  I  put  my 
hand  into  my  pocket,  a  sign-manual  which  this  purveyor 
of  signatures  perfectly  understood,  and  we  e&cted  an 
amicable  exchange.  Handing  me  the  papers,  he  pocketed 
the  silver,  wi^  the  most  perfect "  sang  froid,"  telling  me, 
$s  he  dropped  the  52-copeck  pieces  into  his  pocket,  that 
^  the  Imperial  salary  would  not  keep  him  in  boots.'' 
.   At  Belgorod,  on  hia  journey,  he  relates  :— 

Hie  Ispratnik  at  this  station  threw  every  difficulty 
in  the  way  of  our  having  horses.  The  bribe  which  I  ad- 
ministered, as  usual,  was  not  large  enough,  tot  he  re- 
jected it  with  contempt,  saying,  though  vrith  an  evidently 
painAil  effort, "  Sir,  I  am  Uie  representatire  of  the  em- 
peror, and  scorn  to  take  a  bribe."  Seeing,  however, 
that  f  traa  about  to  leave  the  yard,  to  get  horses  in  the 
iown,  he  speedily  altered  his  determination,  and  begged 
in  a  few  copecks  more. 

On  this  journey,  some  dismal  sights  were  wit- 
nesied,  which,  unhappily,  are  not  unfrequent  in 
those  parts  of  Russia.  The  scene  is  the  track  be- 
tween Orel  and  Tula ;  and  on  to  Vaskanu 

This  day  we  found  whole  fSeunilies  lying  by  the  side  of 
die  track  craving  for  food.  On  making  inquiries,  through 
ny  interpreter,  I  found  that  many  of  wem  had  slept 
In  the  open  steppe  fbr  several  days,  living  upon  the  pre- 
eariont  asslitance  they  reeeived  firom  the  few  travellers 
wko  passedi  Their  husbands,  indeed  all  the  men,  had 
left  them  for  the  south,  where  there  was  less  distress : 
tiore  than  once  during  our  journey  we  had  met  them  in 
parties  of  twenty  and  thirty  at  a  time.  This  district, 
and  the  town  of  Tula,  were  only  kept  quiet  by  the  pre- 
•enee  of  a  division  of  infiuitry,  encamped  near  ttiesohnrb 
by  which  we  entered.  The  artisans  employed  at  the 
Imperial  manufactory  of  arms  Were  well  enough  off,  ss 
ihey  had  their  meal  and  flour  served  out  to  them  at  a 
flxeid  price  all  the  year  round ;  fluctuation,  therefore,  was 
of  no  oonseqnenoe  to  them— the  rest  were  in  a  vrretehed 
state.  Formerly  provision  was  made  against  mat  a 
ealamity  by  housing  large  quantities  of  grain,  whiehvras 
supplied  by  each  proprietor,  according  to  the  number  of 
Serfs  he  possessed ;  but  these  stores  sometimes  peridied, 
firom  want  of  care  and  bad  granaries,  and  were  also 
materially  reduced  by  peculation^  Besides  this,  the 
nobility,  always  in  difficulties,  thought  it  would  be  more 
to  their  advantage  to  get  interest  upon  the  value  of  the 
eom  thus  lying  idle.  The  subscriptions  were  therefore 
taken  in  money  instead  of  in  kind,  and  the  sums  col- 
lected were  placed  in  the  Lombard  bank,  or  other  go* 
Temment  securities.  The  absurdity  of  this  system  vras 
proved  in  the  present  instance  ;  the  money  was  useless, 
there  vfas  neither  rye  nor  wheat  to  be  bought  either  in 
these  provinces  or  at  St.  Petersburg.  The  ovmers  of  the 
serft  were  interested  in  keeping  them  alive,  if  not  from 
notivee  of  humanity,  at  least  as  property ;  but  where 
were  they  t  on  their  estates,  exerting  themselves  to 
soften  or  relieve  the  miseries  of  their  dependants  I  No, 
at  Rome,  Vienna,  or  the  German  watering-places,  gamb- 
**"  1  away  the  money  received  for  the  com  their  toil  had 
led,  and  fer  want  ef  a  portion  of  which  they  were 
»w  starving*  One  of  these  absentees,  vrith  whom  I  vras 
'  bj  in  oonveisation.  told  me  that  he  had  just  re- 
ttilped  from  his  estates  m  White  Russia,  adding,  "  It  is 
"i  time  I  ever  saw  my  peasants." 
appily  Captain  Jesse  needed  not  have  gone 
beyond  the  British  seas  to  find  a  peasantry,  under 
absentee  uprds,not  indeed  nomiually  serfs,  possessing 


•omeciTilifnopoliticalrightSybiitbphyni^eoiidi- 
tion  notmuchbetteroflPthan  thosestarring  Russiani, 
The  prices  of  grainin  those  proyinoes had  that  sea- 
son risen  seven-fold.  In  discussing  the  social  con- 
dition of  the  Russian  serf,  whose  moral  qualities 
he  rates  rather  highly,  and  who  b,  in  truth,  Uie 
most  praiseworthy  character  in  the  country  he 
inhabits — his  virtues  being  all  his  ovm^  his  vices 
those  of  his  debased  state — ^Mr.  Bremner  makes  this 
painful  admission,  thus  confirming  the  nearly  uni- 
versal report  of  British  travellers,  in  every  dime, 
for  the  last  ten  years. 

That  the  food  of  the  Russian  peasant  should  be  so 
poor  will  not  surprise  any  who  consider  that  his  eamiBgi 
are  exceedingly  small.  Nine  rubles  a  week— «r  leTeu 
shillings  and  sixpence,  English — are  frequently  all  th&t 
a  labourer  can  gain ;  and,  even  In  the  manuiketories,  the 
best  hands  earn  only  eleven  rubles,  or  nine  shflllogB 
and  sixpence  of  our  money. 

On  the  whole,  hovrever,  so  far  at  least  as  mere  food 
and  lodging  are  concerned,  the  Russian  peasant  is  set 
so  badly  off  as  the  poor  man  amongst  ourselves.  He 
may  be  rude  and  uneducated^liable  to  be  ill-treated  by 
his  superiors— intemperaU  in  his  habits,  and  flhhy  in 
his  person ;  but  he  never  knows  the  misery  to  which  (fas 
Irish  peasant  is  exposed.  His  food  may  be  coarse ;  bitt 
he  has  abundance  of  it.  His  hut  may  be  homely;  but  it 
is  dry  and  warm.  We  are  apt  to  fuicy,  that  if  <mr 
peasMitry  be  badly  off,  vre  can  at  least  flatter  eursslTes 
vrith  the  assurance  that  they  are  much  more  eooifortsblo 
than  those  of  foreign  eountries.  But  this  is  a  gross  de- 
lusion. Not  in  Ireland  only,  but  in  parts  of  Great 
Britafai  usually  eonsidered  to  be  exempt  from  the  miseries 
of  Ireland,vrehave  vritnessedvnretohednessoompared  with 
which  the  condition  of  the  Rnssianboor  is  lttxury,whetiisr 
he  live  ajnid  the  crowded  population  of  Urge  towns,  or 
hi  the  meanest  hamlets  of  the  interior.  There  are  parts 
of  Scotland,  for  instance,  where  the  people  are  lodged  in 
houses  which  the  Russian  peasant  vrould  not  think  flt  for 
his  cattle*  During  the  present  autumn,  (1888,)  in  the 
rich  and  populous  county  of  Inverness,  we  have  beheld 
soenes  of  vrretchedness,  exceeding  all  that  we  ever  wit- 
nessed, either  in  Russia  or  any  o&er  part  of  the  iforid^ 

And  after  describing  the  mhsezable  condition  ol 
the  people  in  a  valley  in  InvemMS-shire,  thai  ii 
named,  and  which  is  theproperty  of  anew  milUcn^ 
nairey  he  justly  exclaims,  "  Compare  the  cofinforti 
of  the  Russian  peasant  with  misery  such  as  this  T' 
Yet  a  handsome  rent  is  drawn  by  the  wealthy  land^ 
lord  for  that  pastoral  valley,  and  one  which  hai 
probably  been  quadrupled  within  ^j  years* 

On  the  subject  of  the  Russian  peasantry  Cap 
tain  Jesse  is  most  eloquent :  and  much  of  whath 
has  said,  would  be  quite  as  much  apt  nearer  honii 
than  Russia. 

Even  the  generality  of  those  who  have  had  all  th 
advantages  of  birth  and  education,  whose  nobility  is  c 
long  standing,  make  but  few  attempts  to  elevate  th 
character  and  condition  of  their  dependants.  The  priii 
cipal  idea  they  have  in  connexion  vrith  their  improve 
ment,  is  to  increase  their  value  as  fm>pmtf,  A  tailor  1 
worth  more  than  a  labourer,  but  only  a  few  get  the  benefi 
of  this  spurious  benevolence.  I  know  a  nobleman  wh< 
frt>m  similar  motives,  had  his  serf  taught  music  ;  thj 
man  always  played  the  pianoforte  at  his  quadrille  pai 
ties  in  the  country ;  at  Petersburg  he  did  duty  as  a  fbol 
man.  Why  do  not  those,  who  have  both  the  means  an 
power,  patiently  and  eanestly  persist  in  improving  th 
habits  of  the  serfo  ?  why  do  they  suffer  them  to  feed  lik 
swine,  and  not  give  them  any  idea  of  a  decent  depod 
ment  t  The  task  would  be  difficult  hideed  to  teach  thei 
to  appreciate  these  things,  but  if  only  made  to  do  theii 
it  would  be  one  step  gained  in  a  generation,  •  .  . 
Nothing  is  done  to  ameliorate  the  habits  of  the  serf 


It£C£NT  TRAVEIiLKRS  IN  RUSSIA. 


Idt 


«ydi  mdfariy  k  Ike  extreme^  mortt  pirtiovlariy  in  ik* 
l*int ;  and  ttmf^  tbtj  soiietbMa  um  the  ▼ttpoiir  bath^ 
tkf  »Uom  or  iMrer  wash  themselyeB,  or  change  their 
do&Msorliiiea. 

The  pink  fihirt,  or  cotton  caftan,  that  is  pni  oft  new  on 
EMtcHtj,  IB  nerer  rtmoTed  from  the  wearer's  back, 
tzoept^ff  when  he  bathei.  He  woiti  or  idlee,  eats, 
dnb^aad  deept  hi  H,  and  the  elotheSy  as  well  as  the 
bair  and  beard,  are  generally  disgnstingly  filthy.  The 
ikMk,  or  riieepikm,  h  put  on  at  the  commencement  of 
winter ;  aad  ae  it  is  worn  many  years  consecntively,  it 
fcMAes  St  btft  black  with  grease :  a  bed  is  almost  tin- 

koowi  ammigst  them. Though 

is  tt  ittdirect  manner,  I  have  known  them  sold  in  the 
ttneti  sad  market-place  of  Kief.  The  men  oiily  are 
nekosed  is  seolSy-^if  young  and  healthy  they  asnally 
Ml  s  thousand  rabies  a-head :  a  woman  that  is  no 
Ml  eoiti  only  fire  hundred.  Serfii  are  often  staked  at 
tbe  gsadng-table ;  and  I  knew  of  one  who  was  bartered 
foapomter. 

is  we  have  mentioned,  there  is  a  remarkable 
hannony  among  these  travellers  on  all  vital  points, 
gieatlyai  they  diffet  in  temper  and  in  the  circnm- 
BtancM  under  which  they  saw  Russian  society  and 
instiktiott.  On  the  condition  of  the  peasantry, 
ftod  ths  character  of  the  Emperor^  they  are  at 
«M^  sad  they  take  nearly  the  same  view  of  the 
prospeetsoftheooiuitiry.  It  is  one  to  fill  the  phi- 
hathropistwith  deep  pity  for  the  subjects  of  the 
Car,  Intt  to  qoiet  undue  i^prehensions  for  the 
Fniemtionofthepeaoeof  Europe*  And  for  the 
nbJQgatioii  (^Europe,  although  an  important  fron- 
tepoit  was  carried  when  Poland  fell,  that  surely 
otenrnto  no  one's  dreams.  Nicholas  has  his  hands 
McdMgh  for  tike  term  of  any  one  middle-aged  Au- 
teotl^tlSfe.  Those  who  are  veiT  sensitive  to  alarm, 
»31  do  wen  to  study  Captain  Jesse's  sketch  of  the 
fngnK  of  the  war  in  the  Caucasus,  and  his  account 
if  the  organiatiMa  and  internal  economy  of  the 
Ionian  anny.  The  only  fault  to  be  found  with 
tea  b  having  fairly  lost  his  temper  whfle  per- 
^'nning  a  very  tantalizing  quarantine  at  Odessa, 
^  he  entered  the  dominions  of  the  Czar,  and 
■WW  having  fully  reeorered  his  equanimity,  un- 
ffll  Be  exnltii^ly  bade  adieu  to  Petersburg  5— 
« Old  to  escape  ••  as  he  Bays,  •'firom— 
*▲  land  ef  tjxai^  and  a  dtB  of  slavisi 


to  the  capital  of  her  less  powerful  but  infinitely 
more  civilized  neighbours,"  the  Swedes. 

From  what  he  has  seen  at  Odessa,  and  on  his 
subsequent  journey,  Captain  Jesse  conceives  liim- 
self  qualified  to  give  an  opinion  on  the  absorbing 
topic  of  the  day — ^the  Com  Laws.  He  is  decidedly 
opposed  to  their  abolition.  After  raising  many 
hypothetical  cases  and  objections,  and  stating  what 
the  perfidious  conduct  of  the  Autocrat  might  be, 
were  Old  England  depending  on  Russia  for  bread,  * 
he  ends  by  triumphantly  inquiring  of  these  sup* 
posed  cases,  *^Wherei$  the  cheap  haf^"  The  ques- 
tion may  be  aptly  answered  by  another :  "  Where  is 
it  nowf* — ^when  has  it  been  seen  by  the  labourers  of 
England ;  when  will  it  be  seen  by  them  under  the 
existing  com  laws?  It  is  not  probable  that  £ng* 
land  will  ever  depend  for  any  great  proportion  of 
her  bread  upon  Russia,  though  those  laws  were 
abolished  to-morrow ;  but  on  whom  has  she  long 
depended  for  articles  only  less  Important  to  her  ex- 
istence than  com;  namely,  for  hemp,  tallow,  and 
other  commodities,  which  Russia  has  been  as  eager 
to  supply,  as  England  was  to  obtain. 

Of  these  four  travellers,  the  lady  is  the  most  san- 
guine in  belief  of  the  stability  of  the  Emperor  s 
power,  or,  in  other  words,  of  the  principle  of  mili- 
tary absolutism  being  fixed  in  Russia.  But  her  inci- 
dental revelations  of  the  state  of  national  feeling  does 
not  corroborate  her  ideas  of  the  firmness  of  the 
Emperor's  hold ;  or  of  the  consolidation  of  his  un- 
wieldy power.  The  idiotic  or  fantastical  loyalty 
of  the  masses  in  the  capital,  and  of  many,  in 
all  parts  of  Russia  Proper,  does  not  pervade  the 
Baltic  provinces  any  more  than  those  of  the  Black 
Sea,  and  the  East.  The  jealousy  and  hatred 
existing  between  the  Russians  and  Estonians,  after 
having  been  a  hundred  and  twenty  years  under 
the  saine  sovereign,  and  treated  with  compara- 
tive indulgence,  is  as  lively  as  ever.  The  Russians 
despise  tiie  rude  Estonians,  and  consider  them  as 
a  conquered  people  ;  while  the  bitterest  reproach 
that  an  Estonian  can  make  to  hb  compatiiot^  ii 
^^  You  hare  the  heart  of  a  BuaiiaB«" 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


BmUod  fir  A^i^^tmU  and  Others.  Being  a 
^tkry^Nm  Zemlmi^m^afrndProipeets. 
%  John  Br^ht,  M.R.  C.  S.     London :  Hooper. 

^M  »•♦  very  well  writtea,  appsars  to  us  a  oon- 
■**««idfatelligent  little  book.  The  title,  flaiki- 
*H  %  however,  rather  too  much.  The  author  seems 
^Jji^  BsiMd  it,  /VoTMolioii  /or  JBmigranU  to  the 
»**fm  Hmitpktn;  and   it  certainly  fiunisfaes  a 


j"*wWi  portiott  of  really  usefhl,  and,  above  all, 

JJjj**  iifinuAhm.     The  author,  a  medical  man, 

««|i»Uy  out  to  South  Australia,  with   emi- 

^^  with  the  apparent  intenti<m  of  settliiig 


Pl*,! 


jV^^^J*^J^*  the  oUmale  did  not  agree  with 


j^^^  1889,  he  sailed  to  New  Zealand,  attncted 
LTl^!!^"*^  aecounts  of  that  settlement,  and 
'•»  wwmtd  his  health.   He  has  just  retained  to 


England,  whether  to  remain  or  not  does  not  appear  *, 
and  his  work  comes  forth  from  the  usual  reasonSybut  under 
no  suspicion  of  either  personal  or  one-sided  motives.  He 
gives  an  outline  of  all  the  Australian  colonies,  and  prefhrs 
New  Zeahmd  to  any  of  them,  for  the  same  substantial 
reasons  that  have  led  all  impartial  Judges  (ourselves  in- 
eluded)  to  arrive  at  the  same  decision.  What,  indeed, 
eaa  be  plaeed  in  the  balance  against  a  rieher  soil,  and  a 
better  climate,  and  those  advantages  of  good  harbours, 
and,  toswne  extent,  navigable  rivers,  which  New  Zealand 
possesses.  Yet  he  does  not  represent  New  Zealand  as 
altogether  a  terrestrial  paradise ;  and  his  cautions  to 
eaodgrants  aie  at  least  as  frequent  as  his  encouragements. 
It  is  this  fur  deaUng  which  gives  us  a  fkvourable 
opinion  of  his  book.  We  shall  permit  him  to  speak  for 
himself  selecting  what  we  consider  some  of  the  most 
I  important  passages  in  hid  guide-book.    These  are  not  the 


132 


LTTERART  BEGISTER. 


hiftofy  of  the  eolonles,  mor  the  aeeonni  of  their  ptodae- 
tions ;  nor  yet  disBertatioiis  on  their  pfeemned  c^Mibilities. 
Of  theee  things  the  public  hie  heard  to  satiety.  Mr. 
Brij^t  does  not  think  that  the  New  Zealand  Company  has 
had  any  right  to  complain  so  T^emently  of  those  goyem- 
ment  ftmctionaries  in  the  colony,  who  had  higher  public 
interests  to  attend  to,  thaa  in  erery  particular  to  accom- 
modate them.  He  seems  also  to  have  some  doubts  as 
to  the  validity  of  the  titles  which  the  Company  have  the 
*  power  of  obtaining,  or  granting,  to  purchasers  in  Eng- 
land ;  and  he  remarks — 

The  Hon.  W.  Petre,  in  a  work  he  has  Just  published 
on  the  Gomp^y's  settlements,  from  which  he  has  lately 
retnzned  to  England,  stales,  that  **  Shortly  after  I  Uft, 
the  Bally  arrivedf  bearing  tke  terme  of  the  final  arrange^ 
ment  between  tke  New  Zealand  Company  and  tke  Chvem- 
ment,**  Not,  howeyer,  ezplaiaiog  what  that  arrange- 
ment may  be. 

The  Company  are  chartered  to  purchase  lands  in  New 
&aland;  the  local  government,  having  or  not  having  a 
restraining  power,  interferes,  until  the  titles  to  the  lands 
purchased  shall  have  been  adjudged  to  be  valid.  Tke 
ekarter  doee  not  give  tke  Company  a  power  to  purckase  ae 
tkey  pUoHi  or  tie  local  gotetwnent  comld  not  etay  tkeir 
^proeeedinge.  As  aifocting  present  purchasers,  no  one  can 
say  whether  the  title  will  be  reoocnised  or  not;  and  tf  de- 
cisive information  be  not  afforded  on  that  head,  I  should 
deem  it  a  risk  to  purchase  any  land-order  in  England. 
The  specifications  of  land  dauns  vrere  lodged  with  the 
Colonial  Secretary  in  Sydney,  as  late  as  January  <^  the 
present  year;  what  length  of  forms,  or  investigation,  they 
had  to  undergo,  did  not  appear;  from  there,  they  were 
to  be  referred  back  to  New  Zealand,  for  the  inquest  of 
the  three  commissioners,  (one  has  been  sent  fix>m  Lon- 
don ;)  this  preparatory  step  would  occupy,  perhaps,  three 
months;  so  that  no  investigation^would  occur  before  May, 
and  the  abjudications  might  not  be  publidied  before  the 
latter  end  of  this  year,  1841. 

The  settler,  on  the  eve  of  embarking,  would  do  well 
to  await  ftnrther  intelligence,  to  know  the  government 
decision  on  titles  to  land  ahready  purchased;  and  what 
regulations  they  will  issue  aJfecting  its  friture  sale.  The 
arrangements  between  the  local  government  and  the  di- 
rectors of  the  Company,  ought  to  be  rendered  very  clear, 
before  any  purchases  are  made  from  them,  however  they 
may  be  goaranteed  here.  I  consider  it  a  bad  plan  taking 
land-orders;  when  you  arrive  you  may  be  determined  to 
settle  in  districts  where  the  company  have  no  land,  and  it 
is  not  so  easy  to  part  with  your  order  there,  as  it  might 
seem  from  the  accounts  you  hear  at  home.  In  the  colo- 
nies an  excitement  is  created  about  land  before  it  is 
offered  in  the  market;  not  the  pen  of  Robins  could  depict 
greater  advantages  than  do  the  colonial  land-sellers,  when 
they  are  dressing  a  district  for  the  hammer.  iUl  this 
requires  time  and  local  experience  ;  reference  to  courts 
of  law  are  more  expensive  abroad  thaa  at  home;  and  if 
new  settlers  are  to  be  hampered  with  such  proceedings 
on  settling,  they  need  not  expect  any  other  result  than 
pauperism. 

Air.  Petre,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  narrative,  adds  to 
our  uncertainties  about  the  settlement  He  says,  ^  / 
nowforetee  no  ckeok  to  tke  prcMiperUy  of  ike  colony,  except, 
indeed,  in  tke  poaibility  of  (jfovem4fr  Hobeon*i  pereete- 
rance  in  a  policy  witk  respect  to  ike  not  of  government, 
wkick  admitt  of  no  juetificcUion,** 

Mr.  Bright  thinks  the  Governor  Justifiable  in  retaining 
the  seat  of  government  at  Auckland,  where  considerable 
expense  has  already  been  incurred  for  public  buildings, 
&c ;  and  therefore,  if  the  ruin  of  the  oolony  is,  as  Mr.  Petre 
predicts,  to  follow  this  choice  of  the  seat  of  ^vemment, 
it  is  already  incurred.  We  do  not  feel  competent  to 
speak  on  this  head.  It  is  probable  that  the  seat  of 
government  will  remain  for  a  considerable  time  at  least 
where  it  has  been  planted,  whether  wisely  or  not ;  and 
it  is  not  likely  that  this,  or  any  other  cause,  oan  now 


brfa^  the  ookoiniioii  of  New  Zeiknd,  as  Mr.  Petn 
foretells,  ''to  a  speedy  and  disastrous  end."  The  Gover- 
nor may  persist  in  remaining  at  Auckland,  instead  of 
adopting  the  Company's  head-quarters,  Wellington,  and 
yet  the  colony,  we  should  hope,  prosper ;  thoo^  the 
Company's  prospects  may  be  temporarily  damped.  T» 
proceed  with  Bfr.  Bright's  corrections  of  Mr.  Petre  :— 

In  the  next  place,  as  I  am  writing  for  the  poUie,  I 
must  notice  the  prices  of  provisions  at  Wellington.  Hr. 
Petre  states — mutton  and  beef  are  fix>m  8d.  to  Is.  per 
pound;  pork,ft:om  id.  to  6d.  I  think,  if  Mr.  Petrs  w^ 
refer  to  market  prices,  he  will  find  this  below  the  actual 
cost;  it  certainly  is  below  the  cost  in  the  district  where, 
to  judge  from  his  statement,  (although  singnlar  it  should 
be  so,)  there  is  a  smaller  population;  and,  as  the  resident 
agents  of  the  eraipany  must  be  aware,  more  extsnafe 
and  older  trade— I  mean,  the  northern  cUstricta.  Poultry 
and  eggs,  he  says,  are  scarce  and  dear  at  the  south;  and 
neither  butter  nor  milk  are  stated  by  him,  more  than  that 
milch  cows  were  there  to  produce  enough  for  constant 
sale. 

In  a  letter,  dated  Biay,  1841,  published  in  the  i\r<« 
Zealand  Journal,  the  prices  are  given  as  follows  :— 
mutton.  Is. ;  beef.  Is.  to  Is.  4d. ;  pork,  7d. ;  bacon,  1b. 
7d.;  salt  butter,  28.  6d.;  fi-esh  butter,  4s.  to  5s.;  bread, 
8d.  (2  lbs.) ;  tea,  5s. ;  sugar,  4d.  to  7d.;  cheese^  2b.  6d.; 
beer,  6d.  a  pint ;  liquor,  3s.  to  8s.  4d. ;  rice,  5d. ;  stout 
shoes,  18s.  to  258.;  women's  shoes,  (worth  at  home  Qa 
6d.,)  78.  to  8s.;  natives  build  abut  (small  t)  for  a  bkaket 
and  10s. 

The  Company's  wafes  are,  20s.  a-week,  with  10  lbs. 
salt  pork,  and  10  lbs.  fiour,as  rations;  carpenters'  wages, 
from  10s.  to  12s.;  sawyers',  from  12s.  to  15s. 

Extracts  from  letters  published  in  the  New  Zealand 
Jommal : — 

*^Kaiwia,New  Zealand,  14<4  Febmary,  1840.— 0«< 
great  convenience  in  ike  amw  colony  ii,tkat  provitioni  are 
comparattvelp  abundant  and  ckeap,  I  kave  no  doubt  tkat, 
before  tkii  ttme,  fretk  pork  will  be  told  there  at  6d,  a 
pound,  and  potatoei  at  £4  per  ton,  Tkere  ie  plenty  of 
work,  but  tke  labourere  do  not  obtetin  exorbitant  wages, 
Ladiet,  kowever,  did  not  $eem  quite  at  kome,** 

^'Port  Nieikolion,\\ikFelnitary,\U\.''PoHNickU' 
son  iea  veru  good  ji€ice ;  tkere  is  not  mudi  fine  land  about 
U,  but  tkere  it  tome  fine  trade,  and  a  fine  port  for  tkippwg^ 


I  kave  got  a  fullauarter  an  acre  of  ground,  for  wktek  I 
pay  £7.  It  u  rather  out  of  tke  keaH  of  tke  town  for  hm- 
nettfor  a  time :  but  tkere  it  tcarcdy  a  lot  of  ground  to  be 
got  in  tke  keari  of  tke  town,  I  know  tome  of  it  let  for 
£160  per  acre  a-year,  and  tome  of  it  told  at  kigk  at 
£1000  ta  £1200  per  acre.  Tkere  mutt  become  proeped 
before  neople  wUl  go  tk€U  lengtk, — (Fudge  1  the  foot- 
man will  play  for,  nominally,  as  high  stakes  as  his  mas- 
ter, for  tiie  look  of  the  thing,  but  pays  in  a  much  k>wer 
eovEL)— Tkere  wat  no houte to  let,  or  ^there  kad,itwould 
coet  a  very  ki^  rent,  to  we  put  up  a  tent !  on  our  ground, 
of  ttme  ikeett,  blankett^and  canvatt ;  wkerein  we  kave  lived 
five  or  tix  weekt, — (This,  in  a  rainy  rheumatio  country, 
crutches  had  need  to  be  handy,  where  people  care  not 
about  making  cripples  of  theniBelves.) — Jokn*t  a  fool  for 
kimtdf,  to  ttop  at  home  in  mitery,  wkin  ke  can  earn  lOt. 
kere  witk  only  working  nine  kourt  a  day.  A  tkoemaker 
or  tailor  doet  well  kere.  A  pair  of  good  ttout  tkoet  will 
coet  from  20f.  to  25«.-- (Dear  enou^V— /  Aink  Lorimer 
wat  a  fool  not  to  come  out.  An  ordinary  tervant  gett 
£20  a-year :  die  migkt  make  50t.  or  60s.  per  week,  by 
wadiing  and  dretting,—  (Dress-making  t)— /  believe  Aere 
wiU  be  tome  very  eontraaictory  accountt  of  tkitplctce  tetU 
kome,  becaute  people  come  out  kere  tkat  are  not  fit  for  tke 
place.  Becaute  tkere  it  notk^  in  tkeir  way  to  do,  tkey 
give  tke  place  an  ill  nanu.  We  kad  a  great  deal  €/  our 
dotket  tpoUed  on  tke  pattage.** 

*"  FOruary  25, 1841.— /may  tay,  wUkout  tke  digktett 
exaggeration,  tkat  itt  protpectt,  (i.  e.  tke  colony^  at  tkix-l 
time  are  brigkter  tkan  ever.**  | 

There  is  much  more  of  this.  But  it  is  enough  to'con^ 
toast  what  is  above  stated  with  Mr.  Bright's  estimate  of 


UTEEARY  BEGISTEB. 


133 


wfcit  k  Che  Mteal  iaetmb  and  ei^todHore  of  a  labourer 
ii  d»  eoloBy  aft  the  present  time ;  premising  that  he 
either  wema  to  ha^e  donbts  of  the  Company  baring 
ruRdtiie  wages  of  all  their  labourers  to  358. 5d.  a-week, 
•r  JMimtoii  thai  these  is  some  juggle  about  this  state- 
Mtf  wtteli  is  made  by  Mr.  WakefiehL 

Let  as  eoodder  the  wages  of  alabonrer,  haring  a  wife 
en  laadiiigy  together  with  their  weekly  expenses  in  New 
y^weliad,  stating  the  wages  at  31s.  Sd.,  the  Company's 
nte^- 

LOW  LIVING. 

14  Ibi.  salt 
meat    -    -    8  2 

20  lbs.  flour       6  8 
141bt.potatoM2  4 

21  pints  beer     5  3 
4  oz.  tea  -    - 
1  lb.  sugar    - 
lib,  eandlea 
Fepper,  mus- 

twd,  vine- 

sar,salt    - 

lilb.M>ap   - 


tttotheabi- 
%;5Qa.  for 


U»ly  2B.a- 


IDC  her  t«  be 

fllllTtfin^OT- 

edSyher^- 
mily.) 


HIGH  LIVING. 

«.  d, 

10  lbs.  fresh 

meat  -    -    10  0 
llb.butter        2  6 

20  lbs.  flour      6  8 
18  lbs.  potatoes  3  6 

21  pints  beer     5  3 
4  oz.  tea  -    - 
lib.  sugar    - 
1)  lb.  soap    - 
llb.aAdlee 
Pepper,  mns- 

tttd,  vine- 
gar, salt    - 


1  0 

0  4 

1  0 
06 


07 


1  0 
0  4 
0  6 


07 
1  0 


£1  11  5  £1  11  4  £1  5  10 

To  which,  add  rent,  (always  high,)  clothes,  tobacco, 
too]a,&e. 

Tkia  is  aoi  an  inviting  table.  His  estimate  of  expense 
ftr  a  sa^  capitalist,  a  single  unencumbered  man,  going 
•aty  in  1838,  and  pnrehasing  an  hundred  acres  at  £30, 
ftaaa^  Iftaen  acres,  providing  seed,  tools,  implements, 
Ac,  Willi  a  stock  conristing  of  two  goats,  two  horses,  or 
imr  oxen,  pcmltry,  a  boat  and  oars,  tools  and  implements, 
tke  WB^es  and  maintenance  of  two  labourers  for  a  twelve- 
aB8Etli,aad  of  himself,  with  incidental  charges,  is  £395. 
Bet  this  was  before  the  Company  was  in  existence. 
Sew  the  price  of  the  land  of  itself  is  £100  for  one  hundred 
tens;,  and  nothing  else  is  cheaper,  unless  the  emigrant 
leaepCs  tiie  offered  free  passage.  The  emigrant,  whether 
he  %ea  labourer  or  a  small  capitalist,  is  cautioned,  before 
k  deeidee  on  endgrs^ng^  to  calculate  well  all  possible 
msMeo.    Mr.  Bright  says— 

This  week  may  furnish  him  with  data,  but  he  must 
■St  esii  to  gain  the  most  recent.  First  of  all,  tiiere  is 
Atftma^;  next,  having  decided  on  tiie  extent,  the 
tmmd ;  next,  jtodb,  impUnMntt,  $e§d ;  then,  buildings,  as 
hmm,  cmd  wmck  ofices  as  he  nay  dmrt ;  next,  otu  yearns 
isftoMT,  keep  nf  sdf,  famUy,  and,  labourers  for  twelve 
mmtke ;  next,  erpenseslon  umding,  as  board  and  lodging 
fer  hii  Ihadly  and  himself,  while  seeking  his  ftiture  resi- 
tees;  om^for  sdf  and  family  for  fi«  monihs, 

I  win  add  to  the  above  accounts,  taken  from  the  Hon- 
wnMe  Mr.  Petre's  work  and  the  Journal,  some  items 
nfibsujfin  Imown  to  myself  in  New  Zealand. 

Ko-ro-ra-ri-ka,  October  23, 1839. 

PROVISIONS. 


8d.  per  pound.  . 
i,6e.per  ewt. 
liveP^  So.  per  pound,  25 

peronfft.  off. 
Ceane  8«gBr,4^  per  pound. 
Tta,  Sa.  per  poend. 
OiAa,  la.  to  la.  6d.  per  pound. 


Lard,  9d.  per  pound. 
North  American  Flour,  32b. 

to  40b.  per  100  pounds. 
Salt,  per  ton,  £10. 
Mustard,  per  bottle,  Ss.  6d. 
Wines,  (|K>or,)  from  30s.  per 


yiBRgf.LANaous. 


7a.per 

CnM»«St8av,  to40e. 

PH8a<r,tD45s. 

8awRka,«aeh,ls. 


\ 


Twine,  per  kBik,6d. 
VmSfU,fmffmSL 


Cope  and  Saucers,  7s.  6d.  per 

oozen. 
PUktes,  10B.'per  dozen. 
Nails,  retaU,  10s.  per  1000. 
Letter-paper,  2b.  per  quire. 
Pens,  10s.  per  100. 
Piues,  9b.  per  gross. 
Tobseco,  from  3b.  per  pound. 


October  lAiO,  Bay  of  iBhadB. 
DaUy  expenses  of  two  persons  with  two  ehildr«ai, . 

at  an  inn — ^breakfast,  dinner,  tea,  and  beds       £1.1    0 
The  breakfast— consisting  of  tea,  bread,  and  salt  butter,  and 

cold  salt  meat. 
The  dinner— Pork,  (often  salt,)  potatoes,  and  greens  %  wine 

and  beer— extras. 
The  tea— Tea,  bread,  and  butter. 

1841— Beef  and  mutton.  Is.;  pork,  8d.  to  lOd.;  salt 
poric,  6d.  to  7d.;  per  ton,  ranging  fh>m  £28  to  £33;  salt 
butter.  Is.  6d.;  firesh  butter,  a  fiur  supply,  from  2s.  6d.  to 
3s.  6d.;  live  pigs,  4d.  to  5d.,  25  per  cent,  off ;  eggs,  2s.  to 
3b.  6d,  per  dozen ;  fowls  and  ducks,  frrom  3s.  6d.  to  48. 6d. 
each;  English  cheese,  2s.  to  2s.  6d.:  hams,  Is.  5d.;  pota- 
toes, from  £6  to  £8  per  ton;  flour,  (Van  Diemen's  Land,) 
per  bag  of  200  pounds,  408.  per  100  pounds;  rice,  3d.; 
meals  at  inns,  2s.  6d.  each,  without  beer  or  wine;  brandy, 
14s.;  rum,  5s.;  rack,  3s.  6d.;  sawn  timber,  20s.  to  25s. 
per  100  feet;  washing,  fVom  3s.  per  dozen.  Labour  was 
to  be  had  at  fh>m  48.  per  diem,  and  those  who  knew  how 
to  manage  the  Mow-rees,  [the  natives,]  might  glean  it  at 
a  much  lower  rate. 

There  seems  to  be  a  great  fkdlity  of  procuring  neces- 
saries not  so  readily  met  with  at  recent  settlements. 

Children's  boots  iMre  made  at  8s.  per  pair,  durable; 
men's  shoes  firom  14s.;  ready-made  clothes,  hats,  shoes, 
boots  ;  haberdashery ;  hoisery ;  linen  drapery ;  iron- 
mongery; crockery—in  constant  supply,  and  extensive 
assortments;  together  with  occasional  importations  firom 
North  America,  of  tobacco,  at  Is.  per  pound,  by  the  tim; 
of  furniture,  and  various  edibles — among  wldoh,  most 
excellent  biscuit  and  flour,  at  £28  per  ton,  at  a  time 
when  dear  in  Sydney.  From  South  America,  horses  and 
wheat ;  and  ocMsional  French  ships,  with  goods  and  H^ 
wines;  I  have  bought  a  flair  claret,  as  a  common  drink, 
for  48.  the  gallon.  Taxes  by  this  time  are,  I  have  no 
doubt,  levied  on  all  foreign  importations;  indeed,  wine 
and  spirits  I  know  to  be  taxed,  but  forget  the  rate.  Sir 
George  Gipps,  on  the  lieutenant-governor's  representa- 
tion, omitted  tobacco,  because  so  universally  consumed 
by  the  natives;  I  presume  it  to  be  yet  untaxed. 

Mr.  Bright  diedaims  sinister  motives  in  the  warning 
he  gives.  He  indeed  gives  New  Zealand  a  decided  pre- 
Ifarence  to  any  one  of  the  southern  colonies ;  and  even 
to  New  South  Wales,  the  decay  of  which  he  predicts. 
When  he  makes  the  fbllowing  disclaimer,  he  is  entitled 
to  be  believed  : — 

I  have  no  wish  to  be  thought  to  look  upon  any  matters 
on  which  I  have  written,  with  a  party-directed  eye.  The 
Ci^pany  and  Colonel  Wakefiel^  &c  &c.,  the  governor 
and  officials,  &c  &c.,  are,  in  my  eyes,  all  reputi3>le  per- 
sons, sans,peur,  et  sans  reproohe.  Mr..  Petre's  name 
would  not  nave  honoured  my  pen,  but  for  his  publication, 
and  connexion  with  a  Company  who,  in  London  and  the 
country,  are  bagging  all  the  gameihey  can  for  the  colony 
of  New  Zealand,  driving  the  people  into  the  nets  of  their 
settlements. 

For  that  public  to  which  I  belong,  I  am  writing  to  di- 
rect to  good,  to  warn  firom  evil.  What  matters  who  the 
writer,  who  would  ^  do  unto  others  as  he  would  they 
should  do  unto  him."  Attached  ta  a  motto  of  Yds  eariier 
days,  ^  In  patriam  populumque,"  he  is  anxious  that  he 
may  not  be  suspected  of  other  and  lesser  motives  than 
that,  nor  let  any  ascribe  to  him  a  purposed  attack. 

It  is  due  to  the  Hon.  Mr.  Petre  and  the  New  Zealand 
Company  to  state,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  Gover- 
nor Hobson  is  to  be  justified  for  inducing  those  labourers 
who  had  so  recently  been  carried  out  at  their  expense, 
to  leave  their  settiement,  while  there  were  woric  and 
wages  for  them  there,  and  go  to  other  quarters,  where 
they  very  probably  were  much  wanted,  yet  hardly  in 
common  honesty  entitled  to  go.  Mr.  Bright  is,  like  Mr. 
Jameson,  and  most  other  writers  en  New  Zealand,  save 
Dr.  Lang,  disposed  to  nte  highly  the  labours  of  the 
missionaries ;  thouj^  he  admits  that,  like  other  reputable 
married  mere  mortals,  they  may  have  looked  prettjr 


134 


HTfiRART  BEGISTEIL 


shAiply  to  the  interists  of  ti&^  children.  All  their  exer- 
tions will  be  required  to  oonnterMt  the  eflforta  to  proee- 
lytiie  the  natiyes,  made  by  the  Vicar  Apostolic  to  the 
Sonth  Seas,  and  his  deyoted  aoxiliaries ;  who,  haying 
1M»  tie  of  wife  or  ehild,  oan  aet  ftowk  more  single,  if  not 
firom  better  motiyes,  than  the  Protestant  minionaries. 

Tales  of  Oe  Great  and  Brtwe.  B7  Vim  M.  Frmser 
Tytler,  author  of  **  Tales  of  Many  Lands,"  "  My 
Bo/s  First  Book,'^  &c.  &c.  Second  edition, 
withfrontifpiece.  Pp.dOi.  Edinborgh:  W.Tait« 
This  Instractiye  little  Tolnme,  and  seasonable  gift-book 
Ibr  the  young,  possesses  one  adyantagOi  whioh  we  &iled 
to  point  oat,  when,  some  time  sinee,  aotioing  the  first  edi- 
tioa.  All  yoing  children  like  to  hear  about  other  chil- 
dren, in  preference  to  any  other,  class  of  persons.  For 
the  yery  same  causes  that  interest  grown-up  people  in 
ihe  heroes  and  heroines  of  Scott,  yeung  ohildren  are 
deeply  interested  in  such  eharaeters  as  Miss  EdgewoHh's 
Frank,  or  Rosamond ;  and  her  Harry  and  Lucy.  Now, 
the  Tales  or  tbb  Q&bat  Aim  Biuys,  besides  giying  ani- 
mated and  truthful  biographical  sketches  of  Bruce  and 
the  Black  Prince,  of  Nelson  and  Ni^Mleon  Buoni^arte, 
aad  other  great  men,  for  the  delight  and  instruction  of 
growing  boys  and  girls,  contain  the  personal  history  and 
adyentures  of  a  real  child,  which  MIbs  Tytler  has  ingeni- 
ously interwoyen  with  the  grayer  and  more  heroic  narr»- 
tiye.  This  giyes  the  work  a  great  additional  charm,  and 
am  extended  range  of  attraction.  The  book  is  yery  neatly 
printed )  and  is,  in  all  higher  respeote,  worthy  of  the  name 
Which  it  bears. 

The  HiHaiy  0/  Poland  mtd  Smsiajhm  the  JEariiesi 
Periods  to  the  Present  Timey  adapted  to  Touth, 
Schoob,  and  Families*  By  Idiss  Julia  Comer. 
I)ean  and  Monday. 

This  Tolune  forms  one  ef  a  sariee  of  eompendioui 
hiitoriM  for  the  use  of  young  perseas,  by  tiw  ftame  am* 
thoreas.  The  present  yolume  is,  howeyer,  mere  desorip* 
tiye  than  historical,  which  we  consider  an  adyaatage  | 
the  Uying  manners  of  the  Poles  and  BossiaBS  being  much 
more  instruetiye  and  entertaining  to  youag  English  read- 
ers than  the  rude  er  wariike  annals  of  those  eountries. 

Monaldi:  A  Tak.  By  Washington  Alston.  Moxon. 
Public  taste  has  undergone  a  considerable  reyolution 
since  1822,  when  this  story  was  written.  It  is  a  tale  of 
the  passions,  as  they  possess  the  burning  bosoms  of  the 
children  of  Italy ;  ambitiously  written,  not  yery  natural, 
and  so  painfbl  in  its  progress,  that  eyen  the  Idgh-toned 
close  does  scarce  redeem  it 

Memorials  efCkdha;  or  Pencittingi  on  ihe  Cfyde. 

Illastrated  with  Lithographic  ViewB,  6ie.  &c. 

By  Elrira  Anna  Phipps.     Smith,  Elder  &  Co. 

In  the  autumn  of  1840,  the  ftur  author  of  this  yolume 
appears  to  haye  yisited  the  *^  Laird  of  Gouroek,**  Lieu* 
tenaat-gen^ral  Darroch,  and  from  his  beautiftil  residenee 
to  haye  made  many  delif^tftd  excursions  up  and  down 
the  Clyde ;  and  to  Loch-Lomond,  and  the  other  Loehs, 
or  arms  of  the  sea,  on  the  Dumbarton  aad  Argyleshire 
eoasti.  Enchanting  soenes  they  aU  are ;  aad  quite  as 
wen  fitted  for  deseriptiye  narratiye,  and  as  well  entitled 
to  the  honours  of  the  press,  as  anything  to  be  seen  ''up 
the  Rhine/'  or  hi  Switserland  or  Italy.  To  the  ftir 
tourist,  and  also  to  the  great  bulk  of  her  readers,  the 
depicted  must  be  equally  nonl  ibnd>  we  should 


hope,  attraotiye  as  these  fsr-fJMned  resorts.  With  tin 
exception  of  a  little  too  much  of  the  f^ee-and-easy,  dip- 
shod,  or  flippant  sort  of  piety  so  fkshionable  in  all  mia- 
ner  of  lady-works  at  present,  the  book,  though  wiihmit 
any  literary  pretensionB,  or  much  expense  of  thou^t>  ii 
a  yery  pleasing  one  with  whioh  to  while  away  a  half-hotf. 

OongreffotionalisM  ;   or.  The  PoU^  qfthe  Indepen- 
dent ChmeheSy   snowed  in  relation  to  ^e  Slatt 
and  Tendencies  of  Modem  Society.    By  Bobert 
Vanghan,  D.D.  Pp.  196.  Jackson  &  Walford. 
An  admirable  essay,  but  one  demanding  ikr  more 
space  than  we  can,  in  the  paashig  month,  afford  to  it. 
We  heartily  commend  the  work  to  those  who  wish  to 
understand  some  of  the  causes  which  leayes  the  proftsi* 
ing  christian  world  almost  as  fkr  behind  pure  and  yital 
Christianity  in  the  nineteenth  as  in  the  ninth  century. 
A  Review  of  BerkU^'s  Theory  of  Vision^  desigrud 
to  show  the  unsoundness  of  that  speculation*   By 
Samuel  Bailey,  Author  of  Essays  on  the  Forma* 
tion  and  Publication  of  Opinions.     Ootaro,  Pp. 
239.    Ridgway. 

The  name  and  reputation  of  Mr.  Bailey  must  draw  ai- 
teatioa  to  the  Essay,  in  which  he  inyestigates  a  subject 
which  has  long  exercised  the  ingenuity  of  philosopfaial 
inquirers,  and  on  whioh  we  may  safoly  proaoonee,  after 
reading  his  treatise,  "  that  much  may  still  be  said  oa 
both  aides.'' 

Letters  from  Abroad  to  Kindred  at  Home. 
By  Miss  Sedgwick. 
This  is  one  of  Mr.  Moxon*s  cheap  and  neat  reprints  of 
popular  copyright  works ;  a  modem  class  of  publications, 
which  are  at  once  a  great  benefit  to  society,  and  a  proof 
of  the  spirit  and  sagacity  of  those  publishers  who  hare 
adopted  the  plan. 

A  Familiar  Explanation  of  the  Nature,  Adeantages, 
and  tmportanoe  of  Life  Assuranee.    By  Lewis 
Pooock,  F.SJL    Smith,  Elder,  &  Co. 
This  work  giyes  an  account  of  the  different  London 
efioes,  and  of  the  adyaatagefe  tridch  each  offers  to  hi- 
snrers;  with  their  tables  of  rates,  fto.    A  curious  sec- 
tion of  the  yolume  is  a  biographical  catalogue  of  the 
seyeral  writers  on  this  most  important  subject    They 
are  three  times  the  number  one  could  haye  preyiously 
imagiaed.    Of  the  mam  yalue  of  the  latest  wo^  namely 
Mr.  Poooek's  own,  we  do  not  pretend  to  giye  any  opinion ; 
but  we  can  youch  for  the  author's  hidustry  in  ooUectbg 
aad  detailing  the  necessary  information. 
Manual  of  Veterinary  Surgofy.    By  William  Diok, 
Professor  of  Veterinary  Surgery,  Edinhurgh, 
Pp.  118. 

This  is  one  of  the  yaluable  reprints  from  ^  last  edi* 
tion  of  the  ENcrcLoriBDiA  BarTAinnci.  To  fttfmers, 
shepherds,  dairymen,  nay,  to  eyery  one  haying  but  a 
pony,  an  ass,  a  dog,  or  a  pig,  we  recommend  the  perusal 
of  this  treatise  on  the  diseases,  aad  prc^>er  care  aad  man- 
agement of  the  domestic  animals.  It  is  the  result  of  ob- 
seryation,  guided  by  science  and  nnfolded  by  common 


Phihtophy  in  Sporty  made  Science  in  Earnest. 

A  new  edition,  with  additions,  of  a  deyer  attempt  t» 
illustrate  the  principles  of  Natural  Philesophy,by  the  toys 
and  sporU  of  young  people;  aiidaTeryiiioebook,indMd, 
for  all  JuYsnile  circles. 


LTTERARY  REGISTER* 


185 


Tdeprapkie  RaUwc^i  or,  the  Single  WayRecom- 
maMyljf Safefy^  Bt&mmjtyOndEjfleietKy;  under 
thi  Scfeguard  and  Control  of  the  JSlectric  Tele- 
fefk  By  William  Fotheigill  Ck>oke,  Esq. 
Sbnpkiii  &  MutkKaTJ, 

The«ljteiofUugeMftyiBadminl>l««  U  it  to  render 
nflwty-tnreUing  ehMper^  and  more  aafe ;  ail  that  re- 
Mtai  W  be  denied  in  tliis  absorbing  new  mode  of  con- 
nftmtmd  cotunBieatka.  It eontaias  many  ingeni- 
Mi  hmts  tad  suggestion^  aad  it  is  illastrated  by  au« 
mam  iitbogn^  of  tel^p^phs,  without  which^  indeed^ 
it  enU  not  be  understood. 

Etay  FmnUjfe  Book  of  Amimmem.    Strange. 

AfitUe  book,  ginng^oondensed  rules  for  playing  the 
ordinsry  gases  with  cards;  and  also  for  playing  billiards, 
AfydmgfatflyAc.  For  fitftheramnsementy  a  collection 
q(  eoondnas,  and  descriptions  of  trieks  with  cardS|  and 
lignimfei  iriokSi  are  gfren. 

TkBookfrr  M  Secuone^^  Holidajf  offering. 

tbtf  ii  as  bamble  Tolmne  of  extracts  and  abridgments, 
bm  thf  popular  writers  of  the  day,  intended  for  the 
uuMBot  of  yoing  people.  It  makes  desperate  inroads 
«tbi  fSfSBof  Mr.  Dickens  and  others;  bnt  this  can 
oaly  do  them  good,  because  it  gires  pleasure  to  thousands 
sith  10  iqJQty  whatever  to  them. 

A  Guide  to  Philological  ImrMnoAzioir.  By  the 
Bit.  TboBos  M^Kenae,  Paisley. 

A  New  Enqush  GRAMMAit,  with  numerous  Exercises. 
Bj  Akzander  Allen  and  James  Comwell.~This  is  a 
rtoolbook  which  we  can  conscientiously  recommend  ; 
■1  wiaakt  a  point  of  nerer  speaking  of  any  sehool- 
M  wHbitt  eanftil  ojtamination. 

Onuni  of  1  MiTsoo  ov  MoimL  MAfrara.  By  J. 
Brikfl^tton^Sttrreyor. 

NEW  POEMS. 
IkJier^  rf Proomee.  By  William  Herriei 
Madde%  M.D. 
Ai  iibjset  or  thia  po«a  is  bislorieali  though  tha 
lite  his  gb«i  therein  to  flttoy  la  many  of  the  eha^ 
MtaBiidsisasswU«hbehasdspieted,aBditt  all  the 
^Hditrthi  cruel  perseeatioo  of  those  lUCmaers,  whom 
^iMffboid  in  Promee.  The  gtnenl  oharaoter  of 
^  |n4aetei  Is  exoaedfaigly  pleasing^  and  the  poet  has 
■M  dua  MflUed  the  modes!  hope  expressed  in  his 
Pkm.  He  has  eoiTeyed  not  ott#)  bat  laoajf*  pleasant 
te|Ua,aidgr«teAa  and  good  emotions"  to  the  breasts 

Kismer^e  fyre  and  Sword. 
^•tiaDdier  tnmslation  of  the  ferrld^  young  soldier- 
P"M  «f  Oeimuy.  The  attempt  is  more  to  be  regarded 
^^  «Biy  of  an  elegant  German  scholar^  than  a  literary 
**«^weiit  demanding  minute  examination  in  the 
|if»  of  a  popular  miscellany^  in  which  ample  Justice 
^  >)i«idybeen  done  to  KSmer.  The  translation  is 
^baadaomely  printed  and  got  np. 

S^En^iikPoeky^/ortheueet^Sokook. 
ad  Edition. 
,  ^Htain  la  iHdiii  there  art  ttifi#  beiMitiet  and  no 

-^^yte  Term,   By  JoaiiM  Bailli6«    Moxoil 
^  Ib  laother  cheap  reprint.    The  whole  poetical 
^wfa  pf  Mils  Baillie,  including  the  lyrics  scattered 


through  her  dramas^  tare  giren  fbr  a  couple  of  shillings. 
In  the  former  edition,  we  greatly  missed  an  editor  or 
corrector  of  the  press  who  understood  the  Scottish  lan- 
guage.   In  the  present  one  this  defect  seems  remedied. 

ne  Book  of  Sonnets,  Edited  by  A.  Montagu 
Woodford.  Saunders  &  Otley. 
This  is  an  elegant  and  well-chosen  selection,  compris- 
ing the  finest  specimens  of  the  English  Sonnet,  from 
Wtatt  to  WoBDSWORTH.  There  are  also  good  spool* 
mens  of  the  Sonnets  of  Petrarch,  Camoens,  &c.,firom  the 
best  English  translations  that  haye  been  made  of  those 
poets. 

The  CkriiHan  Offering.  By  George  B.  Scott, 
Author  of  the  Beauty  of  Holinefls,  and  other 
Poems. 

This  is  a  Tolume  of  lyrical  poems,  prose  sketches,  and 
tales,  in  character  and  form  like  one  of  the  annuals,  with 
pretty  engrarings,  and  trim  binding.  The  sentiment  is 
pure  and  tender,  and  not  without  that  elegance  which 
will  make  the  Christian  Oifering  acceptable  to  many. 

ThB  KoMANCB  09   THE  D&BAMXR,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

By  Joseph  Edwards  Carpenter. — ^We  have  here  a  collec- 
tion of  occasional  poems,  and  a  great  number  of  songs, 
written  at  Interrals,  on  every  imaginable  subject  thai 
falls  within  the  ordinary  range  of  the  lyrist.  Some  of  the 
Sea  Songt  and  the  Patriotic  Songi,  possess  spirit ;  and 
none  of  the  pieces  are  deficient  in  fiuency. 

Hours  with  the  Muses.  By  John  Critchley  Prince* 
— ^We  are  glad  so  soon  to  meet  with  a  "  second  and  en* 
larged  edition*'  of  a  yolume,  of  which  we  formed  a 
favourable  opinion  on  its  first  appearance ;  and  doubly  so, 
to  find  that  the  humble  poet  has  found  honour  in  his 
own  country.  The  book  is  very  neatly  printed— but  by 
flur  its  finest  feature — independently  of  the  poetry  and 
prose — ^is  a  long  list  of  respectable  subscribers.  Our 
readers  cannot  already  have  forgotten  the  personal 
history  of  this  hnmble  bard,  so  we  need  not  recur  to  it. 

A  SsLBcnos  07  Psalms  aivd  Htmks.  By  Seacome 
Ellison. 

Edwt;  a  Historical  Poenu  By  J.  Bell  Worrell, 
Author  of  Edgina. 

Rhymes  ahd  Roondelats.  By  T.  KoeL— A  very 
neat  smaU  volume,  of  smooth,  ){iMiit,  and  graceftil  verse. 

Satan  ;  A  Poem.  By  Robert  Montgomery.  Tenth 
Edition. 

Attemfi*  at  Vxbse.    By  T.  P.  Gibbins. 

WAKDERiRot.  By  Robert  Gun  Cnnfaghamei  Esq. 
attthorofMonu"  Saunders  &  OUeyw— The  scene  of  th* 
Wamderingt  is  Switaerlaad  t  the  poem  a  close  imitation 
of  Ckilde  Harold's  wanderings;  and  not  a  bad  oae» 

PoBMSk  Written  chiefly  abroad,  by  M.  Saanden  4 
Cniey. 

PERIODICALS. 

TYAs^l  Iliosteatbd  SnAKsnsAmE.  Parts  XXXI.| 
XXXtl.,  XXXItl.    Othello,  Cotiolamti,  and  Lear* 

FLoaicvtTomAL  Maoacinb  for  January. 

The  Anti-bread  Tax  Almanac  voa  1842,  or  the 
Twenty-Seventh  year  of  the  Bread-tax.--With  a  Ca- 
lendar, and  some  of  the  common  information  found  in 
all  cheap  Almanacs,  this  little  work  combines  many 
foots  that  ought  to  be  known,  and  kept  steadily  in  view 
at  the  present  crisis.  It  should,  therefore,  be  accessi- 
ble to  every  working-man ;  and  it  is  fortunately  pub« 
ished  at  a  price  which  makes  it  so. 


ise 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


SERIAL  WORKS. 

Tttlr&'s  History  of  Scotland,  Vol  VI.— Wlioerer 
may  write  the  History  of  Scotland,  that  part  of  the 
national  annals  which  is  comprehended  in  the  epoch  to 
which  this  Tdame  is  deroted,  most  oyer  remain  of  para- 
mount interest.  It  is  the  period  between  1 545  and  1 565. 
The  Tolume  opens  with  a  general  riew  of  the  state  of 
Scotland  after  the  assassination  of  Cardinal  Beaton,  and, 
proceeding  ^dth  the  history  of  those  struggles  which  ended 
in  the  triumph  of  the  Protestant  Reformation,  it  closes 
with  the  ill-starred  marriage  of  Mary  with  Damley.  In 
our  account  of  this  Tolume  of  the  history  when  it  origi- 
nally appeared,*  we  pointed  out,  at  some  length,  those 
new  &ots  and  emendations  which  the  diligent  and  well- 
eondmcted  researches  of  Mr.  TyUer  had  enabled  him  to 
bring  to  light,  for  the  first  time,  on  this  most  important 
portion  of  Scottish  history,  and  which  gire  his  work  so 
decided  a  superiority  oyer  all  that  have  gone  before  it. 

ElfOULND   IN    THB   NINETEENTH  CbNTUKT. — SOUTHERN 

DiYisioN.  Part  I. — Northern  Ditision.  Pari  I. — 
This  is  a  new  work  of  some  importance.  It  is 
SA  illustrated  itinerary,  combining  descriptions  of 
scenery  and  antiquities,  with  living*  manners  and 
characteristics  ;  and  all  sorts  of  useftil  information,  with 
the  delightfhl  gossip  called  County  History,  The  em- 
bellishments which  are  rery  good  of  their  kind,  are 
quite  in  harmony  with  the  character  of  the  work.  Thus 
in  the  picturesque  county  of  Cornwall,  we  find  yiews  of 
such  objects  as  St.  Michael's  Mount ;  St.  Ives'  Bay ; 
Browwilly  ;  and  many  a  headland  and  ruin  ;  moulder- 
ing castle  and  ancient  church  ;  while  in  Lancashire  we 
have  accurate  views  of  machinery,  and  of  manufacturing 
operations  illustrative  of  the  present  condition  of  the  loca- 
lity ;  and  also  elevations  of  modem  buildings.  This  Part 
contains  a  comprehensive  history  of  the  cotton  manu- 
facture, and  of  the  town  of  Manchester.  The  work  is 
conducted  by  Mr.  Redding,  with  such  literary  assistance 
in  several  departments,  as  must  render  it  more  perfect 
in  many  of  the  details.  The  work  is  elegantly  printed  ; 
and  promises  to  be,  in  every  respect,  a  permanently 
valuable  addition  to  an  English  library- 

The  Pictorial  Shakspears  :  Poems.    Part  III. 

CuipiiN0*8  Foxr's  9ook  op  Martyrs.    Part  X. 

I^E  SONQS  OP   DiBDIN.     PaRT  V. 

Lb,Keux'8  Memorials  of  Cambridge.  Nos.  XX. 
and  XXI. 

Canadian  Scenery.    Part  XXII. 

Scenery  and  ANTiquiriEs  op  Ireland.    Part  XI. 

Crvikshank's  Comic  Almanac  por  1842.  Adorned 
*with  a  doxen  right  merrie  cuts  pertaining  to  the 
months,"  and  numerous  humorous  illustrations. — ^We 
can  remember  botii  Bigdum  Funnido$f  and  his  witty 
cea^Jntor  and  illustrator,  brighter  than  in  this  dismal 
year  of  ''general  distress  f  yet  the  dulness  may  be  in 
ourselves— a  modest  doubt  that,  with  which  reviewers 
are  seldom  troubled.  The  work,  in  its  minor  details, 
powesses  «  w^th  of  fun  and  humour,  which  fairly 
pnales  the  selector.  Our  short  specimen  (would  we 
could  give  the  illnstrations)  shall  be  conibied  to  ^  Novem- 
ber 2d,  Michaelmas  Term,  begins'* 

Chamber  Practice. 
Fiction  aU  day  to  use,  whatever  the  Uci  is— 
To  find  that  everything  against  some  act  is  ; 
Champagne  to  drink  idl  night  till  the  head  racked  is, 

Thaft  Chamber  PracHoe. 

__. a ■ 

♦  Taifi  Ma^axineior  December  1887. 


ABRIEf. 

For  pay  to  prove  the  honest  man  a  thief. 

For  pay  to  break  the  widow's  heart  with  grief ; 

To  stifle  truth,  for  fiesto  gain  belief— 

That's  a  BthT. 
Deeds  Abstracted. 
Ten  thousand  words,  where  ten  would  serve  the  need. 
Ten  thousand  meanings,  discord  meant  to  breed  ; 
Where  none  can  nndastand,  and  few  can  read — 

That's  a  Dbbd. 

The  auspicious  dth  of  November,  ^  Royal  Babbt 
boin,''is  thus  oooiBiemorated : 

The  Nurse's  SouLoqinr. 
How  do  I  dote  upon  my  royal  charge, 
3cm  to  be  great,  and  growing  to  be  large  ; 
Sprung,  in  his  beauty,  from  the  parent  tree 
An  Adr,  and  eke  a-parent  too,  is  he. 

Dear  bellowing  babby,  apple  of  my  eye, 

A  young  trump-card  turned  in  the  rijwl  rubber. 

As  Duke  of  Cornwall  how  he  won't  to  cry; 

And  now  he's  Prince  of.  WkaUt— Oh,  wont  he  be  a 

blubber! 
The  Gaberlunzie's  Wallet.  No.  I. — An  agreeable 
melange  of  prose,  verse,  and  picture,  which,  were  its 
literary  merits  very  inferior  to  what  they  are,  would  be 
welcome  to  the  lovers  of  the  Scottish  language,  and  of 
the  auld'-woM  customs  and  characters  of  Scotbuid. 
As  a  token  of  a  reviving  taste  for  Scottldi  Song  or 
Story,  of  both  which  it  affords  some  racy  speeimensy  we 
give  the  work  a  cordial  welcome. 


PAMPHLETS. 

The  Oriqim  of  Sunday  Schools;  to  which  is  prefixed 
a  Letter  on  the  New  PoiTAOE  Plan,  showing  its  Tsin»- 
ENCY  to  Aid  theOnBAT  Cause  of  Education.  By  llwmaa 
Clarke,  junior.  Simpkin  &  Marshall.— We  can  see  UtUe 
utility  in  the  controversy,  as  to  whetiier  Mr.  Raikes  of 
Gloucester,  who  has  hitherto  esjoyed  the  honour  of  bein^ 
the  originator  of  Sunday  schools  in  England,  or  the  Her. 
Mr.  Stocks,  master  of  the  grammar  school,  his  undeniable 
coadjutor  in  the  scheme,  be  the  real  Simon  Pure,  onlefls  to 
those  zealous  to  claim  every  possible  distinction  fbr  dez^^- 
men  of  the  Church  of  England.  The  Jeonita,  the  antlioni 
of  much  good  and  much  evil  in  education,  are  tbo 
true  originators  of  Sunday  Schools,  as  of  Infiuit  Schools, 
which  had  flourished  under  their  care  for  generatioiia. 
We  also  find  them  in  Oberlin's  poor  and  secluded  valley, 
long  before  either  were  borrowed  or  adi»jHed  by  beaeTo- 
lent  Englishmen.  At  all  events,  they  were  in  our  eovaxtry 
no  precocious  growth.—Agaln,of  the  new  postagefaolieaae 
we  ourselves,  in  common  vnth  many  others,  poioied  out, 
while  pleading  for  it,  the  incalculable  advantages  wlii<sh 
it  must  have  on  the  cause  of  education,  and  of  good 
morals;  advantages  which  vnll  not  be  fhlly  developed 
for  generations,  though  they  are  already  perceptible.  The 
author  of  the  tract  has  collected  many  facts  from  differ* 
ent  parts  of  the  kingdom,  illustrative  of  the  moral  and 
educational  uses  of  a  thrice-blessed  social  in^»roTe- 
ment  which  is  undeniably  of  English  growth,  aad  of' 
which  the  entire  honour  belongs  to  Mr.  Rowland  HilU 
The  country  has,  in  our  day,  had  no  greater  benefiietor. 

On  the  Produchon  of  Isinqlas  along  the  Coasib  of 
India;  witha  Notice  of  its  Fisbbeies.  By  J.  F.  Ko^^e, 
M.D.,  F.ILS.,  &c  AUen  &  Co.~A  valuable  pamphlet^l 
as  every  one  must  be  which  elucidates  the  produetiTe 
powers  and  undeveloped  sources  of  natural  wealth  in  ouf^ 
colonies. 


137 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


Ansa,  MM  jMn  of  i^ftihy  and  dugnst  at  the  do- 
BOtkqgpolkj  of  the  late  Ministryy  the  country  is  again 
ifmmi,  The  peat  and  immediate  object  of  the  move- 
■ent  m  free  trade,  commencing  with  the  repeal  of  the 
Con  ind  PlOTiaion  Laws ;  for,  after  the  eridence  of  the 
dwygatt  itate  of  the  conntrjy  which  has  lately  been 
broiglit  forward,  the  greatest  Gonsenratiye  must  see  that 
mMthtag  most  be  done  for  the  relief  of  our  mannfaotares 
vidiott  delay.  There  seems  every  reason  to  believe, 
tbt  nae  change  in  the  Com  Laws  is  contemplated ; 
fat  aosoe  nippoees  that  it  will  be  to  such  an  extent  as 
tfa  ceoilry  will  aeeept  It  is  in  vain  now  to  speculate 
«  U»  Bsaraies  to  be  proposed  by  Ministers,  as  a  few 
weeks]  win  withdraw  the  veil  from  their  mysterious 
idieaeB.  That  new  taxes  will  be  imposed,  is  quite 
ceitain.  Tbere  appears  no  chance  of  making  up 
eren  the  4Mmoj  of  the  reyenne  by  indirect  taxes ; 
lod  tke  inn  in  the  east,  of  which  there  is  no  prospect 
fl(  s  tenBinatkm,  as  well  as  the  probability  of  a  war 
with  the  United  SUtes,  will  render  farther  expenditure 
Beeemy.  In  the  present  humour  of  the  country,  we 
do  Bot  thhik  either  an  income  or  a  property  tax,  howeyer 
■ttO  the  nte,  would  be  submitted  to.  If  any  class  is 
It  iD  ii  a  flourishmg  state,  it  is  the  ajir  ieulturists,  and 
t^edaBy  the  landed  proprietors,  whose  rentals  are 
JWI7  iacnasing.  Notyrithstanding  the  clamour  which 
kf  beeiiaiMd  against  Mr.  Cobden's  scheme  of  increasing 
^  had  tax,  it  is  well  worthy  of  consideration.  Any 
iilM|^  to  raise  additional  reyenue,  by  increasing  the 
ntcirpoetage,will  prove  a  fitilure,  Uiough  it  is  far  from 
iBynfahle  that  it  wiU  be  attempted.  The  means  of 
«*^  a  Idijbi  rate  of  postage,  and  indeed  any  rate 
>^  a  penny,  were  too  clearly  pointed  out  in  the 
<vidaBe  eoUeeted  by  the  committee  on  postage,  and 
^  wiieiy  published  to  the  country,  to  render  it  pos- 
Ali  te  eoUeet  mnch  additional  revenue  from  an 
■cnxe  ef  the  present  rates.  Were  the  whole  j  sys- 
^  <f  ev  Taxation  remodelled,  a  much  larger  re- 
^Mai||bt  he  raised  writh  less  burden  to  the  people. 


AUn-CORN-LAW  CONFERENCES 

(^"'oQetohebeldalmoet  daily  in  all  parts  of  the  kingdom. 
"•wiftiUBuu  of  Dissenting  clergymen  and  elders  was 
^k  Edhdmis^  on  the  11th,  12th,  and  ISth  January. 
ViHi  of  700  membets  were  present.  Considering  that 
wtkketoftdBiasion  for  strangers,  not  members,  was 
^nd  thtt  no  person,  even  to  the  last  hour,  was  ad- 
"■^  without  payment  to  some  extent,  it  is  remarkable 
Mw  icii  10^  g^  ^j^^  crowded,  the  place  of  meeting 
"^hm  dmzch— was  during  the  whole  three  days,  and 
JJ^^  in  the  evenings.  It  is  now  certain  that  the 
f^^MoisB  Dissenters,  at  least  in  Scothud,  are  in 
^tfi^ealof  the  Com  Laws  ;  and  although  some 
'**'ihe»,  before  the  meeting,  had  some  hesitation  re- 
1^  the  propriety  of  an  immediate  and  totalrepeal, 
■««•  fai^  doabt,^hat  after  hearing  or  reading  the 
•'^'■iste  iddoced  at  this  conference,  their  scruples 
■■rthin  ghen  way.  Not  one  minister  out  of  494  who 
"*"*■•*  iMwen,  expresses  himself  in  fikvour  of  the 
v^^^  What  a  contrast  this  forms  with  the 
'itiliHilii^f  fyf  ^3  ,|^  venture  to  say,  that  there 


are  not  II  out  of  1100  who  are  not  in  fkvour  of  them. 
One  of  the  remarkable  features  of  the  meetmg  was,  the 
brmging  forward  of  practical  fiirmers  to  advocate  repeaL 
Mr.  Greorge  Hope,  an  extensive  East-Lothian  farmer,  of 
much  experience,  ridiculed  the  notion  that  a  repeal 
would  throw  great  tracts  out  of  cultivation.  ^  Of  all 
the  arguments  I  ever  heard  urged  against  the  repeal  of 
the  bread-tax,  it  has  always  appeared  to  me  the  most 
ftitile.  I  ask,  is  there  any  danger  of  any  of  the  land 
running  away !  Surely  not.  And  if  at  present  the  pro- 
duce is  sufficient  to  give  food  for  the  labourer,  and  leave 
a  surplus  to  the  landlord,  what  is  to  prevent  it  doing  so 
even  if  the  nominal  money  value  of  the  produce  should 
be  lowered  1*'  The  actual  outlay  in  money  per  acre  in 
cultivating  land  does  not  exceed  10s.  6d.,  all  other  charges 
and  expenses  being  regulated  entirely  and  immediately 
by  the  price  of  grain.  The  landlord  is  generally  paid 
his  rent  in  wheat.  The  labourers  receive  the  bulk  of 
their  vrages  in  the  produce  of  the  fkrm,  and  it  can  make 
no  diiSsrence  to  the  farmer  what  is  the  nominal  price  of 
the  oats  and  other  produce  raised  by  himself,  and  given 
in  wages  to  his  ploughmen,  or  consumed  by  the  horses 
on  the  farm.  Joseph  Sturge,  of  Birminghun,  made  his 
appearance  on  the  last  day  of  the  meeting.  He  vras 
enthusiastically  received.  He  urged,  vdth  great  earnest- 
ness on  the  meeting,  the  necessity  of  unanimity,  and  of 
agreeing  to  nothing  less  than  unconditional  and  absolute 
repeal ;  and  expressed  his  conviction,  if  this  was  insisted 
for,  the  laws  restricting  the  import  of  provisions  would 
soon  cease  to  deform  the  statute  book.  The  only  Mem- 
bers of  Parliament  present  were  Mr.  Wallace  and  Mr. 
Ewart.  A  great  mass  of  valuable  statistical  information 
was  brought  forward  by  the  different  ^eakers.  The  con- 
tinual sinking  of  the  wages  of  the  operative,  the  in- 
crease of  crime,  and  the  almost  inconceivable  state  of 
destitution,  not  only  in  the  large  manufhcturing  towns, 
but  even  in  the  small  villages  in  the  agricultiural  dis- 
tricts, were  proved  by  the  most  unquestionable  evidence. 
Glasgow  Meetucg. — The  meeting  at  Edinbmgh  vras 
fbllowed  by  another  at  Glasgow  on  the  14th  and  15th 
January,  at  which  many  of  the  most  influential  manu^c- 
turers  and  merchants  attended.  The  business  commenced 
with  a  meeting  of  delegates  in  the  forenoon.  Reports  of 
avery  interesting  description  on  the  State  of  Trade  and  the 
Operation  of  the  Com  and  Provision  Laws  were  given  in 
from  nearly  80  places.  They  all  represented  the  distress 
as  most  severe.  A  banquet  took  place  in  the  City  Hall 
in  the  evening,  at  v^hich  2000  persons  were  present,  and, 
among  others,  the  following  Members  of  Parliament : — 
Oswald,  Fox  Manle,  Wallace,  P.  M.  Stewart,  Rnther- 
fUrd,  Ewart,  and  Duncan.  Mr.  Fox  Maule  said  he  did 
not  see  why  the  landed  proprietors  should  dread  the 
abolition  of  the  Com  Laws;  and  he  found  on  inquiry  at 
practical  agriculturists,  that  they  had  no  fear  of  getting 
on  although  the  Repeal  took  place.  Mr.  Buchanan  gave 
in  a  paper,  showing  that  the  depositorB  in  Savings'  ^nks 
were  not  persons  connected  with  manufactures,  and  that 
the  amount  of  deposits  had  decreased  as  the  price  of 
bread  rose.  On  the  evening  of  the  15th,  another  Soir^ 
vras  held,  at  which  1600  persons  were  present. 

Dundee  Meetiko. — ^A  meeting  has  also  been  held  at 
Dundee,  of  the  Anti-Com-Law  Association  of  that  town, 
and  deputies  from  the  other  associations  in  Fife  and  For- 
fitr  shires.  About  fifty  deputies,  magistrates,  merchants, 
manufacturers,  and  tradesmen  attended.  Mr.  Baxter, 
the  chairman,  estimated  the  annual  tax  imposed  by  the 
Com  Laws  alone  at  from  thirty-six  to  fifty  millions.    He 


138 


POLITICAL  REGISTER, 


showed  that  the  shipments  of  linen  from  Dondee  had 
greatly  declined  since  1 836.  Since  1837,  there  had  heen 
210  bankruptcies  in  Dandee, — an  extraordinary  number, 
considering  the  size  of  the  town.  Two-thirds  of  the  looms 
in  the  town  are  unemployed.  Since  1836,  wages  have 
gradually  declined;  and  they  are  now  25  per  cent,  lower 
^an  in  that  year.  More  than  half  the  mechanics  are 
unemployed,  and  ftye-slzths  of  the  masons.  Mr.  Saun- 
ders stated  that,  up  to  1791,  the  price  of  wheat  had  not 
for  a  oentury  ayeraged  aboye  40s. ;  but  since,  not  less 
than  65s..  Taking  the  consumption  at  forty  millions  of 
quarters,  the  increase  on  the  price,  25s.,  had  obliged  the 
people  to  ^^y  fifteen  hundred  millions, — ^twice  the  amount 
of  the  national  debt,— for  the  adyantage  of  the  Imdlords. 
Mr.  Landalt,  of  Kirkcaldy,  feared  that  the  additional 
duty  lately  imposed  by  America  on  our  linen  manufkc- 
tures  would  reduce  Uie  export  to  that  country  one-half. 
He  moyed  a  resolution,  ^  That  high  priced  food  and  de- 
pression of  trade  uniformly  accompany  each  other." 
Mr.  Kinloch,  of  Kinloch,  moyed  a  resolution,  disclaim- 
ing any  intention  to  injure  the  agriculturists,  and  ex- 
pressing the  oonyiction,  that  the  remoyal  of  all  restric- 
tions on  commerce  would  be  fibyourable  to  the  true  and 
permanent  Interests  of  all  classes  of  the  community. 
Mr.  F.  L.  Carnegie,  of  Boysack,  another  landed  proprie- 
tor, said,  ^  For  Mmself  he  had  not  only  no  objection,  but 
a  strong  desire  to  see  the  abolition  made  immediate.'' 
From  an  exanunation  of  &e  numerous  reports  which 
had  been  receiyed,  it  appeared  that  one-third  of  the 
operatiyes  of  the  district  were  idle. 

General  Distress. — But  the  distress  is  not  oon- 
ilned  to  any  peculiar  trade.  The  shawl  manufhcture 
of  Edinburgh,  onee  a  considerable  manufacture,  haa 
all  bni  disappeared.  The  receipts  of  the  cloUiiera, 
drapers,  &c.,  in  this  city,  haye  fallen  off  a  fifth,  com- 
paring 1841  with  1840.  In  the  iron  manufacture, 
one-fourth  of  the  blast  fhmaces  has  been  blown  out. 
At  Carlisle  it  has  been  found,  ftrom  a  minute  personal  in- 
spection by  adyocates  of  the  present  Com  Laws,  that  one- 
fourth  of  the  population  is  bordering  on  absolute  starya-i 
tion.  Of  300  paper  mills,  only  120  are  in  operation.  The 
broad  cloth  manufactures  of  the  west  of  England  are  as 
much  depressed  as  those  of  cotton  and  linen  in  other 
places.  At  a  meeting  held  at  Bath,  it  was  stated  that, 
in  the  town  of  Bradford,  in  1820,  there  were  nineteen 
mannflMtnreri,  nHio  produced  690  pieces  of  broadcloth. 
Nine  haye  once  that  time  failed,  six  haye  left  the  trade, 
and  only  two  remain,  who  produce  100  pieces.  A  factory 
and  premises  which,  twenty  years  ago,  brought  £4200 
per  annum,  are  now  let  for  £300.  In  1820,  with  a  smaller 
population,  four  times  as  much  bread  and  meat  were  con- 
sumed as  at  present.  The  same  account  was  giyen  of  a 
great  number  of  other  places;  and  it  appears  that  the 
broadcloth  trade,  once  our  staple  manufacture,  is  threat- 
ened with  speedy  destruction.  From  a  pamphlet  lately 
published  by  Alderman  Bateson  of  Leeds,  we  haye  learn- 
ed some  important  facts  regarding  the  transference  of 
the  woollen  trade  from  England  to  the  Continent : — 
567,317  pieces  were  exported  in  1824;  258,962,  or  only 
about  two-fifths,  in  1840.  Veryiers,  in  Belgium,  has 
adyanced  her  woollen  productions,  firom  a  small  amount 
in  1824,  to  105,245  pieces;  Aix-la-Chapelle,  firom  a 
small  amount^  to  230,000.  It  is  to  this  place  that  the 
East  India  Company  haye  giyen  an  order  for  15,000 
pieces  of  cloth,  which  they  l^ye  hitherto  purchased  in 
this  country.  Upwards  of  four  millions  of  pounds  of 
British  wool  are  exported  to  Belgium  alone.  Why 
ought  wool  to  be  allowed  to  be  exported,  to  benefit  the 
cMriouUuristt  and  food  be  prohibited  to  be  imported,  to 
thepr^udioe  qf  tie  manufaoturer  ? 

Bdltom  MssTiNav— On  the  5th  January,  a  meeting  of 
800  friends  of  Free  Trade  was  held  at  Bolton.  Dr. 
Bowring,  Colonel  Thompson,  Mr.  George  Thompson,  and 
seyeral  Members  of  Parliament  were  present.  The  toast  of 
total  and  immediate  repeal  of  the  Com  Laws,  was  receiyed 
with  loud,  repeated,  and  unanimous  cheering.  Colonel 
Thompson  said,  that  could  we  get  compensation  for  the 
erils  sustained  by  the  Com  Laws,  it  would  be  nothing 
but  justice.  *'  They  must  bring  up  their  minds  to  the 
proper  height,  and  demand  a  bounty  on  the  importation 


of  Com.  Try  them  with  thai*^  This  proposal  was  loudly 
cheered,  and  ought  to  be  acted  on.  The  landed  interest 
had  a  bounty  on  the  export  of  Com  for  the  first  half  of  the 
last  eentnry,  and  drew  many  millions  from  the  people  in 
name  of  Bounty — a  bounty  to  be  paid  for  staning  the 
people  t  We  are  glad  to  obsenre  at  all  these  meetings 
that  the  scheme  of  Emigration  has  been  treats  with 
merited  oontempt. 

BluroHssvBR  CoifFSuif 09^— At  Manchester,  a  meetiiig 
of  delegates  from  the  principal  towns  in  England  and 
Scotland  met.  The  details  of  the  distress  in  their  yariooi 
localities  were  similar  to  those  we  haye  already  giyen. 
A  public  meeting  of  the  inhabitants  was  held  after  the 
con^rence.  The  chabrman  stated,  that  as  govommnit 
required  300,000  muskets,  to  replace  those  burnt  at  the 
Tower,  a  deputation  had  been  sent  fhmi  Rinningham  to 
endeayour  to  get  the  order  ;  but  in  submitting  a  list  of 
prices,  they  were  told  they  must  come  down,  as  the  Go- 
yemment  could  get  them  cheaper  in  Prussia  &ad  other 
countries.  They  did  bring  down  their  prices,  bnt  still  the 
deputation  was  informed  that  they  could  be  got  cheaper 
abroad.  A  resolution  to  petiticm  for  the  total  and  imme- 
diate repeal  of  the  Com  Laws  was  passed,  ^  recommend- 
ing, in  such  petitions,  the  immediate  appointmient  of  a 
Committee,  to  eonnder  the  beet  mode  cf  making  Dins  ooh- 
FBiMAZioif,  which  the  suffsring  people  of  Qreat  Britain  and 
Ireland  haye  a  right  to  demand  firom  the  ariatoor^cy." 
This  alludes  to  Mr.  Cobden's  proposal  to  oompeii8a.te  the 
people  by  leyying  the  land  tax  fairly,  at  the  legal  rate 
of  four  shillings  per  pound  of  the  rental.  This  is  the 
proper  way  of  going  to  work.  The  best  way  of  defisndmg 
ourselyes  is  to  carry  the  war  into  the  euMnies'  oonntry. 
It  is  gratifying  to  obaerye,  that  at  all  the  meetioga  which 
haye  been  held  for  some  time  back,  unlimited  freedom  of 
trade  has  been  contended  for ;  not  merely  the  remoyal 
of  the  protection  to  the  farmer,  but  of  all  protections  and 
restrictions  whateyer.  Let  petitions'from  all  parts  of  the 
kingdom,  f^m  eyery  town,  eyery  parish,  eyery  Tilfaigey 
be  got  up,  to  be  presented  to  patiiament  at  iis  «Mating« 
The  number  of  petitions,  ^  well  aa  the  luunber  of  sig- 
natures} is  important. 

SCOTLAND. 
Ea8t  Coast  Railwat^-— A  meeting  mm  heU.  la 
Edinburgh  on  the  14th  January,  for  the  poipoaa  •€ 
promoting  a  line  of  Railway  to  Dunbar,  being  the  first 
portion  of  a  railway  along  the  coast  to  Newcastle  :  the 
Lord  Proyost  in  the  Chair.  The  large  room  was  nearly 
fill.  Mr.  Learmonth  addressed  the  meeting.  He  stated 
that  t^e  line  was  of  yery  easy  constraotion,  and  mi^^t  be 
made  for  ^500,000,  or  about£20,000a-mile.  Mtlielow^ 
est  estimate,  he  calculated  that  aboye  £72,000  per  annum 
would  be  receiyed  for  passengers,and  £23,000  from  goods, 
or  £96,000  in  all :  fipom  which,  deducting  one-third  for 
expenses,  a  clear  reyenue  of  £64,000  would  be  left,  yield- 
ing llj  per  cent,  on  the  outlay.  He  ady^ied  to  the 
west  coast  line  of  railway  to  England  fromGlasgow^ ;  stud 
stated  the  distanee  to  Lancaster,  including  the  bsaaok 
from  Thankerton  to  Edinburgh,  was  202  miles;  tlaa 
engineering  difficulties  were  of  the  most  serious  descrip- 
tion ;  and  the  great  proportion  of  the  intermediate  coun- 
try 80  thinly  peopled,  that  the  line  could  not  be  made 
in  portions,  as  no  reyenue  could  be  expected  till  tiie 
whole  line  was  completed.  Taking  the  expMise  mM 
£20,000  a  mik  only,  the  cost  would  be  npwarda  of  four 
millions.  After  seyeral  resolutions  had  been  paoaed,  a 
large  committee  was  appointed.  Considering  that,  with 
the  exception  of  the  first  eight  or  ten  miles,  the  route 
firom  Edhiburgh  to  Thankerton  runs  through  Carmprath 
and  other  muirs  almost  totally  destitute  of  pc^ulib. 
tion,  and  that  it  would  cost,  probably  £800,000,  ihfix^ 
is  no  chance  of  the  line  oyer  being  made.  The  £diii.^ 
burgh  and  Glasgow  Railway  has  'cost  £30,000  a  mile] 
and  we  do  not  think  that  there  is  any  chance  of  the 
western  line  being  made  at  a  smaller  cost,  or  tdM 
millions  steriing.  Truly  a  magnificent  project  I  \>V^ere 
the  line  to  Dunbar  fiurly  commenced,  we  luLve  n^ 
doubt  a  company  would  soon  be  formed  to  make  a  Rail^ 
way  f^m  Newcastle  to  Berwick,  and  the  intermediate 


POUnCiX  BEGISTBR. 


idd 


ma  WMld  then  •nly  b«  iliiriy  miles,  MeasQres  ar« 
aWdT  in  pzogress  to  connect  Newcastle  and  Darlionton 
\j  nifiray :  and  hence  the  formation  of  a  railway  &om 
£diBl»i^  to  Danbar  will  seeure  tlie  intercounw  between 
Scotlaadand  Snfland  by  the  east  coast;  for  not  only  will 
LoadcB  and  the  eastern  part  of  England  be  reached  with 
fieat  «aie  aad  expedition  by  this  ioate»bat  the  middle  and 
vcttof  England,  by  means  of  the  Carlisle  and  Newcastle, 
aad  eiher  rmUways.  It  is,  therefore,  a  matter  of  the  ut- 
most importance  to  Edinboigh  that  the  railway  to  Dunbar 
dioald  be  formed ;  for  upon  this  project  it  depends  whether 
Ediabuigh  is  to  continue  to  retrograde,  as  it  has  done 
for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  or  again  to  spring  into 
■sw  life  and  Tifour.  The  sum  set  down  for  passengers 
Hsy  at  ibvt  sight  seem  exaggerated;  but  when  it  is 
cmsidcTed  that  the  number  of  passengers  on  the  Edin- 
bvgh  and  Dalkeith  railway  has  been  as  high  as  300,000, 
aad  that  the  whole  district  from  Edinburgh  to  Dunbar,and 
ftr  many  mike  beyond,  is  Uiickly  peopled,  a  sli|^t  con* 
sidemtiea  will  show  that  there  is  no  improbability  of  the 
xercnoe  estimated  being  deriyed  from  passengers. 

THmBA&i — Great  indignation  has  been  expressed  in  the 
Loedoa  nsrw^apers,  at  LordDenman  being  obliged  recenl- 
It  te  leave  the  Court  of  (peon's  Bench,  without  hearing 
the  caase  sei  down,  on  account  of  the  non-attenduice  ^ 
cocnael ;  who,  in  order  to  increase  their  chance  of  employ- 
neni,  choose  to  practise  in  two  or  three  courts  which  sit 
at  the  same  time.  It  was  the  last  day  of  the  sittings,  and 
the  Obort  rose  at  eleyen  o'clock  forenoon,  instead  of  nine  at 
aig^  as  usoal,  on  that  day.  The  ctU  is  equally,  at  least 
Toj  strongly,  felt  in  the  Scottish  Court  of  Session.  In 
that  Conrt,  the  two  Inner-Houses,  and  four  of  the  Lords 
Ordiaaij,  sit  at  once,— that  is  to  say,  six  distinct  teibunals 
sad  the  Jory  Clerks  hold  also  a  sort  of  seyenth  court.  It 
thus  daily  b^i^^eus,  that  when  a  case  is  called  in  one  Court, 
ike  eooBsel,  who  has  been  instructed  and  /$€%  is  pleads 
ag  IB  aiiotlier;  so  that  the  cause  must  either  be  delayed, 
«  be  proceeded  with  in  abs^koe  probably  of  the  leading 
esoasel ;  or,  if  not  speaking,  the  counsel  may  he  obliged 
to  leave  the  one  case  or  let  it  go  on  as  it  may,  in  order 
to  attend  another.  Ihe  Court  haye  laid  it  down  as  a 
nle,  that,  boweyer  insignificant  the  cause,  there  must 
be  twe  eennsel  foe'd  for  Inner-House  bushiese,  so  that 
CM  may  be  ready  to  plead  the  case  if  the  other  is  else* 
vhoB  engaged  when  it  is  called;  a  rule  which  causes 
ist  ealy  great  expense  to  litigants,  but  occasionally  ex- 
tease  a  parly  to  much  disadyanta^ :— ^ — for  example-^ 
whsre  the  junior  counsel  on  the  one  side,  owing  to  the 
ibefaee  of  bis  leader,  is  opposed  to  both  the  coonsel  on 
the  ether.  Nearly  all  the  delay,  eonAuion,  and  expense 
wrf— lily  arising  from  the  sitting  of  so  many  courts  at 
mm  woeld  be  ayoided  by  the  counsel  diyiding  them- 
atvea,  each  choo8in£  his  own  court  For  example — the 
naier  coaasel  riuNud  be  confined  to  the  Inner-House, 
the  JBBier  to  the  Oater;  and  fiirther,  they  ought  again 
la  be  divided  into  first  Division  Counsel  and  Second 
IMaen  Ceansel  Thus,  in  regard  to  the  most  important 
psrt  ef  the  boeiuees — ^that  of  the  Inner-House,  a  case 
wvoU  aeeer  be  delayed  for  want  of  counsel;  the  disad* 
fHftaga  at  present  arising  from  the  junior  on  one  side 
havhig  to  oppoee  both  counsel  on  the  other,  would  be 
aarndsd,  and  one  half  of  the  expense  attending  an  ad« 
lisiag  in  the  Imer-Heuse  would  be  sayed.  The  time  of 
the  Covt  weald  also  be  sayed :  for  at  present  it  often 
Tsmpima  uuiie  or  twice  a-week  certainly— that  one  of 
te  nhiaisns  of  the  lanei^Houae  has  to  rise  sooner  than 
h  weald  otherwise  do,  leaying  the  business  unfinished, 
besseee  ceoneel  areengaged  in  the  other  Diyisien.  With 
migaad  to  the  Onter-Hooes,  again,  although  the  remedy 
WBvld  met  be  so  perfect  as  in  the  Iimer,  still  great  and 
I  bmefit  ifould  arise,  inasmuch  as  eadi  counsel, 
I  Hi  praetimng  before  six  courts,  as  at  present, 
only  piaetise  before  two.  The  plan  proposed 
weald  not  pceyeat  the  counsel  of  the  Outer  and  Inner- 
Heaes  feasuliiiig  with  each  other  in  moch  the  same  way 
aa  at  pneent :  for,  as  matters  are  now  conducted,  the 
senior  cmnsel  generally  is  consulted  whether  a  case 
Aoold  be  bieugbt  into  Court;  but  the  writing  of  the 
P^erm,  wijdi  are  prepared  in  the  Outer-House,  and 
the  genera!  management  of  the  case  while  therS)  is  left 


to  the  junior.  When  Ihe  case  Is  carried  into  the  Inaerw 
House,  the  pleading  is  in  many  cases  left  entirely  to  tiie 
senior,  the  duty  of  the  junior  being  only  to  prompt  him 
if  necessary,  a  matter  which  can  be  as  well  done  by  the 
agent.  We  belieye  a  diyision  ai  counsel  would  not  only 
be  adyantageous  to  the  public,  but  to  the  Bar  itself. 
Throwing  £e  matter  of  delay  and  expense  oat  of  the 
question,  the  monopolising  of  the  chief  business  of  a 
Court  by  half-a-dosen  IcaiUng  lawyers,  must  be  as  per- 
nicious to  the  Bar  itself  as  the  litigants.  Howeyer  indus- 
trious and  able,  there  is  only  a  certain  quantity  of  buai- 
ness  which  any  one  can  do  properly.  If  oyerwhehned 
with  business,  the  lawyer  must  do  some  part  of  it  in  a 
aloyenly  manner;  while  the  monopoly  the  present  system 
creates  keeps  back  unduly,  and  discourages  the  junior 
portion  of  Um  Bar.  But  as  any  diyision  of  counsel  would 
be  opposed  by  the  influential  part  of  the  Bar,  there  is 
no  chance  of  the  change  we  haye  proposed  being  effected 
unless  the  public  take  up  the  matter. 

InUiANn. — Meetings  are  held  weekly  in  Dul^n  for  the 
Bapeal  of  the  Union,  at  which  the  Lord  Mayor  is  a  re- 
gular attendant,  but  they  do  not  seem  to  excite  much 
interest  The  weekly  reeeijpts  are  from  £60  to  £60.  Sums 
are  occasionally  receiyed  from  America,  and  one  or  two 
Eepeal  Associations  haye  been  formed  in  that  country. 
Meetings  haye  also  been  held  for  the  purpose  of  further- 
ing the  eonsumptton  of  Irish  manufkctures,  now  yending 
in  marts  established  by  wcrkiag-men  in  diffbrent  parts  of 
the  city.  Marts  for  the  sale  of  hosiery,  silks,  shoes,  and 
yariouB  other  articles,  hare  been  established  inDublin,aBd 
the  sale  seems  to  be  eonsiderabl&— £1000  haying  been 
expended  in  a  short  time  in  the  purchase  of  leathcv.^^ 
Mr.  West,  the  Tory  Member  for  Dublin,  died  some  time 
ago.  Lord  M<Nrpeth,  who  is  in  the  United  States,  has 
been  nominated  as  a  candidate,  and  has  eyery  chance  of 
success.  Owing  to  the  great  expense  of  a  oontest  for 
Dublin,  £10,000  or  £12,000,  the  Tories  haye  had  much 
difficulty  in  getting  a  candidate  to  oome  forward.  A  Mr. 
Gregory  has  been  found,  who  is  willing  to  adyanoe 
£4000,  if  other  £4000  be  forthcoming  on  the  part  of  the 
Dublin  Tories;  but  they  do  not  seem  yery  ready  wiUi 
the  money. 

Tna  CoimifiiifTr-^France  appean  to  be  in  a  yery  dis- 
turbed state,  and  it  is  not  likely  that  any  great  length  of 
time  will  pass  oyer  yrithout  a  serious  outbreak.  Paris  k 
tail  of  soldiers,  who,  for  want  of  other  employnmnt,  haye 
been  fighting  with  each  other.  There  has  also  been  an 
emeute  of  the  students,  but  not  attended  with  any  serious 
consequences. — In  S|pain,  Espartero  is  exerting  himself 
to  tranquillize  the  country,  and  restore  her  long-lost  ener- 
gies. Freedom  of  trade  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  objects 
he  has  in  yiew.-^A  treaty  has  been  signed  by  the  repre- 
seatatiyes  of  France,  Austria,  Russia,  and  Prussia,  With 
Great  Britain,  whereby  the  four  foreign  powers  adopt  the 
English  laws  against  the  slaye  trade.  The  actual  engage^ 
ment  in  the  trade  is  piracy,  and  the  embarking  ef  capi- 
tal in  it  is  folony.  All  the  powers  grant  to  each  otbnr 
the  right  of  search  into  yessek  bearing  their  fiag.  This 
is  a  most  important  step  towards  the]  abolition  of  the 
traffic  in  slayes. 

Asia. — Amoy,  one  of  the  strongest  fbrtresses  in  Chinas 
situated  opposite  the  island  of  Formosa,  has  been  taken 
by  the  British,  witiiout  loss.  The  expedition  immedi- 
ately sailed  fbr  the  northward,  leaying  a  small  garrison 
on  an  islaad  in  the  neighbourhood.  Pekin,  it  is  said,  is 
the  next  object  of  attack ;  and  until  it  is  taken,  there 
seems  no  probability  of  the  yrar  being  brought  to  a  ter- 
mination.-^Heetilitiee  still  continue  in  the  north-yrest  of 
India.  l%e  Emperor  of  Burmah  has  taken  alarm  at  the 
force  sent  agahist  him,  and  no  longmr  occupies  any  part 
ef  the  Britiih  force. 

United  States.— The  accounts  from  the  United  States 
are  by  no  means  satisfoctory,  and  the  difficulty  of  midn- 
taining  peace  between  Great  Britain  and  the  States  is 
daily  increasing.  The  affairs  of  M'Leod  and  the  Caro- 
line haye  not  yet  been  adjusted;  and  the  States  are  in- 
creasing their  nayy,  which  at  present  consists  of  only  66 
yessels.  Inroads  haye  again  been  made  on  the  Canadian 
frontier  by  the  American  sympathisers:  bams  haye  been 
burned,  and  houses  plundered,  and  the  Canadians  seem 


140 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


prapuring  to  retaliate.  It  i«  now  eeirtain  tliat  the  Ame- 
rinui  GoTemment  will  not  submit  to  our  searching  their 
TCMels  for  slares ;  and  war  seems  inOTitable,  if  we  insist 
npon  exercising  this  pretended  rigiht.  In  this  question 
we  coneeiTe  tiie  Americans  to  be  in  the  right,  and  onr 
Goremment  in  the  wrong.  We  haye  no  more  right  to 
search  an  American  or  other  foreign  ship  for  slares,  with- 
out the*oonsent  of  the  Groyemment  to  which  it  belongs, 
than  we  haye  to  make  a  search  for  that  purpose  witUn 
the  temtories  of  the  United  States.  The  thing  that 
aggrayates  the  quarrel  is,  the  recolleotion  of  the  right 
we  assumed  of  searching  American  yessels  for  British 
sailors,  prerious  to  the  war  of  1 812.  It  is  erident,  from 
what  is  stated  in  the  French  papers,  that  if  we  engage 
ina  war  on  tiiis  account,  we  shiJl  not  be  supported  by  the 
parties  to  the  late  treaty;  on  the  contrary,  we  shall  haye 
some  of  them — ^France,  for  instance — against  us.  There 
is  no  doubt,  unless  some  deriee  be  fUlen  on — such  as 
sending  a  sufficient  number  of  American  cruisers  to  the 
fflaye  Coast,  to  search  their  own  yessels — ^the  trade  in 
slayes  will  be  greatly  increased ;  for  eyery  yessel  engaged 
in  that  neforious  traffic  will  hoist  the  American  flag.  It 
is  somewhat  unfortunate  that,  at  this  present  moment, 
an  American  yessel,  proceeding  from  Richmond,  Virgi- 
nia, to  New  Orleans,  with  135  slaves,  was  seised  by 
them ;  the  master,  owner,  and  some  others,  murdered; 
and  the  crew  compelled  to  run  the  yessel  into  Nassau — 
a  port  in  the  Bahama  Islands,  belonging  to  England. 
The  British  authorities  seised  those  aocuMd  of  the  mur- 
der, but  refued  to  send  them  to  America,  or  to  detain 
the  other  slayes.  The  southern  states  of  the  Union  are, 
of  course,  indignant  at  this  proceeding.  By  the  law  of 
£ngla]id,aslaye  becomesAreewheneyer  he  touches  the  soil 
of  ue  British  dominions;  and  the  authorities  at  Nassau 
could  do  nothing  else  than  liberate  the  slayes.  It  seems 
yery  doubtM  eyen  how  far  they  were  justified  in  detain- 
ing those  accused  of  murder.  In  the  eye  of  British  law 
they  did  nothing  wrong  in  regaining  their  liberty  at  the 
peril  of  those  who  were  inyading  it  by  carrying  them  oiT 
as  slayes.  The  Americans,  on  the  oUier  hand,  maintain 
that  our  authorities  haye  no  right  to  judge  what  is  and 
what  is  not  American  property.  The  question  is  cer- 
tainly of  tiie  most  perplexing  nature ;  for  if  the  Ameri- 
can doctrine  be  right,  ^ey  ought  to  be  entitled  to  reclaim 
the  slayes  who  haye  escaped  from  them,  and  taken  refiige 
in  Canada  or  other  British  dominions — a  right  which  has 
neyer  yet,  we  belieye,  been  asserted. 


TRADE  AND  MANUFACTURES. 

We  haye  little  to  report,  in  addition  to  what  has  al- 
ready been  stated,  in  regard  to  the  state  of  manu&ctures. 
There  appears,  as  yet,  no  prospect  of  reriyal ;  on  the  con- 
trary, a  stttl  farther  reduction  of  wages  in  some  manu- 
f^tures,  particularly  the  cotton,  is  in  contemplation.  In 
the  iron  trade,  althou^  one-fourth  of  the  ihmaces — each 
requiring  300  men— haye  been  blown  out,  it  has  been  re- 
solyed  not  to  lower  the  wages  of  those  employed.  Owing 
to  the  fall  in  the  price  of  sugar  a  larger  quantity  has  been 
consumed  last  year  than  in  the  preceding.  In  this  trade 
a  singular  mode  of  eyading  the  duty  has  been  disooyered. 
Foreign  sugar  is  liable  to  a  prohibitory  duty  of  £3, 38.  per 
cwt. ;  but  it  can  be  imported  into  Guernsey  free  of  duty. 
It  is  there  made  into  lozenges,  and  other  sweetmeats,  on 
which  a  duty  of  only  7s.  6d.  a  cwt.  is  paid,  when  imported 
into  Britain,  while  sugar  imported  from  our  own  Colonies 
is  liable  to  a  duty  of  24s.  In  this  way  the  reyenne  is  said 
tobed«frauded  totheextent  of  fW>m  ^0200,000  to  £300,000 
a-year.  In  general,  some  acid  is  put  in  the  drops  to  coyer 
^pearanoes,  but  many  tons  haye  been  imported  without 
any  add  at  sll,  being  fine  loaf  sugar,  which  only  requires  to 
be  remelted  to  put  it  into  Uie  ordinary  shape.  Our  restric- 
tiye  system  of  commerce  is  leading  every  year  to  counter 
restrictions  on  the  part  of  foreign  nations.  The  Ameri- 
cans haye  raised  the  duty  on  the  import  of  linens,  and  the 
members  for  the  Northern  States  are  clamouring  for 


higher  duties  on  the  import  of  manufkc^red  goods  of  all 
sorts.  The  Russian  Goyemment  has  it  in  contemplatioii 
also,  to  raise  the  duty  on  woollen  goods  imported. 
Manufkctures  are  rapidly  extending  all  oyer  ihe  conti- 
nent, and  the  manufacturing  interest  will  soon  become  so 
strong,  and  so  well  combined  in  Germany,  at  l^i>st,  hj  the 
Prusnan  Commercial  League,  that,  in  a  few  years,  we 
will  be  entirely  excluded  tnm  the  continental  markets, 
unless  we  relax  our  restrictiye  system  without  fniiheT 
delay. 

AGRICULTURE 

Notwithstanding  the  agitation  for  the  Repeal  of  the 
Com  Laws,  farms  throughout  Scotland  are  lettin^^   as 
high,  and  in  many  instances  higher  than  they  did  wbea 
the  former  leases  were  taken  twenty  years  ago.    At  the 
Glasgow  Anti-Corn  Law  Meeting,  Mr.  Thomson   the 
delegate  fbr  Donse,  produced  a  ^  Statement  showing^  the 
fiurms  and  land  let  in  the  neighbourhood  of  DuAse, 
county  of  Berwick,  during  the  last  three  years,  giTin^ 
the  old  and  new  rents,  and  rise  per  cent,  in  each."  This 
document  showed  a  rise  in  rents,  yarying  from  25  to 
128  per  cent.,  the  ayerage  being  38 ;  and  preyed,  in  » 
strong  manner,  the  rapid  increase  in  the  yalue  of  land. 
Sir  James  Graham  of  Netherby,  expects  to  increase  his 
rental  some  £5000  or  £6000  a-year,  as  a  proyision  for  his 
eldest  son  now  coining  of  age.  Grrain  mukets,  owing^  In  a 
great  measure  to  the  rawness  and  bad  quality  of  the  crop, 
and  partly  from  speculators  being  more  willing  to  inrest 
their  money  in  foreign  grain  than  British,  haye  been  Tery 
dull,  and  the  duty  on  wheat  has  risen  to  24s.  8d.  There  is 
great  probability  that,  in  a  month  or  two,  the  holders  of 
foreign  grain  will  begin  to  work  the  ayerages,  «id  that 
the  duty  will  be  greatly  reduced.    We  do  not  see  i^j, 
in  the  meantime,  the  foreign  grain  in  bond  diould  not  be 
liberated  from  duty  at  the  nominal  rate,  for  the  pnrpoee 
of  feeding  the  starring  operatives.    We  do  not  tliink 
there  would  be  any  difficult  in  arranging  with  the  Com- 
mittees which  haye  almost  in  every  town  been  orgaoixed 
for  the  relief  of  the  Poor,  the  means  of  having  the  grain 
ground  and  baked  for  their  exclusive  use.     Sorely 
tf  a  measure  of  this  sort  were  introduced  into   par- 
liament, no  one  could  oppose  it ;  at  least  it  would 
be  highly  important  to  ascertain,  who,  in  times   of 
distress  like  the  present,  would  attempt  to  aggravate 
the  evil,  for  his  own  emolument,  and  on  what  groonda 
his   opposition  would  be  placed.     It  is  remarkable, 
that  although  the  consumption  of  butcher  meat  baa  Ad- 
ieu off  in  tba  manufacturing  towns  iVom  one-half  to  t^vro- 
thirds,  the  price  still  continues  without  abatement.      In 
1836,  the  number  of  cattle  killed  in  the  town  of  Forfiar 
was  800 ;  in  1841,  400  :  in  Dundee,  7800  cattle  were 
killed  in  the  former  year,  and  only  5096  in  the  latter, 
although  the  population  has  greatly  increased  daring  the 
five  years,    lliis  appears  to  show  that  the  disease  among^ 
the  cattle  and  sheep,  which  has  prevailed  more  or  leea 
for  some  years,  has  been  much  greater  than  has  gener- 
ally been  supposed  ;  for  had  tnule  been  as  brisk  sha  in 
1886,  butcher  meat  would  probably  have  reached  1  a.  in 
the  pound.    American  salted  beef  can  be  purchased   in 
Liveipool  for  IJd.  per  pound  ;  but  a  duty  of  128.  per 
cwt.  is  exacted  on  it ;  and  flresh  meat,  which  miglit  be 
brought  in  any  quantity  fVom  the  continent  at  3<i.  & 
pound,  is  altogether  exduded.    All  accounts  c<menr  in 
the  statement,  that  the  quantity  of  wheat  sown  is  nancb 
less  than  tor  many  years,  and  much  of  it  has  been   pnt 
into  the  ground  in  bad  condition.    As  it  is  only  in  pair- 
ticnlar  districts  that  spring  wheat  can  be  sown  with  SM&y 
advantage,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  breadtla  of 
luid  under  that  crop  will  be  comparatively  small  tliis 
year.  The  tum^  crop  has  generally  turned  out  defbo- 
tive,  and  more  of  it  than  usual  has  been  consumed   nt 
this  season.     Potatoes  have  proved  an  vremg^  crop, 
though  they  have  mostly  suffered  more  or  less  bj^  Uu^ 
froei. 


Printed  by  Wiluax  Tait^  107,  Prince's  Street^  Edinburgh. 


TAIT'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


MARCH,  1842. 


THE  PEEL  MYSTERY. 


TsideTdopment  of  that  my  sterious  and  mairellous 
scheme  orer  which  Sir  Robert  Peel  has  sat  hatch- 
ing for  teren  months,  has  not  surprised,  nor,  to 
own  the  truth,  deeply  afflioted  ns.  It  has  given  a 
TMdy  increased  mcmiefUum  to  that  social  movement 
in  idiich  Reformers  place  their  last  hope.  The 
onljretldaDger  was  in  some  quack  remedy — some 
dfttptiTe  measure  of  concession  and  compromise, 
wiiidi  might  have  skinned  over  a  canker  that 
reqaires  to  be  probed  and  cauterized.  That  danger 
bpast.  Now  it  must  be  either  total  repeal  of  the 
toes  on  food ;  or  something  better  still,  which 
M.  mdnde  this  among  other  gains.  A  storm  of 
vn&  is  meanwhile  bursting  around  the  head  of  the 
rafortimate  Minister,  whose  condition  really  moves 
cwnptirion.  How  could  he  avoid  failure  ?  Finesse 
'^rf  no  use  here.  He  had  on  all  sides  quick- 
'j^  persons  to  deal  with;  whose  wits  were 
farther  ^kened  by  the  strongest  motives  of  self- 
^^'^^xfA,  Self-interMt  spoke  to  his  friends  and  allies 
^  their  rent-books ;  to  the  manufacturers  from 
^  dosed  warehouses  and  rusting  machinery ; 
^  the  masses  of  the  people  had  their  deepest  feel- 
^  imised  and  sharpened  by  the  daily  view  of  the 
^^gedbscks  and  empty  trenchers  of  their  children. 

Y«^  Sir  Robert  bad  a  difficult  part  to  perform ; 
^  is  it  wonderful  that  the  poor  baited  gentleman 
htt  sgnally  feUed.  Yet,  viewmg  Sir  Robert  Peel 
to  sn  indiridual,  his  conduct  has  taken  many  pei*- 
**«by  sarprise.  As  a  statesman,  he  had  obtained 
«*  credit  <rf  having  the  interest  of  manufactures 
^>f^j  at  heart ;  ami  also  for  possessing  some 
*^">P*AeMion  of  mind — some  enlargement  of 
**»».  Those  who  doubted  of  his  statesmanlike 
??•%  in  an  era  like  the  present,  yet  had  faith 
**«» wgacity  and  tact  as  a  party  leader.  And 
***^he  stands,  confessing  himself  in  the  predica- 
"«^tf  tile  oU  man  and  the  ass  in  the  fable,  who, 
jTi^te  please  everybody,  pleased  nobody,— and 
lort  ham  into  the  baigwn. 

r rom  the  hercNc  tone  of  independence  he  assumed. 
It  'fMinigiiiedlhat  the  Government  he  had  formed 


was  to  submit  to  him.  He  has  succumbed  to  it !  He 
has  proposed  nothing  that  a  Stanley  might  not  ap- 
prove, and  a  Knatchbull  sanction.  In  comparison 
with  his  paltering  policy,  the  insolent  frankness  of 
Sir  E.  Knatchbull  and  Lord  Stanley  is  political 
wisdom  as  well  as  manliness.  When  they  avow 
that  the  sole  object  of  the  Com  Laws  is  to  keep 
rents  artificially  high,  and  that  "the  protection  of 
agriculture"  means  neither  more  nor  less  than 
enabling  the  aristocracy  to  maintain  their  luxuri- 
ous state  at  the  expense  of  the  manufacturer's  pro- 
fits, and  the  poor  mans  industry,  they  can  at  least 
be  understood.  Had  the  Anti-Com-Law  League, 
in  short,  bribed  Sir  Robert  Peel,  he  could  not  more 
eflFectually  have  done  the  business  of  keeping  alive 
agitation  than  by  the  line  of  conduct  he  has  pur- 
sued. The  Duke  of  Buckingham  merits  respect 
for  having  washed  his  hands  of  the  paltry,  evasive 
scheme,*  which  satisfies  no  one,  and  which  will 
speedily  be  the  law  of  the  land,  as  surely  as  it  seals 
Sir  Robert's  fate  as  a  statesman.  Had  he  at  once 
assumed  the  High-Tory  principle  of  "  No  surren- 
der," with  his  formidable  majority  of  "  the  Repre- 
sentatives of  the  People"  at  his  back,  he  would 
have  stood  on  clear,  if  unsafe  ground.  Now  the 
Tories  are  well  entitled  to  scout  "  the  bungling 
plebeian,"  who  has  tampered  with  the  best  defences 
of  their  order;  and  instead  of  conciliating  the 
growling  beasts  of  burthen  by  his  concession,  has 
excited  them  to  fiercer  discontent  than  ever. 

There  is,  however,  great  satisfaction  in  seeing  all 
delusion  at  an  «id,  and,  we  should  imagine,  all  hope 
from  Parliament,  as  at  present  constituted.  Every 
minute  is  now  lost  in  which  aught,  save  total  repeal, 
is  so  much  as  talked  about ;  though  the  Opposition 
Members  must,  no  doubt,  be  allowed  to  go  through 
their-usual  parliamentaiy  paces — ^pianoeuvrcs  in 
which  the  people  see  less  and  less  utility.  Lord 
Palmerston,  for  example,  in  the  debate  on  his  noble 
friend's  motion,  made  a  speech,  which  reads  like 


♦  For  Ha  natnro  we  refer  to  our  Political  Register. 

N^ 


142* 


THE  PEEL  MYSTERY. 


one  of  Ebenezer  EDiott's  energetic  Free-trade  Odes, 
done  into  powerful  English  prose  ;  and  then  voted 
for  the  principle  of  a  fixed  duty  on  com.  The 
time  is  surely  past  for  mere  Parliamentary  taeti^By 
or  for  farther  argument  on  the  Com  Lavs.  "Who 
can  hope  to  convince  men,  blinded  by  a^-interest 
and  pride,  or  by  ignorant  and  obdurate  prejudice  ? 
The  suffering  people  need  no  conviction. 

The  total  abolition  of  the  taxes  on  food,  on  the 
necessaries  and  comforts  of  humble  Hfe,  has  been 
advocated  hi  this  pnblicaiion  «¥«*  sinoe  it  came 
into  existence,  and  will  be  so  untU  the  injustice 
is  redressed ;  and  yet  just  and  good  as  is  this 
cause,  and  earnestly  as  we  desire  to  see  all  ranks 
and  classes  combining  to  promote  it,  yre  can- 
not  conceal  &om  ourselves,  that  the  abolition  of 
the  Com  Laws  is  but  a  partial  a(nd  inadequate 
remedy  for  the  many  ills  under  which  the  People 
suffer,  admitting  that  it  could  be  carried,  of  which, 
in  the  present  state  of  the  franchise,  there  is  no 
hope  whatever.  And  were  these  unrighteous  and 
unholy  laws  abrogated  to-day,  what  shall  ensure 
us  against  fresh  aggressions  equally  iniquitous, 
or  even  a  new  com  law  ?  Parliament  is  omnipotent^ 
and  the  aristocracy  still  make  the  Parliament,  and 
are,  therefore,  more  omnipotent  than  it.  A  few 
favourable  harvests,  a  gleam  of  manufacturing  pro- 
sperity, the  old  outcry  of  "  Agricultural  Distress,'* 
^e  supineness  of  the  people,  the  indifference  of  a 
comfortable  middle-dass,  and  a  Parliament  of 
land-owners^— -and  the  whole  machinery  is  restored 
under  some  new  name.  This  surely  is  not  an  im- 
possible case*  Now,  then,  is  the  time  to  attempt 
the  redress,  not  alone  of  the  Corn-Law  injustice, 
but  of  the  master-grievance  under  which  the  coun- 
try  suffers ;  that  which  lurks  in  the  vitiated  consti- 
tution of  the  House  of  Bepresentatives.  Short 
of  farther  improvement  of  that  cormpt  system 
and  its  clumsy  and  clogged  machinery,  there  is 
little  hope  of  effecting  even  temporary  and  partial 
economical  or  administrative  reforms.  Sir  Robert 
Peel,  who  might  hi^ye  b^en  imagined  ^  veiy  m^n 


for  small,  nibbling  bits  of  very  useful  legislation, 
stands  neutralized  and  feeble,  the  reluctant  slave 
of  the  party  whom  he  can  neither  lead  nor  drive 
in  the  path  which  he  may  see  to  be  the  right  one. 
No  ODa  cam  longer  have  either  faith  or  hope  in 
him*  Of  Ihe  Whigs,  the  country  has  had  a  very  ^ 
fair  trial.  What  solid  ground  of  hope  then  re- 
mains ?  Surely  not  in  the  "  mere  Whigs  "  driving 
PeQl  froip  office  ?  Of  that,  acting  gn  their  pri^ci- 
^e$  and  In  tbfir  qw»  sfeeligthf  thene  i|  ^ry  little 
chancer  Tliey  must  hav»  a  Wer  to  w»rk;  ^th, 
which  we  fear  they  have  not  yet  made  up  their 
minds  to  try  for.  It  is  an  instrument  not  named 
Finality. 

In  the  meanwhile,  we  rejoice  in  the  increasing 
symptoms  of  revivsd  among  parliamentary  Re- 
formers. Sir  Robert  has  done  great  good.  And 
now  we  would  warn  those  who  go  no  farther  than 
Cora-Law  reform,  to  eschew  the  fate  of  the 
Whigs,  to  whose  lagging  in  the  slough  of  Finality 
we  owe  a  new  Tory  reign,  and  among  other  g^ood 
tJiings,  a  continued  Com  Law.  Let  not  the  Mid- 
dle-Class Com  Law  Reformei$  fall  into  a  similar 
error,  and  perform  the  same  kind  office  for  ihe 
Tories  whidi  the  Whigs  performed ;  talking  away, 
imagining  themselves  all-powerful  in  their  own 
strength,  until  their  abyrtive  agitation  shal)  expire 
of  itself,  and  the  Tories,  having  stood  this  ne\7  burat^ 
are  once  again  more  fimoly  seated  th^n  eve^  If  the 
free-trade  party  do  not  wdcome  and  court,  aa  pot^it 
auxiliaries,  the  working  millions, — ^if  they  do  not 
chalk  out  a  broad  and  fair  field  for  the  anialgania- 
tion  of  interests,  and  for  the  vigorous  pursuit  of 
common  objects,  their  isolated  movement  must  and 
will  fail. 

The  lapse  of  a  few  weeks  wiU  show  whether  the 
Anti-com  Law  agitation  is  to  end  ii^  vapouz,  or 
to  pave  the  way  for  the  whole  people  obtainiix^ 
their  rights,  and  the  on^  effectual  instnunent  of 
social  and  political  improvement,— namely,  aelf- 
govemment  through  th^r  freely  chosen  r^pieaen- 
tatives. 


THE  80NOS  OF  THE  HONTHa 


«••  m^-Hm  soica  ov  Wksctu 

CofBi  hewlEMine  toe  nee,  loteby  toe  ye, 
durante  y  songes  of  ipoine  pleasannte  ftm jlo ! 
IfeoB  bee  yooie  feimet  yrhH  gurnitke  oare  gle, 
Miithlwse  neat  beaiBoa  fyttdNiUie. 

Joh<mne$;  Prior  of  Broomwiekcmt 


1. 


HiRK  I  Hark ! — A  oracAi  is  in  the  woods  % 

The  gnaried  oak  bendi  like  moimtaia-laidi : 
Who  shakes  the  forest^whips  the  floods. 
Like  March,  mad  March  % 
I  slid  down  the  storm  from  the  drifting  cload, 
To  fh)lio  awhile  in  yonr  mansions  prond. 
While  the  nsnrer  dreameth  of  thieves,  in  affH^^, 
I  will  rattle  his  casements,  and  blow  out  hii  light. 
I  will  hurl  on  the  head  of  the  learned  owl. 
While  he  studies  the  stars,  the  huge  chimney  cowl ; 
It  shall  cut  his  nose,  and  black  his  eye. 
To  test  his  sublime  philosophy. 

Thenoe,  where  havd  Asthma  haeki  and  luwgfas, 
With  purple  face  and  vital  sloughs, 


Against  Hie  windows  Fll  batier  Um  Tal% 
And  thrust  the  thick  smoke  down  the  floe  I  _ 
And  jnst  ere  your  dinner  'neath  the  eovers  is  put, 
I  will  dredge  it  deftlv  with  ashes  and  soot ; 
I  will  rend  the  fbrled  sails  as  I  ride  on  the  blaal. 
Singing  hurricane  tones 
Through  the  aavy ; 
And  111  fling  the  bold  mariner  down  flrtm  tbe  mtifik^ 
To  Davy, 
For  gravy 
To  his  marrow  bones  f 
I  win  bleach  fbr  the  laundress,  and  blaekea  her  stut^^ 
Such  a  whimsioal  Mloir  is  roaiiag  mad  Mar^ 


THE  S0K68  OF  THE  M<ȴTH& 


ua» 


LMk  I  Look  l-^AndUi  j«b  0<m«»'i  slnl^y 

F«w'«  feTer  braye  men's  lip9  doth  p«r^  } 
SW  90iunuii|(  mother— widow'4  wir«, 

Corse  March,  mad  Blarch ! 
I  !■  Bol  to  be  bounded,  nor  eorbed  in  my  glee, 
Bj  tbe  phaaioBi  of  hnmu  sympathy. 
1  vili  $nitk  fonikd  your  jaws  foT  tha  QiMittas  |e«iba 
iad  fiddle  away  on  the  fihres  beneath. 
1  will  blast  the  old  miller,  and  raffle  his  dam^ 
iU  strip  off  his  mill-top  like  the  bladder  ftrom  Jam. 
Tlw  dnhckrat  dank  fh>m  a  beggar's  maU, 
I  wiil  o'er  Patrieian  ^ntoheon  trail ; 

While  crieth  priest,  **  Lord  I  I  haT^  Oro^th," 
VH  whiHT »  cobweb  \a  his  month* 


Wherever  I  find  thai  a  iiei*?e«a  faeaH  befi% 
I  win  faAion  the  curtains  like  winding-sheets. 
While  the  grey  sexton  d^eameth  he  hears  his  death  knell, 
I  will  sweep  out  his  mattock,  and  toll  the  church-bell  ; 
I  will  shake  do¥m  the  mansion,  the  trees  will  npropl, 
Deeree'd,  and  oonfest 
Yours  eternal. 
Tbf fb  3i?a  hQV  will  you  pay  for  ^e  Chance|y  m%  f 
Infernal 
*  Hard  kemal 

For  man  to  digest  I 
I  will  droll  with  the  gloomy,  and  growl  si  the  v6kf 
$«oh  a  whiiiaical  feUow  U  rowrii^;  vmA  >iarotu 

^.  A.  p. 


THE  HUNGiaR-FIEND. 

[Tkb  flahleiBed  Foem  i*  written  by  ene  of  those  namelesa,  bnmble  batds,  whan  i^  haa  befn  onr  deliflii  to  ti»iany: 
lad  iibssij  effhiwams  wont  to  be  in  a  gayer  strain.  In  publishing  the  Poem  without  the  few  priyate  lines  address^q 
to  na,  we  ImI  that  its  objeet  wonld  be  less  distinctljr  brought  out :  we,  therefoie,  take  the  liberty  to  prefix  them. 
The  locality  of  the  author  is  not  any  of  those  places  in  which  distress  has  been  made  prominent  by  inquiry;  but  it 
is  one  in  wlileh,  as  in  the  whole  coun^,  *^  distress,**  in  the  words  of  the  Tory  Member  ht  Leeds,  ^  is  fearAiUy  oft 
tbe  iiiexeaae.1 

fO  THS  BOITOB  09  TAIT^S  ViCUaiMa 

Sov — Hm  ehant  of  the  Hunger-fiend  is  somewhat  wild,  but  too  true — a  Wmbtttr  cannot  speak  wfth  patienee 
It  ike  aobjeeS :  I  would  fidn  raise  one  ery  amid  the  general  Toiee,  through  yonr  Magaiine.  I  hare  been  working 
im  wisiier  Uir  km  lioa  a  $hiUing  thdajf — ^many  thousands  are  worse ;  but  still  /  t^hould  know  something  of  ^le 
Hunger-fiend. — I  am.  Sir,  with  all  respect^  your  most  obedient  servant, 

Thomas  ♦♦♦••♦  Qtias  Tam  Wabstbk. 


I  ani  tlM  Hmnfer-fiand^ 
Who  hath  not  heard  of  me  f 
.  ^47  borne,  my  native  hell, 
la  the  Isl^d  of  the  free  ; 
for  I  am  not  of  heaven, 

Ner  do  I  owe  my  birth 
lb  devils,  but  to  men : — 
The  honoured  of  the  eart^i 
Begat  the  Hunger-fiend. 

And  they  have  nursed  me  weU^ 

Tbbse  noble  sires  of  mine, 
Witii  flesh  of  living  men  : 

He  I  Death,  the  bones  are  fthine. 
When  in  their  sunken  dieeks 

l*Te  writ  my  horrid  name. 
Go  give  them  to  the  earth. 

We  play  a  deadly  game — 
%oa  fbUow'st  the  Hungeivfiend. 

The  land  of  trade  is  mine. 

Where  thousuids  feel  my  pangs. 
Where  many  an  honest  heart 

Is  poiaoiied  with  my  fiuigs, 
Jkmd  many  a  noble  soul 

Defiled  in  ravenous  clay : — 
Thoni^  the  ehurch  hath  lordly  priests 

Por  the  hunger-doomed  to  pray, 
Ihey  piay  far  the  Hnnger-fiend. 

Tile  &mished  City  cries 
To  ^e  hunger-breathing  air, 

Vke  while  her  idle  hands 
Are  fliapnd  in  doQwIr  i 


Saith  Hope^''  She  yet  may  jply 

Her  countless  iron  wheels ; 
The  earth  hath  store  of  grain, 

And  she,  a  thousand  keels  :*' 
^Ha,  ha  I^*  quoth  the  Hnnger-fiend. 
^  Tie  there  the  mother  weeps 

For  the  babe  that's  yet  nnbom ; 
While  the  weary  father  sleeps. 

But  I  wake  him  at  the  mom. 
Ah,  he  can  sleep  no  more. 

The  hunger- wail  he  hears, 
^d  his  swelling  heart  is  fUU 

Of  desperate  thoughts  and  i<»a^l^- 
Am  I  not  the  Hunger-fiend  !** 
*^  Britannia  rejoice 

In  thy  loyal  sons  of  toll. 
Who  eat  no  alien  bread 

Par  loye  of  thy  poor  soil ; 
Thop  Shalt  have  soldiers  yet. 

And  men  to  man  thy  fieefs. 
And  felons  for  thy  jails, 

And  maidens  for  thy  streets,-^ 
While  I  am  thy  Hungeivfiend. 
"*  All  hail,  thou  Island  Qaeen, 

In  thy  people's  love  rejoice. 
In  thy  army^  proud  array. 

In  thy  navy's  thunder  voice  : — 
Why  shock  the  royal  ear 

With  Ae  curses  of  my  prey. 
Why  mar  the  fbstiral. 

Pour  out  ^  wine  1— hnnah  1 
For  the  terrible  Hunger-fiend*^ 


ABEDNBaO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 

BY  HBa  €k>RE. 


CHAFTBBX. 

»sai«ld8faykMk,  both  Stand  forth  1  ""-nSbi^MarB. 

EmtT  »dal  epoch  has  its  distinctlTe  vices,  just 
fteVmil  ai  different  seasons  aiid  is 


sundry  loealities.  Assueljas  the  canals  of  Biii« 
tavia,  the  jangles  of  Siena-Leone,  or  the  Campagnft 
of  Rome,  generate  malaria  and  disease,  is  iha 
infancy  of  a  nation,  '^ere  human  statutes  puiga 
the  geaend  weal,''  disturt^MJ  by  the  conydsioBa  of 


144» 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


bloodshed  and  rapine ;  while,  in  the  national  cor- 
ruption succeeding  the  over-rii>enes8  of  civilisatioUy 
are  engendered  the  colder-blooded  crimes  of  trea- 
chery and  fraud.  According  to  a  genealogical  tree^ 
not  recorded  in  the  Herald's  Office,  the  prodigal 
and  the  wanton  are  parents  of  the  swindler,  the 
forger,  the  usurer.  Though  the  knife  of  the  guillo- 
tine and  bolt  of  the  gallows  be  of  iron,  the  main- 
spring influencing  their  action  is  formed  of  a  more 
precious  metal. 

The  flrst  fifteen  years  of  the  present  century 
constituted  a  stirring  epoch.  The  swell  of  the 
waters  of  strife,  after  the  recent  revolutionary 
storm,  had  not  yet  subsided ;  and  the  gallant  vessels 
of  the  various  States  of  Europe  were  still  in  peril 
of  a  shock.  On  all  sides  resounded  the  ha,  ha !  of 
the  trumpet,  and  the  neighing  of  the  war-horse. 
A  sword  was  in  every  hand,  and  angry  passions 
contended  in  eveiy  breast.    . 

At  such  periods,  the  minds  of  men  wax  fierce  and 
reckless,  ^e  coveter  of  other  men's  goods  hardens 
into  the  highway  robber ;  the  coveter  of  other  men's 
lives  attacks  by  open  violence  rather  than  by  poison 
or  stealth ;  "  I  dare  not,"  no  longer  "  waits  upon 
I  would."  The  social  body  is  in  a  state  of  terrible 
excitement  Its  very  virtues  are  ferocious ; — what 
can  be  expected  of  its  vices  ? 

Yet  the  unnatural  calm  that  succeeds  to  this 
enthusiasm  of  atrocity,  the  inglorious  sloth  of  na- 
tional soul  and  body  arising  from  prolonged  peace 
and  prosperity,  has  results  almost  equally  perni- 
cious. As  the  glaring  summer  heats  bring  forth  the 
noisome  insect  or  fatal  reptile  race,  a  brood  of 
despicable  vices  and  grovelling  crimes  is  hatched 
into  existence  by  the  sunshine  of  aimless  prosperity. 
As  in  the  becalming  of  the  ocean  so  powerfully 
described  by  Coleridge, 

Slimy  things  do  crawl  with  legs, 
tJpon  the  slimy  sea. 
Even  "creeping  things"  acquire  force,  when  "in- 
numerable ;"  and  by  the  time  the  swords  of  legions 
of  disbanded  mercenaries  have  been  converted  into 
the  implements  of  the  housebreaker  and  pickpocket, 
and  the  gold-shed  of  luxury  has  exercised  as  hard- 
ening an  influence  over  the  human  heart  as  the 
blood-shed  of  a  more  turbulent  period,  we  begin 
almost  to  regret  the  times  when  perpetual  terror 
of  body  begat  a  more  immediate  terror  of  peril  to 
the  soul. 

While  the  ascendancy  of  Napoleon  difi\ised 
throughout  Europe  a  panic  rivalling  the  Reign  of 
Terror  created  by  Robespierre  in  France,  the 
generous  affections  remained  in  play,  to  controvert 
the  frenzy  of  national  virulence  and  party  hatred. 
Most  people  had  some  near  and  dear  connexion 
involved  in  the  dangers  of  the  war ;  and  even  the 
frivolous  classes  blushed  to  surrender  themselves 
to  the  mere  vanities  of  life,  when  the  next  courier 
might  bring  tidings  of  the  sacrifice  of  thousands  of 
human  beings,  or  of  the  one  individual  dearer  than 
all.  The  service  of  plate,  the  gaudy  equipage,  the 
diamond  coronet,  foifeited  a  portion  of  their  value. 
A  death's-head  was  at  every  banquet, — a  memento 
mart  at  every  ball, — a  premonitory  knell  iu  every 
ear! 
But  the  moment  these  anxieties  abated,  and 


Grim-visag'd  war  did  smooth  his  wrinkled  froot, 
what  tenfold  requital  did  the  worldlings  yield  them- 
selves for  previous  self-denial ! — What  an  uproar  of 
rejoicing,  what  prodigality  of  pleasure,  what  cost, 
what  splendour,  what  riot,  what  intemperance,cel^ 
brated  the  ratification  of  peace!  England  thoughtno 
further  of  her  legions  of  dead,  her  millions  wasted ; 
and  not  content  with  hanging  up  her  conquered 
banners  in  triumph,  or  chanting  her  TVDfUffM  with 
grateful  solemnity,  suffered  her  anthems  to  be  over- 
powered by  a  Bacchanalian  roar,  and  the  senadess 
giggle  of  fashionable  levity. 

Intoxicated  by  the  brilliancy  of  a  congress  of 
kings  in  their  capital,  the  English  hurried  to  the 
Continent  to  keep  up  their  fever  of  excitement. 
From  that  moment,  the  manners  of  the  day  acquired 
a  looser  tone,  a  more  Epicurean  luxury.  London 
grew  ashamed  of  its  homeliness,  and  b^n  to  affect 
airs  of  virtii  and  graces  of  savair  vivre.  New  ou- 
toms  were  introduced,  and  splendid  enervation  pre- 
vailed. To  that  epoch,  may  be  retraced  the  ruin 
ofmany  a  princely  fortune.  Not  only  were  miilkms 
left  behind  by  our  migrant  aristocracy  in  foreign 
capitals,  or  the  gaming-tables  of  Paris,  Spa,  or 
Baden ;  but,  on  their  return  to  England,  their  resi- 
dences, whether  in  London  or  the  provinces,  afforded 
dbgracefiil  evidence  of  the  new  (Os-order  of  things. 
Foreign  servants  abounded  in  every  noble  honse- 
hold ;  foreign  ti*ade8men  were  established  in  every 
street.  Everything  worn,  eaten,  said,  or  done,  was 
d  la  this,  or  d  la  that ;  and  money  rose  proportion- 
ately in  value,  and  timber  fell.  Unlike  the  ancient 
retainers  or  hereditary  purveyors  of  graver  times, 
these  strangers  came  like  locusts  into  the  land,  to 
plunder,  devour,  and  take  flight  again ;  and  thence- 
forward multiplied  advertisements  of  family  estated 
to  be  sold,  family  mansions  to  be  let,  a»d  "MoxEf 

TO  BE  JLDVAXCED   TO   NOBLEMEN   OR  QENTLBSIBIC** 

the  most  disinterested  terms,  attested  the  p: 
we  were  making  in  national  refinement. 

Among  the  latter,  and  singularly  familiar  to  tl 
young  spendthrifts  of  the  universities  and 
Guards,  were  the  manifestoes  of  a  certam  A.O. 
whom  reference  was  to  be  made  by  letter,  adi 
to  the  Hungerford  Coffee-house.  There  was  a  toi 
of  respectability  in  the  phrasing  of  these  advci 
ments.    They  had  the  air  of  proceeding  from  sod 
gentleman  with  a  large  floating  capital,  and  I 
great  faith  in  government  securities,  anxious  I 
obtain  good  interest  and  a  safe  investment  for  M 
money, — ^perhaps  for  the  benefit  of  a  deserving  ^ 
and  numerous  family.   People  reduced  for  the  fil 
time  to  the  Bhtun^e  of  borrowing,  said  to  themselvi 
"  A.  0.  is  my  man ! "    There  was  far  less  humifl 
tion  in  addressing  a  letter  to  the  Hungerford  Coffl 
house,  than  in  being  seen  entering  the  doors 
notorious  money-brokers  in  Cork  Street  or  11 
MaU. 

But  it  was  observed  that  no  man  after  a  sii 
application,  was  ever  known  to  refer  his  firiend 
the  same  source  of  relief.     No  one  talked  8^" 
A.  0., — ^no  one  admitted  that  he  had  any  cogni; 
of  this  mysterious  personage.  '  Or  if,  in  an  prgiej 
thoughtless  boys  about  to  repair  to  the  gamblil 
table,  or  confessing  the  ill-luck  of  the  piev 
night  and  its  results,  some  novice  suggested 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


141 


wiQ  adTeriised  name  <^  A.  0^  eveiy  one  present 
q^peandanziom  to  change  the  conversation.  Each 
bid  instontly  some  pet  nsorer  to  recommend.  Still, 
not  a  nd  was  positiTelj  heard  to  say,  **  Beware  of 
A.  0.!"  A  ehann  seemed  attached  to  the  name, 
M  atene  were  eren  the  most  hardened  thirsters  after 
thepocket's  blood  to  pronounce  those  direful  initials. 
However  prompt  to  revile  Uie  originators  of  all 
otiier  adrertisements  of  a  similar  description,  as 
legitimate  descendants  of  Barabhas,  no  one  whisper- 
ed a  syllable  against  A.  0.  Discriminating  persons 
Bty,  perhaps,  infer  firom  this,  that  most  of  these 
cantiQiiia  friends  were  in  his  power! 

At  a  dumer  at  the  Guard's  Club  in  St.  James's 
Sbcet,  early  in  the  autumn  of  1822,  it  was  observed 
that,  diflcinBions  having  arisen  concerning  recent 
kwes  at  play,  at  Graham's  renowned  Temple  of 
Chance,  where,  at  that  moment,  fortunes  were 
vinniogandlodng  with  fearful  rapidity,  the  coun* 
teaanoe  of  a  young  officer,  who  had  hitherto  listened 
to  audi  alhttions  with  perfect  unconcern,  became 
■agnkify  agitated.  It  was  noticed  with  the  more 
surprise^  because  Basil  Annesley  never  entered  the 
dwni  of  Graham's,  and  bore  no  rektionship  to  any 
«e  of  the  parties  i^diose  affairs  were  thus  freely 
cunraand. 

^Foor  thousand  on  Thursday  night,  and  three 
thouaod  last  week ! "  observed  Colonel  Loftus.— 
■PoorarGrinsel!  Tm  afraid 'tis  kll  up  with  him! 
He  told  me  himself  he  had  raised  twelve  thousand 
ii^iBonth ;  and  that  he  had  not  a  resource  left, — 
"wtgaged  to  the  last  guinea,— every  stick  on  his 
Irak  estates  gone !— Poor  Sir  Grinsel  I  "— 

"He  has  latterly  had  recourse  to  A.  0.,"  added 
Ciptain  Blencowe,  in  a  grave  under  tone ;  **  so  one 
oa  vndergtand  the  sort  of  straits  to  which  he  must 
btiwhwed." 

*A.  0.?— Why  surely  that  is  the  person  to  whom 
«7^°^  the  Duke  of  Rochester,  is  said  to  owe 
t^r  thousand  pounds?''— cried  a  youngster  who 
^  li<^  joined,  and  was  fond  of  citing  his  "uncle 
t^  doke,"  (a  weakness  of  course  hoaxed  out  of 
^  befoie  he  had  been  aix  months  in  the  r^- 

*  Ay,  and  out  of  whose  clutches  half  the  fellows 
J^ueeteroy  day  hi  St  James's  Street  would  be 
'^glid  to  extricate  themselves,'*  retorted  Captain 
"*wwe.  "A.  O.  is  the  last  resource  of  ruined 
■•» ;— the  exeeutionerwho  gives  the  ecup  degrdee,** 

"What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  the  ecutp  de 
fi^ef— demanded  the  lad  so  proudof  beingnephe  w 

"Tbe  t(mp  (h  grdee,  is  the  stroke  given  to  a 
^*^  on  the  wheel,  to  put  him  out  of  his  pain," 
?*^  a  grey  matter-of-fact  old  colonel,  who  offi- 
«^aadry-nuTse  to  the  subalterns. 

"I  Bcnit  that  A.  O.  was  the  blackguard  who  aims 
*^*nt  bbw  at  ruined  men;  the  sort  of  fellow  to 
^»*OBe  at  a  drowning  dog,  scarcely  able  to  keep 
■»^W  above  water." 

*^wa8  he^  I  fancy,  who  arrested  Eggerstone," 
**|^  Cehmel  Loftus. 

pJJ^jjH  was  a  writ  obtained  by  A.  O.  that  drove 
^*"™A  Lmnley  to  Brussels,"  rejoined  Captain 
^TJ?]'''  *  A  man  must  in  short  have  exhausted 
■*  other  leamrces,  to  have  recourse  to  him.   How- 

^  ttnt^Tia,  IX. 


ever,  it  must  be  added  that  he  is  unfailing  at  a 
pinch.  The  brute  is  always  flush  of  cash  ;  and, 
if  one  chooses  to  rush  into  the  jaws  of  a  shark  with 
one's  eyes  open,  one  is  more  to  blame  than  the  crea- 
ture that  follows  its  instincts  by  closing  them  upon 
one.  I  once  borrowed  money  of  A.  0.  I  had  tried 
every  other  quarter. — ^A  minor  with  only  personal 
security  to  ofier,  the  dase  seemed  hopeless. — How- 
ever, the  cormorant  was  tempted  by  thirty  per  cent., 
and  the  attestation  of  my  honest  count^ance  and 
prtmiissory  note ;  and  to  my  dying  day,  never  shall 
I  forget  ^e  joy  with  which  I  found  myself  re- 
deemed from  the  thraldom  of  the  debt,  within  the 
year,  by  tlie  generosity'  of  an  old  aunt,  who  was 
good  enough  to  dio^r  the  purpose." 

**  Within  a  year,  what  had  you  to  fear  from 
himr 

"  Nothing  to  fear, — ^much  to  endure!  I  had  made 
the  interest  of  that  accursed  £ve  hundred  pounds, 
payable  monthly,  out  of  the  allowance  which  my 
skin-flint  of  a  Scotch  guardian  doled  out  to  me  in 
the  same  manner.  Every  third  of  the  month  was 
I  visited  by  a  hateful  night-mare,  in  the  shape  of 
A.  O. — I  think  I  see  the  door  of  my  room  opening 
to  admit  him ! — '* 

"  But  why  not  make  it  payable  at  your  banker  s 
or  agent's  ?" 

^'He  conditioned  that  it  should  be  paid  from  hand 
to  hand.  I  suspect,  he  chose  to  have  an  eye  upon 
the  morals  and  health  of  his  debtor ;  for  one  day, 
when  he  made  his  appearance  as  usual,  and  the 
effects  of  a  gin-punch  party  at  Limmer's  the  pre- 
vious night,  tvere  only  too  visible  in  my  face,  I 
remember  his  fixing  his  keeii  eyes  into  me,  like  the 
talons  of  a  bird  of  prey,  and  inquiring  the  -nature 
of  the  disorder  that  made  me  so  ghastly : — just  as 
a  ghoul  might  be  supposed  to  investigate  the  state 
of  the  corpse  upon  which  it  was  about  to  make  its 
loathsome  repast." 

"  Kne  him, — ^fine  him ! — Upon  my  soul,  Blen- 
cowe, you  are  too  bad !"— cried  several  voices. 

^^  You  positively  make  me  sick,  with  your  ghoul  . 
and  your  A.  0. !"  added  the  Duke  of  Rochester's 
nephew. 

^*  He  did  me!"  retorted  the  captain  earnestly; 
"  the  very  recollection  sickens  me  now. — Loftus ! 
the  daret, — something  too  much  of  this!" — and 
the  wine  was  passed  round,  and  the  table  soon  re- 
sumed its  tone  of  wonted  hilarity. 

All  this  time,  Baml  Annesley  had  been  peeling 
his  walnuts  as  assiduously  as  though  they  were 
destined  for  some  fair  neighbour  at  a  dinnerparty, 
instead  of  for  his  listless  self.  In  point  of  fact,  he 
knew  not  that  he  had  so  much  as  a  walnut  on  his 
plate.  Throughout  the  discussion,  he  had  been  all 
ear;  and  chose  an  occupation  enabling  him  to 
listen  with  his  face  depr^sed,  so  a%to  conceal  his 
deep  interest  in  the  matter. 

But  the  very  means  he  took  to  disguise  his  emo- 
tion, caused  it  to  be  noticed. — ^Basil  Annesley  was 
one  of  those  open-spirited  fellows,  who  confront  the 
observation  of  society,  with  an  ever  frank  and  fear- 
less countenance ;  and  to  find  his  forehead,  usually 
held  so  high,  thus  pertinaciously  incumbent,  and 
his  voice  usually  so  free  in  discussion,  thus  perse- 
veringly  silent^  excited  surmises  in  the  mind  of 

N 


14S 


ABEDNE60  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


Lof  tus,  who  B$i  opposite  to  him,  aM  well  as  in  the 
grey-headed  colonel, 

'<  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?  Has  poor 
Annesley  been  playing  V  was  the  secret  conjecture 
of  both.  "Another  victim  to  dcarte  or  hazard  !— 
Another  victim  for  the  mnorseless  claws  of  A.  0!" 

Yet  Annesley  had  never  been  noticed  to  enter  a 
gambling  house.  The  play  of  fjashitnable  Londcm 
was  not  then  concentrated  into  so  decided  a  focus, 
as  it  has  since  become.  But  in  a  community  so 
small  as  that  to  which  Basil  was  attached,  a  man 
addicted  to  any  grosser  vice,  is  soon  convicted ;  and 
he  had  hitherto  passed  for  a  lady's  man, — an  Al* 
macks'  pet, — rather  than  for  a  fellow  likely  to  be 
carried  away  by  the  disaipatioMI  of  rwU  life. 

It  was  only  a  year,  sinoe  Basil  Annesley  had 
joined  the  Guards.  On  quitting  Harrow,  he  had 
completed  his  education  at  a  foreign  university ;  and 
soon  afterwards,  as  the  son  of  the  late  Sir  Bernard 
Annesley,  one  of  the  bravest  victims  of  the  Pen- 
insular war,  had  obtained  a  commission  from  the 
generous  patronage  of  tlie  royal  Commander-in- 
chief.  Of  the  state  of  his  fortunes,  little  was  au- 
thentically known.  From  the  period  of  the  Gene- 
ral's death,  his  mother  had  resided  in  retirement. 
No  one  knew  whether  she  were  rich  or  poor.  Basil 
never  mentioned  her  name.  It  was  concluded  thai 
he  spent  the  periods  of  his  leave  of  absenoe  tern  his 
regiment,  with  Lady  Annesley ;  but  on  his  return, 
he  made  no  allusion  to  the  visit.  His  habits  of  life, 
induced  the  inference  that  his  allowance  was  less 
than  liberal ;  but  though  lively  and  open  on  indif- 
ferent subjects,  Basil  was  too  reserved  concerning 
his  family  affairs,  and  too  self-possessed  in  his 
good-breeding,  for  hb  brother  officers  to  hazard 
offending  him  by  betraying  impertinent  curiosity. 

Still,  the  grey-headed  colonel,  known  in  the  regi- 
ment by  the  name  of  old  Carrington  and  the  char- 
acter of  an  officious  bore,  qieditated  on  the  present 
occasion  some  investigaUon  of  the  origin  of  the 
young  ensign's  embarrassment ;  when,  just  as  he 
was  turning  towards  him  for  a  reintroduction  of 
the  subject  of  A.  0.,  Basil  Annesley  throwing  his 
napkin  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  rose  and  hurried 
out  of  the  room, 

Now  old  Carrington  was  gouty ;  and  the  active 
movements  of  a  lad  of  twenty,  soon  distanced  those 
of  a  man,  who  to  twenty  added  fiye  and  twenty 
years  more,  many  of  them  years  of  active  service ; 
so  that  before  the  Waterloo  oolonel  was  able  to 
crook  his  finger  round  the  button  of  his  ensign,  Basil 
had  cast  hb  eyes  over  the  advertisements  of  the 
Morning  Patty  and  ascertained  to  a  letter  the  ad- 
dress of  the  money-lender  to  whom  Wilberton's 
uncle,  the  Duke  of  Rochester,  was  said  to  owe  thirty 
thousand  pounds. 

In  ano^er  ^If  hour,  he  had  not  only  reached 
hb  lodgings,  but  finished  and  sealed  hb  letter  to  A. 
O.— Instead  of  placing  it  upon  the  chimney-piece, 
however,  to  attract  the  notice  of  hb  servant,  as  was 
hb  custom  with  those  destined  for  the  twopenny 
post,  Basil  Annesley  not  only  left  it  upon  the  table, 
but  placed  the  blotting-book  in  which  he  had  been 
writing,  over  it,  like  a  tombstone,  as  if-^— "  look  on't 
again,  he  dare  not  I " 

A  letter  entreating  a  peracmal  interview  with  a 


money4ender!-^nabject1etieffrom^*m,tl^Bpitni4- 
spirited  son  of  a  proud-hearted  mother!  Wbai 
would  that  mother  think  of  him,  could  sba  anppoM 
that,  disregarding  her  solemn  charges,  her  affeoUon^ 
ate  adjurations,  he  had  within  so  short  a  time  ^f 
entering  the  army,  involved  himself  in  debt  to  • 
degree  requiring  the  intervention  of  an,  usarer  1 
Poor  Basil  threw  himself  at  full  length  on, the  eoffa 
of  hb  chamber,  with  hb  hands  clasped  oyer  bia 
head,  and  his  eyes  fixed  vacantly  upon  a  at»ring 
print  of  the  Hetman's  daughter,  which  in  a  gaudy 
frame  graeed  the  opposite  wall,  as  Ukeneasea  el 
Cerito  or  Duvemay  embellish  the  bachelor  lad^ 
ings  of  the  present  day;  revolving  within  hime^lf^ 
with  de^rate  self-recrimination,  all  that  ha4 
passed  between  him  and  Lady  Annesley  on  tlie 
chapter  of  finance,  at  their  last  intervbw. 

It  was  impossible  to  conceive  a  greater  contrast* 
than  between  the  noby  and  public  life  he  waa  lead* 
ing  in  town,  and  the  monotonous  seclusion  of  Bar* 
lingham  Grange.  Situated  within  a  mile  of  the 
New  Forest,  the  ancient  mansion  inhabited  by  the 
¥ridow  of  Sir  Bernard  Annesley  resembled  rather 
a  moated  farm-house  than  the  cottages  of  gentUi^ 
to  which  widows  of  moderate  means  are  apt  to  re* 
tire  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  a  small  eatablishxnent* 
Concealed  within  the  intricacies  of  a  wooded  ooon- 
try,  attainable  only  by  a  detestable  cross-road  or 
rather  cross-lane  cutting  across  the  Forest  from 
Lyndhurst,  Barlingham  Grange,  or  as  it  was  ab- 
-  breviated  by  the  cottagers  in  the  neighhoarhood, 
the  Grange,  was  out  off  from  all  commimieatiQii 
with  the  active  world ;  and  Lady  Annesley  was  so 
cold  in  her  deportment,  and  so  wedded  to  the  soli- 
tude in  which  she  had  resolutely  ensconced  hersali^ 
that,  but  for  the  afieotionate  fervour  of  Baail's  «!%■ 
ture,  it  must  have  appeared  a  penance  to  him  r^thof 
than  a  schoolboy's  holiday,  to  journey  twioe  a  year 
from  Harrow  into  Hampshire,  and  return  tlutkofi 
for  a  couple  oi  months,  between  the  period  of  hii 
quitting  Heidelberg,  and  entering  the  army. 

Accustomed,  however,  to  ascribe  the  melanehelji 
reserve  of  hb  surviving  parent  to  afflieticHi.   £s4 
the  loss  of  hb  father,  Basil  respected  her  auotav^ 
melancholy ;  and  though  in  hb  boyhood  Uiere  hai^ 
been  moments  when,  weary  <^  flinging  stones  mtf 
the  old  moat  to  startle  the  dab-chicks  Itobc^ 
reeds,  and  of  contemplating  the  dilapidated  poiAi 
gables  of  the  old  red-brick  mansion,  he  had  alm< 
wished  he  might  not  again  set  eyes  on  Bavlinj 
ham, — ^he  never  returned  thither  to  be  foldecl 
momentary  warmth  to  the  heart  of  hb  grave  moi 
and  submit  anew  to  the  cross-questioning  o€ 
venerable  maid  Dorcas,  and  the  maundering  of  t| 
old  gardener,  the  only  male  domestic  of  that 
mitive  establishment,  without  feeling  that»    skf|( 
aU,  home  was  home, — a  mother,  a  mother  ;     ^ 
though  the  former  exhibited  the  uttermost  sta^n^ 
tion  of  earthly  dulness,  and  the  latter  a  raeei 
according  better  with  the  measured  aflfeotions 
more  distant  relationship. 

But  Lady  Annesley  was   no  longer   3r<nu| 
Though  still  exhibiting  traces  oi  beauty  o€  tl 
highest  order,  she  had  long  passed  her  fiftietli  yecj 
and  those  eager  demonstrations  of  maternal  &fiM 
tion,  which  burst  from  the  hearts  of  yoonger  ibJ 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER, 


U8 


|Imii»  WM»  not  to  be  ocpeoUd  of  a  widowed  matron, 
in  idiom  a  life  of  utter  solitude  oonfinned  the 
kiAmnm  wbieh  liad  lod  to  its  adoptum.  Nor  was 
Bull  in  only  aon.  She  bad  a  daughter,  twelye 
JM9  eider  than  himself ;  a  daughter  who,  having 
Binied  young  and  settled  in  the  North,  was  now 
tbe  Bother  of  a  numerous  funily  of  her  own ;  and 
a%  ten  the  period  of  her  marriage  Lady  Annesley 
tai  Ms.  Vemon  had  been  never  known  to  meet, 
it  aigfat  be  inferred  that  the  maternal  sensibilities 
«£&  Bamafd's  widow  were  of  no  veiy  vivid  na- 
tes. She  had  evidently  never  iMovered  the  shock 
«£kiiiuitlniely  death. 

StOl,  IB  spite  <rf  appearances,  Basil  thought  oiher- 
viit.  Undemonstrative  as  she  was,  there  were 
BooMnts  when  he  had  detected  his  mother's  eyes 
aeiiisid  with  tears  when  fixed,  as  if  furtively,  upon 
bis  hod.  On  one  occasion,  wh«i  she  had  taken 
ktfe  of  him  with  her  usual  serenity  on  bis  depar- 
tm  lor  Hanow,  having  been  compelled  to  return 
a  qositM  of  an  hour  afterwards  in  search  of  a 
kttir  sddnssed  to  Dr.  Butlei  which  he  had  left 
Whind,  be  feund  her,  on  reentering  her  cheerless 
■ttiig*ieom,  with  her  hoB  buried  in  the  cushions 
of  her  aofsy  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
Yii  vbsii  ftware  of  his  preeence,  as  if  irritated  that 
bi  ibtald  have  been  a  witness  of  her  grief,  she  only 
cbidsd  bis  niielesancas,  and  did  not  renew  her  part? 
agcsnss. 

He  could  scarcely  remember  his  sister.  She  had 
Ws  bseoght  up  by  her  father's  family.  Basil  was 
nly  Bven  years  old  at  the  period  of  her  marriage; 
a^  wbenever,  in  earlier  life,  he  expressed  to  his 
notbtf  a  wish  to  see  Helena  again.  Lady  Annesley 
Kfiiied,  that  they  were  not  Hkely  tomeet,  Mr.Ver- 
los  being  an  odd  man ;  an  equivocal  phrase,  im- 
plyiii;  littk  or  much,  according  to  the  acceptation 
«(tbibesr«.  Basil  had  taken  it  lor  granted  that 
bb  beother-in-law  was  a  brute,  who,  on  account  of 
bis  aster's  want  of  fortune,  tyrannised  over  her, 
nA  bpi  her  ap^rt  hem  her  family.  But  as  Hrs. 
^BisD,  during  their  two  or  three  interviews,  had 
lotdeigBsdtobestowonhim  a  single  sisterly  caress, 
bs  idt  little  indignation  in  her  behalf ;  and  had 
a  ^shnost  ceased  to  recall  to  mi|id  the  existence 
•ftkbostmnged  rel|iavc. 

'^Uig really  disgraceful  that  Helena  should  ex- 
biUt  iBsh  unnatural  indifibrence  1  *'  he  once  observed 
tebiiBetfaev.  «"  The  result  of  bringing  up  a  child 
odtf  saodier's  roef  1  Barlingham  was  never  her 
bosH,  and  she  has  foigotten  that  it  is  that  of  her 
■•Aw  ud  brother." 

A  bictie  flush  tinged  Lady  Annesley's  pale  cheek 

>t  tbe  observation,  and  Buil  instantly  repented 

^VMds ;  lor  he  had  now  begun  to  surmise  that 

|*y Jfr*  esdusion  in  which  they  lived,  and  the 

•HtbBofbie  elder  nater  by  his  uncle,  had  acom-^ 

M  oiigiii—in  the  straitened  means  of  his  mother. 

ttvuitiaage  indeed,  that  Admiral  Annesley  should 

■*bsvc  selseted,  as  the  object  of  his  fftvour,  the 

*"|^iitber  than  the  daughterof  his  deceased  brother. 

«*iiBigJit  be  easily  accounted  for.     At  the 

^^^  Sb  Beniavd's  death,  Basil  was  of  an  age 

•^JJ^^in  the  aflbetionate  services  of  a  mother ; 

*°^  'UMa  was  neaily  sixteen,  her  education 

^""VM.  Moieover  he  flattered  hims^  that  Lady 


Annesley  a  partiality  for  her  boy  was  not  without 
its  influence  in  the  selection. 

A  portion  of  Basil's  uncertainties  concerning  his 
mother,  however,  were  now  at  an  end.  During  his 
sojourn  at  Heidelberg,  his  own  developed  intelli- 
gence enabled  him  to  detect,  even  in  her  grave  and 
earnest  letters,  a  tone  of  strong  maternal  afiPection, 
subdued  as  if  by  an  efiPort  of  resolution ;  and  on 
meeting  her  again,  upon  bis  return  from  Germany, 
his  strengthened  f^aracter  and  greater  self-possesr 
sion,  gave  him  courage  to  indulge  in  such  demon- 
strations of  grateful  filial  tenderness  as  served  in 
some  measure  to  thaw  the  jcy  self-restraint  of  the 
widow.  If  she  had  not  treated  him  more  fondly 
during  tbe  two  months  he  had  spent  at  Barlingham, 
she  had  treated  him  more  openly*  She  had  avowed 
to  him  that  she  was  not  on  friendly  terms  with  his 
father's  family, — not  even  on  friendly  terms  with 
her  daughter.-— 

^^  It  matters  not  with  whom  the  fault,"  said  sht, 
in  answer  to  Basifs  eager  interrogatories.  '^Suflice 
it  that  the  Annesley  family  include  the  son  so  dear 
to  me  in  their  displeasure  against  myself  and  art 
oonsequentiy  little  likely  to  make  overtures  of 
kindness  towards  you.  Oblige  me,  therefore,  dear* 
est  Basil,  by  abstaining  ^m  all  further  relerenoe 
to  the  subject."* 

On  another  point,  die  had  been  equally  candid. 
She  informed  him  that  she  was  poor,— -very  poor ; 
that  her  income  of  eight  hundred  a-year,  derived 
in  a  great  measure  from  her  pension  as  the  widow  of 
a  general  officer,  would  only  enable  her  to  makehim 
an  allowance  of  three;  that  the  littie  she  could  lay 
aside,  was  forming  a  fond  lor  his  future  promoticm ; 
and  that  necessity,  as  well  as  choice,  had  induoed 
her  to  make  a  hermitage  of  her  retreat. 

^^  All  my  desiye,  all  my  ambitbn,  dearest  Basil," 
said  she,  ^*  is  your  advancement  in  life.  My  fate 
has  been  a  sad  one.  I  was  ^ifedded  against  my  in- 
clinations. Your  father's  family  caballed  against  me 
while  he  lived,  and  cast  me  off  at  his  death;  yetcir* 
cumstanees  forbad  me  to  refose  their  ofier  of  adopt- 
ing Helen,  for  whom, indeed, — ^but  no  matter!-— <« 
My  happinesi  has  been  in  you,  Basil ;  my  consola- 
tion in  you.  For  you  have  I  lived ;  for  you  1  hope, 
and  am  happy.  Deficient  as  you  may  have  some- 
times fancied  me  in  tenderness,  so  dear  have  you 
ever  b^en  to  me,  that,  had  I  lost  you,  I  would  not, 
I  eoM  not  have  survived !  In  your  wellbeing, 
my  very  existence  is  bound  up.  Become  ^idiat  I 
expect  of  you, — a  man, — a  man  of  honour, — a  pru- 
dent num,  endowed  with  the  esteem  of  society,— 
and  my  old  age  may  perhaps  still  enjoy  the  peace 
and  honour  denied  to  my  youth.  But  fslter  in 
the  path, — disgrace  youreelfy— and  I  shall  become 
a  widow  indeed  I" 

A  warm  embrace  sealed  the  compact  between 
them,  ^riiich  Basil  long  promised  himself  to  hold 
sacred ;  and  again  and  again,  previous  to  his  em- 
barkation in  London  life,  had  poor  Lady  Anneriey 
dwelt  solemnly  upon  the  fact  that,  possessing  only 
a  life  income,  should  he  involve  himself  in  debt, 
she  would  be  unable  to  afford  him  relief. 

''  Think,"  she  had  said  to  him  at  parting,  ^think, 
dearest  Basil,  what  would  be  the  distress,  the  de- 
qtair,  of  this  tranquil  littie  household,  over  which 


144 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


the  quiet  yean  have  been  rolling  away  unfelt, 
should  any  mischance  befall  yon !  Croyem  your 
oondncty  my  dear  son,  by  the  conviction,  that  dis- 
grace to  you  would  convey  death  to  your  mother! " 
And  after  all  this,  with  the  impression  still  strong 
on  his  mind  of  the  noble  dignity  of  that  mild  woman, 
and  the  strong  motherly  love  mysteriously  concealed 
under  her  solemn  deportment,  he  had  done  evil, — 
he  was  in  debt, — ^he  had  already  referred  himself 
for  relief  to  the  interposition  of  A.  0.,  the  Moxet- 
Lenber  !— 

CHAlrrER  II. 
''Which  it  the  merohtiithere,  MuiirhiehtheJaw  't^^Shahpeare. 

Long  and  tedious  did  the  hours  appear  to  Basil 
Annesley,  which  served  on  the  morrow  to  convey 
his  post-paid  letter  to  Uie  Hungerford  Coffee-house, 
and  bring  back  a  reply  from  the  individual  so  bit- 
terly contemned  by  hiB  Club. 

Three  times  in  the  course  of  the  day,  did  he  re- 
turn home  to  his  lodgings,  in  hopes  the  post  might 
have  brought  an  answer  which,  he  trusted,  would 
afford  a  first  step  of  extrication  from  the  difficulties 
in  which  he  had  wantonly  involved  himself.  Still 
he  was  disappointed.  On  his  table  were  divers  notes 
and  letters ; — some  of  invitation ; — some  endited 
with  the  clerkly  precision  announcing,  only  too 
painfully  to  the  conscious  debtor,  strong  hints  that 
his  earliest  convenience  must  convey  a  settlement 
to  some  expectant  creditor : — ^but  not  a  syllable 
from  A.  0.!— 

In  the  evening,  he  had  an  engagement.  One  of 
his  brother  officers  had  exacted  a  promise  that  he 
would  accompany  him  to  a  private  box  at  Covent 
Grarden,  as  the  escort  of  his  mother  and  sisters ;  and, 
just  as,  full-dressed,  but  with  his  spirits  in  complete 
dishabille,  he  was  quitting  his  lodgings  to  repair  to 
Lady  Maitland's  box,  the  double  rap  of  the  last 
evening  post,  caused  tiie  door  of  his  small  dwelling 
to  vibrate,  and  Basil  to  recoil  a  step  or  two  in  the 
passage,  while  his  servant  offered  the  ignominious 
twopence  in  exchange  for  a  shabby-looking  missive, 
which  was  to  convey  tidings  of  life  or  death  to  the 
delinquent. 

The  interview  was  accorded.  "ThefoUowing  day, 
at  noon ;" — the  place,  obscure  and  strange  enough, 
a  Street  m  St.  Agnes  le  Oare,  Old  Street  Road. 
Basil,  however,  was  as  much  enchanted  as  though 
the  rendezvous  were  assigned,  by  some  fair  hand- 
writing, in  the  heart  of  May  Fair ;  and  he  proceeded 
in  towering  spirits  to  keep  his  appointment  with  the 
Maitlands. 

As  he  walked  towards  Arlington  Street,  where 
he  was  to  join  the  party,  there  rose  before  his  mind's 
eye  a  vision  which,  for  some  days  past,  he  had 
sedulously  banished ;  a  vision  of  the  low-browed 
sitting  room  at  the  Grrange,  with  its  deeply  embayed 
Elizabethan  windows  and  spacious  projecting  chim- 
ney ;  its  antique  furniture  and  grave  aspect ;  with 
the  figure  of  his  stem  mother  in  her  customary 
weeds  of  solemn  black,  seated  in  her  high-backed 
ebony  chidr,  with  her  hands  folded  upon  her  knee, 
again  disappointed  of  the  letter  from  her  son,  which 
Boreas  had  entered  the  room  to  inform  her  was  not 
brought  back  by  the  little  messenger  despatched 


for  the  twentieth  time  to  Lyndhurst  for  the  purpose 
of  daily  inquiry. 

'^  If  I  can  arrange  matters  to-morrow,  with  tfais 
fellow,"  thought  Basil,  as  he  hastened  lightsonidy 
along,  "  I  will  write  to-morrow  to  my  po6r  mother. 
For  the  last  three  weeks,  I  have  not  dared  take 
up  my  pen  for  any  ordinary  purpoee  of  commuxiiea- 
tion ;  lest  all  should  end  in  my  being  forced  to 
reveal  to  her  tlie  desperate  situation  in  which  I 
have  placed  myself ! — My  poor  mother !— Even  now 
I  dare  not  think  of  it ! — ^What  treachery ! — ^what 
infatuation!  Soself-denyingasherlife, — so  watch- 
ful as  her  maternal  vigilance  has  been,  to  be  thus  re- 
warded! Ohliflcanonlyprevailuponthisdamnable 
A.  0.  to  accept  the  interest  and  personal  security  be 
took  from  Blenoowe,  I  might,  in  the  course  of  the 
next  eighteen  months,  payoff  both  debtand  interest, 
and  dare  once  more  to  look  her  in  the  fiaoe  ! " 

That  night,  on  their  return  from  the  play,  Lucy 
Maitland  noticed  to  her  dster  and  brother  that  she 
had  never  seen  Mr.  Annesley  in  such  spirits. 

'^  Vou  have  often  told  me  your  friend  could  be 
pleasant  enough  if  he  liked,"  said  she,  addressing 
John  Maitland;  '^to-night  he  was  really  most 
agreeable.'' 

*<  Admit  also  that  his  gaiety  was  weU-tuned!** 
observed  her  elder  sister.  ^^  Because  Miss  O'Neill 
had  reduced  the  whole  house  to  silence  and  tettia, 
Mr.  Annesley  scarcely  left  us  a  minute's  respite 
from  his  pleasant  anecdotes." 

^<  Aimesley  had  too  much  respect  for  the  fashion- 
ability  of  my  sisters,  to  fancy  they  went  to  the 
theatre  for  the  sake  of  anything  to  be  seen  there,'* 
replied  John  Maitland,  coolly.  **He  oonchided, 
as  I  did,  that  your  object  was  to  enjoy  our  society^ 
in  a  closer  and  more  incommodious  place  than  your 
own  drawing-room ;  and  rewarded  you  for  sub- 
mitting to  such  very  hard  seats  and  so  stifling^  an 
atmosphere,  by  talking  all  the  nonsense  in  his 
power." 

So  little  impression,  meanwhile,  had  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  evenmg  made  upon  Basil,  that  his 
first  impulse,  on  returning  home,  was  to  take  from 
his  pocket  the  unsightly  letter  of  A.  O.,  in  order  to 
ascertain,  with  greater  accuracy,  the  name  of  tiie 
street  to  which  he  was  to  rq>air  on  the  morro^w. 
He  searched  first  in  one  waistcoat-pocket,  then  in 
the  other,  and  finally  in  those  of  his  coat  and  great- 
coat, and  all  with  the  same  infructuous  result  I  In 
his  impatience,  he  flung  down  on  the  table  liis 
handkerchief  and  gloves,  his  opera-glass,  and  a 
small  gold  pencil-case  he  carried  in  his  waiatooat- 
pocket.  But  this  eagerness  did  not  enable  him  to 
recover  the  lost  treasure :  not  a  vestige  of  his  letter ! 

Though  certain  of  having  received  it  in  the  liall, 
and  thriist  it  into  his  pocket  preparatoiy  to  ka^ing^ 
the  house,  he  now,  in  the  perplexity  of  vexation^ 
began  to  open  his  desk  and  dressing-box,  in  the 
hope  of  finding  it  there ;  though  aware  that  he  bad 
not  returned  into  his  sitting-room  after  the  arriv-al 
of  the  post.  Still,  the  result  was  the  same ;  and  be 
was  forced  to  end  with  the  conclusion  which  bad 
first  presented  itself,  that  his  pocket  had  been 
picked  in  coining  out  of  the  theatre ;  and  this  docu- 
ment, valueless  to  any  but  himself  been  mistaken 
for  higher  game. 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER, 


146 


How  nritAting ! — This  triyial  oociurrence  might 
k  the  means  of  defiening  the  promised  interfiew 
iof  feu-tnd-twenty  horns !  Nay,  A.  O.  might, 
pcAi|w,ftLnry  himself  hoaxed  by  a  second  appUca- 
tiim;  or,  at  all  erents,  resent  having  his  time  tlm>wn 
iwtj  by  waiting  at  home  for  one  who  had  no  scra- 
pie IB  ^appointing  him,  and  lefase  a  second  len- 
desfoos !— He  had  been  told,  only  too  often,  that 
A.  0.  was  not  a  person  to  be  trifled  vriih  I — 

He  began,  accordingly,  to  ransack  his  brain  for 
RodBiseenees  of  the  address  contained  in  the  letter. 
SLignes  k  Clare,  Old  Street  Road,  he  perfectly 
lanoDbend,  for  there  was  a  novolish  sound  in  the 
fint  naine^  a  something  of  Miss  Owenson  or  Mrs. 
Opie^  nngolariy  discordant  with  the  second :  and, 
by  a  memori^4eclmioal.  process,  the  impression 
leflMiaed  with  him.  But  what  was  the  name  of 
tb  ideet.  It  was  that  of  some  noble  family.  It 
WIS  Dol  Howard,  or  Percy,  or  Paget.  It  was  some- 
thing eoaneded  with  Wiltshire ;  he  remembered  it 
hid  biOQ^t  Wiltfihire  into  his  mind ;  he  would 
examine  the  Court  Guide,  and  see  whether  any 
lineta  m  the  neighbourhood  of  Old  Street  Road, 
ifpesied  to  beao:  refereniSe  to  Wiltshire. 

Battles!  the  Court  Cruide  disdained  all  mention 
of  St.  Agnes  le  Clare! — ^The  Court  Guide  rejected 
iCend  in  his  parish;  and  poor  Basil  was  launched 
«Bce  liove  upon  his  sea  of  troubles. 

Of  ese  thhig  he  was  certain.  The  interview  was 
ippoiBtcd  at  noon  the  following  day ;  and  the  latest 
eftft  ni  his  determination  before  he  conmiitted 
luihead  to  a  restless  piUow,  was  to  repair  to  Old 
Street  Bead,  at  an  eariy  hour  next  morning,  and 
try  whether,  by  exploring  the  neighbourhood,  he 
i#t  not  aoddentaDy  touch  the  silent  chord  of 


It  is  not,  however,  a  pleasant  thing  for  a  denizen 
tftheWest  End,  to  arise  from  a  warm  bed  at  nine 
»doek  on  a  misty  November  morning,  and  after 
■KiBg  the  opposite  shops  opened  by  yawning  shop- 
Wior  damsels  in  curl-papers,  and  swaUowing  a 
bMjr  comlartkas  breakfast,  for  which  the  baker 
btt  not  brought  the  rolls^  or  the  newspaper  boy 
^  Mmtittff  Posty  jumble  off  in  a  hackney  coach 
^ovinls  the  far  E^ast,  to  be  deposited,  in  a  d^pree  of 
^**iltanent  worthy  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  upon 
^  ptrement  of  Finsbury.  It  was  the  first  time 
^  Annesley  had  visited  that  terra  ifieognita. 
H«  hid  been  quartered  in  the  Tower,  but  knew 
^wthing  of  the  wilds  of  Mooigate ;  and,  being  far 
^  1  dressy  man,  and  on  the  present  occasion 
Wed  with  especial  plainnes%  could  not  conceive 
^  pssnhle  that  the  stare  bestowed  upon  him  by 
tbiahorigines,  proceeded  from  the  striking  differ- 
<^hetween  the  cut  of  his  great-coat  and  that  of 
t^  tttbn  of  the  Barbican,  fie  fancied  that  the 
^^■^  be  excited  must  be  of  the  same  mysterious 
netoie  u  that  which  fixed  hU  eager  gaze  upon  the 
*■■»  ef  every  street,  in  succession,  in  the  hope  of 

'l^^^^  upon  the  auspicious  dwelling-place  of 

'^^now  only  ten  o'clock ;  but  in  that  com- 
"**f*l  neighbourhood^  the  world  was  in  full 
•w^itj.  People  were  going  their  ways  and  exe- 
*'"°*  thftr  businesB,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  no 
I'^ttUe  aoBient  that  the  sun  entertained  no  inten- 


tion of  looking  out  upon  their  proceedings.  The 
shop  windows  were  dim  with  fog.  The  passers  by 
trudged  along  with  their  chilly  hands  thrust  into 
their  pockets,  their  eyes  riveted  on  the  cheerless 
pavement,  their  noses  red  with  cold,  and  their  faces 
^screwed  into  a  grimace,  symbolical  of  the  uncheeri- 
ness  of  the  weather.  The  streets  were  defiled  by  a 
thick  coating  of  black  greasy  mud ;  and  the  skies 
and  atmosphere  seemed  composed  of  a  dilution  of 
the  same  uninviting  materiid.  Poor  Basil's  spirits 
were  becoming  depressed  to  the  temperature  of  the 
day,  and  the  complexion  of  the  obje^  around  him. 

^^  I  fancy  I  may  as  well  give  it  up!  "  muttered 
he,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  af{er  peeping  into  a 
variety  of  streets,  whose  names  brought  back  no 
token  to  his  mind.  ^  fiow  I  could  be  such  an  ass 
as  to  trifle  with  a  document  of  so  much  importance, 
is  inconceivable.  Had  it  been  one  of  Esther  s  letters 
I  should  have  hurried  back  to  my  room,  and  locked 
it  in  my  desk  before  I  went  out!" 

At  that  moment^  as  he  was  raising  his  eyes 
to  Heaven  in  token  of  wonderment  at  his  own 
inadvertency,  they  lighted  upon  a  name  at  the 
turn  of  the  next  crossing,  which  brought  an  instan- 
taneous flush  of  colour  to  his  cheeks :  '*  Paulet 
Si'bJusT ! "    Wiltshire  for  ever ! — He  had  found  it ! 

But  no!  on  examination,  the  thing  was  impossi- 
ble. The  street  into  which  he  now  eagerly  hai^ned 
his  steps,  could  not  be  the  abode  of  such  a  man  as 
the  renowned  and  redoubted  A.  0. 1  It  was  one 
of  thq^  wretched  outlets  abounding  in  the  various 
suburbs  of  London,  yet  scarcely  worthy  to  occupy 
the  valuable  territory  of  metropolitan  earth;  a 
street,  of  which  the  first  house  or  two  aspires  to 
three  stories,  the  following  ones  to  two,  while  the 
others  are  of  the  anomalous  kind,  whereof  the  roofs 
maintain  a  condescending  level  with  the  hats  of 
passengers. 

This  long  looked-for  Paulet  Street,  consisted  of 
houses,  of  regular  one-windowed  frontage,  and 
miserable  aspect ;  the  street  door  neariy  as  large  aa 
the  house,  and  the  pariour  window  closely  adjoining 
it,and  partially  screened  byaragged  and  discoloured 
muslin  blind,  containing  square  patches  of  paper; 
in  some  instances  announcing  ^Lodgings  for  single 
men,"  in  others, ^'manglin  done  here;"  or,  *^ wanted 
a  child  to  dry-nurse,"  or,  ^^lighom  bonets  cleaned 
inquire  wethin."  In  more  than  one  window  stood 
a  dead  geranium,  with  its  earthen  pot  standing  in 
a  cracked  plate,  which  the  hard-working  inmate  of 
the  house  had  found  no  leisure  to  notice  or  remove ; 
in  one,  a  bird-cage,  not  remorselessly  exposed,  how- 
ever, to  the  ind^nency  of  the  day ;  for  it  contained 
no  bird.  The  canary,  its  former  inmate,  had  long 
been  starved  to  deatift ;  and  the  cage  was  placed  on 
the  window  ledge  to  be  out  of  the  way. 

In  such  neighbourhoods,  woman  i^pears  to 
be  a  more  than  usually  fruitful  vine. — Children 
abound  in  the  street,  perhaps  because,  like  the  bird- 
cage, put  out  of  doors  to  make  more  room  within ; 
and  on  many  a  door-step,  sat  the  dirty  ragged  sister 
of  twelve  years  old,  officiating  as  nurse  to  the  dirty 
ragged  infant  of  twelve  months,  whom  she  fondled, 
rather  with  the  hope  of  deriving  warmth  for  her- 
self, than  of  conferring  it  on  the  squalling  child. 

Basil  Annesley  turned  discomfited  away.    But 


IM 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDEB. 


tliat  lie  still  fdt  convboed  Paulet  Street  was  the 
place,  he  would  not  hare  abided  a  moment  in  a  spot 
so  mniniriting.  In  such  a  street,  the  cheer  of  a 
passing  equipage  is  unknown :  eten  carts  appear 
to  shun  its  broken  pavement  The  barrow  of  the 
cat's-meat  man  or  the  knife-grinder,  supplies  the' 
only  rumble  of  wheels  familiar  to  those  miserable 
flags !  A  butcher's  boy  with  a  tray,  or  a  milk- 
woman  with  her  pails,  would  be  a  pleasing  incident 
in  such  a  place ;  as  inferring  that  the  inhabitants 
had  their  turn  of  food  and  comfort.  But  alas !  as 
if  their  time^ere  not  more  raluable  than  the  time 
ef  the  rich  and  i41e,  thigf  are  compelled  to  go  in 
search  of  those  common  articles  of  sustenance,  duly 
brought  to  the  area-gates  of  wealthy  men.  Even 
the  more  considerable  streets  adjoining  Paulet  Street, 
not  wider  indeed,  but  darker  and  dingier  from  the 
greater  altitude  of  the  houses,  exhibited  samples  of 
trade  indicative  of  the  outscourings  of  civilisation : 
the  old  clothes'  shop  of  Nathan  the  Jew ;  the  shop  of 
the  dealer  in  marine  stores,  witii  its  rusty  iron  and 
**  broken  flint  glass,"  its  wax-ends  and  other  in- 
eongruous  perquisites,  pickings,  and  stealings, — ^the 
piece-shop  wiUi  its  harlequinade  of  shreds  and 
patches, — ^the  rag-shop  with  its  black-doU  suspend- 
ed from  ft  string  before  the  door,  bobbing  grotesque 
curtseys  in  the  wind, — the  chandler's,  with  its 
ivicker-baeket  of  stale-eggs,  its  snufiv  tobacco, 
brown  sugar  and  rush-lights,  commingled  in  un- 
savoury contact;— or  the  huckster's  with  its  frost- 
bitten turnip  tops,  and  sacks  of  potatoes,*^that 
manna  of  modem  starvation,  exemplifying  to  the 
pauper-population  of  our  times  the  virtue  of  the 
text,  that  "man  shall  not  liye  by  bread  alone.** 

"  I  might  have  spared  myself  this  fool's  errand," 
murmured  Basil  to  himself  as,  within  a  door  or  two 
of  the  junction  of  Paulet  street  m^h  one  displaying 
these  grander  adjuncts,  he  passed  before  the  cracked 
door-step  of  a  house,  dirtier  and  more  disconsolate 
looking,  though  laiger  than  its  neighbours ;  and 
so  deficient  either  of  ragged  muslin  curtain  or  no- 
tice of  "manglin,"  or  "deanin," — broken  flpwer- 
pot  or  empty  biid-cage, — that  it  had  the  air  of 
being  uninhabited ;  the  mists  upon  its  filthy  win^ 
dows  superseding  all  necessity  for  curtains,  if, 
indeed,  aught  within  were  calctdated  to  attract  the 
curious  eye. 

Just,  however,  as  Basil  threw  a  hasty  glabce  upon 
the  streaky  pea-green  door  of  No.  11,  Pftulet  Street, 
it  revolved  slowly  upon  its  hinges,  and  there  issued 
,  forth  an  old  man,  spare  and  stooping,  who,  but  fi>r 
his  decrepit  gait,  had  probably  been  abore  the  mid- 
dle si2e.  His  hat  was  napless,  his  brown  great- 
coat thread-bare,  and  the  worsted  gloves  drawn  over 
his  bony  hands  so  coarse  and  cumbrous,  that,  after 
fumbling  for  some  time  with  his  key  in  locking  the 
house-door  after  him,  he  dropped  it  on  the  step 
instead  of  conveying  it  into  his  pocket  His  fingers 
were  probably  benumbed  with  cold. 

The  key  fell  almost  at  the  feet  of  Basil ;  who, 
perceiving  that  the  poor  old  man  was  makingsundry 
efforts  to  recover  it,  good-naturedly  stooped  and 
placed  it  in  his  hand.  Unused  probably  to  acts  of 
courtesy,  the  old  fellow  made  almost  as  hard  an 
effort  to  look  up  into  Basil's  face  with  thanks,  as 
he  had  previously  done  to  reach  f^rth  his  hand  to- 


wtrdi  his  key ;  and  when  the  eyes  of  young  An- 
nesfty  and  the  squalid  stranger  did  meet,  the  im« 
pression  appeared  to  be  mutually  startling.  Fort 
moment  they  stood,  thdr  looks  steadily  fixed  ^pon 
each  other,  as  though 

They  shared  between  themselves  seme  separate  fktS) 

Whose  darkneas  none  beside.  mi|^t  penetrate. 
Evoi  when  a  few  mumbled  words  of  thankfolneeB 
on  one  part,  and  civility  on  the  other  had  psssed 
between  them,  and  they  went  their  several  ways, 
Basil,  on  turning  back  for  a  last  view  of  the 
strange  proprietor  of  that  den  of  deeolatieo,  feund 
that  he  too  had  paused  by  the  way,  and  was  gas* 
ing  back  wistfully  upon  himself. 

It  was  a  relief  to  return  onee  more  to  the  haimti 
of  a  gayer  world.  Never  before  had  Bond  Street 
appeared  to  brilliant  to  Annesley  as  when^  hafing 
alighted  in  Oxford  street  from  his  hackney  coach, 
he  hurried  back  on^  foot  to  his  lodgings.  The 
prosperous,  thriving,  well-dresMd  peculation  of  the 
West  End  seoned  to  comfort  his  eyes.  At  Baiil'i 
age^  it  is  natural  to  turn  with  joy  from  Uie  ^eo- 
tade  of  Laaarus  with  his  sores,  to  the  auspicious 
prosperity  of  the  man  clothed  in  purple  and  fine 
linen.- 

**  No  use'to  avow  my  carelessness.  I  will  write 
as  though  for  the  first  time,  or  as  though  his  letter 
had  not  reached  me,"  said  he,  as  he  pi^Mied  (o 
commence  a  fresh  negotiatioti  with  A.  0.;  end 
more  anxious  than  ever  were  the  moments  that 
intervttied  before  a  second  answmr  was  vondiflM 
to  his  application. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  dishigenHoumesS  Of  the 
Money-lender  was  to  keep  pace  with  his  own  t 
Again  an  appointment  was  snade ;  but  no  mention 
of  St.  Agnes  le  Clare,  not  a  syllable  about  Old  Stiset 
Road!  A.O.oonsentedtoseeB.A.onthemorfow, 
—but  it  was  at  No.  —  Greek  Street,  Soho ;  and 
this  time,  Basil  kept  a  check  on  his  infirmities  of 
memory,  by  oareftilly  depositing  the  memerwidiim 
in  his  desk. 

The  mercury  of  his  elastic  nature  rose  once  mow 
in  the  tube,  under  the  influence  ot  this  slight  encou- 
ragement.— It  is  amazing  in  what  unsubstantial 
indications,  the  sanguine  find  grounds  for  hope  I— 
As  the  powers  of  the  microscepe  convert  the  green 
mould  of  some  decaying  object  into  verdant  forests 
and  bowers  of  bliss,  the  e3re  of  youth  discerns  pro* 
mise  in  the  veering  of  a  cloud,  and  its  buoyant  heart 
dances  for  joy  at  the  broken  strain  of  distant  end 
unattainable  music. 

To  contend,  however,  with  the  dreariness  ef  s 
Ixmdon  November,  requires,  on  the  part  of  »  t^^ 
lover  of  pleasure,  the  utmost  efforts  of  a  **^I^*?J 
temperament.  The  Western  world  seems  aid 
under  an  interdict ;  the  social  frame  broke  up  t— 
no  brilliant  equipage,  no  laug^g  fiwes,  iw,^^ 
balls,  no  gaudy  crowds,  no  gleaming  windows 
lighted  up  for  festivity,  as  he  dashes  along  tw 
stteets  at  ni^t.  May  Fair  looks  gloomy  ss  if  on 
the  eve  of  a  universal  interment  The  great  toB^* 
sions  of  the  Squares  are  as  closely  b^^**®**!?? Jl 
legions  of  dead  lay  coffined-  within ;  and  the  Winw 
aspect  of  our  tnetropolis  is  as  depopulated,  as  W 
summer  ones  of  every  other  dty  in  Europ*.  /y 
prefer  onr  woods  m^en  leafkM^  our  ffiritM  W»« 


ABEDNEGO  THE  HONEY-LENDER. 


147 


tanft  of  frbiis  ttid  flowen ;  and  repair  from  the 
•Mmtiy  to  town,  just  m  the  former  is  putting  on  her 
lobe  of  beftnty,  and  the  latter  beooming  insapport- 
aUe  from  heat  and  dnet. 

*^  How  cursedly  boring  is  all  thb  I"  said  Captain 
Bkaeowe^  shmgging  his  shoulders  to  Basil,  whom, 
kiar  in  the  day,  he  persuaded  to  take  a  turn  with 
him  in  his  cab  in  Hyde  Park  ;  where  they  found 
ealya  fewyenerable  dowageiHsarriages,  taking  their 
dai^  airing,  and  looking  like  so  many  mourning 
eoaehca,  washed  with  ydiow* 

''The  air  is  mild  this  afternoon,''  teplied  Annee^ 
ley,  whose  boeom*8  lord  was  sitting  lightly  on  his 
thiwM^  as  if  refieshed  by  the  change  oi  scene. 

**Air9**  reiterated  Blencowe,  wUh  contempt^-^ 
'*thank  Hearen,  I  get  my  long  leare  next  week, 
Bad  shall  make  off  to  Melton.    What  is  a  man  to 
do  with  himself  in  town  at  this  time  of  year  9" 
**  I  seUooi  §3ifA  my  day  hang  heavy,"  replied 


^Ay,ay,-^roif  aienewtoitall;  yon  will  tell  a 
dIAvnt  story  when  you  hare  had  as  mooh  of  it  as 
liiavo.  I  tow  to  Ood^  I  don't  know  a  soul  in  Lon^ 
dm  si  this  moment" 

''There  are  ihe  Maitlands,  who-*" 

'"Hm  Maitlaads  1— 4W0  marrying  girls  and  a 
toilJemai lying  mother  I  By  l^e  way,  Basil, yon 
certttinly  ib  find  occupation  for  yottr  time !  But 
yo«  keep  yoor  own  secret.— I  soppose  it  is  useless 
isHiig  tidiat  takes  you  so  often  to  the  neighbour- 
hood of  South  Audley  Street  t  Well,  weU  I  I  will 
say  ao  more  about  it!  I  foigot  that,  at  your  age, 
Mffb  an  inquiry  b  a  leading  qtlestkm,  to  which  your 
eoiii]^eidon  has  a  prompt  reply.  Heigho  I  I  wish 
Ssndi  Attdky  or  any  other  street^  contained  any- 
thing^ or  any  lady,  to  palliate  the  accursed  dulness 
ef  a  London  winter.  The  advertisements  of  tiie 
Timm  amaf  us  every  other  evil  is  remediable  $ 
tibat  there  exist  eures  for  the  toothache  and  smoking 
^timaey%;  and  patent  rat  traps,  and  bug^estroy^rs 
t»  His  Majeety,  are  daUy  amiounoed.  If  they  would 
«ly  iM  one  in  what  part  of  the  metropolis  anti- 
dotee  are  sold  against  mtnuir 

"  They  4o  /  "  observed  Basil,  pointing  laughingly 
to  the  rast  playbills  dit^layed  in  red  and  bl^k 
Tizisgatieii  at  the  door  of  an  oilmMi's  shop  they 
were  at  that  moment  pasiing  in  Piccadilly,  on  their 
way  baek  to  St.  James's  Street.  But  at  that  moment, 
lie  attention  of  his  companion  was  attracted  to- 
wards another  object,  a  plain  dark  chariot,  with 
the  wheel  of  which  their  own  was  nearly  locked  by 
a  eonettssion  of  coal-carto  and  stage-ooaches  onpo- 
4te  Hatehett's.  Dexterous  coachmanship  sione 
emaadpated  them  from  the  collision. 

•A  husky  escape !"  cried  Blencowe,  as  his  noble 
hoiK^  roused  by  the  incident,  started  off  towards 
ft.  Jamca's  Street.  **  It  would  have  been  no  joke 
had  I  smadied  hii  pannd." 

«  Whose  pannd?"-. 

''Did  you  not  see  fuho  was  in  that  carriaget 

•Agrave  old  fellow,  who  looked  like  aphyddan. 
Wkewisit?" 

•Neitiier  mor«  nor  less  than  the  renowned  A. 
0.y— of  whom  w«  were  talking  the  other  day  at  the 
ChibJ— • 

tttwy  flti!tted«    He  almo0t  fimciod  this 


inight  be  another  of  Blencowe^s  leading  questions, 
addressed  to  his  complexion. 

''  I  feel  when  I  see  that  man,"  said  Blencowe^ 
with  an  air  of  disgust  too  earnest  to  be  assumed, 
'^  as  if  looking  at  a  rattlesnake  in  a  cage ! — I  al- 
ways wonder  who  is  to  be  the  next  victim  I  Even  if 
asleep,  one  knows  that  the  reptile's  fangs  are  brew- 
ing their  fatal  venom,  and  that  some  human  being 
may  fall  a  sacrifice  to  their  next  mission." 

Luckily  for  Basil,  thb  terrible  prognostication 
escaped  1dm.  He  was  reflecting  upon  the  absurdity 
of  having  gone  to  seek  for  the  proprietor  of  that 
plain  but  handsome  equipage,  in  the  squalid  recesses 
of  Paulet  Street,  St.  Agnes  le  Clare ! 

The  post  of  the  following  day  brought  him  a 
letter  from  his  mother.  Lady  Annesley  appeared 
unusually  depressed.  Thero  had  been  sickness  in 
her  household.  The  old  gardener  was  on  his  death- 
bed. "•  You  may  have  sometimes  found  Barling-* 
ham  desolate  enopgh,"  wrote  the  recluse ;  '*  but  at 
this  moment  it  is  so  thoroughly  saddened,  that  I 
shall  exonerate  you,  my  dearest  son,  from  your 
promised  Christmas  visit.  I  would  not  willingly 
expose  your  young  heart  to  the  sight  of  our  sorrow^ 
or  the  hazard  of  our  rickness." 

After  perusing  such  a  letter,  Annesley  thanked 
Heaven  he  had  not  followed  up  his  momentary 
project  of  avowing  his  embarrassments  to  his  mo- 
ther ;  and  set  off,  with  redoubled  eagerness,  in  pur'>> 
suit  of  the  Money-lender. 

Duriqg  his  sojourn  in  London,  he  had  probably 
travened  Qreek  Stnet,  Soho^  ^&j  times»  wiUiout 
noting  moro  than  that  it  contained  the  usual  double 
lines  of  tedious  unmeaning  brick-houses  peculiar  to 
English  strsets;— diversified  only  by  varieties  of 
Insurance  plates, — ^the  Phoenix,  or  the  Sun-firo, — 
or  exhibiting  the  interosting  F.  P.,  prating  of  the 
whereabout  of  their  fire-plugs.  But  now,  every 
house  speared  instinct  with  meaning.  Its  glaziers' 
or  grocers'  shops*  wero  not  as  the  shops  of  other 
glaziers  Mid  grocers;  and  on  arriving  within  a  few 
doors  of  the  numbar  specified  by  A.  O.'s  commu- 
nication, he  began  to  count  the  houses,  the  earlier 
to  familiarize  himself  with  the  "  complement  ei6« 
tern"  of  the  Money-lender's  habitation. 

It  was  one  of  those  squaro  roomy  mansions,  which 
still  announce  that  Soho  was  a  fashionable  quarter 
of  the  town,  when  the  higher  dasses,  taking  sudden 
fright  at  the  insalubrity  of  the  banks  of  the  river, — 
tOl  the  reign  of  the  Second  James  their  favour- 
ite residence, — emigrated  as  far  as  possible  from  the 
influence  of  its  miasma.  But  Uiough  spacious, 
the  house  In  question  was  nearly  as  cheerless  to  look 
at  as  the  den  in  Paulet  Street.  The  windows  of  its 
vast  frontage  wero  closed  by  shutters,  the  paint  of 
which  was  probably  coeval  with  the  edifice,  if  in- 
deed its  complexion  could  be  conjecturod  through 
panes  of  glass  so  encrusted  with  the  unmolested 
dust  of  years,  that  some  winged  seed  might  have 
taken  root  in  the  soil,  had  the  well-trimmed  par- 
terres of  the  adjoining  sooty  Eden  of  Soho  Square^ 
produced  specimens  of  v^etation  so  genuine  as  the 
thistle,  '^e  door,  ill-fitted  to  its  shrunken  dis- 
jointed case,  was  of  that  dingy  ochrous  complexion, 
peculiar  to  the  loungers  of  the  Cheltenham  prome- 
nftdes;  and  even  the  wozn^Kmt  and  broken  can^ 


U8 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


blinds  of  the  padoor  were  so  doeely  euimounted 
by  clos^  shutters,  as  to  preclude  all  idea  that  the 
house  was  inhabited.  It  sounded  hollow  as  the 
grave,  when,  in  spite  of  appearances,  Basil  hazarded 
a  modest  knock  and  gentled  ring! — 

Promptly,  however,  as  at  some  well-lacqueyed 
lordly  mansion,  the  summons  was  answered.  An 
old  woman  of  crippled  shape,  and  having  a  com- 
plexion many  d^;rees  darker  than  her  tawny  front 
and  the  dirty  fly-cap  that  surmounted  it,  opened 
and  held  wide  open  the  door,  not  as  if  awaiting  his 
inquiries,  but  as  though  he  were  expected  and  had 
only  to  enter. — ^A  gl&aoe  at  hia  feet,  as  hinting  a 
hope  that  the  door-scraper  had  not  been  overlooked, 
was  an  she  vouchsafed  him. 

**  In  the  back  parlour,"  croaked  her  discordant 
voice,  before  he  had  recovered  self-possession  enough 
to  ask  a  question;  and  he  saw  that  he  was  to  make 
his  own  way  in  this  desolate  temple  of  echoes.  With 
his  heart  beating  more  irregularly  than  he  would 
have  cared  to  own  to  his  friend  Blencowe,  Basil 
accordingly  advanced  along  the  vdde  but  bare  and 
dirty  passage,  and  knocked  at  the  second  door, 
which  was  dightly  ajar.  No  one  replied ; — and  he 
accordingly  pushed  it  open,  and  went  in. 

CHAPTBB  lU. 
**  Let  him  who  wants  to  know  the  value  of  money,  try  to 
borrow  some.** — Popular  Proverb, 

The  chamber  into  which  Basil  had  thus  unce- 
remoniously introduced  himself,  though  empty,  had 
all  the  appearance  of  having  bec^  recently  occupied. 
Volumes  of  sulphurous  yellowsmoke  ascended  from 
a  black  mass  of  coals  in  the  rusty  grate,  interspersed 
with  damp  shavings,  in  token  that  some  efibrt  at 
least  had  been  made  to  ignite  them  ;  and  an  old- 
fashioned  bureau  standing  open  against  the  wall, 
exhibited  files  of  papers,  and  one  or  two  open  letters, 
besides  a  compact  phalanx  of  diminutive  rouleaux, 
apparently  of  sterling  value. 

To  these  objects,  however,  after  a  cursory  glance 
round  the  room,  Basil  paid  not  the  slightest  atten- 
tion. Throwing  himself  into  a  roomy  arm-chair, 
o^  which  the  horse-hair  stuffing  protruded  at  inter- 
vals through  the  ii^ell-wom  black  leather  covering, 
and  the  channelled  mahogany  arms  promised  any 
thing  but  a  pleasant  lounge,  he  contemplated  with 
listless  gaze  the  old  fEtshioned  parlour,  with  its  bare 
boards,  whereof  the  knots  stood  prominent  from 
the  softer  level  of  the  wood  worn  down  by  much 
friction,  even  as  the  more  obstinate  defects  of  a 
human  character  become  more  remarkable  when 
the  weaker  qualities  have  subsided  under  the  pres- 
sure of  years.  The  walls  were  of  wainscot,  diver- 
sified by  heavy  festoonsof  flowers  and  fruit,  dividing 
the  compartments,  and  indicating  oaken  pannelling. 
But  the  wood  being  concealed  by  an  ignominious 
coating  of,  paint  which  appeared  to  have  been  con- 
tending for  nearly  a  century  with  that  yellow 
London  smoke,  of  which  the  adjoining  fireplace 
furnished  so  satisfactory  a  specimen,  the  original 
richness  of  efiect  was  lost. 

The  only  object  serving  by  way  of  decoration  to 
that  dingy  wainscot,  was  a  paper  almanack,  nailed 
up  by  tacks  at  the  comers,  beside  the  bureau.  The 
only  object  adorning  the  floor,  was  a  square  of  dis- 


coloured drugget,  constituting  a  sort  of  dida  that  ex* 
tended  from  tiie  fireplace  beyond  the  bureau ;-— a 
straw  chair  pushed  back  from  which,  had  evidently 
been  in  recent  use. — Such  was  the  official  resideiiee 
of  the  redoubtable  A.  O.  I — 

For  some  minutes,  young  Annesley  sat  motioii* 
less,  with  eyes  apparently  intent  upon  the  cheer- 
less objects  around  him,  but  in  reality  labouring 
to  resume  his  self-possession.  At  length  hb 
grew  impatient,  and  started  up ;  but  instead  of 
approacMn^  the  bureau,  containing  the  only  desul- 
tory objects  of  interest  in  the  room,  he  took  his 
stand  mechanically  on  the  drugget  before  the  fixe- 
place,  as  though  the  latter  had  emitted  warmth, 
or  the  former,  comfort.  To  approach  a  depodtoTy 
of  written  papers  belonging  to  another,  would  have 
appeared  criminal  to  a  mind  so  honourable.  Far 
better  to  bear  the  impatience  or  listiessness  of  mrnuif 
thanrelievethe  tediousnessof  themomentby  a  breach 
of  confidence.  At  last,  after  exhibiting  the  ordinary 
symptoms  of  youthful  petulance,  venting  a  few 
ejaculations  against  the  smoky  fireplace,  and  t^>- 
ping  first  with  one  foot,  then  with  another,  on  the 
sonorous  floor,  ill  covered  with  that  thin  and  Bcantj 
drugget,  he  was  about  to  fall  with  indignation  upon 
the  thin  green  cord  serving  as  bell-rope,  in  order 
to  summon  the  old  woman  in  the  dirty  fly-cap,  and 
ascertain  why  his  dignity  was  thus  trifled  with  ; 
when,  lo,  just  as  he  had  placed  his  hand  upon  the 
string,  a  dight  sound  proceeding  from  the  furthest 
comer  induced  him  suddenly  to  turn  round,  and, 
standing  there,  as  if  emitted  by  the  wainscot,  he 
discerned  the  unknown  proprietor  of  that  drcAiy 
apartment !  One  of  the  carved  panels  probably 
concealed  a  door,  through  which  he  had,  unobserved^ 
effected  his  entrance. 

Involuntarily,  Basil  advanced  towards  the  new- 
comer, as  though  it  were  his  business  to  do  the 
honours  of  the  place.  But  when  within  a  few 
paces  of  his  host,  who  stirred  not  a  step  to  meet 
him,  the  young  man  stopped  short, — startied  out 
of  all  self-possession  by  a  single  glajice  at  the  fi^ 
ure  that  presented  itself  to  his  observaticm. 

There  was  nothing,  however,  very  remarkable  in 
the  personof  A.  O. — Though  above  themiddle  height^ 
a  certain  ignoble  character  of  form  and  gesture  deriv- 
ed him  of  the  advantages  usually  inseparable  from  a 
commanding  stature.  His  dress,  if  neither  coarse  nor 
rusty,  was  of  an  inferior  cut;  and  though  his  dark 
eyes  might  have  passed  for  intelligent  in  the  head 
of  any  other  man,  there  was  a  discrepancy  between 
the  blackness  of  their  tint,  enhanced  by  the  profuse 
black  eyelashes  and  eyebrows  by  which  they  were 
overhung,  and  the  scanty  grey  curls  almost  approach* 
ing  to  white,  that  figuied  on  either  side  a  head,  the 
crown  of  which  was  bare  and  Iu8tr6us.  It  was,  in 
short,  a  face  and  figure,  which,  in  squi^d  attire^ 
with  a  beard  and  a  slouched  hat,  would  have  passed 
muster  among  the  itinerant  dealers  in  old  clothes, 
whose  cries  disturb  the  inhabitants  of  the  West 
Bind,  at  an  hour  when  none  but  Jews,  fish-women, 
chickweed  boys,  scavengers'  carts^  and  twopenny 
postmen,  are  astir  in  the  slumberous  streets  of  the 
more  civilized  quarters  of  the  town. 

It  was  not,  however,  the  Israelitish  type  of  the 
individual  before  him,  which  arrested  the  ooorteaies 


AfflSDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


149 


of  fitflO  Anneakj.  From  the  first,  he  had  heard 
A.  0.  olaned  among  ^  the  Jews ; "  and  expected 
Botfaing  better  than  to  find  the  outward  man  of  the 
Money-fender  accordant  vdth  that  uoiward  specifi- 
catkni.  His  amazement  arose  solely  from  the  dis- 
eotoy,  that  the  decently  attired  and  robnst  man 
htbn  him,  was  no  other  than  the  threadbare  and 
dscKpit  indrndnal,  whose  key  he  had  restored  to 
Urn  in  Baalet  Street,  St.  Agnes  le  Clare ;  though 
ai  diflmnt  in  fi>rm  and  seeming,  as  both  the  one 
and  the  oiher  firom  the  well-dressed  gentleman  in 
the  blown  diariot,  pointed  out  to  him  by  Captain 
Bfeneowe,  in  PicoadiUy,  as  the  great  and  infiuen- 
tidA.0! 

Startled  and  shocked  by  a  transmutation  so  little 
dMirt  of  magical,  young  Annesley  became  perplexed 
and  ineolkerent  in  the  exordium  to  which  he  now 
attempted  to  giye  utterance.  He  scarcely  knew 
whether  it  would  be  better  to  announoe  or  pass 
over  his  diBcovery.  It  was  essential  to  him  to 
pvofttftiate  the  Money-lender.  Was  this  deurable 
object  likdy  to  be  accomplished  by  the  detection 
and  deTelopment  of  one  of  those  strange  mysteries, 
IB  which  it  seemed  his  pleasure  to  envelop  his 
pioeeedings? 

WhileBaaU  was  still  debating  within  himself  this 
oigent  pointy  the  singular  master  of  that  singular 
haaae,  keeping  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  intruder  with 
the  same  scrutinizing  interest  whidi  had  marked 
their  first  encounter,  relaxed  the  spasm  of  catalepsy 
into  which  his  qudden  apparition  appeared  to  haye 
iCartled  hisTiaiter,  by  advancing  towards  the  bureau, 
alffvptly  turning  round  the  straw-chair  placed  before 
it,  and,  while  appropriating  it  to  his  own  use, 
aotionfng  to  Basil  to  resume  the  great  elbow-chair 
ia  which  he  had  already  ensconced  himself.  His 
tat  W)(nd8  decided  the  questbn  which  still  agitated 
the  mind  of  young  Annesley. 

**  UnleGs  I  am  mistaken,  young  man,"  said  he, 
eooQy,  **  we  have  met  before  1 " 

*^  And  80  recently,  that  I  can  scarcely  account 
fer  my  own  uncertainty  on  the  subject,"  was 
Anneale y^s  frank  rejoinder.  ^  Yet  there  is  so  little 
vaalogy  between — ** 

^i^Be  feathers  make  fine  birds, — ^foul  feathers 
fan!  ooeB,**  interrupted  A.  O.  in  the  same  hard  but 
awmed  voice,  looking  down  as  he  spoke  upon 
the  afeere  of  a  coat  which,  unless  in  a  smoky  back 
paiiottr  in  Soho,  could  scarcely  have  pretended  to 
thedeaagnatl<mof  fine.  ^  I  had,  however,  little  sua- 
piaan/*  he  resumed,  **  that  in  the  gay  young  gentle- 
man who  took  compassion  on  the  predicament  of  a 
bungling  old  man,  the  other  morning,  I  beheld  the 
idmtical  B.  A.,  an  appointment  with  whom  had 
cBtaeed  me,]n  inclement  weather  and  to  no  purpose,, 
to  that  remote  quarter  of  the  town." 

**  The  distance  was  as  inconvenient  to  me  as  to 
jvuTwsM^  replied  Annesley,  recovering  his  self- 
poaaeaaion  under  the  influence  of  his  discovery  that 
the  nan  before  him  was  either  an  impostor  or  a 
aMwntfihank.  **  It  was  you,  Sir,  who  wrote  to  me, 
■aaigniiig  another  house  thaii  your  own  for  our  in- 
terview." 

^  I  have  houses  in  various  quarters  of  the  town,** 
n^Ued  the  Money-lender,  unabashed  by  his  retort ; 
**  ia  St.  Jiuaea'a^  to  transact  mybusiness  withspend* 


thrift  lords,  and  lend  my  aid  towards  patching  the 
ragged  vesture  of  fools  of  quality ;  in  Finsbury, 
for  such  as  honour  me  by  an  appeal  to  my  strong- 
box, but  not  with  .the  disclosure  of  their  names. 
It  is  my  rule  to  place  confidence  only  in  those  who 
show  confidence  in  me.** 

^  In  addressing  myself  to  one  known  to  me  only 
by  the  initials  of  A.  O.,  I  did  not  feel  bound  to  dis- 
close more  than  my  own  of  B.  A.,"  replied  the  young 
soldier,  gravely. 

■  ^'  Mine  are  pretty  universally  known  to  express 
my  real  name,  repUed  the  Money-lender.  **  I  am 
caJJed  Abednego  Osalez.  And  now  permit  me  to 
inquire  your  motive  for  repairing  to  so  obscure  and 
troublesome  a  quarter  of  the  town  for  the  despatch 
of  business  which  your  letter  described  as  pressing, 
yet,  after  all,  leaving  it  undone  ?  " 

^  May  I  first  inquire  in  my  turn,"  replied  Basil, 
encouraged  rather  than  daunted  by  his  9an^  fnndy 
^  why,  after  sending  me  on  that  occasion  to  the 
extremity  of  the  city,  you  condescend,  on  my 
second  application,  conceived  in  precisely  the  same 
terms,  to  receive  me  here  1 " 

*^  Perhaps,"  replied  the  Money-lender,  evidently 
in  good  conceit  with  the  client  who  had  imwittingly 
obliged  him  under  his  garb  of  misery,  ^  perhaps^ 
because  your  carelessness  on  thai  occasion  induced 
me  to  suppose  your  exigencies  less  uxgent  than  I 
had  implied  firom  the  terms  of  your  original  letter. 
The  man  who  could  a£Pord  to  wait,  had  claims  to 
higher  consideration.  And  now,  I  am  aurely  en* 
titled  to  as  frank  an  answer  I " 

The  double  mystery  was  now  succinctly  and 
readily  explained.  From  Baail's  avowal  of  having 
had  his  pocket  picked,  the  Money-lender  probably 
deduced  an  inference  that  it  was  because,  unused  to. 
be  the  depositary  of  valuable  efiects,  he  was  thua 
careless ;  for  his  momentary  good  humour  seemed 
overcast.  Perhaps,  however,  he  was  merely  vexed 
at  finding  himself  detected  in  a  garb  so  uilseemly 
by  a  new  customer.  ' 

^  This  is  the  first  time,  I  fancy,  we  have  done 
business  together?"  said  he,  starting  ^m  his  reverie 
and  abruptly  addressing  young  Annesley,  who 
replied  by  an  affirmative  bow. 

**  And  do  yo^  bring  me  no  letter  of  recommen- 
dation from  some  other  of  my  clients? " 

^  From  no  one,"  he  replied,  spontaneously  recall- 
ing to  mind  the  unsatisfactory  terms  in  which  th^ 
very  clients  on  whom  he  pinned  his  reliance,  treated 
him  in  his  absence. 

'^It  is  merely  my  newi^per  advertisementi^ 
then,  which  have  attracted  your  notice?" — 

"Not  altogether,"  replied  Annesley*.  "More 
than  one  of  my  brother  officera  have  been  extricated 
from  pecuniary  difficulty  by  your  assistance.— 
From  them,  I  became  aware  of  your  modes  of  busi- 
ness; and — " 

"  Did  they  not  also  add,"  interrupted  the  Money- 
lender, "their  exhortations  that  you  should  not 
apply  to  me,  unless  your  case  were  desperate  ?  Did 
they  not  tdl  you,  if  any  other  earthly  resource 
be  open  to  you,  beware  of  A.  0.  ?  Did  they  not 
call  me  shark,  cormorant,  vulture^  usurer,  JkwI 
You  know  they  did !  Not  a  mess  of  any  regiment 
in  the  service  in  which  I  am  not  thus  opprobriated.'^ 


150 


ABfiDNEGO  THE  MONEY-L£ND£tt. 


BmU^  who  alnady  tepented  hii  indiscretion^ 
in  haying  allowed  the  words  '^bh>ther  officen  "  to 
•eoape  him,  as  too  clearly  indioatiTe  of  his  social 
position,  would  not|  hf  an  afiinnatiTe  reply,  hazard 
the  exposure  of  his  friends  to  the  yindictive  repri-^ 
sals  of  such  an  enemy  as  A.  0« 

^  You  are  cautious,  young  gentleman  1"  observed 
the  Maney4ender,  whose  laige  dark  eyes  seemed 
to  penetrate  the  most  hidden  thomghts  of  his  com- 
panion. *^  Caution,  however,  is  not  the  parent  of 
eonfidenoe.  You  come  to  sie  in  the  hope  of  opening 
my  strong-box ;  and  will  scarcely  accomplish  the 
exploit  with  close  lips  and  a  doser  heart*  A  calling 
inch  as  mine  neceentates  some  degree  of  mystery ) 
hut  when  ofioe  a  bona-^Jide  negotiation  commences, 
all  must  be  above-board,^-all  truth  and  daylight. 
I  have  told  you  my  name  is  Abedn^  Oialea.  I 
now  atk  the  favour  of  your  own?"'^ 

Stilly  BasU  hesitated.  He  oould  not  bear  to  dis- 
grace the  honourable  patronymic  borne  by  the 
object  of  his  filial  veneration^  by  inscription  in  the 
register*  of  a  Jew! 

^  You  will  be  pleased  to  remember/*  resumed 
the  Money-lender^  ^  that  no  act  can  be  authentic 
between  us,  unless  the  business  be  negotiated  under 
our  real  names.  If,  therefoire,  you  scruple  to  hi*- 
tmit  me  with  yours,  this  interview  h%B  lasted  too 
long  already." 

Apprehending)  horn  his  decided  mode  of  uttering 
these  words,  that  the  peremptory  Jew  was  about  to 
rise  a&d  dismiss  him,  the  agitated  applicant  mur- 
mured, in  a  low  voice,  ^My  namO)  Sir,  is  Annesley.*' 

^  Anneil^%  "-H^terated  the  Money4ender^  as  if 
rehiring  him  to  be  more  articulate^ 

""  Basil  Annesley." 

1%e  Jew  rose  with  some  pi^dpitation  from  his 
leat ;  and,  for  a  moment  or  two,  oocu^ed  himself 
in  turning  over  the  papen  lying  open  on  his  bureau, 
as  if  in  search  of  writing  materials,  to  enable  him 
to  take  notes  of  the  business  <tf  his  new  client.  » 
'  ^  You  have  lately,!  believe, entemd  yMQrenadier 
Ghiards  ?  ** — said  he,  still  addressing  Annesley,  but 
without  turning  round. 

^I  have  been  rather  more  than  a  year  in  the 
army." 

**  And  during  that  short  space  of  time,  yott  have 
contrived  to  embarrass  yourself?" 

^  Many  contrive  to  do  so  in  less  tiian  a  twentieth 
part  of  it !  *  replied  Basil,  as  if  reserved  not  to  be 
brow-beaten  by  a  stranger. 

*^  Not  the  well-conditioned  son  of  a  mother  in 
straitened  circumstances,"  replied  the  insolent  Jew, 
who  seemed  endowed  with  an  intuitive  insight  into 
the  position  of  his  neW  client. 

^  I  applied  to  you,  Sir,  as  a  Money-lender,  not 
as  a  counsellor,"  said  Badl,  haughtily,  now  rishig 
in  his  turn.  '^Mybusinessmay  be  briefly  explained, 
—I  am,  as  you  seem  to  be  aware,  the  only  son  of 
the  late  Sir  Bernard  Annesley.  I  have  immediate 
necessity  for  a  sum  of  £d50.— -My  allowance  of 
three  hundred  a  year—" 

'^She  allows  you  three  hnndred  a-year,then?— ^too 
much— too  much  for  A«r  to  give,  or  you  to  receive ! " 
muttered  the  Jew,  in  indistinct  tones,  <tf  which, 
however,  not  a  syllable  escaped  the  ear  of  Annesley . 

*  I  obiomdy  Sir^  thai  toj  tSkmxM  of  thiee 


hundred  a-year,  and  my  pay,"  persisted  Basil,  not 
noticing  his  interruption,  '*  would  enable  me  to  pay 
you  off)  by  monthly  instalments,  both  interest  and 
principal,  in  the  course  of  the  next  two  years  and 
a  half." 

^And  should  you  die  in  tlie  interim,  yotuig 
gentleman,  what  security  have  !»  pray,  for  my 
money?''--^emanded  the  usurer  with  a  sneer. 

^  Surely  I  could  effect  an  insurance  on  my  li£i^ 
assigning  you  the  policy?"  inquired  Basil,  in  k  leas 
assured  voioe.  . 

"  You  have  very  soon  become  ^miliar  with  tli« 
expedients  ci  an  embarrassed  man,"  murmured  the 
Jew,— -still;  without  turning  towards  hiU^  but  4p* 
parsntly  engrossed  by  the  money  and  arrangemant 
of  the  papers  on  his  bureau. 

^  I  was  inform^  by  a  brother  offiosr  that  su^ 
was  the  mode  in  which  you  had  arranged  a  similar 
matter  for  himself,"  replied  Basil,  with  incraasiiig 
hesitation* 

^  Captain  Blencowe,  ehl-^^l  I  remember.  9iK 
years  ago,  however!  Your  friend  has  a  good 
memory,*-sohaveI:  andladmitthatharedeaxaed 
the  debt  like  a  gentleman,  some  time  within  the 
term  of  his  acceptance." 

^I  should  be  glad  to  convince  you  that  Jfou 
would  obtain  inmyself  a  client  equally  honourable^" 
rejoined  Basil,  somewhat  reassured. 

""The  will  may  not  be  wanting,  but  I  doubt  tlM 
meanSi  Young  Bkncowe  belonged  to  a  moneyed 
fatnily.-*!  knew  with  whom  I  had  to  deal.-— 
Were  ,^011  to  fail  me,  I  might  put  the  whole 
Annesley  family  into  thumbscrews,  without  elioit* 
ing  so  much  as  a  ten-pound  note  in  your  behooL 
Penons  of  my  occupation.  Sir,  are  forced  to  keep 
a  pretty  accurate  tariff  of  the  fortunes  and  con- 
sdMces  <^  those  likely  to  come  wiUiin  their  line 
of  business.  I  had  a  relative  of  yours,  one  of  the 
Yorkshire  Annesleys,  two  yeuv  in  the  King^sBench 
at  my  expense." 

^  But  I  conclude  he  paid  you  at  last  ?"  demanded 
Basil,  too  ignorant  of  the  connexionship  <tf  his 
father's  family,  to  refute  uiy  such  accusation. 

*^  With  his  life. — He  died  in  prison,  leaving  ia» 
the  creditor  of  heirs  who  were  penniless." 

Strange  to  tell,  there  was  a  tone  of  faiumph  rutJier 
than  of  vexation,  in  the  Money-lender's  mode  4^ 
alluding  to  this  ^stration  of  bis  interests. 

^^  But  I,  who  am  both  young  and  solvent,"  petw. 
sisted  Basil,  ^  do  not  intend  to  defend  you,  either 
by  living  or  dying.  I  give  you  my  word  of  honenur 
as  a  gentleman,  that— ^" 

^llie  word  of  honour  of  a  gentleman,  has  no 
value,  and  should  have  no  mention  in  a  moneys 
dealing  transaction,"  interrupted  the  Jew.-— ^  Th^ 
affair  between  us  is  simply  one  of  speculation.  Yoca 
want  money ;  I  have  to  sell  it  to  you,  as  much  a^ 
possible  to  my  own  advantage.  I  must  therefore 
either  have  good  security  and  hxt  interest ;  or  with.^ 
out  security,  such  interest  as  may  induce  me  t<» 
incur  the  ri^." 

^'I  have  already  ofi^cred  you  the  lattar  ^ttm^ 
Uve,"  said  Basil,  bluntly. 

**  I  have  been  oifered  two  hundred  per  cent,  by- 
needy  men  before  now,"  replied  the  Money-loidei^^ 
with  eeail«f  the  lip,  ^'aadwitlMai  aw«U««fi»^ 


ABEDNEGO  tHE  MOKEY-LEKDER^ 


161 


tto  bait.  Tb«  moe  prottiise  of  a  stninger  is  not 
enetly  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  In  the  first  plaoe^ 
Mr.  Annealeyy  hate  jou  ertn  so  much  as  reflected 
■poll  the  amount  of  the  interest  of  your  debt,  and 
keqring  up  th6  policy  of  insurance,  besides  the 
expense  of  the  execution  of  the  deed,  added  to  the 
rinkiQg  fknd  for  the  gradual  defrayment  of  the 
three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  ?^'-^emanded  the 
pragmatieal  Jew. 

"I  am  In  the  receipt  <^  fbtt]^  htmdred  And  thirty 
fsanda  a-year,"  replied  Basil,  erasitely. 

''And  for  what  purpose  is  it  assigned  to  you?" 
letsrted  the  Money-lend«r.  "  To  aflPbrd  you  a  be- 
esDiing  position  in  the  world !— What  right,  there« 
fore^  have  you  to  alienate  this  provision,  so  as  to 
dtftxrt  yonrsdf  of  the  necessaries  of  your  sphere 
sf  society,  and  become  exposed  to  the  diame  of 
petty  embarrassnftnts?" 

"Kone!"  replisd  Ba^,  astounded  at  ^e  tnex- 
plkahls  liberties  talcen  by  his  new  acquaintance, 
yet  not  daring  to  resent  remonstrances  apparently 
faidiealiTe  of  fayourable  dispositions  towards  him. 
^But  the  shame  to  which  I  may  expose  myself  by 
tin  limitation  €^  my  income,  is  surely  nothing 
eompaced  with  that  whieh  Would  befall  me  a  month 
kMo^  when  my  acceptances  hXL  due,  and  I  am 
anshle  to  do  them  honour." 

''But  you  1^  still  a  minor?"  temolistrated  the 
Jew. 

"Thoae  who  were  satisfied  with  my  endorsements, 
asked  no  questions,  contenting  themseltes  with  the 
engagement  of  a  gentlemaft,  the  son  of  a  man  of 
iMour,"  r<q>lied  Basil  with  firmness.  At  that  mo- 
neat,  the  Money-lender  accidentally  let  fall  a  paper 
bt  hdd  in  his  hand ;  and  the  knechanical  courtesy 
viih  whidi  Basil  started  forward  to  assist  him  ih 
lecoverlng  it,  probably  tended  td  recall  to  the  re- 
ooDectiQn  of  A.  0.  the  idndness  displayed  by  the 
young  Guardsman  towards  the  old  pauper  of  Paulet 
Sli«et ;  for  on  turning  to  receive  it  from  his  ex- 
tended band,  the  countenance  of  the  Jew  had  relax- 
ed into  a  more  Christian-like  expression. 

"  At  least,"  said  he,  after  receiying  the  paper  and 
iting  his  dark  eyesapprovingly  Upon  the  ingenuous 
eountenance  of  young  Annesley,  "at  least  there 
WIS  Tahie  received  for  these  bills  (^exchange?  Yoa 
aie  not  applying  |o  me  for  the  means  of  covering 
anotiber  usurious  transaction  ?  Do  not  deceive  me, 
young  Sb;  for  through  my  extensive  connexions 
with  the  moneyed  world,  I  have  the  means  of  as- 
sotaining  the  truth  to  a  guinea.** 

*  I  have  no  disposition  to  deceive  you,  Mr. 
Abedn^oOsalez,"  replied  young  Anneriey,  with 
some  hauteur;  "but  if  I  came  not  hither  to  seek 
a  eounseHor,  still  less  am  I  disposed  to  find  a  con- 
fcswr  in  my  man  of  business.  The  purpose  for 
w!ddi  I  require  these  funds,  regards  you  as  little 
as  the  mode  by  whidi  yom  have  acquired  them,  so 
IS  to  enable  you  to  supply  me,  r^iards  myself.  I 
adi  no  questions!  let  me  advise  you  to  be  equally 

fisCMt" 

"  Thne  Is  no  ocearion  for^oii  to  ask  questions  r-^ 
mM  his  singular  companion,  continuing  to  examine 
his  papers,  and  file  them  car^lly,  all  the  time  he 
Wisipeak^.  lliey  are  answered  for^ou  without 
i^lArj;   Ike  werid  has  explanations  stereotyped 


to  your  hand.  Everybody  knows  the  Money-lender 
to  be  a^  Jew<— the  Jew  a  usurer — ^the  usurer  a  ori« 
minid  in  the  eye  of  the  law.  Christ  drove  the 
money-changers  from  his  Temple :  man  expels 
them  from  his  tribunals.  The  money4ending  Jew 
is  one  who  fiutgt  have  acquired  his  funds  by  extor- 
tion and  fhiud ;  one  who  probably  began  life  as  a 
Gorsair^pickpocket— resurrection  man — assassin 
— ^no  matter  what  amount  of  obloquy  you  heap 
upon  his  head  I — He  cannot  have  too  narrowly 
escaped  the  hands  of  the  hangman  1  He  oannot  be 
too  grossly  stigmatieed,  he  has  caused  tke  ruin  of 
thousands*— 

And  if  a  man  have  need  of  poison  new, 
Htte  Uves  the  ositiffwratsh  would  sell  fthin^I 
Admit  titiat  I  portray  myself  as  you  have  heard 
me  portrayed?    Why  therefore  «A<wAi  you  insti- 
tute/kH^Sf  inquiries  Into  my  conduct  or  its  mo» 

tives?- 

Basil  Annesley  was  startled  out  of  all  seU^oe* 
session  by  this  strange  appeal.  From  the  first  fidw 
words  uttered  by  his  new  acquaintance^  he  had 
been  impressed  by  the  superiority  of  his  tone  and 
phraseology  not  only  to  his  garb  and  mode  of  lifb, 
but  to  a  calling  affording  inducements  for  sudi  base 
dii^isal  as  that  which  had  first  brought  them  into 
collision.  But  now,  the  unexpected  eloquence  of 
his  words  and  sudden  energy  of  his  gestures,  WMfe 
characteristic  of  the  scholar  and  the  gentleman, 
rather  than  of  the  vulgar  Jew,— the  jobbing  money* 
broker !— Poor  Basil  almost  quailed  under  the  vivid 
glances  of  the  excited  man  who  gave  utterance  to 
this  petulant  apostrophe. 

''I  have,  I  admit,  heard  you  ungraciously  spoken 
of,"  said  he,  with  a  degree  of  frankness  rivalling 
that  of  his  hiterlocutor.  **  That  what  was  told  me 
exercised  no  very  important  influence  over  my 
opinions,  may  he  inferred  from  my  presence  here." 

''  You  are  here  simply  because  your  position  is 
desperate !  "—coolly  rejoined  A.  0.  •*  You  are  here 
because  there  is  no  hope  eliBewhere.  You  may  lUso 
perhaps,  have  heard  from  Captain  Blenoowe,  and 
other  victims  who  have  escaped  without  serious 
injury  from  my  dutches,  thai  even  the  crocodile 
of  the  shores  of  PactoluS  is  sometimes  moved  to  a 
caprice  of  pity ;  and  are  willing  to  try  whether  any- 
thing in  your  youth  and  ine^rience  may  reach 
his  milder  mood." 

"My  youth  and  inexperience  at  least  encourage 
you  to  trifle  with  me  I  "—cried  Basil,  with  a  rising 
colouiv  more  enraged  by  the  ironical  smile  pervad- 
ing the  countenance  cdf  A.  0.,  than  by  his  mere 
words.  And,  having  snatched  his  hat  fh)m  the 
window-seat,  he  was  preparing  without  ceremony 
to  quit  the  room* 

''  In  all  money-dealings,  Mr.  Annesley,"  said  his 
companion,  undismayed  by  this  tacit  thieat  d 
breaking  up  the  conference,  ''you  will  find  the 
command  of  yoxir  own  temper  five  per  cent,  in  your 
favour.  You  cannot  afford  to  quarrel  with  me. 
At  this  moment,  I  am  the  necessary  evil  which 
must  redeem  you  firom  the  still  greater  of  immedi^ 
ate  dishonour.  Bo  me  the  f&vour.  Sir,  to  sign  thi9 
paper,"  said  he,  placing  in  the  hands  of  Badl,  one 
which,  during  their  conference,  he  had  been  quietly 
preparing.   ^It  is^  as  ermycm'  slight  knowledge 


152 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEYrLENDER. 


of  business  must  assure  you,  of  no  legal  ralue.  It 
is  the  obligation  of  a  gentleman,  and  must  derive 
its  sole  importance  from  a  gentleman's  signatnre. 
It  will  neither  enable  me  to  imprison  my  debtor  nor 
molest  liim ;  but  it  will  remind  Sir  Bernard  Annes- 
ley's  son,  that,  within  three  years  after  attaining 
his  majority,  he  has  engaged  to  pay  me  back  a  sum 
of  four  hundred  pounds ;  whereof  the  interest,  at 
fire  per  cent,  shall  be  quarterly  forthcoming." 

Basil  took  the  promissory  note  into  his  hands, 
and  seeing  that  it  was  phrased  strictly  according 
to  the  announcement  of  A.  0.,  conceived  himself 
well  off  at  having  so  small  a  bonus  as  £50  de- 
manded of  him  as  the  penalty  of  the  transaction. 
But  what  was  his  amazement  when,  on  taking  his 
place  at  the  bureau,  to  sign  the  paper,  he  found 
lying  before  him,  a  printed  cheque  of  one  of  the 
first  banking  houses  of  the  West  End,  bearing  the 
signature  of  Abednego  Osalez,  and  directing  the 
firm  in  question  to  "  Pay  to  Mr  Annesley  or  bearer 
the  sum  of  four  hundred  pounds ! " 

Scarcely  dble  to  believe  the  evidence  of  his  eyes, 
— his  cheeks  fiushed  by  the  excitement  of  the  mo- 
menta—his heart  throbbing  almost  to  agony  with 
1^  consciousness  of  release  from  the  first  great 
embarrassment  of  his  life,  Basil,  ere  he  accepted 
one  document  or  executed  the  other,  was  eager  to 
express  his  astomshment  and  gratitude  to  one  whom 
he  could  scarcely  regard  in  any  other  light  than 
that  of  a  benefactor ;  but  on  turning  round  for  the 
purpose,  he  found  that  A.  0.,  instead  of  remaining 
behind  his  chair  to  watch  his  proceedings,  was  en- 
gaged at  the  door  in  earnest  colloquy  with  the 
uiuightly  crone,  who  officiated  as  his  clerk  of 
the  presence. 

**  TeU  him  I  am  engaged, — say  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  see  him  this  morning,"  said  the  Money- 
lender, in  the  imperative  tone  he  had  assumed  in 
the  earlier  part  of  his  colloquy  with  Basil. 

<<  I  have  told  him  so  already,  Sir,"  croaked  the 
old  woman,  ^  but  he  will  not  be  denied.  He  has 
got  out  of  his  cabriolet,  and  is  standing  on  the  door- 
steps awaiting." 

**  IM  him  wait  1  '^  said  the  Money-lender.  ^<  If 
he  persist  in  coming  in,  show  him  into  the  front 
parlour,  and  open  one  of  the  shutters,  till  I  am 
ready  to  receive  him. — ^You  perceive,  Mr.  Annesley, 
that  I  am  waited  for.  Spare  me  therefore  the  effu- 
sions of  thankfulness  I  see  expanding  upon  your 
lips,"  resumed  A.  0.,  turning  towards  Basil,  who 
stood  transfixed  beside  the  bureau,  the  cheque  in 
one  hand,  and  the  promissory  note  in  the  other. 
"  Have  you  signed  it  ?"— continued  he,  pointing  to 
the  latter  document.  ''Be  quick,  if  indeed  you 
have  carefully  perused  the  terms.  Never,  while 
you  live,  put  your  name  to  a  paper,  of  which  you 
have  not,  to  a  syllable,  mastered  the  contents.  Nay, 
— spare  me  your  declarations  of  confidence :  you 
may  have  less  grounds  for  gratitude  than  you  sup- 
pose. Remember  the  fable  of  the  little  fish  thrown 
back  into  the  river  to  become  a  bigger,  by  the 
wary  angler.  Be  not  too  sure  that  the  Money-lender 
is  not  fMilitating  your  first  ingress  into  his  net^  in 
order  to  securd  your  return." 

Basil  Annesley,  who  had  now  both  read  and 
signed  the  promissory  note,  and  placed  the  printed 


cheque  in  his  pocket-book,  smiled  at  this  Binlster 
prognostication. 

"  I  do  not  choose  you  to  be  ruined  by  anybody 
but  myself,"  observed  the  Money-l^kLer  with  a 
smile :  ''  in  proof  of  which,  let  me  advise  you  to 
place  that  pocket-book  in  a  securer  place  t|[an  the 
one  from  which  you  own  my  letter  of  appointment 
to  have  been  subtracted.  Above  all,  deposit,  this 
very  morning,  the  money  you  are  about  to  receiye, 
with  your  own  banker,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  the 

exigencies  which well,  well  I    I  will  spare  you 

my  lecture !" — said  he,  interrupting  himself  when  he 
saw  the  colour  rising  into  the  cheeks  of  Basil.  ^  You 
receive  sterling  advice,  I  perceive,  less  thankfully 
than  sterling  coin." 

*'  The  gentleman  is  in  the  parlour,  Sir,''  said  the 
old  woman,  again  thrusting  in  her  dingy  face  and 
still  dingier  cap.  • 

"  So  much  the  better,"  replied  the  Money-lender, 
with  a  bitter  sneer.  ''  It  may  serve  to  bring  so  fine 
a  gentleman  to  his  senses,  to  make  acquaintance 
with  the  mice  and  spiders  of  my  desolate  habita- 
tion." 

In  another  moment  Basil  Annesley,  still  mia- 
doubting  whether  he  were  awake  or  asleep,  had 
shaken  hands  with  the  new  acquaintance  who  had 
acted  by  him  the  part  of  an  old  friend,  and  was 
once  more  in  the  street.  A  few  paces  before  him 
was  leisurely  proceeding  a  plain  but  handsome 
cabriolet,  of  which  the  tiger  who  held  the  reins 
wore  a  plain  undress  livery.  But  the  horse  of  which 
the  little  fellow  was  in  charge  was  not  to  be  mis- 
taken. It  was  one  renowned  in  the  glories  of  Hyde 
Park,  a  celebrated  cab,  announcing  that  the  ^xm 
gentleman  just  then  cooling  his  heels  in  the  di»- 
mantled  dining-room  of  A.  0.  was  no  less  a  peiBon 
than  his  grace  the  Duke  of  Rochester. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

That  day  was  a  day  of  overflowing  joy  to  Basil 
Annesley !  Had  the  pavement,  intervening  between 
Soho  Square,  and  St.  James's  Street,  been  tesselated 
with  gems,  after  the  fashion  of  the  sanctuaries  of 
the  AUiambra  or  Aladdin's  palace,  instead  of  dis- 
playing the  half-frosty,  half-filthy  flagstones  of 
one  of  the  least  inviting  quarters  of  the  West  £nd, 
he  could  not  have  felt  more  elated  or  have  made  his 
way  more  Ughtsomely  of  foot  tlfan  on  his  road  to 
Herries' ;  where,  after  receiving  his  four  hundred 
pounds,  he  paid  the  first  half-year's  interest  thereon 
in  advance  to  the  account  of  Abednegb  Osalex^ 
Esq.,  in  order  that,  for  twelve  monthato  come,  he 
might  be  conscience-clear  on  the  subject. 

Let  him  who,  after  labouring  under  the  pressure 
of  pecuniary  embarrassments  has  ever  found  hima<^|f 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly  released  from  thraldom^ 
declare  whether  any  earthly  triumph  can  exceed 
that  soul-stirring  emancipation ! 

The  king  may  make  a  belted  knight, 
A  marquis,  duke,  and  a'  that ; 
but,  far  surpassing  any  creation  recorded  in  the  peer- 
age, is  that  of  a  free  man,  out  of  a  wretch  on  whose 
shoulder  the  gripe  of  the  bailifl^  has  been  felt  by 
agonizing  anticipation. 

As  regarded  Annesley  s  feelings,  he  was  now  out 
of  debt ;  for  he  was  in  debt  only  within  limit  aiC 


ABEDNEGO.THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


153 


Ub  1IIM1I&  Foot  and  twenty  hours  before,  he  had 
looked  forward  to  Uie  dreadful  28th  of  December, 
which  was  to  find  him  in  possession  of  three  hundred 
poonds,  or  steep  him  in  shame  to  the  very  lips,  as 
a  crimbal  to  the  day  of  execution.  He  would  not 
have  U^  half  so  orerjoyed  at  being  declared  heir- 
i4ipaient  to  the  Duke  of  Rochester,  as  to  know  that 
four  hundred  pounds  were  that  day  placed  to  his 
cnditaiCoutta's. 

How  little, — how  very  little, — do  those  real  po- 
twitatea  of  modem  times,  who  sway  the  destinies 
oi  Balkms  and  individuals  with  a  rod  of  gold,  and 
iamb  their  decre^B  in  bank  notes  and  Exchequer 
hiDs,  the  bankers  of  money-spmning  Europe,  con- 
jecture the  fearful  nature  of  the  passions  imprisoned 
in  that  Pandora's  box,  their  iron  safe ;  the  world 
of  magic  spells,  compassed  within  the  simple  parch- 
ment covers  of  the  books  of  their  constituents ;  the 
fiat  of  life  and  death  occasionally  inscribed  on  one 
of  the  printed  cheques  which  their  clerk  mechani- 
cally cashes,  enregisteTing  the  number  of  the  notes 
he  gires  in  exchange  with  as  cool  deliberation  as 
tfaoogh  the  heartof  the  expectant  ^  bearer"  throbbed 
not  with  ecstasy  at  the  sight  of  those  bringers  of 
glad  tidings  to  his  necessitous  household ! — The 
whole  romance  of  civilisation  is  in  fact  comprised 
within  the  magic  initials  of  L.  S.  D. .  Moitet  is 
iiMieedPowKB,---the'^Opensesame''tothe  seemingly 
mperwkmB  rock  of  human  destiny ! — Of  all  the 
nasqiieradlng  guises  in  which  fcdse  Philosophy 
bv»  to  parade  herself,  contempt  of  MONsr,  the 
ladder  by  which  almost  every  earthly  advantage 
m  attainable,  is  surely  the  -most  absurd ! — 

Poor  Basil  among  the  rest,  had  often  blazoned 
finth  his  contempt  of  riches ;  labouring  to  reconcile 
his  motlier  to  her  straitened  means  by  assurances 
of  hia  indifiierence  to  the  dross  of  this  world  ;  nay, 
had  even  deceived  himself  by  frequent  protesta- 
tataa  ni  indifieren^  to  the  gorgeous  gew-gaws  of 
opideiioe. — He  fancied  himself  content,  nay  proud 
sad  hafipy  to  be  poor.  And  now,  the  possession  of 
a  paltry  fcnir  hundred  pounds^  was  driving  him  half 
oBt  o€  his  wits  for  joy  ! — 

For  Uumgh  the  origin  of  his  embarrassments  was 
4f  a  aatore  far  from  dishonouring  to  his  head  or 
hearty  It  was  one  hd  dared  not  have  disclosed  to  his 
sastere  mother.  Almost,  indeed,  would  he  have 
preferred  to  pass  uf  her  eyes  for  the  dupe  o(  the 
gaaDhig--tahle,  or  for  a  frivolous  spendthrift,  ruined 
by  idle  extravagance,  than  to  expose  the  truth. 

Not  one  guinea  of  the  money  had  been  applied 
to  his  own  use.  The  necessities  of  another  had 
cauaed  him  to  pledge  his  honourable  name  beyond 
fab  power  of  redemption.  And  yet,  he  had  not  even 
esjoyed  the  happiness  of  claiming  sympathy  from 
that  other  in  his  embarrassment.  He  had  been 
fereed  to  pretend  opulence  at  the  moment  of  signing 
the  ImIIs  of  exchange,  and  indififerenoe  on  the  sub- 
ject ever  since,  lest  the  obligation  should  afilict 
the  delioate  and  high-minded  individual  whom  his 
inteHieienoe  had  been  the  means  of  rescuing  from 
the  utmost  extremity  of  distress. 

There  was  only  one  drawback  on  his  exulting 
happineaa :  his  mother's  illness !  Even  this,  how- 
evciv  was  leas  acutely  felt  than  when  sinking  under 
the  apptehension  that  his  difficulties  might  shortly 


aggravate  the  evil;  and  now,  disregarding  her 
prohibition,  and  forestalling  his  purposed  Christmas 
visit,  he  readily  obtained  a  few  days'  leave  of  ab« 
sence ;  and,  armed  with  a  thousand  little  tokens  of 
kindness  for  the  invalids,  hurried  to  Barlingham. 
Instead  of  affording  Lady  Annesley  time  to  renew 
her  prohibition,  he  chose  to  take  her  by  surprise. 

Few  ar«  the  contingencies  in  this  world  which 
justify  taking  people  by  surprise.  Husbands  and 
wives  have  often  had  to  rue  the  officious  afiection 
which  impelled  them  prematurely  into  each  other  s 
presence ;  and  the  best  household,  the  best  school, 
the  most  united  family,  the  most  attached  circle  of 
friends,  cannot  be  too  accurately  apprized  of  the 
exact  moment  at  which  the  absent  one  is  likely  to 
rush  once  more  into  their  arms. 

Poor  Basil  reached  the  Grange,  his  whole  heart 
overflowing  not  simply  with  the  milk  of  human 
kindness  but  with  its  cream.  Late  in  the  evening, 
he  reached  Lyndhurst  by  the  coach ;  and  preferring 
to  restore  cireulation  to  his  chilly  limbs  by  a  walk 
of  a  mile  and  a  half  across  the  fields,^to  a  three 
miles  jumble  in  a  postchaise,  through  one  of  the 
most  unsatisfactory  lanes  that  ever  besloughed 
the  wagon  of  the  despairing  farmer,  he  accepted  the 
offer  of  a  countryman  to  accompany  him  with  his 
valise,  and  cheerfully  cut  across  to  Barlingham, 
by  a  way  familiar  to  him  from  boyhood. 

To  beguile  the  dreariness  of  his  lonely  walk,  he 
almost  unconsciously  buret  forth  into  a  song,  the 
produce  of  one  of  the  olden  poets. 

Trace  to  thy  fond  misgiyiiigB, 

These  firuitless  tears  give  o'er, — 
No  absence  can  divide  us,  love. 

No  parting  part  ns  more !  * 

Mountains  and  seas  may  rise  between. 

To  mock  our  baffled  will ; 
But  heart  in  heart,  and  soul  in  soul, 

We  bide  together  still.        i 

Where'er  I  go,  or  far  or  near, 

I  cannot  be  alone  ; 
Thy  voice  is  ever  in  mine  ear. 

Thy  hand  press'd  in  mine  own ; 
Thy  head  upon  mv  pillow  rests. 

Thy  words  my  bosom  thrill, 
And  heart  in  heart,  and  soul  is  soul. 

We  bide  together  still. 

And  when  stem  death  shall  work  his  worst. 

And  all  our  joys  are  done^ 
E'en  by  the  mystery  that  unites 

The  dial  and  the  sun  ; 
Though  one  exist  in  heavenly  bliss. 

One  in  this  worid  of  ill. 
Yet  heart  in  heart,  and  soul  in  soul, 

We'll  bide  together  stiU. 

But  as  his  voice  died  away,  the  loneliness  seemed 
drearier  than  before.  The  weather  was  frosty.  Not 
a  breath  was  stirring ;  the  moon  had  risen ;  and 
under  its  influence  and  that  of  the  bitterness  of  the 
weather,  the  landscape  exhibited  a  ghastly  and 
death-like  appearance.  The  fields  were  free  from 
all  transit  of  living  thing:  not  so  much  as  a 
plough  left  upturned  in  the  furrows,  for  the  readier 
recommencement  of  the  morrow's  labours,  as  at 
more  propitious  seasons  of  the  year.  Not  so  much 
as  a  stoat,  or  urehin^  stealing  in  quest  of  midnight 
prey  from  hedge  to  hedge.  And  when  at  last  Basil 
came  in  view  ^  the  Grange,  standing  black  and  de- 
solate in  the  moonlight,  in  the  centre  of  its  open 


lff« 


ABED17EG0  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


■qnare  of  duf k  aod  UafleM  trees,  it  wai  like  ap- 
proabhing  the  uninhabited  oagtle  of  some  fairytale ; 
not  a  dog  to  give  tongue  at  sound  of  their  intruding 
steps,  as  they  crossed  the  little  bridge  leading  from 
the  moat  to  the  chief  entranoe.  And,  lest  Lady 
Annesley  should  be  alarmed  by  the  unwonted 
sound  of  the  door-bell  at  so  late  an  hour,  her  son 
made  his  way  round  to  the  postern  leading  to  the 
offices,  and  entered  the  kitchen  with  a  degree  of 
humility  most  vexations  to  his  temporary  esquire 
of  the  body,  who  bad  anticipated  that,  in  escorting 
to  the  Grange  the  heir-apparent  of  the  family,  he 
should  force  a  triumphal  entry,  drums  beating  and 
colours  flying.  BasU's  hurried  injunction  to  the  two 
astonished  women-servants,  who  screamed  aloud  on 
beholding  him,  to  take  care  of  his  valise  and  its 
bearer,  while  he  made  his  way  into  the  house,  scarce- 
ly reconciled  poor  Hodge  to  the  indignity  of  stealing 
into  the  house^  like  a  thief  in  the  dark. 

Leaving  the  Hampshire  bumpkin  to  the  consol- 
ations of  a  blazing  fire  and  substantial  supper, 
young  Annesley  seised  the  candle  presented  by  the 
blushing,  curtseying,  handmaiden  of  old  Doreas ; 
from  whom  he  had  i^adyextractedthat  hismother 
and  her  waiting-woman  were  in  attendance  upon 
old  Nicholas,  who  had  been  removed  to  a  bed-room 
on  the  first  floor,  having,  it  was  feared,  not  numy 
days  to  live. 

^  My  lady  has  ordered  tea  in  half  an  hoar  in  her 
sitting-room,"  added  the  damsel.  ^Shall  I  acquaint 
her.  Sir,  that  you  are  here  ? — or  would  you  rather 
I  should  go  and  make  a  fire,  Mr.  BasU,  in  your 
own  room?— 

Young  Annesley  accepted  tho  latter  alternative. 
Unwilling  t«  startle  the  dying  man  by  too  sudden 
an  appearance  in  his  chamber,  he  determined  to 
await  the  coming  of  his  mother  in  her  own  apart- 
ment. 

The  sitting-room  usually  occupied  by  Lady 
Annesley  during  the  wii^ter  months,  was  a  small 
chamber  on  the  first  floor,  adjoining  her  bed-room. 
The  ceiling,  as  in  all  the  rooms  in  the  Grange,  was 
not  only  low,  but  traversed  and  deformed  by  heavy 
beams ;  and  the  floor,  of  stucco  or  composition. 
Such  a  chamber,  however,  its  embayed  windows 
being  thickly  curtained,  and  its  floor  coiftealed  by 
a  carpet,  is  more  easily  rendered  warm  and  com- 
fortable for  the  long  cheerless  winteir  evenings,  than 
one  of  nobler  proportions ;  and  tlie  rich  saloons  of 
many  a  lordly  castle  might  have  found  scope  for 
envy  during  that  bitter  weither,  in  the  little  snug- 
gery to  which,  when  Basil  made  his  way  into  the 
sanctuary,  a  blazing  wood  fire  was  afibrding  the 
pheerfiil  glow  so  welcome  to  the  eye  of  Uie  benighted 
traveller. 

Thb  room  was,  of  all  the  house,  the  one  least 
f&miliar  to  Basil.  It  was  four  years  since  he  had 
spent  a  winter  at  the  Grange.  His  return  from 
Germany  had  chanced  in  the  summer  season ;  and 
the  preceding  Christmas,  having  recently  joined 
his  regiment,  he  had  been  forced  to  pass  in  town. 
During  his  holidays.  Lady  Annesley  usually  in- 
habited her  drawing-room  on  the  ground  floor, 
as  containing  her  musical  instruments,  and  the 
bookcases  calculated  to  afibrd  amusement  or  in- 
struction to  her  son ;  and  it  was  only  on  ocea8i<Mi 


of  some  brief  interview  between  them,  that  die 
received  him  in  what  she  called  herdrening-nMBi, 
though  the  ceremonies  of  her  simple  toilet  were  per- 
formed in  the  sleeping-roomadjoining.  It  posseswd, 
accordingly,  all  the  charm  of  prohibition  in  the 
eyes  (^  young  Annesley.  It  was  the  bine  chamber 
^  the  Grange,**the  only  one  into  which  he  was 
not  permitted  to  penetrate  uninvited. 

On  the  present  occasion,  he  felt  privileged.  His 
visit  was  as  the  return  of  the  prodigal  son;  and  he 
chose  to  anticipate  the  favours  reserved  fiir  sueh 
an  incident.  Moreover,  Hannah  had  informed  liim 
that  the  only  fire  then  burning,  was  in  my  lady's 
room ;  and  the  temperature  of  that  December  ni^ 
was  so  little  to  be  trifled  with,  that  lie  entertsimed 
no  scruple  about  invading  the  forbidden  pre* 
cincts, 

^  I  don't  wonder  my  mother  is  so  fond  of  it ! "  was 
Basil's  ejaculation,  as,  stationed  upon  the  PeraiaB 
rug  before  the  fire,  he  cast  his  eyes  round  the  ekeer- 
ful  chamber,  in  which  ,Lady  Annesley  had  judi-r 
eiously  assembled  such  rsnmants  of  antiqua  fiimi- 
tnre  as  she  had  found  at  the  Grange ; — the  old 
carved  chairs  and  tables,  and  a  twisted  lagged 
cabinet  or  two,  imparting  the  Elizabethan  character 
he  had  recently  observed  astheheight  of  the  fashion. 
From  the  carved  ebony  desk  on  which  Lady  An- 
nesley's  handkerchief  was  still  lying,  to  the  prie^ 
dim  in  a  recess  jiear  the  fire*place,  which  was  fitted 
up  as  an  oratory,  everything  was  so  strictly  in 
keeping  as  the  bowei-chamber  of  a  ladye^fair  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  that  it  might  have  served  as 
a  study  lor  Cattermole,*or  as  the  boudoir  oi  aweet 
Anne  Page. 

^  And  yet  what  utt^  solitude^^— what  isolation 
from  he?  caste  and  kind ! "  was  his  second  reflecti<«, 
x>n  recalling  to  mind  that  this  snuggery,  so  chann- 
ing  as  a  retreat  from  the  severity  of  a  winter^s  nighty 
was  Lady  Annecdey*?  abode  ftom  yeai^s-end  to 
year'9-end,  season  after  season  I  ^  A  woman  miui 
nave  either  a  very  good,  or  a  very  bad  oonaciMiee, 
to  find  her  happiness  in  such  complete  Allpn^tJon 
from  society." 

That  the  former  alternative  was  the  6rigin  of 
his  beloved  moUier's  retreat,  was  so  naturally  iiia 
eonviotion,  as  to  excuse  the  second  oonjeetvurey 
though  breathed  only  to  himself;  and  regaardlng^ 
that»el^antly  antiquated  room  rather  as  tihe  ori^ 
of  a  Lady  Abbess  than  as  the  boudoir  of  a  woman 
of  the  worid,  Basil  did  new  homage  to  the  exoeU^it 
taste  which  had  ccmverted  the  desolate  widla  of  an 
old  farm-house  into  a  retreat  so  enviable. 

It  was  not  with  him  tkeire,  however,  as  in  the  den 
of  the  Money-changer.  He  felt  it  no  treachery  tc 
examine,  more  leisurely  than  his  mothers  presence 
on  the  KK>t  had  evmr  yet  enabled  him,  the  objeoti 
around  him.  T^ey  were  part  and  parcri  of  hlj 
mother^  even  as  he,  her  only  son,  was  a  portion  0I 
herself;  and  the  time  must  come,  though  he  liad 
never  hazarded  the  anticipation,  when  they  "vrould 
become  his  own. 

In  the  tediousness,  therefore,  of  waiting  tor  Ijadi 
Annesley's  appearance,  he  cast  his  eyes  fron^  thj 
heavy  Persian  carpets  mufSing  the  floor,  4o  tin 
bronze  lamp,brighteningeverynookof  tilieantiouat 
edchambtf.    te the chiamey ledge ef carved  9art 


ABBDNBOO  T?E  UONKY-KINDXB. 


155 


Ind  fieiiey  Ag^Bfiwhioh  he  wasleaBing,  stood  two 
M  agate  chalices  of  great  beauty ;  and^  between 
Qitm^  en  a  alab  of  gveen  jasper,  an  antique  bronze  of 
esaaidnable  value,  though  exhibiting  only  an  un- 
sightly v^tUe,  formed  of  that  matchless  metal  of 
Coriath,  of  which  all  modem  imitations  fail  to 
aefuire  the  glowing  tinge  arising  from  the  admix* 
tuFs  of  the  mors  precious  metals  in  the  outpourings 
«f  the  fidi  old  city  from  whoee  burning  ruins  fused 
ferth  the  metal  unwittingly  created  by  the  spoliat* 
lag  hands  of  man. 

On  the  wall  opposite  the  firct'place,  hung  a  fine 
peitratl,  well  known  to  artists  as  one  ai  the  ekef 
/otnw  of  Sir  Joshua :  a  likeness  of  Lord  L.,  the 
Ikther  of  Lady  Annoeley,  wearing  the  numerous 
fanigB  orders  commemorative  of  the  distinctions 
ef  his  diplomatic  career.  A  marble  statuette  of  a 
child,  on  an  isolated  pedestal  of  giallo  antieo,  filled 
one  coraer  of  the  room ;  tiie  others  being  completed 
with  hanging  shelves  of  carved  ebony,  filled  with 
books ;  a  fcmale  child,  of  exquisite  grace  and  beauty» 
eridantly  the  work  ai  a  first-rate  hand,  which  Basil 
IkBtfled  he  had  heard  whispered  by  Dorcas  }n  his 
bejliMd,  as  an  early  portrait  of  his  sister,  Mrs. 
femona 

All  ^Mo  objects  he  had  noticed  before.  But 
Wfoa  Lady  Annesley's  desk  lay  a  square  book, 
severed  witii  dark  velvet,  and  having  golden  clasps 
•f  great  beamty  and  value,  like  the  mass-bookp  ci 
WBiIthy  Catholics,  inducing  the  renewal  of  a  sus- 
picioB  lie  had  sometimes  ent^tained,  that  his 
mollier  was  aecretiy  attached  to  a  faith  which  was 
thai  neither  of  her  husband  nor  her  ancestors. 
Cmioua  to  determine  whether  it  were,  indeed,  a 
fispf  ^kettr€$^  he  opened  the  clasps ;  when,  to  his 
^ftter  surprise,  he  found  that  the  seeming  book  was 
a  pieliire  case,  containing  on  one  dde  the  enamelled 
peitiaH  of  a  man,— on  the  other,  also  under  a 
^aas,  a  lock  of  glossy  hair,  of  raven  blackness. 

Baul  stood  utterly  confounded.  His  late  father, 
ss  he  kaew  from  portraits  and  from  tradition,  was 
€uraaa€iennan.  His  grandfatiier.  Lord  L.,  seemed 
to  he  now  looking  him  in  the  face,  in  attestation 
that  ke  had  no  aftnitv  with  the  individual  depicted 
in  that  mysterious  miniature.  Lady  AnnesliBy  was 
eaa  e€  three  daughters — his  eoheiresses ;  nor,  as  well 
ss  Banl  amid  rseall  to  mind,  had  she  a  single 
male  velatiott  near  enough  to  account  for  his  picture 
htmg  in  hcv  possession.  What  was  the  meaning 
of  all  this  ?  He  fixed  his  eyes  searchingly  upon 
Am  pavdait,  ae  if  to  interrogate  its  right  and  titie 
to  be  found  in  his  moth^s  sale  keeping. 

The  faee  was  one  of  more  interest  than  regular 
heao^ :  dark,  high  biowed,  having  a  profusion  of 
h^Mck  hair,  and  eyes  that  derived  a  deeper  shade 
frem  the  reflection.  The  mouth  was  of  rave  beauty, 
yet  mapleasing  expression:  being  tempered  by  an 
faifbsMn  of  scorn  littie  in  accordance  with  the 
movrnfid  character  of  the  eyee ;  iMsd,  on  the  whole. 
It  was  one  of  those  countenances  which  fascinate 
the  attention  even  wliile  impressing  the  beholder 
with  an  unfavourable  opinion  of  the  original.  The 
age  of  the  person  represmted  could  not  exceed  five- 
aad-'twoity,  and  ih&  dress  was  tiiat  worn  by  Eng- 
Uah  gentlemen  at  the  commencement  of  the  reign 
ofGeoigenL 


The  move  the  attention  of  Basil  became  riveted 
upon  the  picture,  the  stronger  was  his  impression 
that  some  mysterious  intere^  must  be  connected 
with  an  object  which  he  had  attained  the  age  of 
twenty  years  without  perceiving  in  his  mother's 
possessipp.  In  his  boyish  days,  in  those  holidays 
of  afiection  when  the  secret  treasures  of  a  mother 
are  brought  forth  to  amuse  a  sick  child  or  console 
an  aflicted  one,  he  had  often  been  allowed  to  admire 
the  contents  of  his  mother's  cabinets ;  curious 
shells,«-*rars  minerals,  antique  rings,  the  old 
fashioned  repeater,  with  its  massive  chain  and 
enamelled  gew-gaws ;  nay,  there  was  a  valuable 
miniature  of  Lady  Annesley's  mother,  the  Lady  L., 
in  her  black^-lace  hood  and  point  stomacher,  set  in 
diamonds  and  enamel,  with  an  L.  and  coronet  flour- 
ished in  seed-pearls  upon  the  braid  of  hair  forming 
the  reverse,  which  had  actually  been  allowed  him 
as  a  plaything,  in  the  convalescence  succeeding  i^ 
dangerous  illness  ;-^Yet  of  theminiature  in  the  vel- 
vet cover  he  had  never  been  sufiered  to  obtain  a 
glimpse  1^-. 

He  had  just  replaced  it  on  the  desk  and  himself 
upon  tiie  hearth  rug,  whep  the  door  was  deliberately 
opeped,  and  Lady  Annesley  made  her  appearance. 

Prepared  to  find  her  as  gratified  by  his  visit  as 
he  was  pleased  with  his  own  alacrity  in  paying  it, 
Basil  was  moved  almost  to  awe,  by  the  rigid  cold- 
ness of  her  mode  of  receiving  him.  After  rebuking 
his  disobedience  in  being  there,  she  coolly  informed 
him  that,  with  dangero9S  illness  In  her  household, 
his  presence  would  be  an  inconvenience. 

**  In  that  case,  I  will  be  off  to-morrow,"  replied 
Basil,  tr3dng  to  recover  or  conceal  his  chagrin. 
'^  But)  at  leasts  dearest  mother,*forgive  me  so  far 
as  to  bear  witii  me  this  one  night.  I  <K>uld  not 
endure  the  anxiety  of  pupposing  you  ill,  without 
bringing  my  own  eyes  to  veriiy  the  state  of  your 
healtii." 

'^  Another  time,  honour  me  with  your  confidence 
so  for  ^  to  believe  that  I  tell  you  the  exact  truth,'* 
said  Lady  Annesley,  sternly.  ^  I  have  been  ill.-— 
I  am  well  again, — unless,  indeed,  the  vexation  of 
being  thus  broken  in  up<«,  shoiUd  produce  a  re- 
currence of  my  indisposition." 

While  expresting  his  hopes  that  he  might  not 
have  so  great  an  evU  on  his  conscience,  Basil  saw 
the  eyes  of  his  mother  wander  from  his  face  to  the 
desk,  and  from  the  desk  back  again  to  his  varying 
countenance;  as  if  trying  to  decipher  whether  he 
had  found  time  to  examine  the  scattered  contents  of 
her  chamber,  or  open  the  portrait.^ — ^The  confusion 
punted  in  Basil's  face,  was,  however,  just  as  likely 
to  arise  foom  her  ungracious  mode  of  reception,  as 
from  coqseiousness  of  having  indulged  a  prying 
curiosity ;  and  she  remained  lost  in  perplexity. 

The  entrance  of  Hannah  with  the  rich  old  fadi- 
ioned  tea-service,  which  having  placed  on  the  table, 
she  was  huny^g  away  again,  now  encouraged 
young  Annesley  to  ask  permission  to  visit  the  bed- 
side dP  the  poor  old  invalid,  before  the  night  became 
too  far  advanced  to  admit  of  disturbing  him. 

^  Dorcas  is  with  him  night  and  day.  He  has 
all  the  attendance  his  state  requires,"  was  Lady 
Annesley's  frigid  reply. 

^  Bat  as  a  satisfocti<m  to  myself^  and,  if  I  may 


156 


ABEDNEGO  '  uE  MONEY-LENDER. 


be  permitted  to  say  so,  to  kirn.     Poor  Nicholas 
was  always  so  fond  of  me!" — ^pleaded  BasiL 

**  He  is  past  deriving  pleasure  from  the  presence 
even  of  those  who  are  dearest  to  himy"  persisted 
Lady  Annesley.  ^Let  me  beg  you  rather  to  ascer- 
tain that  your  things  have  been  safely  deposited  in 
your  room,  by  the  person  who  accompanied  you, — 
yonder  poor  girl,  being  scarcely  strong  enough  to 
supply  the  place  of  him  we  are  about  to  lose." 

Basil  accepted  the  hint.  Nothing  more  likely  to 
injure  the  candour  of  an  ingenuous  heart,  than  the 
undue  possession  of  a  secret.  For.  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  he  attributed  a  stratagem  to  his  mother ; 
convinced  she  was  desirous  to  get  rid  of  him,  only 
that  she  might  replace  the  mysterious  portrait  upon 
her  desk  in  its  accustomed  concealment. 

He  was  so  far  justified  in  his  suspicions,  that  on 
his  return  to  the  tea-table,  refreshed  after  his  day's 
journey  by  purification  from  London  soot  and  ike 
dust  of  the  road,  a  single  glance  towards  the  ebony 
desk  convinced  him  the  picture  had  disappeared. 
He  fancied  however,  that  his  mother  had  detected 
even  that  momentary  scrutiny ;  for  her  deportment 
was,  if  possible,  more  ungracious  than  before. 

At  any  other  moment,  he  would  have  attempted 
to  dissipate  her  ill  humour  by  allusions  to  the  news 
of  the  day,  and  the  tittle-tatUe  of  London  life.  But 
though  excluded  from  the  chamber  of  death,  he 
could  not  forget  that,  at  the  distance  of  a  few 
chambers  from  the  one  they  occupied,  lay  an  aged 
man,  endeared  to  both  by  long  association,  and 
about  to  appear  in  the  presence  of  hfs  Maker. 
This  indeed  was  a  sufficient  excuse  for  the  singular 
mood  of  Lady  Annesley.  Li  many  persons^  grief 
takes  the  form  of  angisr.  A  proud  spirit,  unwilling 
to  diqilay  itself  covered  with  dust  and  ashes,  uplifts 
its  head  with  unbecoming  pride,  in  order  to  conceal 
that  temporary  humiliation. 

As  every  stroke  tells  against  a  gamester  in  his 
vein  of  illfortune,  whatever  topic  was  selected  by 
Basil  to  dispel  the  embarrassment  of  that  painfiil 
tete-d^t^  seemed  to  aggravate  her  still  fiirthisr 
against  him. 

Lady  Annesley,  as  if  desirous  of  promoting  de- 
sultory conversation,  adverted  to  the  young  nephew 
of  the  Duke  of  Rochester,  who  had  recently  entered 
his  regiment. 

^'  I  was  formerly  acquainted  with  his  fckther, 
and  uncle,"  said  she  carelessly. 

^<  His  father  is  dead,**  observed  Basil ;  ^  and 
his  uncle  were  periiaps  better  in  his  grave.  He 
is  in  the  jaws  of  perdition, — ^ruined  soul,  body,  and 
estate ;  a  victim  to  play,  with  his  fine  fortune 
melting  away  in  the  grasp  of  the  Jews." — 

At  that  moment,  an  impulse  of  compunction, 
peculiar  to  generous  hearts,  brought  before  him  the 
beneficient  conduct  of  A.  0.,  and  the  consciousness 
of  his  own  obligations ;  and  without  reflecting  on 
the  singular  effects  such  an  outburst  must  produce 
on  Lady  Annesley,  who  had  not  the  slightest  clue 
to  the  origin  of  hb  opinions,  he  suddenly  veered 
round,  and  b^^n  expressing  his  contempt  of  the 
existing  prejii'^^es  against  ti^t  contemned  class  of 
the  communis  citing  every  advantageous  opinion 
or  example  e^  '  adduced  in  favour  of  the  people 
after  God*s  ouvS^  'beart,  from  Cumberland  and  Miss  J 


Edgeworth,  back  to  the  choicest  authorities  of  ilie 
Judaic  world. 

'  A  sudden  flush  overspread  the  habitually  palUu 
fiioe  of  Lady  Annesley.  Her  ipirit  seemed  chafing 
within  her.  At  the  last  she  spake  with  her  tongue. 
^'  I  can  readily  understand,"  said  she,  with  un- 
disguised bitterness,  ^^  that  the  follies  and  vices  of 
London,  and  the  companionship  into  which  they 
may  have  forced  you,  may  have  done  something 
towards  relaxing  Uie  principles  in  which  yon.  have 
been  reared,  and  the  proud  instincts  of  honourable 
descent.  But  I  had  not  expected  you  would  so 
soon  have  stooped  to  Mm!  I  had  not  supposed 
that  a  few  thousands  conceded  by  these  wi^tch- 
ed  unbelievers,  these  heirs  of  perdition,  g^ded 
over  like  the  molten  calf  till  even  Christian 
kings  fall  down  and  worship, — ^would  so  soon 
have  obliterated  in  your  hon^  heart  the  preju- 
dice common  to  all  ages, — all  nations, — and  con- 
sequently respectable  even  as  a  prejudice. — ^For 
my  part,  I  loathe  a  Jew ; — ^I  am  proud  to  declare, 
that  I  loatJie  a  Jew ! — ^Apart  from  the  crime  which 
stamped  them  with  eternal  condenmation,  I  detest 
their  principles,  I  detest  their  practices,  '\\nierever 
there  «re  Jews,  there  is  narrowness  of  mind, — ^foul- 
ness of  body, — ^baseness  of  heart.  They  are  a  filthy 
people.  Even  as  of  old  they  bought  with  thirty 
pieces  of  silver  the  blood  of  their  Redeemer,  would 
they  stillchaffer  for  the  heart's  blood  of  the  innocent ! 
I  tell  you  Basil,'  I  loathe  them !  and  those  who  in- 
duced you  to  entertain  a  contrary  opinion,  deceived 
y<m  as  much  as  they  injured  meT 

The  eyes  of  young  Annesley  were  now  fixed  upon 
his  moUier  with  unqualified  amazement*  l^e, 
usually  so  mild,  so  serene,  so  low-voiced,  so  indif- 
ferent to  the  things  of  this  world,  to  be  exited  by 
so  slight  a  cause  into  this  violent  diatribe  1 — ^And  in 
the  house  of  death ! — With  her  aged  servitor  expir- 
ing almost  within  hearing  of  her  uncalled-for  voci- 
feration \ 

Basil  was  awestruck !  He  could  not  help  sur- 
mising for  a  moment,  that  his  beloved  mother's 
reason  might  be  affected  by  her  attendance  on  the 
deathbetl  of  her  faithful  old  domestic,  while  weak- 
ened by  the  effects  of  recent  ii^^lisposition. 

"  Believe  me,  dearest  mother,"  said  he,  "I never 
heard  you  accused  of  any  partiality  for  these  ma- 
ligned  people.  My  inclination*  in  their  favour  is  a 
weakness  arising  from  peculiar  circumstancea  of 
a  nature  wholly  persontJ." 

"You  have  heard  it!"  cried  Lady  Annesley, 
unsubdued  by  his  deprecation.  **  Do  not  add  de- 
ceit to  the  audacity  of  attempting  to  invade  the 
sacredness  of  my  thoughts  and  feeUngs.  You  hav^ 
heard  it!"— 

Again,  terrified  and  grieved,  young  Annesley  was 
about  to  enter  upon  his  own  disculpation.  But  as 
he  advanced  nearer  towards  his  mother,he  pefoeived 
that,  overcome  by  the  violence  of  her  emotions,  she 
had  thrown  herself  back  in  her  chair,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands  to  conceal  a  frantic  burst 
of  tears.' 

Basil  Annesley  .stood  transfixed.  It  was  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  had  ever  seen  his  mother 
shed  a  tear. 

{To  he  ecntinued.) 


15fU. 


CORRESPONDENCE  BETWEEN  BETTINE  BRENTANO  AND  CAROLINE 

VON  GtJNDERODE. 


Irisnowaix  yeansincethepiiblicaiionof  ^^GoStys 
Oorrt^itmdmn  with  a  CMUT  aatoniahed  our  friends 
in  GemiAny.  The  disdosuie  of  a  real  passion 
conoeiTed  by  a  maid  of  fourteen  for  a  poet  of  sixty, 
sod  the  publication  of  her  love-letters,  became 
more  piquant  by  their  appearance  under  the  editor- 
ship of  the  lady  herself ;  who,  twenty-five  years 
later,  and  alter  she  had  long  been  the  wife  of  a 
difltiiiguiahed  Prussian  nobleman,  seemed  nowise 
destroos  to  unsay  one  word  of  these  enthusiastic 
effusions.  Hier  own  position  in  society,  too,  as  a 
member  of  the  Brentano  family,  connected  with 
the  beet  circles  of  refinement  and  literature,  en- 
haneed  the  general  interest.  But,  after  all,  the 
main  diarm  was  found  to  lie  beyond  any  of  these 
reaaons^— in  the  letters  themselves ;  full  of  variety 
and  incident,  and  anecdotes  of  men  and  things, 
from  the  great  poet  at  Weimar,  down  to  the  Mar- 
burg Bihteken.  They  aflForded  glimpses  of  the 
writer^fl  character,  more  singular,  if  possible,  than 
her  romantic  attachment; — a  strange  assemblage 
of  the  qneer,  the  beautifrd,  the  genial,  and  the 
captieioQs ;  such  as  one  might  well  be  amazed  to 
find  in  the  head  and  heart  of  a  gurl  in  her  teens. 
Some  notice  of  these  was  given  to  the  English  at 
the  time  ;  and  it  was  then  understood  that  a  lady 
a£  some  Hterary  pretensions  was  engaged  to  trans- 
late them  for  publication  here :  but  this  never 
came  to  pass.  It  has  been  stated,  that  the  trans- 
lator (very  judiciously)  had  resolved  to  make  con- 
fideraUe  oraissbns,  and  that  the  enthusiastic  au- 
thoiesi  inoflted  on  the  work  being  rendered  entire, 
or  not  at  alL  Some  years  later,  finding  no  approval 
of  this  condition  here,  Madame  von  Amim  actually 
kaned  English  enough  to  encounter  the  task  her- 
self and  got  her  version  printed  in  Berlin.  It  is 
BOW  befiyre  ns ;  a  marvellous  Babel  of  language,  it 
is  tme,  but  interesting  as  an  evidence  of  the  eneigy 
and  devoti<m  of  purpose  which  could  attempt  sud[i 
a  kboor  in  furtherance  of  a  pious  object ; — the 
uk  of  the  book  having  been  dedicated  to  the  erec- 
tion of  a  monument  to  her  idolized  poet.  This 
trandation  o^  course  has  had  no  circulation  in 
Kngbmd. 

It  may  be  remembered,  that  one  of  the  passages 
in  these  letters  iN^ch  deservedly  attracted  the  most 
Brtersst,  was  an  account  of  the  death  of  FraQlein 
ten  GOndeiodej  a  young  lady  of  noble  family,  lay- 
tnaam  q£  the  Damenstift^  at  Frankfort,  who  was 
Bettioe's  first  and  dearest  friend.  A  disappoint- 
ment in  love,  and  ov^wwrought  sensibilities,  drove 
this  aeeoB^lished  creature  to  suicide,  under  cir- 
timiifanece  which  the  survivor  relates  with  a  bitter- 
MHef  grief  that  found  its  way  to  all  hearts.  To 
this  friend  Betdne  had  ahready  told  us  that  she 
owed  the  first  awakening  of  her  mental  sense ;  and 
tiiat  in  her  companionship  she  first  became  aUured 
to  reflection,  and  urged  to  self-improvement.  She 
related,  noreover,  how  in  the  desolation  of  heart 
cused  by  her  death,  she  betook  herself,  by  a  kind 

so.  XCIX.— -VOL.  IX. 


of  unaccountable  impulse,  to  solicit  the  friendship 
of  Groethe's  aged  mother,  as  a  compensation  for  the 
loss;  and  in  what  an  original  manner  this  was 
done ;  and  how  it  succeeded,  and  thus  led  to  that 
wonderful  love-fit  which  gave  birth  to  the  letters 
exchanged  with  Goethe. 

This  history  of  the  unfortunate  canoness,  and 
the  influence  she  was  said  to  have  exercised  on  her 
younger  friend's  development,  made  us  hear  with 
pleasure  the  promise  of  a  correspondence  with  Bet- 
tine,  bearing  the  name  of  Gunderode,  It  has  lately 
been  published ;  and  a  little  time  may  be  well 
spent  in  looking  over  its  contents.  That  it  is  equal 
in  variety  and  substance  to  the  former  series^  will 
hardly  be  affirmed ;  but  it  completes  much  that 
was  there  wanting,  contains  much  that  is  pleasant 
and  new,  and  would  have  been  hailed  as  a  remark  • 
able  gift,  had  it  been  offered,  as  it  ought  to  have  been, 
before  the  other,  which  was  conunenced  more  than 
a  year  later  than  the  last  letter  in  these  volumes. 

The  present  collection  is  composed  of  letters  ex- 
changed by  the  two  friends ;  and  terminates  at  the 
winter  preceding  Fraulein  von  Gunderode's  death ; 
when,  having  already  resolved  to  destroy  herself, 
she  had  the  affectionate  courage  to  pretend  a  coldness 
to  Bettine,  and  bore  the  estrangement  and  the  blame 
in  silence,  in  order  that  the  friend  might  thus  be 
weaned  from  a  love  that  would  be  wounded  by  her 
fate ;  at  this  time  Bettine  Brentano  was  some  fif- 
teen years  of  age.  Those  whom  the  title  may  in-* 
duce  to  expect  any  addition  to  the  pathetic  history 
told  in  the  first  published  letters,  will  be  disap- 
pointed. In  this  correspondence  the  Fraulein  has 
the  least  share ;  and  appears  before  us  with  all  the 
modesty  which  we  are  told  belonged  to  her.  We 
only  see  a  thoughtful,  sensitive,  pure-souled  young 
creature,  treating  her  friend  with  the  protecting 
love  of  an  elder  sister ;  her  letters  are  not  only 
fewer,  but  much  more  sedate  than  Bettine's,  and 
throw  no  light  on  the  story  of  her  broken  heart. 
Nor  is  there  a  single  trait  that  could  have  prepared 
us  for  the  long-cherished  purpose,  executed  with 
cruel  fortitude,  by  a  being  so  genUe  and  feminine, 
and  shrinking,  as  she  herself  teUs  us  in  one  of  the 
earlier  letters,  from  the  very  sight  of  blood.  There 
are  a  few  of  her  poems  scattered  throughout  the 
two  volumes, — graceful  and  pensive,  but  of  no 
other  merit ; — and  we  feel  that,  beyond  an  increased 
convictbn  of  her  goodness,  we  have  gained  from  the 
book  no  further  knowledge  of  the  person  whose 
name  it  bears. 

Such  being  the  case,  and  as  we  have  been  warned 
that  to  revert  to  what  appeared  in  the  earlier  book 
will  be  regarded  as  superfluous,  we  shall  say  little 
of  the  gentle  Fraulein,  and  view  the  present  collec- 
tion as  a  work  by  itself,  the  chief  interest  of  which, 
under  this  aspect,  must  be  found  i  the  scattered 
glimpses  whidi  it  affords  of  anoth  character  ex- 
ceedingly curious  and  original.  C  .hese,  indeed, 
there  is  no  lack,  but  they  are  so  v    .ous  as  to  defy 

O 


158 


CORRESPONDENCE  BETWEEN  BETTINE  BRENTANO 


classification.  At  every  step  contradictions  spring 
np :  the  most  childish  delight  in  common  trifles^  the 
meet  daring  attemptB  to  mch  at  the  mysteries  of 
the  Unseen ; — ^thoughts  at  times  capriciously  ab- 
surd, at  others  almost  as  bright  as  inspirations  * 
qualities  masculine,  feminine,  and  neuter ;  mischief 
and  tenderness,  shnplioity  and  penetration:  all 
turned  out  before  us  with  the  utmost  wmet^y  like 
the  contents  of  a  pedlei^s  wallet,*— making  a  whole 
that  it  is  impossible  to  behold  without  surprise, 
when  WB  think  of  the  writer^s  age,  or  without  plea- 
sure, as  we  read  her  lively  effusions. 

The  best  course  will,  therefore,  be  to  let  them  be 
seen  and  heard  for  themselves,  although  a  corre- 
spondence inevitably  loses  much  of  its  best  grace  by 
being  thrown  into  fragments.  We  thus  forfeit  the 
connexion  of  question  and  answer,  the  progress  of 
small  incidents  which  bring  the  scene  befbre  our 
eyes,  and  those  littie  hopes,  projects,  and  suspenses 
of  the  writers,  by  sharing  in  which  we  become 
attached  to  them,  and  feel,  for  the  time,  inmates  of 
their  family.  Of  Bettine  Br^tano's  it  was  no 
small  privilege  to  be  a  member.  The  grand-child 
of  the  beautif^  and  accomplished  authoress,  Sophia 
de  la  Roche,  (the  first-love  of  Wieland,and  through- 
out life  his  attached  Mend;)  the  daughter  of 
Maximilian  Brentano,  an  Italian  settied  in  Erank- 
fort,  where  he  rose  to  a  position  as  high  as  a  com- 
moner in  Crermany  can  attain ;  and  of  a  motiier  of 
whom  it  was  said,  that  "  if  Venus  Urania  had 
bom  a  sister  to  Eros,  It  could  have  been  no  other 
than  her  ;**  sister  to  Clemens,*  a  poet  of  eminence 
in  the  old  Grerman  romantic  vein ;  connected  by 
the  marriages  of  her  beautiful  sisters,  and  of  her 
brothers,  (all  remarkable  men,)  with  whatever  was 
most  distinguished  in  literature  and  social  position ; 
she  had  opportunities  of  looking  at  the  world  in  a 
variety  of  aspects,  to  which  young  persons  under 
ordinary  circumstances  must  be  strangers.  She 
was  left  an  orphan  of  both  parents  at  an  early  age, 
and  educated  in  a  convent,  until  the  marriages  of 
her  brothers  gave  her  a  home  t  from  that  period  she 
seems  to  have  passed  her  time  now  with  one,  now 
With  another  of  these;  returning  frequentiy  to 
Madame  La  Roche,  at  Ofienbach,  and  travelling 
on  various  occasions  through  many  parts  of  Ger- 
many ;  looking  with  quick  merry  eyes  at  every- 
thing she  saw.  But  this  was  mostiy  at  a  later 
season:  the  letters  now  before  us  are  richer  in 
traits  of  character  than  in  incident.  With  these 
we  shall  at  all  events  beg^  but  pause  for  a  mo- 
ment to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  bachelor  readers, 
on  a  point  of  cardinal  importance  when  a  lady  is 
in  question.  In  a  family  remarkable  for  the  beauty 
of  all  its  branches,  Bettine  seems  to  have  been  rather 
an  exceptional  shoot;  she  was  littie,  and  had  irre- 
gular features,  but  her  figure  was  well-formed  and 
agile ;  she  had  abundant  and  beautifiil  dark  hair, 
and  a  pair  of  deep  brown  eyes  which  seem  to  have 
pierced  through  every  one  that  looked  upon  them. 
At  the  present  day,  when  the  fair  owner  has  reached 
an  age  we  are  too  gallant  to  conjecture,  we  Kte  as- 
sured that  their  fire  and  vivacity  are  amazing. 

*  Clemens  Brentano  was*  oonjointiy  with  Yon  Amim, 
the  editor  of  the  **  Wunderhom,"  one  of  the  earliest  suc- 
ceseful  attempts  at  a  German  «  PeroyH  Bdiqua.'* 


Old  Madam  Goethe,  whose  remarks,  wherever  we 
meet  them,  have  a  stamp  of  picturesque  quaintness 
that  takes  our  attention^  said,  that  she  was  xemind- 
ed  of  her  young  favourite's  eyes  by  the  rich  and 
thrilling  tones  of  Romberg's  violoncello. 

We  will  first  look  with  her  friend  Caroline  into 
the  young  lady's  room,  alter  she  has  taken  her 
departure  for  Marburg.  Tlie  canonees  seems  to 
have  been  a  girl  of  degant  orderly  tastes ;  and 
this  was  the  scene  she  had  to  encounter  :«^ 

Yonr  room  looked  like  a  strand,  on  which  a  fleet  lud 
lately  been  cast  away.  Homer  lay  open  on  the  floor  :  and 
your  canary  had  not  spared  him.  The  fkanons  imaginaty 
map  which  yoa  made  of  Ulysses'  voyages,  lay  besidt 
him  ;  and  yonr  paint-box,  with  the  cup  of  sepi*  upset, 
and  all  the  shells  of  colour  in  confusion.  This  has  left  a 
brown  spot  on  your  pretty  straw  floor-mat.  I  have  taken 
infinite  pains  to  put  all  to  rights  again.  The  flageolet 
whioh  yon  wanted  to  take  with  yon,  and  son^t  fbr  in 
vain— guess  where  I  found  it  t  In  the  orange-tree'i  tub, 
on  the  balcony,  buried  in  the  earth  up  to  its  mouthpiece : 
I  suppose,  you  hoped  on  your  return  to  find  a  flageolet- 
plant  in  fUU  growth  there.  Lisbet  has  been  watering 
the  tree  unmercifully,  so  that  the  instrument  is  aU 
swollen ;  and  I  have  laid  it  in  a  cool  place,  to  diy 
gradually,  fbr  fear  of  its  bursting.  What  I  shall  do  with 
Uie  music  that  was  lying  near  it,  I  know  not.  I  laid  it 
in  the  sun  for  a  while,  but  you  can  never  let  it  again  be 
seen  by  mortal  eyes  ;  its  decency  of  appearance  is  gone 
fbr  ever.  Then,  ever  since  you  went,  the  blue  ribbon  tn 
your  guitar  has  been  waving  at  ftill  length,  to  the  extreme 
satisfaction  of  the  school  children  opposite,  out  of  the 
window,  exposed  to  rain  and  sunshine  ;  and  has  fiided,  as 
you  may  imagine.  The  instrument  itself  has  not  escaped 
iiHiolly  ;  and  I  reproved  Lisbet  not  a  little  ibr  her  care- 
lessness in  leaving  the  window  open.  Her  exouae  was, 
that  she  oould  not  see  it  was  open,  because  of  the  greea 
blinds,  although  it  rattled  with  the  draught  every  time 
the  door  opened  ! 

"Siegwart,  a  Romance  of  the  Past,"  I  found  oa  the 
pianofbrte,  with  the  inkstand  overlying  it.  RappiW 
there  was  littie  ink  in  it,  fbr  yourpapers^  over  whieh  aU 
has  been  shed,  will  hardly  ever  be  legible  agaia.  Then 
there  was  a  littie  box  on  the  window  seat,  in  which 
something  twittered,  and  made  me  curious  to  open  it, 
when  out  flew  two  butterflies,  which  yon  must  have 
placed  there  as  chrysalids.  Lisbet  and  I  drove  them  to 
the  balcony,  vrhere  the  climbing  bean-flowers  appeased 
their  flrst  hunger.  From  under  your  bed,  Lisbet  swept 
out  Charles  XII.  and  the  Bible,  and  alsoh-«  kid  glove, 
not  a  ladv's,  with  a  French  poem  in  it.  This  glove 
seems  to  have  lain  under  the  pillow.  I  did  not  know 
that  you  had  ever  betaken  yourself  to  eompose  Frendl 
verses  in  the  andeat  style  1  The  soent  of  the  gkive  is 
very  pleasant,  and  reminds  me  and  makes  my  memozv 
clearer  every  moment,  so  that  I  shall  very  soon  bethink 
me  where  the  companion  glove  is  likely  to  be  found.  la 
the  meanwhile,  be  at  ease  respecting  the  safety  of  this  : 
I  have  stuflbd  it  behind  Kranaeh'k  Ltteretia»  where  yo« 
wUl  flnd  it,  when  you  return  home. 

This  picture  of  admired  disorder  is  no  bad  pt^ 
paration  for  the  appearance  of  the  hert^ne,  wfaosf 
character,  as  it  peeps  out  in  these  pages»  ochiMI^ 
a  similar  confusion  of  queer  and  predous  thitig% 
thrown  together  by  chance,  and  lying  in  the  moil 
unexpected  places.  A  more  wilftil)  p«(rplexing^ 
untameable  maid»  indeed^  never  earns  from  th« 
grave  embraces  of  a  cloister.  Her  eccentricity  wal 
a  natural  element :  she  was  no  enfant  gatiy  bol 
seems  to  have  grown  up  in  a  podtive,  wUl-o'-thiS* 
wisp  kind  of  way  of  her  own,  which  does  imiI 
prevent  her  from  being,  aft^  all,  very  loveable  ill 
our  eyes,--tormenting  as  her  occasional  levity  must 
have  been  to  serious  remonstrating  friends^  lik4 


AND  CAItOLlNE  VON  GUNDERODfi. 


159 


H«rr  Toa  fioetel,  wlio  was  mueh  disireeBed  that  he 
could  not  make  the  wild,  dark-eyed,  curly-headed 
diildy  become  ae  soft  and  loveable  as  her  beautiful 
Rflten^  the  pride  of  aU  Frankfort  The  remon- 
itnaoei  of  this  monitor,  and  the  liyely  way  in 
whieh  they  were  panied,  are  thus  veoorded  by  the 
eulpilt  henelf  :— 

Y«  know  tliat  Boetel  is  here  :  he  is  always  nmniii^ 
tfttr  mt,  and  ss jing — ^  Bettiae,  why  are  you  bo  unanu* 
ahk  r  I  ask  him  how  shall  I  mana|;e  to  become 
lamUet  *Be  like  your  sister  Loolou :  talk  soberly 
mm  sad  then,  and  make  some  little  show  of  taking 
■tarcrt  in  wbat  is  said  to  yoa  ^— bat  whenerer  one  feels 
iidmid,  were  it  but  firom  eompassion,  to  treat  you  like 
1  firi  oki  eaongh  to  count  for  something,  it  is  impossible. 
Ym  sie  u  rorttoflB  aa  a  kitten  playing  with  a  mouse  ; 
wiule  aiiy  soe  is  paying  yon  the  compliment  of  speaking 
te  yn,  ymi  damber  orer  chests  and  tables  to  get  at  the 
•U  hmalj  portraits,  and  appear  to  haye  more  sympathy 
with  their  fiiees  than  with  us  liying  folk."  Why, 
Miitw  Ton  Bostel,  that  is  sinq^Iy  because  the  poor  old 
creatBiM  joader  are  so  utterly  oyerlooked  and  forgotten, 
and Bsoae  else  will  oonverse  with  them  ;  so  I  feel  for 
them,  jut  u  yoo  Ibel  for  me.  You  see  that  I  am 
Mglected,  and  out  of  compassion,  take  notice  of  the  poor 
infledfed  thiqg.  The  disease  is  catchiiu; ;  I  cannot  help 
tnatjag  these  old  painted  periwigs  in  l£e  same  manner. 
'Baft  JoUfltan— are  you  in  your  senses!  How  can  you 
tiik  «f  a  Ibeling  to  a  canrraas  pioturel"  Why,  haye 
Mi  jM  eomething  oi  the  kind  for  mel  ^That  may 
kj-Ani  the  portraits  cannot  return  it."  No  more  can 
I  jovn.  **  Good  Lord !  indeed  I  pity  you  I  you  are  in 
^  way  to  beeosM  ermzy." 

The  sedate  and  commonplace  of  her  acqnaint- 
aooe,  indeed,  appear  to  have  decided  the  point  as 
ttttled  past  ledemption ;  while  more  Bympathiahig 
tnatds  insisted  npon  her  youth,  and  asked  for 
tine.  Caroline  conceals  nothing  firom  her  corre- 
9QDdent>— 

^^te  your  brother  is  absent,  erery  one  falls  upon 
yw,  tbeydarenotwhenbeisby.  It  used  often  to  give 
■e  Ns  to  bear  tiieni  pass  judgment  upon  yon,  but  now 
1  kve  orereome  this  little  susceptibility.  Yesterday, 
B^  St  C3air,  Link,  Charlotte,  and  I,  were  in  your 
■^  Tonic's  little  cabhiet ;  but  as  I  know  bow  fiur  the 
"ntnw  which  they  shoot  against  you  glance  from  their 
■nk,!  had  no  fear  for  you.  Ebel  is  against  you,  not 
na  personal  dislike,  but  from  an  opposition  in  your 
JJtaw ;  and  being  a  great  sufferer  when  your  brother 
2*»«»t  is  here,  as  he  is  then  too  timid  to  giye  way  to 
■a  ml,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  he  now  allows  it, 
tf  1  wapensation,  the  ftillest  exercise.  St  Clair  shook 
n  head  and  looked  at  me,  while  Lotte  wound  up  a 
ygfeade  with  the  declaration,  that  your  absolute 
^"^itation  of  historical  capacity,  and  utter  want  of  logic, 
pwed  that  you  must  be  a  mere  fooL  He  replied— 
J^  a  baaaer  in  her  hand,  and  let  her  march  before  us. 
uiiLf^  of  her  want  of  the  Mstorical  sense,  I  will 
w  boiBd  die  leads  us  to  some  real  crisis  in  history;  and 
•'^yon,  with  your  logic,  in  any  danger,  she  would 
™ps  bow  to  escape  from  it,— however  illogically, 
""Wang  to  your  notions,  she  might  set  about  so  doing.'' 

Ss  that,  even  amongst  the  Philistines,  a  friendly 
^^  WM  not  always  wanting.  But  fer  oftener 
Ae  Mms  to  have  been  delivered  over  to  nnmercifnl 
^«i|«e^  to  which  her  vagaries  were  an  abomina- 
^;  and  even  her  gentle  friend,  the  canoness, 
^>»  ikot  ipared  at  such  times,  as  we  find  by  her 
«^»jorttoBettine.    She  writes:— 

gJP|j*««iag  I  went  oat  by  the  QaUenihor,  as  the 
™jf*>  ns  aettiag,  because  you  say  tiiat  is  my  peculiar 
JJ"?^''*^  and  indeed  I  was  thoroughly  penetrated 
JJ^™^>a§«tlc  presence ;  but,  retum£g  homewards, 
t^AaakfatnUistineaBaxredaU  my  devotion  They 


were  plodding  behind  me,  and  talking.  Says  the  wife 
to  her  husband — **  In  that  canonry  (the  Lamenstiftf  of 
whieh  Caroline  was  a  member)  the  girl's  (Bettine*8j 
brains  will  be  ruined  outright,  and  she's  sure  at  last  to 
become  utteriy  mad.  Already  she  is  up  to  all  kinds  <tf 
crazy  tricks.  They  say,  that  in  the  convent  garden  she 
always  clambers  up  to  ^e  roof  of  the  garden  house,  or 
into  a  tree,  and  preaches  away  i^m  that  station  ;  and 
that  the  tall  goose,  Gttnderode,  stands  below  and  listens." 
At  this  moment  they  passed  me,  and  I  recognised  Frau 
Euler,  vrith  her  daughter  Salom^,  and  Doctor  Lehr,  who 
knew  me  in  the  twiUght,  and  told  her  who  it  vras.  She 
suddenly  stood  still,  and  remained  staring  at  me  until  I 
had  again  passed  her, — a  proceeding  which  surely  was 
even  a  stupider  one  than  my  standing  under  the  tree  (if 
I  did  so)  when  yon  preach  ftom  it. 

And  yet  it  is  no  wonder  that  she  puzzled  the 
Frankfort  Philistines,  for  her  ways  and  inconsis- 
tencies were  a  riddle  at  times  to  her  playmate  and 
firiend.    As  for  instance : — 

I  often  feel  as  if  I  were  dreaming,  when  I  see  vou 
amidst  others.  All  regard  you  as  a  mere  child,  that  has 
BO  kind  of  self-eontrol :  no  one  believes  or  even  dreams 
that  anythmg  Is  in  yon.  And  you  do  nothing  then  but 
spring  upon  tables  and  chairs,  hide  yourself  cower  down 
in  narrow  comers,  ramble  about  ih»  long  passages  of 

Jour  house  in  the  moonlight,  climb«up  to  the  old  garret 
oor  in  the  dark;  and,  after  this,  come  back,  in  an 
absent  kind  of  reverie,  yet  alive  to  everything  that  is 
said.  If  anything  is  wanted,  you  are  already  down  the 
stairs  to  bring  it ;  and  when  your  name  is  called,  there 
you  stand,  although  you  had  been  in  the  furthest  nook 
of  the  house.  They  call  you  the  house-goblin,  as  I 
learned  from  Marie  yesterday. 

A  strange  compound  of  sentiment,  romance,  and 
adventurous  speculation,  with  such  a  mischief- 
loving,  romping,  volatile,  unmanageable  activity 
of  body  I — a  perfect  Mercury  in  petticoats,  whicn 
indeed  must,  in  many  excursions,  have  been  an 
encumbrance  she  would  gladly  have  exchanged 
for  a  more  commodious  garment.  Yet  even  in 
these  escapades,  there  seems  to  have  been  something 
between  an  impulse  and  a  motive  not  absolutely 
childish.  On  one  of  her  break-neck  expeditions 
to  the  summit  of  a  ruin,  we  find  her  commenting 
thus: — 

Every  weed,  with  its  pair  of  brewn  leaves,  that  the 
winter  nas  not  yet  blown  away,  seems  to  nod  a  friendly 
welcome  to  me  when  I  return  Uiither,  and  ti^e  my  seat 
near  it  on  the  crest  of  the  wall,  without  being  dizzy. 
What  a  deMn^itftil  thing  climbing  is  t  How  nqHurons 
is  the  boldness  of  youth  I  Often  as  I  come  home  witii 
scratched  knees  and  arms  torn,  as  I  did  to-day,  I  do  not 
feel  it :  nay,  when  I  have  suffsred  smartly,  it  rather 
gives  me  pleasure.  *Be  hard !"  said  the  smith  in  the 
ferest,  as  he  struck  tiie  glowing  iron  on  his  anvil ;  and 
the  lliuringian  Landgrave  heard  it,  and  he  became  as 
hard  as  iron.  '^  Be  hard  !"  said  I  to  myself,  when  upon 
that  dangerous  battlement,  and  all  pain  was  forgotten. 

Such  traits  as  this  bespeak  something  far  beyond 
the  mere  rom|dng  nature  of  a  "mannish  girL"  It 
is,  indeed,  the  evidence  of  an  energy  of  character 
and  idea,  quite  startling  by  their  contrast  with 
hoydemsh  wildness,  that  makes  the  correspondence 
most  remarkable.  Hie  effect  is  such  that  many 
have  asserted  that  the  letters  must  have  been  re- 
touched, if  not  rewritten,  at  a  later  period.  But 
this  we  see  no  reason  to  believe.  There  is  abun- 
dant contemporary  proof  that  they  were  objects  of 
surprise  and  interest,  at  the  time,  to  numbers  of 
I  distinguished  persons^  with  whom  her  family  c(m- 
1  nexions  made  her  acquainted*    Hiere  ia^  we  think. 


160 


CX)RRESPONDENCE  BETWEEN  BETTINE  BRENTANO 


internal  evidence  of  their  age  in  the  letters  them- 
selves. Those  now  before  us,  for  instance,  earlier 
in  date  than  the  ^^  CarrespondencewkhOoSthey*  have 
thronghont  a  more  infantine  tone  of  expression  and 
thought,  although  abounding  in  matter  that  many 
adult  writers  would  find  it  difficult  to  produce.  A 
most  remarkable  portion  of  this  we  must  wholly 
refrain  from  translating.  The  speculations  con- 
cerning art,  nature,  religion,  love,  and  destiny, 
which  fill  three-fourths  of  the  letters  to  Gunderode, 
would  meet  with  no  toleration  from  English  read- 
ers at  large,  however  ingenious  and  fanciful  they 
may  be.  The  Germans,  and  the  British  of  the 
present  day,  stand  at  the  very  opposite  poles  in  re- 
ference to  subjects  of  this  nature  ;  and  to  a  public 
whose  favourite  literature  is  Jack  Shtppard  and 
the  Pickunek  Papers,  it  would  be  absurd  to  look 
for  sympathy  wiUi  those  excursions  into  the  arcana 
of  thought  and  feeling  which  are  pursued  with  re- 
spect by  the  German  reader.  Where  the  right  in 
this  difierence  may  be,  it  were  a  bold  thing  to  de- 
cide ;  one  might  conjecture  that  it  lies  somewhere 
between  the  extremes  of  the  material  and  the 
imaginary:  but,  however  this  may  be,  the  attempt 
to  reconcile  them  just  now  would  be  a  very  hope- 
less one.  Such  being  the  difficulty  as  to  German 
authors  in  general,  in  the  case  of  our  "  fair  maid 
of  Frankfort"  it  b  tenfold  greater ; — and  her  en- 
thusiastic flights  amidst  the  clouds  of  speculation, 
were  they  exhibited  to  our  respected  readers  as 
evidences  of  her  mental  progress,  would  most  pro- 
bably be  received  as  symptoms  of  utter  insanity. 
We  must,  therefore,  restrict  the  choice  to  specimens 
of  a  more  popular  kind,  in  which  amiable  feeling, 
quick  observation,  and  lively  descriptive  powers, 
bespeak  the  presence  of  other  endowments.  Even 
thus  incomplete,  the  portrait  will  appear  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary  that  early  genius  has  ever 
brightened.  As  an  interesting  study  in  thb  point 
of  view  it  will  be  acceptable  to  some  ;  but  we  do 
not  ask  the  general  reader  to  accept  it  on  this  ac- 
count ; — the  passages  we  quote  do  not  appear  to  us 
to  require  any  indulgence,  but  may  be  judged,  on 
their  own  merits,  like  any  similar  production  of 
more  practised  pens. 

Here,  for  instance,  is  a  thought  and  an  illustra- 
tion worth  a  second  perusal  :•— 

When  the  emperor  was  crowned,  (in*  Frankfort,)  his 
way  firom  the  cathedral  to  the  Rimery  was  over  a  path  of 
scarlet  cloth ;  and  as  he  walked  on,  the  crowd  dosed  up 
behind  him,  catting  it  away,  step  by  step,  and,  tearing  it 
into  small  fragments,  divided  it  amongst  themselves ;  so 
that,  by  the  time  that  he  entered  the  great  hall  of  audi- 
ence, not  a  trace  of  it  remained.  Jast  so  all  our  paths 
in  life  to  me  seem,  like  that  Emperor's  red  pathway,  to 
be  continaally  cat  away  from  behind  our  feet,  and  be- 
come a  nothing  when  we  look  back  to  them. 

An  incident  giving  rise  to  a  feeling,  neither  of  an 
unconmion  kind,  but  graced  in  the  telling,  will  come 
in  here  by  way  of  contrast.  She  is  with  her 
brother-in-law,t  Von  Savigny,  at  a  watering- 
place  : — 

In  the  afternoons  we  often  go  into  the  wood,  where 


*  Under  the  old  constitntion,  of  coarse  :  the  ^^  Roman 
Empire"  being  now  extinct,  with  all  its  pageants, 
t  The  celebrated  professor  of  Roman  Law.    He  mar- 
^d  Lalln  Breatano. 


Savigny  reads  ahmd  tons :  this  listening  is  a  very  misery 
to  me ;  for  on  the  grassy  floor  of  the  wood  there  is  so 
much  to  distract  one*s  attention !  At  every  instant  there 
is  some  herblet,  or  spiderling,  or  small  caterpillar,  or  little 
pebble  to  look  at ;  or  I  miJce  a  hole  in  the  ground,  and 
find  in  it  all  manner  of  things.  Savigny  says  I  am  too 
conoeited  to  listen  to  him,  and  seems  vexed ;  so  that  now 
I  phmt  myself  at  his  back,  where  he  cannot  see  me.  We 
ffo  out  a-diooting  too— even  I  take  a  small  gun  in  my 
hand,  but  shoot  nothing,  save  what  yon  know  I  love  to 
hunt,  bndn-oobwebs  that  float  in  the  air.  Bat  yesterday 
Bostel  would  teach  me  to  aim  at  the  birds— I  fired,  and 
a  little  bird  fell  ^-I  had  never  fltncied  I  could  hit  it,  and 
was  terribly  shocked  at  what  I  had  done;  bat  Boetel 
made  snoh  a  ftiss  about  the  qoiekness  of  my  eye,  and 
the  others  so  bepraised  me  for  aiming  well,  that  I  con- 
cealed my  remorse  for  this  first  murder  of  mine.  I  held 
the  bird  in  my  hand  till  it  grew  quite  cold:  in  the 
silence  of  the  night  I  buried  it  under  the  window  of  your 
sleeping  room,  not  without  some  heavy  night  thoughts ; 
indeed,  I  did  not  wilUngly  kiU  it,  but  thoughtlessly  I 
did.  What  is  a  bird !  all  sportsmen  kill  them — jeB,  but 
not  I ;— never  would  I  have  shot  down  the  poor  bird 
from  amidst  its  leaves,  in  its  life's  merry  season ;  a 
thing  that  God  has  gifted  with  the  freedom  of  the  air. 
Ood  grants  him  wings,— and  I  must  take  Ids  life?  oh  no ! 
there  is  no  harmony  in  this !" 

She  seems  to  have  turned  everything,  in  her 
own  eager  way,  into  matter  for  thought,  and  after 
a  fit  of  graceful  and  sprightly  description,  which 
makes  ordinary  things  look  pleasing,  we  find  her 
ever  falling  into  questions  and  conjectures ;  as  in 
the  following  pretty  passage,  whidi  is  interrupted 
by  a  close  not  quite  so  imposing  as  Neptune's, 
Quas  Ego : 

Just  now  the  nightingales  are  wailing  so  sweetly  around 
me  !  There  are  four  of  them  here,  and  last  year  there 
were  just  the  same  number.  How  they  breathe  out  their 
souls  into  that  art  of  rapture — music — ^and  as  if  all  was 
thrown  into  a  single  tone — so  pure — so  innooent — so  true 
and  deep — such  as  no  human  creature  can  ever  hope  to 
produce,  either  with  voice  or  instrument.  Why  must 
men  Uam  to  sing,  while  the  nightingale,  untaught,  knows 
how  to  warble  into  our  very  hearts,  so  faultlessly  in  tune, 
so  free  from  all  fiulure  f  I  have  never  heard  any  unging 
from  human  voices  that  moves  me  like  the  nightingales'. 
A  minute  since  I  asked  myself,  since  I  listen  to  them  so 
intently,  what  if  they  would  like  to  listen  to  me,  as  well  I 
for  just  then  they  were  silent :  but  hardly  did  I  raise  my 
voice,  when  all  four  burst  out  into  such  a  warble  of  tril- 
ling—just as  if  they  would  say — ^leave  us  our  own  em- 
pire !  Airs,  and  opera  songs,  are  like  the  mere  Iklse 
tendencies  in  the  moral  world — the  rhetoric  of  a  fidse 
enthusiasm.  And  yet  man  is  carried  awav  by  sublime 
music ;— why  should  this  be,  when  he  himself  is  not  sub- 
limef — after  all,  it  shows  a  secret  wish  in  the  soul  to 
become  great.  It  is  refreshing  like  dew,  to  hear  this 
better  genius  whisper  in  its  natural  language.  Is  it  not 
so !  O  yes !  and  we  then  long  to  be  ouifselves  like  these 
tones,  that  dart  onwards  to  weir  aim  without  wavering 
to  either  side.  There  they  reach  the  absolutely  complete, 
and  in  every  rhythmical  movement  give  out  a  profound 
mystery  of  spiritual  form — this  the  human  being  cannot 
do  I  Surely  melodies  are  beings  created  by  the  Divinity, 
that  have  a  progressive  existence  of  their  own ;  every 
such  idea  comes  forth  at  once  in  frill  life,  from  the  homan 
soul :  it  is  not  the  man  that  creates  Uie  thought,  but 
the  thought  creates  the  man.  01  0 1  0 !  there  falls  a 
lime-blossom  on  my  nose  I  and  now  it  begins  to  rain  a 
little.    It  is  glooming,  so  that  I  cannot  see  what  I  write. 

At  all  moments,  indeed,  we  see  her  gazing  ear- 
nestly at  nature,  and  poring  over  her  smallest 
works,  as  if  to  obtain  from  thence  some  reply  to 
the  inquiries  of  her  own  heart,  and  some  guidance 
for  the  tenor  of  her  daily  existence :  It  b  witli  no 
merely  childish  delight  that  she  gazes  upon— 


AND  CAROLINE  VON  GUNDERODE. 


161 


A  pop*,  fton  which  I  myself  saw  the  butterfly  crawl 
fH ;  it  vadoees,  and  lets  the  insect  escape,  and  then 
dnti  agUD.  In  the  inside  there  are  fibres,  like  small 
spriigB,  which  the  butterfly  touches  when  it  is  grown  to 
■stiiiiiy,and  on  this  the  ooTering  gives  way :  externally 
the  pipa  is  quite  hard,  to  protect  its  tenants  from  any 
n^irjr.  I  hare  kept  it  purposely  for  you, — I  will  show 
it  to  70a,  and  we  will  ejckoMge  tome  tkaugkte  €U  the 
$am  tme  on  tke  eubjeet  of  if»mortcUUy.  Ever  when 
in  Bitare  I  see  a  thing  like  this,  showing  the  presence  of 
»  msch  mn,  so  cautiously  protected,  that  nothing  may 
£itirb  it  before  it  is  ftUly  ripe,— I  feel  a  kind  of  awe : 
aid  nrely  nothing  can  be  sadder  than  to  handle  it  rudely, 
fVfdclieate  ind  sensitive  as  it  is,  this  must  pierce  through 
Its  nrj  bdag.  I  too  would  hm  not  sin  against  nature, 
aad  ftroe  myself  forward,  and  wish  to  become  something 
Mm  the  due  time ;  it  is  against  her  will  that  I  should 
W  s  pofoand  thinker ;  she  says  I  must  run,  and  leap, 
Md,  is  for  reflection,  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  at  all ; 
aid  isw  the  same  order,  too,  stands  written  in  your  letter, 
wlikh  dehgfats  me  greatly  I 

This  picture  will  not  be  the  worse  for  a  short 
reminiseence  of  yean  still  earlier : — 

Asadnld,  indeed,  I  was  always  easily  frightened  ; 
bat  this  was  rather  in  the  day  time,  when  I  was  left 
ilooe,  and  m  the  day-room,  where  everything  looked  so 
praaie  and  hard; — ^but  in  night  there  was  something 
^miliar,  which  allured  me — and  even  before  I  had  heard 
ujthing  of  spirits,  there  was  within  me  a  sensation  that 
tfOQBd  Be  hovered  some  invisible  existence,  in  whose 
protection  I  trusted.  I  had  this  feeling  when  alone  on 
that  teinee,  as  a  child  of  three  or  four  years  old;  in 
tlioee  da78,when,at  sunset,  all  the  bells  used  to  toll  for  the 
death  of  the  emperor.  And  then,  as  if  every  instant  be- 
caae  darker  and  colder,  and  not  a  soul  was  near  me,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  very  air  had  become  a  mere  Imell, 
(hat  thiilled  around  me — there  would  steal  a  sadness 
over  ny  little  heart,  and  instantly  afterwards  a  reaction 
» isitantatteous—I  have  the  feeling  still— as  if  the 
pardiaa  angel  at  the  moment  took  me  in  his  arms  I 

Nevertheless,  this  speculative  tendency  by  no 
oieaiit  kfl  her  in  a  mere  world  of  dreams.  On  the 
cootraiy,  she  appears  to  have  been  positively 
Afflicted  by  a  deedre  for  action,  and  this  is  often  ex- 
ited in  concert  with  a  warmth  of  hearty  unsel- 
^  feding  that  is  very  delightful.  It  is  enough 
^berto  hear  of  the  insanity  and  wreck  of  an 
tsthor  whoee  works  she  had  barely  known,  and  to 
^  at  once  the  liyeliest  desire  to  set  forth  and 
amfoTt  him — a  purpose  which  we  find  her  deyisiog 
every  stratagem  to  accomplish,  and  only  renouncing 
it  with  a  reluctant  indignation,  that,  if  bespeaking 
^  ignorance  of  society,  b  at  least  very  amiable. 

St  Cbir  says,  the  visit  would  do  him*  (HSlderlin)  good, 
od  tuR  would  I  pay  it,  but  may  not.  Frans  said — 
'  Tot  ire  not  half  in  your  senses.  What  would  you  do 
is  the  oompany  of  a  lunatic — become  insane  yourself 
^  r  But  if  I  knew  how  to  set  about  it,  I  would  go  in 
fite  of  all;  if  you  would  come  with  me,  GUnderode,  and 
•f  WBttid  let  nobody  know;  but  say  we  were  going  to 
Haaas.  Yes,  wo  might  tell  grandmamma— she  would 
^  object  to  it;  to-day,  indeed,  I  spoke  to  her  of  him, 
^  told  her  how  he  lives  there  in  a  peasant's  cabin,  near 
i  SBiU  liTer;  sleeps  with  the  doors  open;  and,  for  hours 
^Mher,  will  recite,  to  the  murmurs  of  the  stream,  Greek 
*«a.  The  Princess  of  Homburg  presented  him  with  a 
P**Botae,  the  strings  of  which  he  has  cut  asunder,  but 
^all  of  them,  so  that  several  of  the  keys  still  sound  : 
aadvpaa  this  instrument  he  extemporizes  at  will.  How 
ff^  aad  suUime  this  madness  seems  to  me  I  I  know 
^  hsv  the  world  is  made,  if  it  be  such  an  unheard-of 

ungtspmd  attend  upon  him I  have 

to  awtte  fbr  many  nights  with  anxiety  to  go  to  Hom- 
hnif.    lVhj,if  I  resolved  on  taking  the  veil,  no  one 


*  Ihe  emineiit  lyrical  poet.    He  died  insane. 


could  prevent  it;  and  so  would  1  take  a  vow  to  attend 
upon  this  lunatic,  to  guide  him.  This  would  be  no  sa- 
crifice :  I  would  converse  with  him,  learning  from  thence 
many  things  that  my  soul  is  craving  to  know;  and  I  am 
sure  that  the  broken  unstrung  keys  of  his  soul  might 
then  be  made  to  vibrate  again.  But  1  know  that  this 
will  not  be  allowed  me.  Thus  it  is — the  natural  feeling, 
which  speaks  fVom  the  soul  of  every  one  of  us,  would  we 
but  listen,  (for  in  every  heart,  however  hard,  is  a  voice 
that  cries, "  Help  thy  brother  I")  is  not  only  suppressed, 
but  even  chastised,  as  if  it  were  the  uttermost  madness, 
in  those  who  allow  it  to  appear. 

At  the  time  of  writing  this^  she  was  not  quite 
fifteen. 

Still  less  does  the  indulgence  close  her  eyes  to  the 
scenes  of  daily  life,  which  she  enters  into  with  a 
gleeful  relish,  and  describes  with  great  quickness 
of  tact  for  character,  and  more  sense  of  the  hu- 
morous, than  is  common  in  her  country.  Few 
things  can  be  merrier  than  her  recital  of  the  disas- 
ters of  a  diplomatic  beau  ^arfon,  at  a  ball,  the  lion 
of  which  was  the  Elector  of  Hesse : — 

There  also  was  L.  H.  with  his  sisters  ;  he  grows  every 
day  bluer  and  blacker,  by  takvig  the  chalybeate  baths. 
His  snow-white  vest  and  neckcloth  made  this  change  all 
the  more  striking  ;  he  was  altogether,  indeed,  dressed 
with  the  most  fastidious  elegance — ^for  as  he  has  a  diplo- 
matic ambition,  he  never  neglects  an  opportunity  of  dis- 
playing himself  in  the  appropriate  costume.  As  long  as 
we  remained  seated  near  the  entrance,  where  the  crowd 
was  great,  no  one  remarked  anything  peculiar  about  him; 
but  when  he  stepped  forward  to  pay  his  respects  to  some- 
body, Franz,  who  sat  beside  me,  was  the  first  to  discover 
that,insteadof  afirock,hehadput  on  a  i7?«fic^  without  tails 
— ^a  thing  as  round  as  a  fisherman's  jacket — which  made 
a  most  absurd  effect  with  his  black  satin  breeches,  white 
silk  hose,  and  buckled  shoes;  in  short,  all  the  rest  of  a  ftill 
court  dress,  even  to  the  cocked-hat  and  feather  held  under 
the  arm.  It  seems  that,  while  the  rest  of  the  family  were 
dressing  for  the  ball,  he  had  sat  in  his  greatcoat;  and 
when  he  ran  up  stairs  to  put  on  his  frock,  the  wind  had 
blown  out  the  light  in  his  dressing-room,  and  in  the  dark 
he  seized  in  its  stead  this  English  demi-coat — a  kind  of 
tiling  which  it  has  lately  become  fashionable  to  wear  over 
all,  when  the  weather  is  cold.  Until  now,  he  had  not  yet 
exhibited  his  rear  to  the  assembled  public;  but  as  he 
stood  with  his  back  to  our  party,  a  hasty  council  was 
held,  and  it  was  resolved  that  two  of  our  ladies.  Lotto 
and  B— — ,  should,  under  cover  of  conversing,  gentiy 
make  him  fall  back  without  apprizing  him  of  Mb  woeAil 
dilemma,  until  he  was  out  of  danger;  while  Antoide, 
Franz,  and  V oigt,  were  to  form  a  small  kind  of  rear-guard 
to  cover  his  retreat.  I  was  excluded  from  this  body, 
because  the  droll  remarks  of  Franz  had  made  me  laugh 
until  I  was  unfit  for  service.  The  troop  broke  ground, 
and  advanced  steadily  through  a  volley  of  astonished 
looks,  which  were  oast  on  the  tailless  coat,  marching  with 
increased  caution  the  nearer  they  drew,  just  as  you  creep 
gently  behind  a  bird  when  you  intend  to  catch  him  by 
sprinkling  salt  upon  his  tail;  but  before  you  come  near 
enough,  away  he  files  !  So  it  happened  in  this  case,  too; 
for,  just  as  they  reached,  and  expected  to  have  caught 
him,  he  suddenly  wheeled  round,  and  iblly  displayed  his 
abbreviation.  Oh  I  I  ran  behind  the  curtain,  and  hid 
myself  in  its  folds,  and  absolutely  bit  it  in  a  frenzy  of 
laughter.  When  it  subsided,  I  went  away,  for  I  was  in 
a  mood  far  too  extravagantly  mirthfU  for  a  ball-room. 
Voigt  accompanied  me,  and  related  how  the  rear-guard 
had  let  him  break  through  their  columns,  and  had  then 
closed  upon  him,  and  carried  him  fairly  off,  like  a  pri- 
soner of  state,  as  far  as  the  door;  where  he  was  set 
down,  and  informed  of  his  fatal  sin  against  the  sublime 
and  beautiful;  on  learning  which  he  fled,  surrounded  by 
his  faithful  allies.  Not  an  eye  will  he  close  to-night; 
for  as  his  ambition  was  to  gain  employment  in  the  Hes- 
sian court,  he  is  doubtless  in  horror  at  the  idea  that  he  . 
has  undermined  this  prospect  by  this  public  want  of  tails. 


162 


CORRESPONDENCE  BETWEEN  BETTINE  BRENTANO 


She  is  not  less  liappy  in  describing  the  adven- 
tures of  a  life,  in  tiUegUUura;  as  in  the  following 
sketch  of  an  expedition,  that  seems  to  have  proved 
a  notable  failure.  The  trait  of  our  dear  country- 
man is  to  the  life  ;  the  eccentric  prophet,  whom  no 
one  would  believe,  (Voigt,)  was  both  an  artist  and 
a  poet  of  no  common  powers,  but  whimsical  and 
self-willed.  To  origiiuds  of  this  kind  we  find  Bet- 
tine  attaching  herself  at  all  times,  in  prefsrenoe 
to  the  most  specious  professors  of  common-place ; 
and  truly  we  like  her  all  the  better  for  it. 

I  have  not  yet  told  you  anything  of  our  sun-Tiae, 
which  we  did  (not)  see  after  all;  and  how  the  sun  got  np 
behind  our  backs;  while  all  Uie  party  were  looking  dili- 
gently orer  the  mountains  at  a  distance,  in  the  belief 
uat  he  was  to  appear  on  that  side ;  and  how,  at  the  same 
moment,  he  rose  quietly  behind  the  rock  in  our  rear; 
and  how  Mr.  Haise,  (CA«  Englulman^  was  armed  with  a 
telescope;  and  that,  all  the  while,  Voigt  was  whispering 
in  my  ear — *^  Now  observe  what  is  about  to  happen;  they 
will  all  be  greatly  amazed  presently."  But  no  one  paid 
the  least  attention  to  him.  It  grew  brighter  and  brighter, 
and  still  no  sun  came;  when  all  at  once  we  turned  round 
and  saw  him  in  fUll  shine  behind  us,  quite  in  a  rational 
moderate  way,  and  with6ut  having  troubled  any  one; 
Just  as  we  might,  had  we  chosen,  have  seen  him  as  we 
sate  at  breakfast  on  the  terrace.  But  then  the  mighty 
strife  that  arose  !  No  one  would  allow  himself  to  be  one 
that  had  not  thought  so  all  along.  Every  one  insisted 
that  the  other  had  misled  him — it  was,  indeed,  a  strange 
contest ;  ^and  that  poor  Mr.  Haise|with  his  telescope,  with 
which  he  meant  to  have  discovered  the  sun  the  first  of 
US  all !  Voigt  was  the  worst  scolded,  and  all  agreed  at 
last  in  laying  the  sole  blame  on  him — saying,  that  he 
had  intentionally  turned  us  all  round  the  vrrong  way, 
and  had  been  the  first  to  assert  that  the  east  lay  in  that 
direction.  But  this  he  denied;  and  said  that  he  had  not 
deceived  them;  but  that  he  had  been  well  aware  they 
were  going  wrong,  and  given  me  a  hint  of  it  beforehand; 
but  he  knew  that  so  litUe  was  thought  of  his  assertions, 
that  he  did  not  choose  to  tell  them,  for>  if  he  had,  none 
would  have  thought  he  was  right. 

To  which  must  be  appended  another  little  bit  of 
gipseying,  not  less  pleasantly  set  down,  where  the 
redoubtable  Mr,  Haise  again  appears,  but  in  a  new 
eharaoter  :-** 

As  for  the  ass-party  yesterday  to  the  Rauhenthal,  it 
turned  out  to  be  a  party  by  water,  although  this  was  at  the 
dose  of  the  day  only:  a  terrible  deluge  of  rain  overtook 
ns  when  about  half  an  hour's  distance  from  home,  on  our 
return.  The  rivulets  of  water  from  the  hill-sides,  run- 
ning together  to  the  valley,  made  absolute  lakes,  which 
the  wind  crisped  up  into  considerable  waves.  And  as 
the  asses  that  canied  us  were  plashing  through  the 
midst  of  the  flood,  there  came  a  tremendous  thunder- 
clap :  the  most  of  us  shrieked ;  the  asses  did  no  such 
thing,  but,  with  common  consent^  threw  us  off,  one  and 
all,  into  the  wash,  and  not  one  of  them  could  be  con- 
trolled :  the  Englishman,  indeed,  with  his  long  legs,  tried 
to  master  his,  but  the  ass  reared  and  threw  itself  down; 
whereupon  they  every  one  galloped  ofl^  so  that  in  a 
glance  they  were  out  of  sight,  and,  after  them,  the  don- 
key-men, to  whom  we  called  out  to  send  us  lanterns 
fit>m  the  town.  The  whole  assemblage  took  counsel  to- 
gether in  the  slough,  and  having  somewhat  recovered 
our  senses,  we  set  ourselves  in  motion ;  silence  soon  suc- 
ceeded to  the  conAised  gabble  of  tongues  all  talking  at 
once;  the  road  was  too  difficult  to  let  any  one  think  an- 
other thought  but  how  to  recover  the  fbot,  with  the  shoe 
belonging  to  it,  from  the  swamp  in  which  it  was  set 
down :  this,  however,  was  an  impossibility,  most  of  the 
shoes  stuck  fltst.  After  a  short  time,  we  were  met  by 
the  lanterns,  the  pacified  donkeys  were  again  brought 
np,  and  thus  we  arrived  at  home,  riding,  indeed,  but  in 
what  a  oundicion !  All  our  straw-bonnets  had  been 
soaked  in  the  puddle;  shoes  were  mostly  wanting;  the 


ladies'  clothes  so  wet,  that  they  might  have  stood  as 
models  for  statues;  and  the  gentlemen  were  in  the  same 
plight.  We  all  repaired  to  the  baths,  from  whence  we 
reappeared  quite  regenerated,  and  diining  with  new 
beams.  A  general  tea-party,  all  the  members  of  whieh 
were  in  slippers  and  dressing-gowns,  closed  the  evenisg, 
every  one  crying  out  upon  the  wretched  misohanct,  a^ 
laughing  till  tiiey  were  half  dead,  at  its  diusters.  Mr. 
Hidse,  the  natural  colour  of  whose  hair  now  e«ne  to 
light,  was  not  to  be  known  again;  but  his  beauty  in  this 
new  condition  was  universally  applauded :  his  redditk- 
brown  hair  became  him  so  much  better  than  the  powder 
with  which  he  had  wished  to  hide  it,  that  we  all  cried, 
that  now  for  the  first  time  he  might  be  deemed  interest- 
ing, whieh  until  now  had  be«i  declared  an  impossibility. 
Nothing  could  exceed  his  contentment :  he  solemnly  re- 
nounced powder  from  henceforward ;  and  in  a  state  of 
rapturous  self-complaeency,  paraded  himself  amongst 

the  ladies  to  receive  their  admiration. 

This  morning  eame  the  ass-drivers,  mardiing  In  proees- 
sion,  with  the  lost  shoes  elevated  on  the  end  A  their 
sticks*  in  expectation  of  drink-money,  which  had  to  be 
paid,  although  it  would  have  been  better  to  leave  them 
where  they  lay.  We  were  vexed  at  having  the  dis- 
figured shoes  borne  about  as  a  kind  of  spectacle. 

Her  talents  and  volatile  disposition,  which  started 
from  all  control,  must  have  made  her  an  object 
of  anxiety  to  her  brothers,  by  whom  she  was 
greatly  beloved.  Clement,  especially,  however 
romantic  in  his  own  ways  and  works,  ia  perpe- 
tually attempting  to  coax  her  into  something  like 
sedateness,  and  looking  askance  at  her  friend, 
whom  he  suspected  of  fostering  her  impatience  of 
study  or  constraint.  The  letters  prove  that  Caro- 
line was  far  frvm  deserving  this  suspicion,  but 
rather  endeavoured  to  win  her  friend  to  self-dis- 
cipline, in  a  manner  that,  but  for  the  inconsistency 
of  human  nature,  might  surprise  us  in  one  who 
so  sadly  wanted  it  in  her  own  hour  of  trial.  She 
invariably  appears  as  the  kind  and  anxious  ad- 
viser ;  more  romantic,  indeed,  than  Dr.  Gregory 
or  Mrs.  Chapone  might  approve,  but  ever  seeking  to 
train  her  younger  fHend's  mind  towards  the  light, 
and  to  win  her  to  studies  which  might  calm  the 
restless  eagerness  of  her  disposition.  Amongst 
other  sedatives,  she  at  one  time  earnestly  prescribed 
a  course  of  history,  and  so  far  succeeded,  that 
Bettine  consented  to  begin  a  set  of  lessons  on  this 
subject  with  one  Herr  Arenswald ;  a  most  unfor- 
tunate choice,  as  it  would  appear,  from  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  addressed  himself  to  the  work  of 
tuition.  The  man  was  a  kind  of  Dominie  Samp- 
son ;  and  if  the  account  of  his  lectures  afiford  a 
characteristic  specimen  of  the  intractable  vivacity 
of  his  pupil,  his  last  appearance  will  at  once  give 
us  a  comic  description,  and  an  evidence  of  her  real 
goodness  of  feeling  :-— 

The  history-master  comes  thrice  a-week,  on  Tuesdays, 
Wednesdays,  and  Thursdays,  stuck  in  between  two  laxtf 
termiy  Friday  and  Saturday  at  the  end,  Sunday  uid 
Monday  at  the  beginning.  He  teaches  me  in  audi  sort 
that  most  probably  I  shall  turn  my  back  on  the  future 
for  ever,  and  should  be  within  an  ace  of  losing  my  be- 
loved present  as  well,  if  my  thievish  propensities  were 
not  stimulated  by  the  unripe  apricots  in  grandmamma's^ 
garden,  which,  for  my  poor  capacity,  I  do  think  are  a 
more  tangible  gain  than  ^  The  history  of  Egypt,  in  eariy 
times,  is  dark  and  uncertain.**  That  is  fortunate,  else 
we  should  have  to  afflict  ourselves  with  this  too.  **  Menes 
is  the  first  king  we  know  of."  With  all  my  heart,  if  we 
had  but  learned  anything  worth  hearing  of  him.  **  Usf 
built  Memphis,  and  led  the  Nile  into  a  safo  channel* 


AND  CAROLINE  VON  GUNDERODfi. 


163 


llorif  txeanied  Lake  Hcoris,  to  anest  the  injurious 
iBiiditi<iia  of  tlti  Nile.  Then  follows  Seaoetris  the  Con- 
fooor^iHiotenninated  his  life  by  his  own  hand."  Why 
^  1m  10 1— was  he  huidsome  1 — ^was  he  erer  in  Ioto  ! 
— TMSf-Hnelaaeholy  t  To  all  this  no  answer  Touch- 
nftd  by  my  teacher,  who  Tentures,  however,  to  remark, 
tba  we  Aie  rather  led  to  imagine  him  old  !  I,  on  the 
9fbiT  kuid,  delireied  reasons  in  support  of  his  youth, 
ttit  the  cole  purpoee  of  setting  the  wheels  of  antiquity  a 
Httle  in  motion,  as  they  seemed  to  stiek  fkst  in  the 
lioonii  of  wesriness.  Then  came  tumbling  out  upon  me 
Boaxii,  wiio  built  Thebes ;  Psammetious,  who  gathered 
die  tepnate  itates  under  his  wings;  then  Sie  wars 
with  fikbyloidans ;  Nebnohadneziar,  whom  Cambyses, 
Cyns^i  MNi,  dispoaseflses.  The  Egyptians  are  united 
Kith  Lybia ;  again  cast  themselres  free ;  war  with  the 
PmiaBg,  until  Alexander  makes  an  end  of  the  contest, 
ud,  to  my  great  delight,  of  this  long  story.  This  is  the 
HBMorf  of  my  fot  lesson,  to  which  you  see  I  haye 
listised  well  But  what  if  I  had  not  had  a  spur  to 
ebae  my  amnn,  and  to  show  you  how  fruitless  it  is  to 
tttenpt  to  retindle  the  ashes,  the  very  dead  salts  of 
which  it  is  now  past  the  power  of  nature  to  use  again. 
As  for  best,  there  is  not  a  spark  left.  Had  we  not, 
ones  tn  all,  better  leave  the  old  monarchs  to  moulder 
away  in  their  pyramids !  The  earth  is  teeming  with 
ipiqg,  en  every  hand  it  is  forcing  up  its  germs,  and 
growing  green  with  opening  leaves. 

Theoontrast  wastoo  glaring,  indeed ;  and  herimpa- 
tienoe  soon  afterwards  breaksout  in  a  rather  original 
way.  The  teacher  must  have  been  a  mere  drudge, 
that  doled  oat  hia  dry  handsful  of  historical  dust 
with  the  steadiest  composure,  without  observing, 
urtil  the  latest  moment^  that  his  poor  pupil  waa 


Hy  head  ii  like  a  field  that  liesfttllow;  I  ramble  amidst 
thi  hedge-rows,  and  every  clod  of  earth  I  see  is  turned 
t*  lome  purpose;  the  salad  bed 'here,  there  overhead 
t^  dinbuig  bean-stalks ;  and  I  grieve  to  think  that  I 
kre  nothing  as  yet  planted  here ;  and  the  trouble  you 
tihe  with  me,  I  fear,  is  to  no  good.  At  night  f  think, 
Bew  when  the  sun  rises  I  vriU  learn  something ;  and 
*hen  the  day  comes,  I  long  for  the  night  to  come,  when 
I  lay  at  least  be  alone,  and  try  to  study  myself,  a  poor 

HtOeowithatlam! 

— And  fbunded  the  great  Medo-Persian  kingdom.  That 
*u  where  we  left  off ;  and  |here,  in  my  history-book,  1 
kre  drawn  a  great  Medusa's  head,  with  gaping  jaws. 
Othst  they  would  swallow  up  all  ancient  nistory,  and 
*ith  it  this  Arenswald  too  !  I  was  so  happy  in  the 
luter  holidays,  he  stayed  away  an  entire  week,  the 
k^  of  missing  him  came  so  kindly !  {Here  foUowe 
^'^lurMrUaof^MractifromthsUetwr^li  .  .  .  Two 
^nadred  and  twenty-five  years  these  princely  shambles 
^  the  Persians  lasted ;  in  3654,  Alexander  came  and 
fMk  fosMssioB  of  them.  The  teacher  at  this  stage,  see- 
Bg  my  disgust  of  this  leathern  story  of  his,  tuces  an 
^pc  departure.  God  knows  how  it  fell  out,  that  the 
door  eani^t  hold  of  his  breeches,  a  patch  of  which  re- 
ittoed  hanging  thereon ;  and  now  I  shall  have  to  give 
■im  aa  extra  fee  for  his  catalogue  of  murders,  to  buy 
^iBidf  a  new  pair  withal. 

To  idkich  the  Fraulein  very  sensibly  rephes : — 
,  1  lymfathise  with  your  lament  fbr  the  history-afflic- 
^i  it  makes  me  sulky,  too,  to  read  it ;  in  Grod's  name, 
^  a  fair  of  breeehes  as  an  exj^tory  oflbring,  and  let 
TMT  AfUKwald  depart  in  peace. 

Of  the  pedant  thus  seasonably  provided  with 
*  lew  pair  of  dittos^  we  receive,  some  months 
J*^,  an  account  which  is  strong  evidence  of  a 
*•  dedlae  and  fali**  in  his  history  ;  but  before  pro- 
oeedbg  to  this,  we  cannot  refrahi  from  turning  to 
"te  account  of  the  apricot  robbery,  which  was 
JWQMmtted  in  the  very  midst  of  these  studious 
^^WUJ^  and  seems  to  have  relieved  the  fair  pupil 


greatly.  It  could  not  havd  fallen  in  a  fitter  place 
for  an  observation  of  the  various  threads  that 
made  up  this  singular  creature's  being.  She  is 
writing  to  her  Mend,  who  was  then  an  invalid :— • 

I  hear  the  cock  crow;  it  is  already  pajst  midnight,  and 
I  mean  to  write  on  until  daybreak,  so  that  you  may 
have  plenty  to  read  while  you  are  lying  sick,  poor  thing  ! 
.  .  .  When  the  Jew  (this  vxis  a  letter-carrier  between 
Offenbach  and  Frankfort)  came  with  your  letter  about 
four,  I  was  thinking  what  to  get  for  vou  that  should  be 
very  good ;  and  then  at  once  it  struck  me  that  the  apri- 
cots in  grandmamma's  garden  would  be  sure  to  agree 
with  you;  so  I  went  round  and  round  the  tree,  and  spied 
out  the  best,  and  learned  by  heart  the  places  where  they 
hung,  and  kept  walking  and  repeating  this  lesson  till  sun- 
set; for  I  must  not  steal  them  by  day,  but  wait  till  they 
were  all  seated  fast  at  cards  In  the  parlour.  It  was  the 
most  delightful  thing  in  the  world  to  steal  these  apri- 
cots for  you ;  in  the  first  place,  the  fright  is  such  sport  I 
mv  heart  beat  so  fast,  I  could  not  help  laughing  aloud 
with  delight,  palpitation  of  the  heart  is  such  a  delicious 
sensation  1  (poor  girl,  she  may  have  learned  to  think 
otherwise  when  she  grew  older !)  and  then  it  seemed 
just  as  if  they  were  pleased  to  be  thus  stolen,  they  fell 
so  tenderly  into  my  hand.  I  had  tied  a  napkin  about 
my  neck,  and  caught  them  in  this — twenty  of  them  !  I 
was  delighted  when  I  had  them  all  safe  in  my  room, 
where  they  are  packed  in  young  vine  leaves,  all  second 
yearlings,  with  such  a  soft  velvet  on  the  left  dieek. 
They  lie  in  the  basket,  and  jpeep  at  me  as  if  they  were 
longing  for  me  to  bite  them  just  once;  but  they  must  not 
be  humoured — the^  are  all  for  you — and  cannot  have 
the  happiness  of  bemg  devoured  by  me. 

This  is,  to  our  fancy,  very  engaging,  and  bespeaks 
the  true  spirit  of  enterprise  all  ^e  more  fully;  as 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  Frau  de  la  Roche 
would  have  willingly  given  all  the  peaches  on  the 
tree  to  Bettine*s  side  friend,  if  asked.  But  this 
would  have  been  tame ;  we  like  the  reconnoissance 
and  the  midnight  expedition  far  better,  and  so  did 
our  student  of  history.  We  will  now  return  to  the 
teacher,  who  discovers  himself,  as  we  return  from  a 
walk  in  the  country  near  Offenbach,  in  rather 
motley  company : — 

By  the  time  we  got  into  the  town,  it  was  quite  Sun- 
day weather,  everything  streaming  with  simshine,  and 
in  the  Domitrasse,  upon  every  door  step,  there  lay  a 
Jolt  (lap-dog,)  with,  a  necklace  of  blue  ribbon.  All  the 
joli's  Imew  me,  so  they  came  barking  to  greet  me.  Next 
came  the  terriers  and  the  spaniels  ;  and  lastly,  Anton 
Andres  great  English  hound,  with  seventeen  little  ones, 
that  are  already  able  to  bark  with  tolerable  confidence. 
The  milk-vrifs  more  than  once  came  to  a  stand  still,  to 
see  the  dogs  so  riotous  and  gambolsome,  and  also  in  fear 
of  having  her  tower  of  vegetable  wares  shaken  off  its 
balance.  ^  Ay,"  she  said ;  ^  the  Turkish  £mperor 
himself  could  not  be  better  welcomed — they  keep  calling 
out  long  life  to  you,  without  ceasing  1 "  Grandmamma 
was  still  asleep,  so  I  stayed  at  the  door  amidst  the  dogs, 
when,  lo  1  there  came  past  my  good  Herr  Arenswald. 
He  took  off  his  hat,  and  I  did  not  beg  him  to  put  it  on 
again,  for  I  had  observed  that  there  was  a  hole  in  it,  and 
was  anxious  to  conceal  from  him  my  knowledge  of  the 
fiict.  He  related  how  he  had  this  summer  made  a  tour 
into  Switzerland,  being  unable  to  resist  his  longing  to 
contemplate  Nature  there  ;  nor  did  he  repent  it  at  all, 
costly  as  it  had  been  to  him.  Indeed,  ib  believed  that  he 
had  not  a  doit  left  on  his  return.  I  was  rather  abashed, 
and,  as  he  made  this  confidential  communication,  not 
liking  to  look  him  in  the  face,  my  eyes  fell  upon  his 
boots — and  there,  sure  enough,  that  mischievous  person- 
age, his  great  toe,  presented  itself  uninvited  :  a  rudeness 
which  Arenswald  would  by  no  means  permit  during  his 
audience,  and  so  pushed  it  under  the  heel  of  the  other 
boot,  which,  alas  1  fiapped  like  an  ill  elosed  shutter  ^i 
the  wind.    Which  way  was  I  to  direct  my  looks !    I 


164 


CORRESPONDENCE  BETWEEN  BfiTTINE  BRENTANO 


tamed  to  his  body,  there,  all  his  buttons  were  gone,  and 
his  waistcoat  was  hooked  together  with  hair  pins.  It  is 
unknown  whence  he  can  have  got  these,  as  he  wears  only 
a  CcUigula,  which  is  notoriously  the  uttermost  originality 
of  coiiiiision  in  the  system  of  locks,  to  establish  which, 
neither  pomade  nor  comb,  nor  hair-pins  are  necessary, 
but  only  dust  and  straws,  so  that  the  swallows  and 
sparrows  may  always  be  able  to  find  a  supply  of  mate- 
rials for  their  nests.  In  the  meanwhile,  he  was  telling 
me  of  a  singular  occurrence  that  happened  to  him  in 
Switzerland.  He  was  informed,  namely,  that  in  the 
wooded  parts  of  the  mountains,  there  abounded  a  species 
of  snails  of  remarkable  flavour ;  and  that  on  his  way 
from  Lucerne,  up  some  mountain  or  other,  he  had  found 
a  quantity  of  the  said  snails  in  the  woods,  and  acquired 
so  strong  an  appetite  for  them,  that  he  ate  of  them  till 
he  was  Sioroughly  sated — so  much  so,  that  on  returning 
to  the  inn,  he  countermanded  his  dinner — saying,  that 
he  had  found  a  quantity  of  these  high-flavoured  snails, 
and  had  eaten  of  them  till  he  could  not  find  room  for 
anything  else.  ^  What  I  *'  said  the  host,  '^  have  you 
really  been  eating  those  snails!" — "  Surely,  why  not  I 
Did  not  you  tell  me  yourself,  of  their  remarkable  flavour, 
and  that  people  are  mighty  busy  in  hunting  for  them  1*' 
**  Yes,  a  remarkable  flavour,  truly,  but  I  did  not  say  a 
good  one.  In  this  part  of  the  world  fiatour  means  ttench, 
and  the  people  collect  them  only  to  make  oil  of  them  for 
the  tanners  who  smear  leather  with  it."  So  it  seems 
that  I  had  feasted  on  this  tanners'  stuff,  **  and  very  well 
was  I  contented  with  it,"  said  Herr  Arenswald  ;  while 
I,  blushing  sadly,  was  &in  to  look  up  into  the  air,  for  in 
no  other  direction  could  I  turn  my  eyes  without  falling 
upon  some  of  the  deadly  sins  of  utter  destitution.  I 
imagine  that  this  snail  anecdote  was  meant  to  convey  to 
me  the  extremity  of  hunger  which  had  forced  him  to  fall 
upon  such  food.  My  cousin  now  called  to  me  from 
within,  and  Arenswald  took  leave,  as  it  is  usual  to  do 
with  great  personages,  retiring  backwards,  from  which 
I  conjectured  that  the  reverse  of  his  apparel  was  in  no 

better  condition  than  his  front 

a  most  submissive  exhibition  of  human  misery  I 

It  is  almost  needless  to  mention  that  this  calami- 
tous lover  of  history  and  nature,  was  promptly 
relieved  by  his  former  pupil.  From  the  picture, 
ludicrous  as  it  is,  any  observant  eye  will  discover 
that  a  heartfelt  pity  lurked  beneath  the  seeming 
ridicule  of  the  earieatura. 

We  will  now  turn  to  a  sketch  of  a  soberer  inter- 
esty  the  picture  of  a  Jew,  with  whom  Bettine 
studied  mathematics  when  at  Marburg,  for  the 
sake  of  his  aspect  and  conversation;  a  perfect 
antithesis  to  such  a  figure  as  Arenswald,  and  no 
bad  study  for  a  Lessing's  Nathan.  This  may  be 
a  fit  place  to  observe,  that  in  her  girlish  years, 
Bettine  always  appears  to  have  preferred  the  so- 
ciety of  grown  up  and  even  old  people,  to  that  of 
her  own  contemporaries  :  the  young  Fraulein 
seems  to  have  been  her  only  intimate  of  this  class  ; 
and  when  she  died,  the  place  was  filled  by  an  old 
lady  of  nearly  eighty ! — nor  can  we  find  any  trace 
of  another  close  intimacy  with  girls,  still  less  with 
youths  of  her  own  age.  This  is  a  trait  of  no  com- 
monplace nature,  and  one  of  the  rarest  in  female 
character. 

Can  you  guess  who  is  the  first  acquaintance  I  have 
made  here !  —  A  Jew  !  but  what  a  rare  one  1  The 
handsomest  man,  with  a  white  beard  half  a  yard  long, 
large  brown  eyes,  features  so  noble  and  simple,  a  calm 
brow,  a  splendid  majestic  nose,  the  lips  of  an  orator,  but 
fit  to  give  sweet  utterance  to  wisdom.  Our  host.  Pro- 
fessor Weiss,  called  me,  saying  :  ^  If  you  would  like  to 
see  a  handsome  Jew,  come  into  my  wife's  room,  where 
she  is  selling  him  an  old  wc  d  ling  gown."  It  was  a  sub- 
ject for  a  painter ;  he  sate  at  the  table  in  the  dress  of  a 


rabbi  or  sage,  his  hand  peeped  out  ftt>m  the  wide  black 
sleeve,  and  the  red  light  of  the  sunset  was  streaming 
through  the  window.  The  Professor's  wife  stood  before 
him,  holding  the  old  dress, — it  might  have  been  her 
moUier's,  so  antique  the  material  seemed  to  be— spread 
out  at  full.  On  each  side  of  her  stood  the  children  dis- 
playing the  train.  It  was  an  orange-coloured  stnH^  em- 
broidered with  silver  sprigs  and  crimson  flowers,  and 
made  a  delightful  contrast  with  the  glow  of  the  evening. 
It  was  a  beautiful  picture,  and  I  would  fain  have  called 
Melius  to  eigoy  it  with  me,  had  not  a  certain  timidity,  I 
will  not  say  veneration,  kept  me  fixed  to  the  spot.  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  treat  such  a  man  as  a  mere 
object  of  curiosity.  It  was  quite  singular  to  see  the  rest 
standing  before  him  with  so  much  respect,  quietly  wait- 
ing for  his  deciBion  in  the  bargain. 

It  appears,  that  although  thus  humbly  employed, 
he  is  an  object  of  general  notice  and  respect.  Bet- 
tine stays  conversing  with  him,  until  she  is  quite 
enamoured  of  his  venerable  looks  and  grave  pathetic 
sayings,  and  is  determined  to  see  him  again,  which 
chance  soon  afterwards  brought  about. 

I  vras  in  the  garden  which  lies  on  the  hill-side,  and 
looking  over  the  wall,  saw  Ephraim  coming  along  the 
road.  I  leaned  over  it,  and  waved  my  handkerchief ; 
and  when  he  came  up,  we  conversed  for  a  long  while. 
I  told  him  that  I  was  glad  to  see  him  again ;  that  he 
reminded  me  of  a  season  with  which  my  nature  seems 
more  nearly  to  sympathize  than  any  other — the  twilight 
of  evening.  That  his  looks  and  whole  manner  seemed 
to  me  like  a  twilight  drawn  over  a  noble  nature,  and 
that  at  such  an  hour  I  felt  my  sight  keener,  and  mj 
heart  more  disposed  to  confidence  in  others.  You  may 
imagine  that  he  is  one  worth  speaking  to,  or  I  should 
never  have  talked  to  him  in  this  manner.  He  replied, 
^  The  visible  world  is  obscure,  but  with  a  clear  eye,  one 
need  not  long  look  at  it  in  vain.  A  few  glances  discover 
to  us  the  objects  with  which  we  may  claim  kindred." 
*^  But  how  to  gain  this  clearness  of  vision !"  I  asked. 
**  Look  steadily  at  nature  only,  and  admit  no  prejudice 
— this  ^ves  clearness  to  the  sight." — **  And  do  you  be- 
lieve of  me,"  said  I,  "  that  I  behold  nature  with  this 
clear  and  unprejudiced  eye !" — "  Yes,"  he  answered  ; 
^  and  I  know  that  I  am  not  mistaken,  and  that  you  are 
keen-sighted." — ^"  Then  I  am  not  mistaken  when  I  dis- 
coverinyou  amanof  warm  enthusiasm." — ^^  At  least  in  this 
— you  are  nearer  to  the  truth  than  others  who  hold  the 
Jew  for  a  broken-spirited  being, — a  source  of  freedom 
springs  within  us,  and  a  drop  of  this  suffices  to  raise  as 

above  all  contempt." I  said,  ^  Farewell  ! 

and  when  you  return  from  your  journey,  come  again  to 
me." 

We  next  learn  his  real  profession,  of  which 
Bettine  avails  herself,  for  the  double  purpose  of 
improving  his  means,  and  having  frequent  oppor- 
tunities for  conversing  with  him  : — 

He  vras  formerly  solely  a  teacher  of  mathematics,  in 
Giessen  and  Marburg,  to  the  university  students  ;  and, 
during  the  vacations,  went  home  to  his  family.  His 
daughter  died,  leaving  five  children  ;  and  old  Ephraim 
could  not  fall  upon  any  other  means  of  supporting  them, 
than  by  pursuing  as  a  profession  the  mathematics,  which, 
from  his  youth  upwards,  he  says,  were  his  delight ;  but 
on  his  way  homewards  in  the  holidays,  he  began  to  pur- 
chase old  garments  for  his  children  at  home,  as  he  oonld 
not  afford  to  buy  them  new  ;  and  thence  he  fell  into  a 
tnde  with  such  as  had  valuable  old  finery  to  dispose  of, 
like  the  lady  of  Professor  Weiss. 

This  is  prosaic  enough ;  but  it  is  otherwise  when 
we  listen  to  hb  discourse.  With  every  deduction 
made  for  Bettine's  colouring,  we  are  aware  of  some- 
thing in  this  old  Hebrew  that  is  very  original  and 
impressive ;  and  in  his  answers  to  her  eager  in- 
quiries, we  find  a  tone  of  thought  and  feeling  aboVe 


AND  CAROLINE  VON  GUNDERODE. 


105 


themlgar  standard,  displayed  with  a  certain  orien- 
tal dignity  of  language. 

I  told  him  how  improsperoiiB  my  study  of  thorough- 
ban  had  been.  He  said,  ^  That  was  beoaose  you  did 
Bo4  obtain  a  saflldently  extended  view  of  the  subject  as 
a  while — tins  made  yonr  ideas  halt";  and  that  many 
tUags  at  which  some  men  are  gnawing  all  their  days, 
■asl  by  otheis  be  apprehended  at  one  glance,  or  their 
time  and  pains  are  thrown  away.  I  said,  I  feared 
that  so  it  wonld  be  m  my  case.  "  And  yet,"  he  re- 
plied, **  in  all  my  life  I  never  yet  saw  a  young  acorn 
that  waa  afraid  it  would  neyer  grow  to  be  an  oak  tree." 
Aad  saying  this,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  my  head,  and 
tamtimmtd  in  so  kind  a  manner : — **  We  have  now  laid 
the  aeoni  in  the  ground,  and  oovered  it  carefully  over, 
aad  BOW  we  will  let  it  rest  there  for  a  time  quietly,  and 
see  what  anns  and  rains  will  do  for  it." 

Here  is  something  which  makes  our  young 
friend's  enthusiasm  seem  not  altogether  unac- 
countable. This  intercourse  was  only  interrupted 
by  the  friiling  health  of  the  old  man,  then  seventy- 
one  years  of  age,  and  Bettine*s  departure  soon 
afkenrards  from  Marburg.  The  last  interview  is 
not  only  touching,  but  Uioroughly  picturesque  in 
its  details: — 

Do  yon  know  what  I  have  done  I— I  sent  word  to 
E^faraim  that  I  would  come  to  him  yesterday,  and  was 
driven  thither  at  the  hour  in  which  he  used  to  attend 
me.      I   entered,  and  found  him  sitting  handsomely 
Jicmsd  by  a  table,  on  which  was  a  lamp  and  four  can- 
dles.    He  tried  to  rise,  but  he  is  grown  very  feeble. 
And  what  does  this  meani— is  he  about  to  be  called  to 
ha  fkthers  f    I  brought  him  two  gold  pieces  in  payment 
fbr  my  lessons.  He  opened  a  small  casket,  in  which  there 
vete  a  pair  of  wedding-rings,  and  various  ornaments, 
which,  he  said,  once  belonged  to  his  deceased  wife  and 
^agliters.    He  deposited  the  gold  with  these  :— all  this 
ii  BO  refined  and  gentlemanly !    I  had  brought  him  back 
hk  rose-tree,  (a  gift  he  had  tent  her  not  long  before,) 
vUeh  be  must  keep — the  roses  are  now  in  ftiller  bloom, 
ltd  how  beautifully  they  looked  by  the  lamp-light  be- 
nae  his  snow-white  beard  !  I  said,  ^  the  roses  and  your 
Wird  shonld  not  be  separated :  and  I  was  glad  that  I 
61  aot  pluck  any  of  them— for  the  tree  is  your  be- 
tfolhed  one.    Once  or  twice  I  was  tempted  to  break 
iff  a  lose  to  fling  to  ibe  students  when  they  looked  so 
vistfUly  np  to  them."  He  said— •'Oh!  if  you  will  allow 
iM,Iwill  distribute  them  amongst  the  students  yet :  there 
ue  some  of  them  call  upon  me  now  and  then,  and  more 
win  come  when  they  know  that  1  have  roses  to  give." 
TUs  I  consented  to;  and  I  am  heartily  glad  that  my 
ttidente  will  get  my  roses  after  all. 

When  I  was  about  to  go,  he  gave  me  his  blessing, 
lad  I  kissed  his  hand :— how  beautifrd  a  thing  the  spirit 
•f  mui  is,  when  ii  grows  to  maturity  unstained  by  evil ! 
His  grandson  was  mrdered  to  wait  on  me  asfar  as  home : 
for  1  had  only  a  maid  with  me.  But  1  soon  sent  him 
bade,  aad  told  him  to  say  to  his  grandfather  that  he 
Most  think  of  me  daily  until  I  come  back.  When  I  left 
Ephrahn,  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  head,  and  said,  **  all 
Bciag  lives  for  a  friture !"  As  soon  as  I  arrived  at  home, 
I  letired  at  once  to  my  tower  in  the  garden,  for  I  wished 
to  Rcall  onee  more,  undisturbedly,  that  imposing  and 
jet  BO  friendly  and  unaffected  foce  of  intellect,  as  I  saw 
it  oa  leaving  him  in  the  shme  of  the  guttering  Umps, 
with  the  roses  bending  towards  his  white  beard.  I  foel 
thst  I  have  seen  him  thus  forthe  last  time." 

Bvt,  before  leaving  Marburg,  where  Savigny  was 
then  a  professor,  we  must  let  Bettine  give  us  a 
giimpseof  ^Bif  itudents,"  which  is  much  more  to  our 
liking  than  the  survey  to  which  Dr.  Ck>meliu8  and 
his  usher  have  lately  invited  the  public.  It  is  in 
the  depth  of  winter : — and 

Efeiy  moning  Melintf  and  I  find  excellent  sport  in 


watching  them  as  they  march  up  to  Professor  Weiss*s  lec- 
ture. .  •  .  They  cannot  see  us,  indeed,  because  the 
blinds  are  down,  and  the  windows  frozen  over,  as  well : 
but  we  make  a  small  hole— enough  for  one  eye.  It 
amuses  us  in  a  thousand  ways :  9ie  amour  with  the 
whole  university  is  in  the  most  fiourishing  state.  We 
have  drrided  it  between  us.  Melintf  says,  that  is  mine, 
and  I,  this  is  mine, — thus  we  have  two  regiments :  and 
their  romping  we  laugh  at  vHth  the  utmost  ndrUi  and 
triumph.  Each  party  has  a  captain :  the  one  with  a 
red  cap,  which  he  cairries  not  on  his  head,  but  always 
Bwinaing  on  the  end  of  a  thick  cudgel,  (the  student  calls 
it  a  Ziegenhamer,)  is  mine :  he  is  iJways  the  first  on  the 
spot,  the  others  gather  round  him,  and  listen  to  what  he 
savs ;  I  ikncy  he  must  be  the  head  of  some  BUrtchen- 
$ehaft;  a  handsome  young  fellow,  and  the  tallest  amongst 
them  all :  every  time  he  opens  his  mouth,  a  great  cloud 
GKf  vapour  comes  out  of  it,  and  settles  in  the  shape  of 
hoar-frost  on  Ids  little  beard,  of  which  he  is  venrprond, 
drawing  it  every  moment  through  his  fingers.  We  call 
him  the  blonde — because,  although  he  has  brown  hair, 
his  fiftoe  is  so  fur  and  sunny,  as  it  laughs  vrith  its  cheer- 
fhl  red  cheeks  in  the  misty  morning :  and  then,  his  dress 
too,  is  light-coloured.  Melin^s,  we  call  the  brown— he 
is  quite  fEdr,buthas  a  brown  coat :  this  one  wears  a  blue 
ci^  vrith  a  tassel,  that  plays  around  his  nose.  He  sits 
tranquilly  on  the  vrall,  while  the  others  are  pelting  with 
snow-balls,  wrestling,  leaping,  one  over  the  other ;  and 
amuses  himself  vrith  curling  on  his  fingers  Ids  glittering 
blond  Phoobus  locks :  I  envy  Mellntf  him,  and  oflbred 
to  give  in  exchange  for  him  one  of  the  most  consider- 
able in  my  troop ;  but  she  vrill  not  part  vrith  him 
for  any  other  but  my  general,  and  him  I  cannot  give 
up.  .  •  Had  I  but  a  regiment  ofsuch  as  these,  I  would 
soon  give  you  an  answer  to  the  unreasonable  charge  re- 
specthig  Napoleon. 

whom  Bettine  had  been  accused  by  her 

friend  of  admiring  enthusiastically. 

A  few  days  later,  we  find  these  heroes  in  a  state 
of  most  characteristic  elevation  and  glory:— 

To-day,  I  have  an  amusing  occurrence  to  tell  you. 
There  vras  a  comedy  by  the  students,  and  we  were  there, 
under  the  protection  of  a  numerous  escort.  The  piece 
was  some  invention  of  the  students  themselves,  and  con- 
tained three  duels,  vrith  shot,  stab,  and  cut,  {tehuitf 
ttleh,  und  Am6;)  when  the  firing  came,  Melintf  already 
began  to  feel  uncomfortable :  at  the  ttab,  everything 
tunied  green  and  blue  before  our  eyes ;  but  as  soon  as 
it  came  to  the  cut,  there  arose  an  uproar  and  a  riot;  and 
they  leaped  across  the  orchestra,  over  the  lamps,  right 
upon  the  stage  :  the  oil-lamps,  for  the  most  part,  were 
thus  extinguished,  and  what  before  vras  twili^t  became 
darkness :  our  company  posted  itself  around  us  on  the 
benches,  guarding  us  in  tiie  midst  of  them  from  any  mis- 
chance that  might  happen,  until  we  could  venture  to 
escape  from  this  confusion  and  the  stench  of  the  oil,  and 
draw  breath  again  freely  in  the  open  street.  The  tur- 
moil was  caused  by  the  beadle  baring  hinted  to  the  rec- 
tor, who  sate  in  a  chaur  of  state  in  the  centre  of  the  house, 
that  the  broadsword  duel  was  to  be  an  actual  one :  this, 
he  declared,  he  had  just  hearkened  out :  the  thing  in- 
deed, looked  dangerous  enough,  with  all  the  apparatus 
the  students  use.  The  rector  conceived  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  step  forth  against  this  piece  of  hardihood  vrithout 
turning  to  right  or  left,  and  accordingly  forced  his  way 
throng  the  midst  of  the  orchestra,  at  the  spot  where  the 
double-base  stood  leaning  against  the  partition ;  vras 
overturned  by  the  rector,  and  emitted  a  dismal  sound, 
that  terrified  all  the  company.  The  dean,  and  the  other 
College  dignitaries,  despising  all  obstacles,  pressed  for- 
wards in  support  of  their  rector,  in  which  process  many 
involuntary  tones  were  extorted  from  the  bases  and 
kettle-drums.  Much  loud  gabbling  to  and  fro  amongst 
the  ladies,  who  were  now  for  preventing  the  mischief— 
now  for  reftising  to  stay  and  vritness  it :  much  laughter 
amidst  the  students,  who  were  enraptured  with  the  coa- 
fosion ;  but  the  scene  on  the  stage  was  the  most  inte- 
resting :  the  rector,  vrith  bis  auxiliaries,  Just  opposite  to 


IM 


CORRESPONDENCE  BETUraEN  BETtlNH  BRENTANO 


us,  looking  quite  awfbl.  A  student,  who  liad  been  play- 
ing a  lady,  wHh  a  long  train,  one  half  of  which  he  had 
alroady  loet  during  the  rapier-duel,  now  (most  pro- 
bably from  impeitinenoe)  displayed  his  haok  to  the  pub- 
lie,  whioh  diflOOTered  a  pair  of  enormous  top-boots,  a 
sabre  at  his  side,  on  ^diich  half  the  train  was  caught  up, 
and  an  immense  gauze  Teil  whioh,  floating  down  his 
bade,  alternately  threatened  to  extinguish  the  remaining 
lamp  or  two,  or  to  set  itself  on  fire;  so  that  many  roioes 
cried  out,  *^  The  yeil's  burning  !**  Before  long,  it  was 
decided  that  it  all  had  been  a  &lse  aUrm;  however,  the 
piece  could  not  go  on,  the  lamps  were  out,  the  quality 
gone:  and  a  crowd  of  the  street-mob  had  inraded  the 
bendies,  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  The  next  day  we 
heard  firom  our  professor,  Weiss,  the  catastrophe  of  this 
tragi-comedy :  he  was  still  in  doubt  if  ^e  duel  was  meant 
to  biTe  been  a  res!  one  or  not ;  the  students  denied  it :  the 
beadle  Towed  that  he  had  OTcrheard  their  agreement  on 
the  way  thither,  and  that  he  who  played  iha  lady  was  to 
have  been  one  of  the  seconds,  and  my  trusty  captain  the 
other ;  that  they  had  measured  swords  at  tiie  door,  and 
that  he  had  heard  the  number  of  passes  arranged,  and 
all  the  preliminaries  settled,  as  to  their  gorgets,  ^astrons, 
imd  hand-guards  {Hala-bindsn,  StUmnerf  PaustbincUn,) 
The  students  maintained  that  they  had  only  been  re- 
hearsing their  parts,  and  that  all  this  was  to  have  been 
represented  on  the  stage.  Nothing  more  could  be  made 
of  it,  and  they  had  to  be  let  go  x  iHiereupon  they  gave 
the  rector  their  word  of  honour  to  make  no  breach  of  the 
peace,  and  held  a  solemn  drinking-bout  (eiuen  Comment) 
the  reTclling  and  singing  of  wluch  lasted  till  fiur  into 
the  night.  The  progress  <^  the  piece  had  hitherto  thrown 
no  light  on  its  contents,  and  the  main  point  of  the  inci- 
dent was,  that  the  catastrophe  was  to  be  supplied  hj 
foreign  intervention :  for  whioh  reason,  pretending  not  to 
see  the  beadle,  (whose  suspicion  had  previously  been 
aroused  by  hints,)  and  who  now  had  concealed  himself 
behind  a  closet,  they  made  him  swallow  the  whole  story, 
and,  by  this  means,  got  all  the  audience  to  play  their 
parts  in  the  piece,  to  thehr  great  amusement :  and,  in- 
deed, both  old  and  young  will  have  for  some  time  to  tell 
of  the  many  droll  things  that  happened  on  the  occasion. 
Professor  Weiss  vras  in  raptures  with  his  beloved  stu- 
dents, and  said,  ^  one  must  have  been  a  student  oneself, 
to  imagine  their  delight  when  a  Scheme  like  this  suc- 

At  other  times  we  find  her  waiting  on  the  feeble 
steps  of  Fran  de  la  Roche,  and  delighting  to  draw 
firom  her  anecdotes  of  the  persons  and  events  of 
an  older  era.  Amongst  these  is  the  following  ac- 
count of  Laroche,  Bettine's  grandfather,  and  (Jount 
Stadion,  which  is  worth  extracting.  Hitherto  we 
have  been  accustomed  to  regard  Wieland's  success- 
ful rival  as  a  mere  dry  man  of  the  world ;  but  the 
last  of  these  anecdotes  places  him  in  a  position 
which  even  the  poetical  £ame  of  Wieland  does  not 
doable  him  to  overlook*  We  are  quite  reconciled 
to  Sophie's  proceeding,  and  thank  Bettine  for  hav- 
ing explained  what,  untU  now,  always  appeared 
to  be  very  unaccountable.  But  first,  of  the  youth's 
education: — 

This  evening  I  had  to  accompany  grandmamma  in  a 
walk  along  the  canal  by  moon-li^t.  She  talked  of  the 
days  of  her  youth,  when  she  was  still  living  with  grand- 
papa, in  Warthausen,  at  the  house  of  the  old  Count 
Stadion,  and  how  he  loved  my  grandfather  far  better 
than  his  other  sons,  and  how  he  bred  him  up  in  such  a 
strange  way,  with  exceeding  diligence.  When  a  mere 
boy  of  eighteen,  he  made  him  conduct  an  important  and 
extensive  political  correspondence  :  gave  him  letters 
from  emperor  and  king, — ^from  all  kincte  of  viceroys  and 
prime  ministers,  to  answer  :  there  came  into  play  nego- 
tiations on  all  possible  matters  of  state^ — commerce, — 
navigation, — old  claims, — new  demandis, — divisions  of 
territory, — treasons, — stratagems,  —  imprisonments  of 
•aiiaent  persons^-— alBurs  of  the  clergy,— monastie  foun- 


dati(ms,*— finance  matters,  in  short,  everything  the  exa- 
mination and  ordering  of  which  belongs  to  a  great  min- 
ister of  state  ;  and  iJl  this  Stadion  d^ussed  with  him, 
— ^made  him  give  his  opinion  on  each  subject,  and  write 
papers  thereupon,  which,  after  adding  his  own  observa- 
tions, he  caused  to  be  fkirly  copied :  made  him  vrrite 
letters  to  various  potentates ;  as,  far  instance,  he  con- 
ducted the  correspondence  with  Maria  Theresa,  first 
respecting  the  elevation  to  the  throne,  and  the  co-re- 
gency of  her  consort, — ^then  as  to  the  empty  treasury, — 
afterwards  on  the  military  forces  of  the  country, — the 
discontents  of  the  people^ — the  claims  of  Bavaria  to  the 
hereditary  domain  of  Austria,  and  the  reasons  vrhy  the 
electors  reftised  to  acknowledge  Maria  Theresa's  suc- 
cession I — ^then  on  the  wars  with  Frederick, — ^with 
England, — applications  for  subridies^— letters  to  the 
French  Geneial,  Belleisle,-- then  a  correspondence  with 
Charles  of  Lorrain, — ^with  Cardinal  Fleury, — Lobkowita, 
ih»  Austrian  commander,  and,  lastly,  with  the  Marquise 
de  Pompadour,  always  with  an  eye  to  the  Empress's 
interest.  This  last  correspondence  took  first  a  gallant, 
and  afterwards  quite  a  tender  tone  ;  then  came  answers 
contained  in  madrigals,  to  which  my  grandfotber,  in 
Stadion's  name,  had  to  reply  in  French  verse.  This  cost 
him  the  gnawing  in  pieces  of  many  a  pen :  while  Stadion 
taught  him  to  inAise  his  politics  into  the  strain,  he  had 
to  make  .allusions  to  charms,  and  tresses,  brown  and 
fair,  and  often  could  not  succeed  in  being  tender  enough 
to  please  Stadion.  The  replies  to  all  these  were  then 
imparted  to  him  by  the  Count  with  much  satis&ctioa : 
especiallv,  whenever  she  gave  any  sign  of  sensibility  to 
my  grandpi^>a'8gallantrie8,  Stadion  would  laagh heartily, 
and  point  out  how  the  most  fastidious  refinement  was  to 
be  observed.  And  last  of  all,  when,  on  the  elevation,  of 
Maria  Theresa  to  the  throne,  and  her  coronation  as 
Empress,  the  congratulatory  addresses  were  despatched, 
on  his  twenty-first  birth  day,  Stadion  presented  Laroc^e 
with  a  writing-table,  in  which  he  found,  with  the  seals 
yet  unbroken,  all  the  letters  he  had  been  three  years 
writing,  whidi  he  ftmoied  had  been  sent  over  land  and 
sea,  with  the  answers,  which  had  been  invented  by 
Stadion  himself,  and  copied  by  different  secretaries.  In 
this  manner,  he  said,  he  designed  to  form  him  into  a 
statesman.  At  first,  it  mortified  my  grandfather  severely, 
but  to  this  succeeded  an  emotion  of  deep  gratitude  ;  and 
he  preserved  the  letters  as  a  memorial  of  Stadion's  noble 
and  affectionate  spirit.  My  grandmamma  has  all  the 
letters  still,  and  promises  to  l^stow  them  on  me. 

It  is  pleasing  to  find  that  in  after  life  the  pupil 
showed  himself  worthy  of  such  care.  The  occa- 
sbn  of  the  next  anecdote  is  in  itself  a  touching 
one.  His  aged  widow,  now  on  the  verge  of  death, 
had  been  wounded  by  an  act  of  unfeeling  rude* 
ness  ;  and,  as  it  would  seem,  consoled  herself  v^th 
recurring  to  a  time  when  she  had  a  protector  who 
was  deservedly  honoured  by  his  countrymen.  Bet- 
tine  found  her  gazing  upon 

An  armorial  bearing,  painted  on  glass,  in  a  splendid 
frame  of  silver,  with  a  wreath  of  golden  acorns,  on  v^iich 
there  is  written  in  Greek,  '^  All  Sy  low;  the  wrld  ftomld 
periak  elte"  This  was  given  to  my  grandfather  by  the 
city  <^  Triers  ;  because,  while  he  was  chancellor  in  the 
serrice  of  the  Elector  of  Triers,  he  resisted  the  imposi- 
tion by  him  of  an  impost,  which  he  deemed  oppressive, 
on  the  peasants  ;  and  finding  he  was  not  listened  to, 
preferred  resigning  the  office  to  subscribing  his  name  to 
an  unjust  requisition.  The  peasants  came  out  to  meet 
him  with  ciric  garlands  in  every  place  he  passed  through ; 
and  in  Spire  they  had  lit  up  his  house  to  receive  him, 

both  inside  and  out The  motte  on 

this  coat  of  arms,  my  grandmamma  said,  was  a  real 
compensation  to  her  husband,  who  would  often,  in  the 
narrow  circumstances  he  thenceforth  lived  in,  exdftim, 
^  I  could  not  have  wished  for  a  better  fortune."  The 
shield  used  to  hang  over  his  writing-taUe  ;  and  as  he 
stood  in  high  regaid,  both  with  peasants  and  burghers, 
>  they  often  came  to  him  in  diflloalt  eases^  la  whkfa^  in 


AND  CAROLINE  VON  GUNDERODE. 


16T 


Um  q»mt  of  the  motto  on  the  shield,  he  persuaded  many 
to  jnfftioe  or  indnlgenoe,  and  hereby  grew  to  be  so  mach 
respeeted,  tiuU  his  decision  was  more  effectual  than  that 

of  the  oldeet  lawyers. the  Elector 

afterwards  became  reconciled  to  him,  and  confessed  Uiat 
he  had  been  in  the  wrong ;  bnt  my  grandpapa  rejeeted 
the  appointment  to  which  he  offered  to  restore  him. 

Although  we  have  for  the  moet  part  confined 
onnelyes  to  Bettine's  letters,  it  would  be  unjast  to 
her  friend  to  infer  that  hers  are  destitute  of  many 
engaging  features.  But  our  present  limits  impose 
the  necessity  of  a  selection,  and  this  was  guided  by 
a  reference  to  what  seemed  to  have  the  most  of 
character  and  originality.  We  cannot,  however, 
coodude  without  taking  leate  of  the  sweet  re- 
dnae,  and  will  therefore  follow  her  into  the  garden 
for  a  moment,  and  hear  her  relate  her  discoveries 
there  in  a  manner  that  we  find  very  delightfiil : — 

I  have  yet  to  mention  something  noteble  belonging  to 
your  terrace  in  the  garden.  The  spiders  have  woven  a 
great  veil  of  Bmssels  lace  over  it  ttom  one  end  to  the 
other,  ftom  the  little  pine-royal  over  the  orange  tree, 
aeroes  the  arbour  of  soarlet-climbers,  which  now  yon  can- 
■ot  enter  withont  destroying  their  handiwork,  then 
above  ^le  pomegnmato  to  the  fic-tree.  I  was  very  care- 
fkl  not  to  break  a  thread  of  it  when  I  gathered  its  fruits. 
Toot  brother  Dominick  came  down  to  water  them,  and 
iprinkled  the  net  all  over^t  was  Just  noon,  and  the 
fOB  was  shining  brightly.  All  the  crystal  drops  glittered 
in  the  net,  like  so  many  mirrors,  most  beautiftdly.  Your 
bother  then  suggested,  that  tf  the  net-work  were  but 
canied  a  little  Ctftiier,  he  could  make  it  into  an  aviary 
fiyr  botterflies,  which  he.  has  hitherto  tried  in  vain  to 
reader  tame  by  tending  in  their  caterpillar  state,  for 
when  they  fly  out  of  the  chrysalis,  he  complains  ^t  they 
warn  to  have  forgotten  all  the  care  and  delicate  attention 
which  he  showed  to  them  n^iile  they  were  mere  grubs.  I 
was  greatly  amused  at  the  seriousness  with  which  he  de- 
Kribed  his  attempte  to  influence  the  mind  of  the  butter- 
fy  by  educating  the  caterpillar  and  the  chrysalis,  and 
told  him  I  thought  the  great  spiders  that  wove  the  net 
woald  soon  devour  all,  whether  gratefiil  or  thankless, 
that  he  mi^t  enclose  in  such  an  aviary.  I  know  you 
1^  to  hear  of  your  little  Eden,  in  which  everytiiiuff  is 
m  beaatifU,  and  not  a  tree  is  there  which  bears  a  ^>r- 
biddenfhiit. 

Another  and  closing  extract  brings  us  inte  the 
company  of  Goethe's  mother,  who,  as  we  have 
afaeady  remarked,  never  appears  but  in  a  manner 
that  attracto  attention.  A  finer  specimen  of  the 
old  German  character,  as  it  existed  in  the  highest 
burgher  class  of  the  free  cities,  could  hardly  have 
been  found ;  and  the  strength,  liveliness,  and 
genial  hearty  warmth  of  character  which  she  dis- 
played, even  in  her  extreme  age,  with  a  mixture 
of  statelinesB  and  homely  favour  that  clothed  her 
Hke  a  brocade  of  ancient  fashion,  must  have  made 
her  a  delightful  companion  to  many  beside  Bet- 
tine.  She  appears  to  have  fully  justified  the  re- 
mark, that  it  is  to  the  mother  that  distinguished 
men  are  usually  found  to  owe  whatever  in  their 
talente  or  character  may  be  inherited.  The  letters 


and  anecdotes  of  this  fine  old  lady,  in  the  first 
series  of  Bettine's  correspondence,  are  to  us  almost 
the  most  delightful  feature  of  the  collection.  Here 
it  is  singular  to  find  the  FraQlein  describing  to  Bet* 
tine,  who  then  knew  little  of  Madame  Croethe,  the 
proceedings  of  one  who  was  shortly  afterwards  te 
occupy  her  place  in  the  girl's  affections* 

George  (she  writes  to  Bettine)  escorted  me  -te  your 
box  at  the  theatre.  The  play  was  {Go'ttk^i)  ^  Brother 
and  Sister." .  The  attendance,  owing  te  the  heat,  was 
very  scanty.  The  Frau  Rath  {Madame  Oo'ctki)  sate  quite 
alone,  beside  me,  and  called  out  towards  the  stage, 
"  Herr  Verdy,  act  your  best,  now, — I  am  here  I"  1  was 
sadly  confhsed.  Had  he  answered,  it  must  have  become 
a  conversation,  in  which  I  could  hardly  have  escaped 
playing  a  part.  In  the  pit  there  were  scarcely  fifty 
people  ;  but  Verdy  played  extremely  well,  and  at  every 
scene  Madame  clapped  so  loudly  that  it  echoed  through 
the  house.  Altogether  it  was  a  strange  scene,  the  empty 
theatre,  with  all  the  box  doors  thrown  open  on  account 
of  the  heat,  through  which  the  daylight  came  freely 
in,  as  well  as  a  strong  draught,  which  tossed  and  played 
with  the  tottered  decorations  ;  while  Madame  GoSthe, 
fanning  herself^  cried  out  to  Verdy,  ^  Ah  I  this  breath  of 
air  is  delightfiU."  It  was  just  as  if  she  belonged  to  the 
piece,  and  was  playing  from  the  boxes  in  concert  with 
the  other  two  on  the  stage,  as  a  confidential  party  to  their 
private  domestie  conversation.*  I  could  not  but  think 
of  the  great  poet,  who  has  not  disdained  to  give  utter- 
ance to  his  own  deep  nature  in  a  thing  so  unpretending. 
I  believe  you  are  right  ;  there  is  even  a  certain  kind  it 
grandeur  in  it :  on  this  occasion  it  became  strangely 
impressive,  almost  like  a  tragedy  :^-there  was  the  vacant 
theatre,  the  silence,  the  open  doors,  and  the  mother  sit- 
ting almost  alone,  fUll  of  triumph,  as  if  her  son  had 
built  expressly  for  her  a  throne,  on  which  she  sate,  raised 
above  the  common  dust  of  lif(e,  to  receive  the  homage  of 
Art.  They  played  admirably,  even  with  a  kind  of  en- 
thusiasm, all  on  Madame  Goiithe's  accounts  She  has  the 
gift  of  oommanding  respect.  At  the  end,  she  called  out 
quite  audibly,  that  ^  she  was  much  obliged  to  them,  and 
would  not  fail  to  mention  it  to  her  son."  Thereupon 
ensued  a  conversation,  to  which  the  audience  listened 
quite  as  eagerly  as  to  the  play  ;  but  1  did  not  hear  the 
whole,  being  then  fetched  away^— to-morrow  it  will  be 
all  over  the  town. 

It  only  remains  to  add,  that  the  foregoing  ex- 
tracte  give  but  a  partial  idea  of  the  variety  of 
matter  which  these  letters  contain.  To  those  who 
love  this  engaging  kind  of  reading,  we  would  ven- 
ture to  recommend  a  nearer  inspection  of  their 
contento,  provided  that  they  are  willing  to  look 
with  indulgence  on  the  enthusiasm  of  a  youngmind, 
eageriy  seeking  on  all  sides  for  some  rdief  to  those 
dim  aspirations  and  new  desires  that  attend  the 
first  awakening  of  a  nature  singularly  and  early 
gifted  with  thought  and  feeling.  V. 


*  Die  Gesehwitter  is  a  piece  of  the  simplest  possible 
structore,  tundng  upon  a  point  of  domestic  interest ;  and 
for  ito  unaffected  elegance  and  touching  efEbct»  may  be 
said  to  stand  alone  on  ths  German  stage. 


THE 


Wdrbe  wis  gathering  gloomily  around 

The  tbmsaad  naked  hovels,  where  the  poor 

Are  deomtd  to  live  and  die.    There  was  no  sound 

Of  mirtii  4tme8tic — speaking,  as  of  yore. 

Of  industry  it  home— ito  long  day  o^et^ 

By  heahh,  aoA  hope,  and  joy  conjugal  crownM ; 

Bat  voices,  croaking  hi  the  raven's  key. 


POOR. 

And  sobbing  sounds,  that  set  aside  the  tongue, 
By  the  strange  fear  oi  famine,  seem*d  to  be 
From  parents,  o'er  their  sleeping  infants,  wrung. 
When,  in  the  Senato  House,  the  hoary  cliief 
Arose  and  said—*  They  shall  have  no  relief  ^ 
And  o'er  their  foodless  homes  that  sentence  pMty 
Like  an  infernal  curse,  borne  on  the  wintry  blast. 

L.  D. 


168 


LAYS  OF  SCOTTISH  HISTORY,— No.  11. 

THB  LBdEND  OV  SADST  MABOARKT^  QUKEN  OF  MALCOLM  CANMORB.— AimO  1067. 


Long,  long  ago— 'tis  dreamlike  now^ 

And  legends  dim  and  old 
Are  newer  than  the  tale,  I  trow, 

My  simple  rhjmes  nnfold ; 
What  time  the  Norman  William  came 

To  win  the  Saxon's  land. 
And  got  him  there  a  Conqneror's  name, 

And  crown,  hy  bow  and  brand, — 
The  hope  of  Edward's  royal  race. 

And  Saxon  hearts,  was  she — 
The  maid  that  from  the  Norman's  fac9 

Fled  to  the  North  conntrie. 
For  shelter  to  the  boldCanmore 

The  Princess  went  in  sorrow, 
For  warfare,  from  the  Sonthem  shore. 

Had  filled  fiur  England  thorow. 
A  gnest  she  came  to  Malcolm's  court, 

No  suppliant  for  relief. 
And,  journeying  though  in  lowly  sort. 

Was  queenly  in  her  grief— 
The  King  sat  in  Dunfermline  tower 

And  drank  the  blood-red  wine. 
While  Saxon  nobles  owned  his  power. 

Who  wonned  by  Tweed  and  Tyne. 
But  quickly  from  the  feast  he  strode. 

From  dais  where  high  he  sate, 
When  it  was  told  him  that  there  stood 

A  Princess  at  the  gate. 
With  kingly  step  the  maid  he  met, 

And  words  that  kindly  were — 
^  Thou  'rt  welcome,  high-bom  Margaret, 

**  Bight  welcome,  lady  fair !" 
His  guest  in  hall,  with  gallant  grace, 

Khig  Malcolm  softly  led. 
Where  worthiest  lords  and  dames  had  place. 

And  daintiest  cheer  was  spread  ; 
And  welcome  through  the  palace  ball 

In  shouts  'gan  loudly  ring. 
And  Saxon  warriors,  one  and  all, 

Arose  and  blest  the  king. 
For  Murgaret  was  their  pride  and  praise. 

Nor  Scottish  lady  there 
Could  chide,  because  her  lord  would  gaie, 

On  one  so  meekly  fair. 


Her  angel  beauty  witched  them  so. 

For  her  they  wished  alone 
A  queenly  crown  upon  her  brow, 

Beside  King  Malcolm's  throne. 
And  wed  were  they ;  nor  long  the  while 

Till  high  enthroned  was  seen 
The  lady  of  the  angel  smile, 

Their  meek  and  saintly  queen. 
O  1  she  was  learned  in  heayenly  lore. 

In  all  the  good  revere  I 
And  better  loved  the  bold  Canmore 

The  right  from  her  to  hear, 
Than  monks  or  mitred  priests  to  list 

Their  awfiil  truths  declare  ; 
And  oft  in  love,  unlearned,  he  kissed 

His  lady's  Book  of  Prayer. 
Whate'er  she  loved,  the  king  adored ; 

And  decked  with  rare  device. 
Her  wondrous  volume  richly  stored 

With  words  of  nameless  price. 
The  Scottish  men  were  rough  and  rude, 

But  ne'er  their  bosoms  stem 
Were  moved  the  less  frt>m  her  of  good. 

And  gentleness  to  learo. 
And  proudest  lords  bowed  down  in  heart 

Before  their  gentle  (^een. 
For  none  might  from  her  presence  part 

With  vengefril  soul  I  ween. 
Sweet  mercy  frt>m  her  lips  went  forth 

And  honour's  courteous  speech. 
With  honour's  deed,  unto  the  North 

Her  words  had  power  to  teach. 
And  though  her  time  be  old  and  faint. 

Our  land  may  laud  her  yet. 
The  lovely  lady,  queen  and  saint. 

The  Good  Saint  Margaret  !* 

*  The  fme  legend, (I  need  not  alterthea^^ 

declares,  that  when  MMgaret,  whose  death  waa  i       __      

sioned  or  hastened  by  the  intelligence  of  her  husband  baying 
fallen  in  battle,  was  canonized,  and  an  attempt  made  to  remoTe 
her  corpse  to  a  tomb  more  worthy  of  a  saint,  it  wms  found 
impossible  to  raise  her  from  the  side  of  the  buried  king,  and 
both  bodies  were  therefore  removed  together.  Her  character, 
as  it  is  described  in  our  National  Histories,  relieves  many  a 
gloomy  page. 


MOEE  SWEET  THAN  FLATTERY  IS  TRUTH. 


BY  MAJOR  CALDBB  CAMFBBLU 


I  do  not  flatter,  when  I  say 
I  love  thee  better  day  by  day ; 
For  like  that  dainty  Summer  flower, 
That  opes  a  bud  for  every  hour. 
Thou  dost  each  day  to  me  impart 
Some  fiiirer  feature  of  the  heart. 
Then  fear  not  falsehood  ;  for,  in  sooth, 
More  sweet  than  Flattery  is  Truth  I 

I  do  not  flatter  thee,  mine  own  I 
When  I  compare  the  blushes  thrown 
Across  thy  cheeks,  as  thus  I  tell 
Thy  charms,  to  tints  within  the  cell 
Of  some  firesh  rosebud,  ere  its  breath 
Inhales  from  life  the  taint  of  iUath, 
Oh,  no  I  I  feign  not,  for,  in  sooth. 
More  sweet  than  Flattery  is  Truth ! 


I  do  not  flatter,  when  I  swear 
I  live  but  in  thy  presence  ha ; 
For  absent  frt>m  thee,  still  I  have 
A  shroud  around  me,  and  a  grave 
Beside  me— nlug  by  cruel  fear. 
Lest  thou  shouldst  never  more  appear 
In  all  the  fondness  of  thy  youth : — 
More  sweet  such  flattery  than  Truth  ! 

Nor  do  I  flatter  thee,  dear  heart ! 
When  I  aver  (as  now)  thou  art 
The  one  thing  needfril  to  my  bliss — 
The  all  I  want  in  scenes  like  this — 
Where,  but  for  thee,  'twere  labour  vain 
To  breathe  life's  heavy  breath  of  pain. 
Oh,  no !  I  flatter  not ! — ^in  sooth. 
More  sweet  than  Flattery  is  Truth ! 


169 


LAING^S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER.* 


No  modem  traveller  has  left  a  more  pleasing 
imprenbn  upon  the  minds  of  his  readers,  than 
3fr.  Laing.  A  lively  style,  a  happy  selection  of 
topics,  the  power  of  acute,  and  also  of  profound 
observation,  a  high  and  uncompromising  moral 
tone,  great  liberality  of  sentiment,  and  entire  supe- 
riority to  national  prejudices  and  conventionalities 
combined  to  render  his  former  works  as  entertaining 
to  the  ordinary  reader,  as  they  are  agreeable  and 
iBftnictive  to  the  philosopher  and  the  philanthropist. 
Another  charm  lay  in  the  happy  aspects  of  society, 
which  they  represent ;  in  the  engaging  pictures 
of  the  comfort  or  wellbeing  of  the  great  mass  of 
the  inhabitants  of  the  northern  r^ons,  possessing 
free  political  institutions,  and  having  numerous 
small  land  estates. 

The  present  work,  if  written  with  the  same 
fdhfteai  of  detail  as  the  travels  in  Norway  and 
Sweden,  would  have  filled  ten  volumes,  instead  of 
one.  It  ia  not  therefore,  in  any  sense,  a  book  of 
timvels  ;  bnt  one  containing  the  pith  and  marrow, 
the  highly  concentrated  essence  of  the  author's 
obeenRitions  and  reflections  upon  almost  every 
great  point  in  government,  l^islation,  education, 
religion,  and  social  morals.  His  range  is  even 
wider  than  this, — and  he  diverges  into  the  most 
minnte  of  those  particulars  which  hold  unseen 
control  or  influence  over  society  in  its  complicated 
interests.  In  avoiding  the  trite  and  commonplace, 
ov  author  may  be  sometimes  chargeable  with 
pronouncing  opinions  on  some  subjects,  more  re* 
markable  for  novelty  than  considerateness.  But 
Xr.  Laiog  b  no  e very-day  traveller;  and  even  his 
kensies  on  secondary  questions  are  entitled  to 
reipectfiil  examination.  If  there  is  not  truth  at 
the  bottom  of  them,  there  is  the  love  of  truth,  and 
a  courage  and  frankness  in  avowing  that  love, 
vhich  may  plead  against  a  few  vagaries,  in 
mere  matters  of  taste.  It  is  of  far  more  impor- 
tance that,  on  all  great  questions  of  morals  and 
government,  he  is  fiilly  up  to,  or  in  advance  of,  the 
beat  thinkers  of  the  age  who  have  the  courage  to 
teH  their  thoughts ;  and  that  the  opinions  which 
he  does  not  mince,  he  supports  with  great  force, 
and  in  a  style  which,  without  being  either  flippant, 
afl^eeted,  or  hazy,  is  sufficiently  piquant  to  awaken 
and  arrest  the  attention  of  the  reader.  As  the  work 
ia  more  one  of  reasoning,  and  of  the  illustration 
af  fiicts,  than  of  their  narration,  the  same  general 
topics  and  ideas  are  apt  to  recur  ;  but  if  the  same 
thought  is  repeated,  without  much  novelty  of 
itatement,  it  is  always  one  well  worth  being  en- 
forced. Such,  for  example,  is  his  elaborate  ex- 
posure of  the  effects  of  the  military  organization. 
And  the  lauded  educational  system  of  Prussia.  But 
to  come  to  the  point : — 

*  Notes  ef  a  Traveller,  on  the  Social  and  Political 
Biate  of  Fnaee,  Prussia,  Switzerland,  Italy,  and  other 
frtB  of  Sarope.  By  Sunnel  Laing,  Esq^  author  of  a 
^ooroal  of  a  Residence  in  Norway,  and  a  Tour  in  Swe- 
4en.    Loagaao  and  Co.    Octavo,  cloth,  pp.  496. 

W.  XCU.— TOL.  IX. 


Mr.  Laing  starts  by  saying,  that,  in  these  loco- 
motive days,  the  old  plan  of  travel-writing  will  no 
longer  answer ;  and  he  therefore  at  once  plunges 
into  the  heart  of  Holland,  "  the  land  of  cheese  and 
butter,"  and  shows  no  mean  skill  as  a  landsca|>e 
painter : — 

Holland,  the  land  of  cheese  and  butter,  is  to  my  eye 
no  unpicturesque, uninteresting  country.  Flat  it  is;  but 
it  is  so  geometrically  only,  and  in  no  other  sense.  Spires, 
church  towers,  bright  farm  houses — their  windows  glan- 
^g  in  the  sun;  long  rows  of  willow  trees — their  blueish 
foliage  ruffling  up  white  in  the  breeze  ;  grassy  embank- 
ments of  a  tender  vivid  green,  partly  hiding  the  meadows 
behind,  and  crowded  with  glittering  gaudily  painted  gigs, 
and  stool  wagons,  loaded  with  rosy-cheeked  laughing 
country  girls,  decked  out  in  ribbons  of  many  more  colours 
than  the  rainbow,  all  a-streaming  in  the  vrind ; — these  are 
the  objects  which  strike  the  eye  of  the  traveller  from 
seaward,  and  form  a  gay  front  view  of  Holland,  as  he 
sails  or  steams  along  its  coasts  and  up  its  rivers.  On 
shore,  the  long  continuity  of  horizontal  lines  of  country 
in  the  back  ground,  each  line  rising  behind  the  other  to 
a  distant,  level,  unbroken  horizon,  gives  the  impressions 
of  vastness  and  of  novelty.  It  is  curious  how  differently 
we  are  impressed  by  expansion  in  the  horizontal  and  ex- 
pansion in  the  perpendicular  plane.  Take  a  section  of 
this  country  spread  out  horizontally  before  the  eye,  four 
miles  or  five  in  length,  and  one  or  two  in  breadthi,  and 
it  is  but  a  flat,  unimpressive  plain.  But  elevate  this 
small  unimpressive  parallelogram  of  land  to  an  angle  of 
sixty  degrees  with  the  horizon,  and  it  becomes  the  most 
sublime  of  natural  objects  ;  it  surpasses  Mont  Blanc, — 
it  is  the  side  of  Chimborazo.  Set  it  on  edge,  and  it  would 
overwhelm  the  beholder  vrith  its  sublimity.     .     .     . 

Holland  is  a  cabinet  picture,  in  which  nature  and  art 
join  to  produce  one  impression,  one  homogeneous  effect. 
The  Dutch  cottage,  with  its  glistening  brick  walls,  white- 
painted  wood  work  and  rails,  and  its  massive  roof  of 
thatch,  vrith  the  stork  clappering  to  her  young  on  her 
old-established  nest  on  the  top  of  the  gable,  is  admirably 
in  place  and  keeping,  just  where  it  is — at  the  turn  of  the 
canal,  shut  in  by  a  screen  of  willow  trees,  or  tall  reeds, 
ftt>m  seeing,  or  being  seen,  beyond  the  sunny  bight  of  the 
still  calm  water,  in  which  its  every  tint  and  part  is 
brightly  repeated.  Then  the  peculiar  character  of  every 
article  of  the  household  frimiture  which  the  Dutch-built 
house-mother  is  scouring  on  the  green  before  the  door  so 
industriously  ;  the  Dutdi  character  impressed  on  every- 
thing Dutch,  and  intuitively  recognised,  like  the  Jewish 
or  Gipsy  countenance,  wherever  it  is  met  with ;  the 
people,  theii  dwellings,  and  all  in  or  about  them,— their 
very  movements  in  accordance  vrith  this  style  orcharactcr, 
and  all  bearing  its  impress  strongly, — ^make  this  Holland, 
to  my  eye,  no  dull  unimpressive  land.  There  is  soul  in 
all  you  see. 

He  goes  on  to  describe  the  Dutch  taste  for  the 
Dutch  romantic ;  ai}d  reasons  upon  the  Dutchman's 
garden-house  and  flower-beds,  as  on  all  things  else, 
like  a  philosopher.  This  leads  to  one  of  the  most 
important  speculations  of  the  work  ;  and  one  which 
is  often  recurred  to— the  true  cause  of  the  stability 
or  decay  of  nations  that  have  once  been  great  and 
prosperous.  The  inquiry,  why  the  Holland  of  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  is  no  longer  in 
existence — why  her  streets  are  silent,  and  her 
canals  green  with  slime,  which  commerce,  no 
longer  busy  in  her  marts,  permits  to  gather  there  ? 
— is  thus  answered  : — 

The  greatness  of  Holland  was  founded  upon  commercial 


iro 


LAING'S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


prosperity  and  capital,  not  npon  prodactiye  indastry. 
Her  capital  and  industry  were  not  employed  in  producing 
what  ministers  to  human  wants  and  gratification^  ;  but 
in  transmitting  what  other  countriM  produced,  or  manu- 
factured, fVom  one  country  to  another.  She  was  their 
broker.  When  their  capitals,  applied  at  first  more  bene- 
ficially to  productire  industry,  had  grown  large  enough 
to  enter  also  into  the  business  of  circulation,  as  well  as 
into  that  of  production, — into  commerce  properly  so  call- 
ed,— the  prosperity  of  Holland,  founded  upon  commerce 
alone,  unsupported  by  a  basis  of  productive  industry 
within  herself,  and  among  the  mass  of  her  own  population, 
fell  to  the  ground.  This  is  the  history  of  Holland.  It 
speaks  an  important  lesson  to  nations. 

The  world  has  witnessed  the  decline  of  commercial 
greatness  in  Venice,  in  Qenoa,  in  Florence,  in  the  Hans 
Towns,  in  Holland, — of  military  greatness  in  Rome, 
France,  Sweden,  Prussia  ;  but  has  yet  to  learn  wheth|r 
productive  greatness,  that  which  is  founded  upon  the 
manufacturing  industry  of  a  people  in  all  the  usefol  arts, 
be  equally  fleeting.  It  seems  to  rest  upon  principles  in  po- 
litical philosophy  of  a  more  stable  nature.  It  is  more  bound 
to  soil  and  locality  by  natural  circumstances.  The  useful 
metals,  coals,  fire-power,  water-power,  harbours,  easy 
transport  by  sea  and  land,  a  climate  fkvourable  to  out- 
door labour  in  winter  and  summer,  are  advantages  pecu- 
liar to  certain  districts  of  the  earth,  and  are  not  to  be 
forced  by  the  power  of  capital  into  new  localities. 
Markets  may  be  established  anywhere,  but  not  manu- 
factures. Human  character  also  in  the  large,  is  formed 
by  human  employment,  and  is  only  removable  with  it. 
The  busy,  active,  industrious  spirit  of  a  population  trained 
io  quick  work,  and  energetic  exertion  of  every  power,  in 
the  competition  of  a  manufa^ituring  country,  is  an  un- 
changeable moral  element  in  its  national  prosperity, 
founded  upon  productive  industry.  Look  at  an  English- 
man at  his  work,  and  at  one  of  these  Dutchmen,  or  at 
any  other  Europefin  man.  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say, 
that  one  million  of  our  working  men  do  more  work  in  a 
twelvemonth,  act  more,  think  more,  get  through  more, 
produce  more,  live  more  as  active  beings  in  this  world, 
than  any  three  millions  in  Europe,  in  the  same  space  of 
time  ;  and  in  this  sense  I  hold  it  to  be  no  vulgar  exag* 
geration  that  the  Englishman  is  equal  to  three  or  to  four 
of  the  men  of  any  other  country.  Transplant  these,  men 
to  England  ;  and  under  the  same  impulse  to  exertion, 
and  expeditious  working  habits,  wluch  quickens  the 
English  working  class,  they  also  would  exceed  their 
countrymen  at  home  in  productiveness. 

This  passage  is  the  key  to  much  of  Mr.  Laing's 
subsequent  reasoning,  in  his  survey  of  commercial 
Europe.  He  is  a  thorough  believer  in  the  influences 
of  climate,  and  in  the  moral  effects  of  other  exter- 
nal causes ;  and  also  in  the  direct  influence  of 
govemmetit,  and  of  soci^  usages,  upon  every 
people ;  and  he  has,  we  ate  glad  to  find,  great 
faith  in  the  renovating  inherent  power,  and  in  the 
ultimate  destinies  of  England,  notwithstanding  his 
hatred  of  the  root,  as  he  thinks,  of  all  her  evils, 
namely  feudalism,  the  law  of  primogeniture,  and 
the  consequent  system  of  an  unfair  distribution  of 
property,  and  unequal  representation  of  interests. 
But  the  element  of  industry,  the  productive  prin* 
ciple,  the  internal,  self-generated,  impelling  power 
diffused  among  her  population,  he  seems  to  consider 
a  full  counterpoise  for  every  evil  under  which  Eng- 
land tuflers,  and  the  guarantee  for  her  renewed 
and  continued  prosperity.  To  his  more  specific 
remedies,  we  ^all  afterwards  advert;  but  must 
first  look  farther  into  the  causes  of  her  preemin- 
ence. 

In  Italy,  and  in  Holland,  the  social  condition  of  great 
commercial  wealth,  with  comparatively  little  employment 
given  by  it  to  the  mass  of  the  people,  called  into  exis- 
tence painters,  sculptors, architects;  furnished  artists,  and 


encouragement  for  them, — that  is,  demand  and  taste  for 
their  works.    It  was  the  main  outlet  for  the  activity  of 
the  public  mind,  and  for  the  excess  of  capital  beyond  what 
e^uld  be  profitably  engaged  in  commerce.    But  a  national 
mind,  formed,  like  that  of  the  English  people,  in  the  school 
of  productive  industry,  seeks  the  shadow  at  least  of  util- 
ity, even  in  its  most  extravagant  gratificatioa&    Horses, 
hounds,  carriages,  a  seat  in  parliament,  yachts,  gardens^ 
pet-farms,  are  the  objects  in  which  great  wealth  in  Eng- 
land indulges,  much  more  ft^quently  than  in  grand  palaces, 
fine  jewels,  valuable  paintings,  delightful  music,  or  other 
tastes  connected  with  the  fine  arts.     The  turn  oHhm 
public  mind  is  decidedly  towards  the  useful  arts  ;  for 
which  all,  high  and  low,  have  a  taste  differing  not  so 
much  in  kind  as  in  the  means  and  scale  of  its  gratification. 
Capital  can  be  so  much  more  extensively  employed  in 
reproduction  in  the  useful  arts,  where  a  whole  popalatioa 
has  a  taste  for  and  consumes  their  objects,  tint  the  ex- 
cess to  be  invested  in  objects  of  the  fine  arts  is  surpris- 
ingly small  in  England,  considering  the  vast  amount  and 
diffhsion  of  her  wealth.    What  is  not  useful,  at  least  in 
appearance,  is  but  lightly  esteemed  as  an  expenditure  of 
money.    A  duke  and  his  shoemaker,  or  tailor,  or  tenant, 
have  precisely  the  same  tastes,  lay  out  their  excess  gf 
capital  in  objects  of  the  same  nature,  in  gratifications  of 
the  same  kind  ;  differing  only  in  cost,  not  in  principle. 
Look,  in  England,  into  the  tradesman's  parlour,  Idtchen, 
garden,  stable,  way  of  living,  amusements,  and  modee  of 
gratification^ — all  is  in  the  same  taste  as  the  noblemaa's: 
the  same  principle  of  utility  runs  through  all.      The 
cultivated  or  acquired  tastes  for  the  fine  arts,  for  music, 
pamting,  sculpture,  architecture,  are  little,  if  at  all,  more 
developed  among  the  higher  or  wealthier  classes,  than 
among  the  middle  or  lower  classes.   England  at  tKs  day, 
with  ten  thousand  times  the  wealth,  furnishes  no  mnih 
demand  for  and  supply  of  objects  of  the  fine  arts,  as 
Florence,  Genoa,  or  Holland  did  in  the  days  of  their 
prosperity.   Is  this  peculiar  developement  of  the  national 
mind  of  the  English  people,  this  low  appreciation  and 
soeial  influence  of  the  fine  arts  compared  to  the  nsefhl 
among  them,  matter  of  just  regret,  as  many  amatenn 
consider  it;  or  is  it  matter  of  just  and  enlightened  ex- 
ultation, that  our  social  condition  has  advanced  so  far 
beyond  that  of  any  civilized  people  who  have  preceded 
us,  that  the  tastes  and  gratifications  which  the  fbw  only 
of  great  wealth  and  great  station  in  a  community  can 
cultivate,  and  eigoy,  are  as  nothing  in  the  mass  of  iaiel* 
lectual  and  bodily  employment  which  the  many  give,  by 
the  demands  upon  intellect  and  industry,  for  their  gra- 
tifications ! 

What,  after  all,  is  the  real  value,  in  the  social  condition 
of  man,  of  the  fine  arts  I  Are  they  not  too  highly  eati" 
inated,— raised  by  prejudices  inherited  from  a  period  of 
intellectual  culture  far  behind  our  own,  into  a  false  im- 
portance ?  Do  they  contribute  to  the  wellbeing,  civilisa- 
tion, and  intellectuality  of  mankind,  as  much  as  the 
cultivation  of  the  usefbl  arts  ?  Do  they  call  hito  activity 
higher  mental  powers,  or  more  of  the  moral  qualities  of 
human  nature,  than  the  useful  arts  ?  Is  the  painter,  the 
sculptor,  the  musician,  the  theatrical  performer,  gener- 
ally a  more  cultivated,  more  intellectual,  more  moral 
member  of  society,  a  man  approaching  nearer  to  the 
highest  end  and  perfection  of  human  nature,  than  the 
engineer,  the  mechanician,  the  manufacturer  t  Is  Rome, 
the  seat  of  the  fine  arts,  upon  a  higher,  or  so  high  a  grade^ 
in  all  that  distinguishes  a  civilized  community,  as  Olas- 
gow,  Manchester,  or  Birmingham,— the  seats  of  the  useful 
arts!  Are  Scotland  and  the  United  States  of  America 
—without  a  good  picture,  a  good  statue,  or  a  good  toft- 
lace  within  their  bounds,  and  without  more  taste,  feeling 
or  knowledge  in  the  fine  arts,  among  the  mass  of  the 
people,  than  among  so  many  New  Zealanders, — ^very  far 
below  Italy,  or  Bavaria,  with  their  fine  arts,  tastes,  and 
artists,  as  moral  and  intellectual  oommunities  of  civilized 
men  t  Is  a  picture,  a  statue,  or  a  building  so  high  an 
effort  of  the  human  powers,  intellectual  and  bodily,  as  a 
ship,  a  foundery,  a  cotton  mill,  with  all  their  compUcated 
machineries  and  combinations?  We  give,  in  reality  an 
undue  importance  to  the  fine  arts,— reckon  them  impor- 
tant, because  they  mhiister  to  the  gratiflcatien,  ajxd  are 


LAING'S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


171 


MM^gtht  legituoate  and  proper  •luoymeiits  of  kii^gs  and 
mportant  personages ;  but,  like  the  military  profession, 
or  the  semle  employments  about  a  royal  court,  their  im- 
poitanoe  is  deriratiTe  only,— is  fbunded  on  prejudice  or 
ftshioa,  not  <m  sound  philosophic  grounds.    .... 

Tbt  plain,  wulaniable,  knook-mo-down  truth  is,  that 
the  Glasgow  manufacturer,  whose  printed  cotton  hand- 
kerchieft  the  travellers  Landers  found  adorning  the  woolly 
beads  of  negresses  far  in  the  interior  of  Africa,  who  had 
BeT«r  seen  a  white  human  face,  has  done  more  for  ciyili- 
tttiin,baB  exteaided  humanising  influences  more  widely, 
than  all  the  paintariysoulptors,  architects,  and  musicians 
of  our  agt  pat  togeUier,  Monstrous  Vandalism,  bat 
tnie. 

Snch  is  the  notable  heresy  broached  by  this  stur« 
dy  democrat  or  utilitarian ;  in  which,  by  the  way, 
he  has  been  preceded  by  the  American,  Emerson, 
who  advances  as  philosophic  speculation,  what 
is  here  deliyered  as  decided  opinion.  Are  then  these 
pietures  and  statnes,  the  finest  works  of  imitative 
art,  nothing  better  in  reality  than  doUs  and  toy 
figures  with  which  full-grown  men  and  women 
amass  themselves  in  the  childhood  of  civilisation? 
In  his  subsequent  observatioDs  upon  Crenoa  ^'  the 
superb,"  Naples,  and  Rome  the  cradle  and  seat  of 
modem  and  of  ancient  art,  our  traveller  finds 
many  arguments  to  fortify  his  paradox,  A  novel 
and  a  good  argument  might  be  adduced  by  Mr. 
Laing  and  the  speculative  American,  the  extreme 
insensibility  to  art  shown  by  minds  like  those 
«f  Soottand  Coleridge ;  and  generally,  weshouldsay, 
by  the  poets,  and  all  highly  imaginative  persons; 
^u»,poeaeasing  the  faculty  of  perceiving  the  origi- 
nals^ and  of  creating  pictures  which  Raphael  could 
not  paint,  and  forms  which  Angelo  could  not 
mooldy  wrapped  in  a  world  of  ideal  beauty,  remain 
wondeffully  indifferent  to  works  of  art>  even  when 
fuicying  they  are  moved  by  them.  But  we  leave 
Mr.  Laing  in  the  hopeless  '^  Vandalism"  which  he 
avows.  On  manufactures,  he  vrill  be  held  perfectly 
ertbodox,  save  by  the  few  fiinatics  among  the  Eng- 
£sh  landowners,  who,  in  steam-engines  and  spin- 
oiog-jennies,  instead  of  the  quadrupling  of  their 
fent-TOllB,  which  those  things  signify  to  the  landlords 
of  Germany,  perceive  only  pauperism  and  Reform 
Klls.  To  tiie  want  of  manufactures,  and  of  the 
natural  power  of  becoming  a  manufacturing  coun- 
try, IS  attributed  the  hopeless  decay  of  Holland  ; 
wbidi,  from  a  highly  prosperous  commercial  state, 
has  sunk  into  a  population  of  wealthy  capitalists 
and  ill-off  pauperd.  Contrasting  this  country  with 
Holland,  where,  together  with  me  alternations  of  a 
damp,  raw,  and  cold,  or  a  hot  and  unwholesome 
dimate,  there  is  great  want  of  fuel,  Mr.  Laing 
remarks': — 

In  our  manuikctaring  towns,  the  poor,  however  badly 
Ht,  have  more  adrantages,  in  fuel,  lodging,  and  occasional 
wvrit  prodttced  by  manufacturing  establishments,  than 
in  tswns  of  greater  wealth,  arising  from  commerce,  or 
from  the  fixed  iaoomes  of  oapitalists,  landholders,  and 
pubtie  functionaries.  Edinburgh,  for  instance,  is  not  a 
teat  of  manufiiclures.  We  see  a  wealthy  or  well-off 
vp|er  daas  in  it ;  a  thriving,  well-to-do  middle  class, 
fi^iag  by  their  expenditure ;  and  the  class  below,  living 
by  the  family  work  and  handicrafts  required  by  the  other 
two,  not  very  ill  off  either ;  hut  dive  to  the  bottom  of  so- 
ciety erea  in  Edinburgh,  where  fuel  and  fish  are  cheap, 
and  land  %ork  and  building  work  not  scarce,  but  on  the 
contrary  lakiDg  off  much  common  labour  at  all  seasons, 
you  ftnd  the  soiplns  of  the  labouring  class,  beyond  what 
iAie  ofber  fifo  cUsses  regularly  employ,  in  extreme  dis* 


treis  fVom  the  want  of  manufactures  on  a  great  seala 
oireulating  employment  around  them.  Now  Holland  is 
just  one  such  great  city  spread  over  a  small  country;  and 
not  a  manufacturing  city,  but  sudi  a  city  of  capitalists, 
and  of  middle-class  people  living  by  their  expenditure, 
but  affording  no  labour  to  the  lowest  chiss— nothing  but 
oity  work,  as  tradesmen,  family  servants,  and  porterii 
seamen,  or  bargemen.  The  two  npper  classes,  and  those 
tiiey  employ  of  the  lower  class,  may  be  well  enough  off  ( 
but  such  employment  is  stationary,  has  no  principle  of 
an  increase  in  it,  keeping  pace,  in  some  degree,  with  the 
growth  of  population ;  and  the  surplus,  who  cannot  find 
work  in  such  a  social  body,  is  more  wretched  than  in  any 
other  land.  After  the  peace  of  1816,  Holland  was  among 
the  first  oountries  in  Europe  that  was  obliged  to  grt^pUt 
with  a  pauperism  which  threatened  to  subvert  aU  sodal 
arrangements. 

The  economy  of  the  Dutch  pauper  colonies,  and 
their  Inefficiency,  do  not  at  present  fall  in  our  way. 
tt  is  enough  to  state  the  causes  of  the  general  pau-* 
perism-^whieh  is,  the  want  of  that  produetiH 
power'  which  we  see  crushed,  and  about  to  be  de- 
stroyed in  this  country  which  it  has  enriched,  un*  ■ 
less  for  the  timely  wisdom  which  may  yet  arrest  its 
decay.  Mr.  Laing  is  so  great  an  admirer  of  the 
Federal  principle  of  society^  that  we  are  not  sure 
but  that  he  might,  so  far  as  depended  on  him,  al- 
low Mr.  O'Connell  to  carry  Repeal,  and  con- 
ceive the  administration  of  Irish  affairs  a  happy 
riddance  to  Great  Britain.  His  application  of 
the  Federal  principle  to  Holland  and  Belgium  ad- 
mits of  less  cavil.  He  points  out  some  of  the 
advantages  of  a  Fedend  union  to  both  thesa 
countries,  and  omits  otl^ers  which  would  not  ba 
left  out  <mF  account  by  Louis  Philippe  or  the  Kingf 
of  Prussia,  were  they  called  on  to  consider  of  the 
advantages  of  such  a  union  of  pubUc  interests^  and 
the  wisdom  of  sanctioning  merely  a  separation  or 
divorce  from  bed  and  board  between  the  two  little 
neighbouring  states. 

After  ingeniously  reasoning  on  the  Federative 
principle,  which  the  example  of  America,  and  what 
he  saw  in  Switzerland,  taught  him  to  admire, 
and  to  consider  as,  in  theory,  a  more  natural  and 
just  principle  of  general  government  than  a  forced 
centralization,  or,  in  other  words,  the  Swiss  as  bet- 
ter than  the  Russian  system,  he  proceeds  in  this 
strain  ;  and  we  give  the  extract  as  much  &om  a 
desire  to  hiake  knovm  the  author's  opinions,  as  his 
literary  accomplishments  and  logical  powers : — 

As  civilisation,  peace,  and  industry  acquire  an  influence 
in  the  aflhirs  of  mankind,  which  the  indiridnal  ambition 
of  a  sovereign,  or  the  ignorance  and  evil  passions  of  a 
government,  will  not  be  allowed  to  shake,  the  superiority 
of  small  independent  states  federally  united,  each  ex* 
tending  over  such  territory,  or  masses  of  society  only, 
as  can  be  governed  together,  without  the  sacrifice  of  one 
part  to  another,  and  each  interested  in  the  general  civili- 
sation, peace,  and  industry,  will  probably  be  acknow- 
ledged by  all  cirilized  populations.  Junctions  morallv 
or  physically  discordant,  as  that  of  Belgium  and  Holland^ 
Austria  and  Lombardy,  districts  and  populations  on  the 
Vistula  and  Niemen,  with  districts  and  populations  on 
the  Rhine  and  Moselle,  are  political  arrangements  which 
lack  any  principle  of  permancy  founded  upon  their  bene- 
fits to  the  governed.  Nature  forbids,  by  the  unalterable 
differences  of  soil,  climate,  situation,  and  natural  advan- 
tages of  country,  or  by  the  equally  unalterable  moral  dif- 
ferences between  people  and  people,  that  one  government 
can  equally  serve  all — be  equally  suited  to  promote  the 
utmost  good  of  all.  Federalism  involves  a  principle  more 
akin  to  natural,  free,  and  beneficial  legislation,  and  to 
the  improvement  of  the  social  condition  of  man,  than 


172 


LAING'S  KOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


goTemments  in  single  eztensiTe  states,  holding  legislatiye 
and  executive  powers  over  distant  and  distinct  countries 
and  populations,  whether  such  govemments  be  constitu- 
tional or  despotic  It  is  much  more  likely  to  be  the 
future  progress  of  society,  that  Europ,  in  the  course  of 
time,  civiluation,  and  the  increasing  influence  of  public 
opinion  on  all  public  affairs,  will  resolve  itself  into  one 
great  federal  union  of  many  states,  of  extent  suitable  to 
tiieir  moral  and  physical  peculiarities,  like  the  union  of 
the  American  states,  than  that  those  American  states 
will,  in  the  course  of  time  and  civilisation,  Mi  back  into 
sepurate,  unconnected,  and  hostile  monarchies  and  aris- 
tocracies, which  some  modem  travellers  in  America 
assure  us  is  their  inevitable  doom.  With  all  respect  for 
their  gifts  of  prophecy,  the  tendency  of  human  affairs  is 
not  to  retrograde  towuds  the  old,  but  to  advance  towards 
the  new,  towards  a  higher  physical,  moral,  and  religious 
Qondition ;  towards  forms  of  government  in  which  the 
interests  of  the  people  shall  be  directed  by  the  people 
and  for  tiie  people.  Moral  and  intellectual  power  is 
leavening  the  whole  mass,  and  not  merely  the  upper  crust 
of  European  society.  The  political  balance  of  power 
among  the  European  governments,  if  the  idea  could  be 
carried  out  to  its  utmost  completeness  and  permanency, 
is  in  reality  a  homage  to  the  principle  of  federalism,  an 
imperfect  approximation  to  a  fedenil  union  of  the  Euro- 
pean powers — imperfect,  because  the  interests  of  king- 
doms territorially  or  dynastically  considered  as  family 
estates,  not  the  <Ustinct  physical  and  moral  interests  of 
the  different  masses  of  the  European  population,  are  at- 
tempted to  be  federalized.  Yet  this  imperfect  principle 
of  federalism  is  eminently  successful  in  the  political 
federation  of  the  Germanic  states.  This  federation  acts 
with  dignity  and  power.  Li  Switzerland,  and  in  America, 
the  constitution  of  the  central  federated  power  may  be 
imperfect,  may  be  too  strong,  or  not  strong  enough ;  or 
even  the  state  of  society  may  not  be  ripe  for  the  federal 
constitution  adopted,  and  may,  as  yet,  want  a  class  re- 
moved by  education  and  fortune  from  the  temptation  of 
turning  public  affkirs  to  their  private  pecuniary  advan- 
tage ;  but  still  the  principle  of  federalism,  theoretically 
considered,  appears  more  reasonable  and  suitable  to  the 
wellbeing  of  society  than  the  monarchical,  and  appears 
to  be  that  towards  which  civilized  and  educated  society 
is  naturally  tending  in  its  course.  The  German  custom- 
house union,  or  commercial  league,  is  a  remarkable  in- 
dication of  the  irresistible  tendency  of  social  economy 
in  modem  times  towards  the  principle  of  federalism. 
Kings  and  governments  are  often  but  the  blind  agents  in 
these  vast  spontaneous  movements  of  society.  In  this 
great  measure  of  federalizing  the  Grerman  populations 
for  the  regulation  and  advancement  of  their  industrial 
and  commercial  interests,  is  involved  a  principle  which 
must  necessarily  extend  to  the  constitutional  and  political 
rights  and  interests  of  these  communities ;  and  one  al- 
together incompatible  with  the  principle  an^  system  of 
the  very  governments  and  kings  who  at  present  lead  this 
movement  of  the  social  body  in  Germany. 

After  taking  a  historical  survey  of  the  operation 
of  the  principle  of  FederaUsm,  it  is  remarked  : — 

If  Holland  had  been  restored,  on  the  expulsion  of  the 
French  in  1814,  to  her  ancient  federal  constitution,  with 
a  stadtholder  instead  of  a  king,  and  with  Belgium  as  one 
of  the  states  of  the  confederation,  the  cause  of  the  rapture 
— ^the  interference  with  the  local  advantages  or  prejudices 
of  the  one  portion  of  the  new-baked  kingdom  for  the  sake 
of  the  other — ^the  centralisation-attempt  of  the  late  king 
of  Holland  for  giving  effect  to  the  monarchical  principle 
of  extending  one  consolidated  power,  one  language,  law, 
and  religion  over  all,  would  never  have  existed. 

The  superior  dignity  and  solidity  of  the  Federal 
system  is  corroborated  by  the  recent  conduct  of  the 
Swiss  Confederation,  which  the  rest  of  Europe  fancied 
about  to  be  swallowed  up  alive  in  an  unequal  con- 
test, when  the  State  of  Berne  dared  to  refuse  to 
give  up  to  France  Prince  Louis  Buonaparte,  who 
l)ad  acquired  the  rights  of  citizenship  in  Berne. 


Mr.  Laing,  as  may  be  augured  from  his  former 
books,  is  at  deadly  opposition  to  Macculloch, 
Young,  Birbeck,  and  all  those  political  economists 
who  uphold  the  principle  of  enormous  estates,  secur- 
ed by  the  law  of  primogeniture ;  and  of  those  enor- 
mous farms,  or  com  manufactories,  which,  in  the 
progress  of  society,  seem  a  natural  consequence  of 
that  system.  But  it  is  not  merely  as  a  moralist 
and  philanthropist  that  he  opposes  the  doctrines  of 
the  modem  school  of  political  economy,  but  as  an 
economist  going  farther  in  the  main  requisite — 
production^  than  any  one  of  them.  It  b  in  enter- 
ing France  that  Mr.  Laing  fairly  enters  upon  this 
subject ;  and  not  Mr.  Henry  Bulwer,  Mr.  Jonathan 
Duncan,  Cobbett — ^no  modem  writer,  in  short, 
is  a  more  strenuous  advocate  for  the  division  of 
land,  among  a  numerous  body  of  small  proprietors, 
which  seems,  indeed,  his  only  permanent  remedy  for 
all  the  evils  under  which  this  country  is  sufiering, 
and  is  likely  long  to  suffer.  This,  he  aigues,  was 
the  original  condition  of  "  Merry  England,"  before 
the  Norman  invasion  had  introduced  the  system  of 
feudal  tenures ;  and  to  this  condition,  if  England 
be  to  prosper  by  agriculture  and  manufactures  in 
conjunction,  she  must  speedily  return. 

Though  we  are  not  so  certain  of  the  exact  original 
date  of  these  yeoman,  franklin,  and  statesman  hold- 
ings, which  must  have  introduced  ^  the  green  net- 
work of  hedges  spread  over  the  face  of  England,"  and 
whichformsits  peculiar  rural  charm,  as  Mr.  Lidngis, 
we  having  nothing  to  urge  against  this  proof  of  a  vast 
body  of  small  proprietors,  or,  at  all  events,  of  small 
stationary  occupiers  enjoying  nearly  all  the  im- 
munites  of  proprietors,  having  been  at  some  time  or 
other  at  work  in  producing  it.   He  imagines  that — 

The  Saxons  and  Danes, — one  people  in  the  principles 
of  their  laws,  institutions,  and  languages,  although  in 
different  states  of  civilisation, — ^must  have  woven  this 
immense  veil  over  the  face  of  the  land  during  the  six 
centuries  they  possessed  England  under  a  social  arrange- 
ment altogether  different  fh>m  the  present ;  one  in  whidi 
their  law  of  partition  of  property  among  all  the  children, 
excluding  the  feudal  principle  of  primogeniture,  would 
produce  this  subdivision  of  the  land  into  small  distinct 
fields.  France  is  now,  by  the  abolition  of  the  fsudal 
tenure  of  land  and  of  the  law  of  primogeniture,  recom- 
mencing a  state  of  society  which  was  extinguished  in 
England  by  the  Norman  conquest  and  the  laws  of  suc- 
cession adopted  from  that  period.  France  is  in  the  midst 
of  a  great  social  experiment.  Its  results  upon  civilisation 
can  only  be  guessed  at  now,  and  will  only  be  distinctly 
seen,  perhaps,  after  the  lapse  of  ages,  ^e  opinions  of 
all  our  political  economists  are  adverse  to  it.  Listen  to 
the  groans  of  the  most  acute  observers  of  our  day,  on 
the  appalling  consequences'  of  this  division  of  landed 
property. 

Here  he  has  Arthur  Young,  Birbeck,  Peter  Paul 
Cobbett,  and  the  Edinburgh  Reviewers,  fairly  on 
the  hip ;  and  he  does  not  spare  them ;  no,  nor  yet 
Dr.  Chalmers,  who,  in  his  Politico-Theological  Lec- 
tures,broache8  very  strangedoctrinesfor  aminister  of 
the  gospel  of  justice,  mercy,  and  human  equality. 
Having  crowed  a  little  over  the  Scotch  ^  feeloso- 
phers,"  as  Cobbett  wont  to  call  those  land  and 
com  doctors,  our  author  thus  proceeds : — 

When  new  social  arrangements,  diametrically  opposed 
in  principle  and  spirit  to  the  feudal,  grew  up,  and  un- 
folded themselves,  first  in  America,  and  afterwards  in 
France,  and  gradually  spread  fh>m  thence  over  great 
part  of  the  present  Prussia,  the  feudalized  minds  of  our 


LAING'S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


173 


Se«(cb  pcOitieal  eeonomists  were  laTish  in  their  predie- 
tWM  of  the  degrftdation,  misery,  and  barbarism,  which 
■Bit  ineritably  eorae  among  that  portion  of  the  homui 
nee  who  were  so  nnfortnnate  as  to  adopt  the  dictates  of 
natare  and  reason  in  their  legislation  on  property  and 
social  rank,  instead  of  adhering  to  conyentional  and  bar- 
banns  laws  and  institutions,  deriyed  from  the  darkest 
period  of  the  middle  ages.  If  natural  affection,  humanity, 
reason,  religion—if  all  that  distinguishes  nuui  from  the 
brute  Creadon,  speak  more  clearly  in  the  human  breast 
OB  the  obligation  of  one  duty  than  of  another,  it  is  on 
%tX  of  the  parent  proTiding  equally  according  to  his 
■Mws  for  all  the  brings  he  has  brought  into  existence 
sad  added  to  society ;  learing  none  of  them  to  want  and 
4islreai  if  be  can  help  it,  or  to  chance  for  a  precarious 
nbtistenee,  or  to  be  supported  by  his  neighbours  out  of 
their  alms,  as  paupers,  or  out  of  their  taxes,  as  useless 
ftmrtionaries,  or  by  uncertain  dependence  upon  employ- 
■sat  and  bread  from  others.  Is  not  this  a  moral  and 
Tefigionfl  duty !  Is  it  not  the  clearest  duty  of  the  parent, 
Boi  only  to  the  offspring  he  has  brought  into  existence, 
bit  to  the  social  body  of  which  he  and  Uiey  are  members  f 
Cm  any  argument  of  expediency,  drawn  ftt>m  our  artifi- 
cial state  of  society  under  the  feudal  system  and  feudal 
Jaw  of  sQoceaikm  to  property,  and  of  the  adrantage  of 
that  system,  turn  away  the  natural  sentiments  of  men 
from  this  great  moral  duty  to  their  own  ofibpring!  from 
this  great  moral  duty  to  the  rest  of  society !  Yet  listen 
to  the  morality  and  political  economy  taught  lately  in  no 
ehaenre  comer,  and  to  no  uninfluential  pupils,  but  from 
the  DiTinity  chair  of  the  University  of  Edinbin^  to  the 
yomg  men  who  were  to  go  forth,  and  are  now,  the  reli- 
giess  and  moral  instructors  of  the  people  in  the  established 
charch  of  Seotlrad.  <*  We  know,'*  says  Dr.  Chalmers, 
ti  his  Poiitieal  Economy  in  connexion  wkk  the  Moral 
State  and  Moral  ProtpeeU  of  Society,  being  the  substance 
tf  a  eonrse  of  lectures  defivered  to  the  students  of  the 
Theologieal  Hall  in  Edinburgh,—^  We  know,*'  says  this 
(tistingnished  phflosopher,  **  that  there  is  a  mighty  force 
of  sentiment  and  natural  affection  arrayed  against  the 
law  of  jnimogenitnre  But  here  is  the  way  in  which  we 
wovld  appease  these  feelings,  and  make  compensation 
for  the  Tiolenoe  done  to  them.  We  would  tncJee  no  tn- 
To^d  cm  ike  integrity  ofe$tate$,  or,  for  ike  ioke  of  a  second 
^rtduTf  take  of  to  ike  extent  of  a  tkou$and  a-year  from 
tk^t  domain  often  tkomeand  a^year  which  devolved  by  mc- 
cemion  om  the  ddat  $on  ofthefamilii.  We  should  think 
it  TMtly  better,  if,  by  means  of  a  liberal  prorision  in  all 
te  biaaehes  of  the  public  service,  a  place  of  a  thousand 
s-yoar  lay  open  to  the  younger  son,  whether  in  the  law, 
or  in  the  ehnrch,  or  in  colleges,  or  in  any  other  well- 
sppointed  establishment  kept  up  for  the  good  and  interest 
of  the  nation." 

Now,  all  thifl  stands  in  tlie  published  works  of 
the  great  teacher  of  Theology  in  Scotland ;  and 
upon  reading  it,  onr  author  inquires,  surely  not 
iiiq>ily,  of  those  great  teachers  of  morals  and  re- 
%ioii— 

Will  thej  explain  the  moral  principle  of  their  doctrine, 
that  the  most  virtnous  foelings  in  our  nature — ^tiie  mighty 
force  of  natural  aflfection  for  our  children,  and  the  mighty 
ifatee  of  the  sentiment  of  justice  to  our  fellow-men — 
ihonkl  be  sacrificed  to  support  an  artificial  system  or 
am^geflMBt  of  society,  be  that  system  or  arrangement 
ever  so  expedient  or  beneficial  f    Will  they  explain  the 


principle  upon  which  they  recommend  **  the  ap- 
peasing those  natural  feelings  of  affection  and  moral  duty, 
sad  the  compensating  for  the  violence  done  to  them," 
by  aa  appointment  of  a  thousand  a-year,  or  by  any  other 
pccBBlary  compensation  I  Will  they  explain  the  moral 
difcwiHje  between  the  conduct  of  the  owner  of  a  domain 
of  tea  thonsand  a-year,  who  leaves  it  all  to  his  eldest 
■OB,  and  leaves  his  younger  son  to  be  provided  for  by  his 
■•i^iboQrs  ont  of  Uieir  taxes,  in  some  appointment  of  a 
thommmd  a>year  in  the  church,  or  the  law,  or  in  any  other 
pghJIc  estsbKshment^ — ^whieh  is  the  case  propounded  and 
reeommeoded  by  th^ — and  the  conduct  of  the  wretched 
female  wiio  exposes  her  new-bom  babe  on  her  neighbour's 


door-step,  to  be  provided  for  out  of  his  means  t  The 
moral  guilt  of  the  latter,  driven  by  want  and  misery  to 
abandon  the  infont  she  is  unable  to  maintain,  appears  to 
all  men,  whose  moral  sense  has  not  been  cultivated  at 
the  Theological  Hall  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh, 
infinitely  less  than  that  of  the  man  of  ten  thousand  a- 
year,  who  abandons  bis  younger  children  to  the  support 
of  the  public,  in  order  to  leave  all  his  estate  to  the  eldest 
son.  WUl  they  explain  the  moral  grounds  of  their  teach- 
ing that  the  abandonment  of  his  parental  and  social  duties 
to  his  offspring,  and  to  his  fellow-men,  is  a  laudable  act 
in  the  case  of  the  rich  domain  owner,  and  the  same 
abimdonment  an  immoral  and  criminal  act  in  the  case  of 
the  wretched  strumpet  ?  They  are  the  teachers  of  the 
people  of  Scotland,  whose  principles  of  moral  and  politi- 
cal philosophy,  as  laid  down  in  their  own  text-book,  are 
here  arraigned  ;  and  they  ought  to  satisfy  every  doubt 
that  is  suggested  to  the  public  mind,  either  of  the  moral 
purity  or  of  the  philosopldcal  correctness  of  their  specula- 
tions. 

To  the  satisfaction  of  persons  of  plain  under* 
standing,  and  an  unsophisticated  moral  sense,  this 
will  not  he  easily  done. 

After  exposing  the  fallacies  of  those  who  argue 
for  the  principle  of  primogeniture,  and  against 
small  farms,  from  the  wretched  cotter-tenant  sys- 
tem of  Ireland,  and  after  showing  the  hardship  and 
erils  of  money-rents  to  the  Irish  peasants— (and  he 
extends  this  same  principle  to  farmers  of  all  kinds) 
—our  author  proceeds  to  point  out  a  deeper  fallacy, 
namely,  that  which,  in  the  reasoning  of  the  econo* 
mists,  confounds  small  renters  with  smallproprietors, 
whose  condition  is  totally  diflferent.  This  disposed 
of,  he  comes  to  another  axiom  of  the  economists, 
which  assumes  the  imperfect  cultivation  of  small 
farms  when  compared  with  that  of  the  vast  com 
manufactories  spread  over  thousands  of  acres  in 
fields  of  hundreds  of  acres  in  extent.  But  while 
speaking  of  this  imperfect  cultivation,  they, 

In  the  same  breath  recommend  a  garden-like  cultiva- 
tion of  the  land.  Pray  what  is  a  garden  but  a  small 
form !  and  what  do  they  recommend,  but  that  a  large 
form  should  be,  as  nearly  as  possible,  brought  into  the 
state  of  cultivation  and  productiveness  of  a  garden  or 
small  form !  This  can  only  be  done,  they  tell  us,  by  the 
application  of  large  capitals,  such  as  small  formers  cannot 
command,  to  agriculture :  let  us  reduce  these  grand  words 
to  their  proper  value.  Capital  signifies  the  means  of 
purchasing  labour;  the  application  of  capital  to  agricul- 
ture means  the  application  of  labour  to  land.  A  man's 
own  labour,  as  far  as  it  goes,  is  as  good  as  any  he  can 
buy,  nay,  a  great  deal  better,  because  it  is  attended  by 
a  perpetual  overseer— his  self-interest,  watching  that  it 
is  not  wasted  or  misapplied.  If  this  labour  be  applied 
to  a  suitable,  not  too  large  nor  too  small,  area  of  soil,  it 
is  capital  applied  to  land,  and  the  best  kind  of  capital, 
and  applied  in  the  best  way  to  a  garden-like  cultivation. 
A  gaHen  is  better  dug,  and  manured,  and  weeded,  and 
dr^ed,  and  is  proportionably  for  more  productive  than 
a  large  form ;  because  more  toil  and  labour,  that  is  more 
capital  is  bestowed  upon  it,  in  proportion  to  its  area.  A 
small  farm,  held  not  by  the  temporary  right  of  a  tenant, 
and  under  the  burden  of  a  heavy  rent,  but  by  the  owner 
of  the  soil,  and  cultivated  by  the  htbour  of  his  fomily,  is 
precisely  the  principle  of  gardening  applied  to  farming ; 
and  in  ^e  countries  in  which  land  has  long  been  occupied 
and  cultivated  in  small  farms  by  the  owners— in  Tuscany, 
Switzerland,  and  Flandersr-the  garden-like  cultivation 
and  productiveness  of  the  soil  are  cried  up  by  those  very 
agriculturists  and  political  economists,  who  cry  down  the 
means,  the  only  means,  by  which  it  can  be  attained  uni- 
versally in  a  country — the  division  of  the  land  into  smally 
garden-like  estates,  formed  by  the  proprietors.  It  ia 
possible  that  the  fomily  of  the  small  proprietor-former 
consume  almost  all  that  they  produce,  and  have  very  little 


m 


LAINO'S  N0TE6  OP  A  TRAVELLER. 


0iirpIuB  to  send  to  fluirket ;  bnt  that  merely  affects  the 
^oportions  ot  the  population  engaged  in  producing  food, 
and  in  producing  objects  to  be  exchanged  for  food.    The 
prodnce  supports  the  same  number  ofhu  man  beings — every 
potato  finds  a  mouth — whether  the  whole  of  it  belongs  to 
dne  man,  who  sells  it  fbr  the  labour  and  productions  of  the 
test  of  the  nnmber,or  belong  in  small  portions  to  the  whole. 
The  traveller  who  considers  the  prices,  supplies,  and 
varieties  of  agricultural  food  in  the  market  towns  in 
Flanders,  France,  Switzerland^  and  the  liberal  use,  or, 
more  correctly,  the  abundance  and  waste  in  the  cooking 
and  housekeeping  of  all  classes  in  those  countries,  wiU 
scarcely  admit  even,  that  in  proportion  to  the  number 
Of  the  whole  community  not  engaged  in  husbandry,  a 
smaller  surplus  for  their  consumpt  is  sent  to  market  by 
the  small  fiirmers.    It  cannot  be  denied  that  a  minute 
division  of  the  land  into  small,  free,  garden-like  proper- 
ties, seems,  ^  priori,  more  favourable  to  a  garden-like 
cultivation  of  a  country  than  its  division  into  vast  baronial 
estates,  and  the  subdivision  of  these  into  extensive  farms, 
on  which  the  actual  husbandmen,  as  a  class,  are  but  hired 
labourers,  having  no  interest  in  the  productions  of  the 
soil,  and  no  object  in  their  work  but  to  get  the  day  over. 
.  Mr.  Laing  Jk&xi  enters  into  minute  statistical 
details  to  prove  his  position.    The  leading  fact  Lb, 
that  in  1840,  France  supported  eight  millions  more 
people  than  in  1789,  upon  about  the  same  extent  of 
arable  land;  a  fact  aomevtrhat  in  favour  of  the 
superior  productiveness  of  the  small  proprietary 
system  as  opposed  to  the  feudal.     Nay,  this  in- 
creased population  is  also  maintained  in  much 
greater  abundance  and  comfort,  as  is  shown  by  the 
greatly  increased  amount  of  tropical  products  con- 
sumed ;  and  its  condition  as  to  food,  clothing,  and 
lodging  is  also  better.    Other  causes  show  the  ad- 
vance of  industry  and  prosperity  among  the  French 
people  since  the  breaking  up  of  the  large  estates. 
The  pursuits  of  agriculture  are  even  weaning  them 
from  the  worship  of  the  Frenchman's  idol,  Glory ; 
and  it  becomes  every  day  more  and  more  difficult 
^d  expensive  to  procure  a  substitute  for  a  young 
dian  drawn  by  ballot  to  serve  in  the  army.    In- 
dustry is  on  the  move— houses  are  btdlding  in 
every  village. 

The  small  landowners  have  acquired  meanfi  and  confi- 
dence, and  are  beginning  to  lodge  themselves  on  their 
little  estates.  Prices,  profits,  speculations,  undertakings, 
establishments  in  business,  engrossed  aU  oonversation 
among  all  classes 

How  ludicrous,  as  one  sits  on  the  deck  of  a  fine  steam- 
vessel  going  down  the  Saone,  or  the  Rhone,  or  the  Seine, 
passing  every  half  hour  other  steam- vessels,  and  every 
five  or  six  miles  under  iron  suspension  bridges,  and  past 
canals,  short  fact<Jry  railroads  even,  and  new-built  fac- 
tories— how  laughable,  now.  to  read  the  lugubrious  pre- 
dictions of  Arthur  Young  half  a  century  ago,  of  Birbeck  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago,  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  some 
twenty  years  ago,  about  the  inevitable  consequences  of 
the  French  law  of  succession  I  **  A  pauper  warren  1" 
Look  up  from  the  page  and  laugh.  Look  around  upon 
the  actual  prosperity,  and  wellbeing,  and  rising  industry 
Of  this  people,  under  their  system.  Look  at  the  activity 
on  their  rivers,  at  the  new-factory  chimneys  against  the 
horizon,  at  the  steam-boats,  canals,  roads,  ooal  works, 
wherever  nature  gives  any  opening  to  enterprise.  France 
Owes  her  present  pros^perity,  and  rising  industry,  to  this 
Very  system  of  subdivision  of  property,  which  allows  no 
man  to  live  in  idleness,  and  no  capital  to  be  employed 
Without  a  view  to  its  reproduction,  and  places  that  great 
instrument  of  industry  and  wellbeing,  property,  in  the 
hands  of  all  classes 

The  produce  applied  to  the  feeding  of  soldiery,  of  la- 
t^Ourers  employed  by  a  splendid  court  in  works  of  mere  os- 
tentation and  grandeur,  in  building  palaces,  or  construct- 
ing magnificent  public  works  of  no  utility  equivalent  to 


the  labour  expended,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  eten  ht 
the  fine  arts,  and,  above  all,  in  supporting  a  numerous 
idle  aristocracy,  gentry,  and  clergy,  vrith  their  dependent 
followers,  was  a  waste  of  means,  a  consumpt  without 
any  corresponding  return  of  consumable  or  saleable  pro- 
duce firom  the  labour  or  industry  of  the  consumers.  In 
this  view,  the  comparison  between  the  old  feudal  con- 
struction of  society  in  France,  and  the  new,  underthe 
present  law  of  succession,  resolves  itself  into  this  result, 
— that  one  third  more  people  are  supported  under  the 
new,  in  greater  abundance  and  comfort,  from  the  same 
extent  of  arable  land,  in  consequence  of  the  law  of  bu^ 
cession  having  swept  off  the  non-productive  classes,  forced 
them  into  active  industry,  and  obliged  all  consumers, 
generally  speaking,  to  be  producers  also  while  they  con- 
sume. In  this  view,  the  cost  of  supporting  the  old  w>urt, 
aristocracy,  gentry,  clergy,  and  all  the  system  and^  ar- 
rangements of  society  in  France,under  the  ancient  rtfgime, 
has  been  equivalent  to  the  cost  of  supporting  one  third 
more  inhabitants  in  France,  and  in  greater  comfort  and 
wellbeing  ;  and  this  is  the  gain  France  has  realized  by 
her  revolution,  and  by  the  abolition  of  the  hiw  of  primo- 
geniture, its  most  important  measure. 

In  noticing  Mr.  Henry  Bulwer's*  work  on 
France,  this  subject  was  discosBed  at  eome  length 
in  our  pages ;  but  we  may  draw  fresh  proofh  of  Mr. 
Laing's  Uieory  of  the  superior  productivenew  of 
minute  cultivation  from  other  fields.  In  Tuscany 
he  inquires. 

Why  should  the  physical  and  moral  condition  i:^  tliis 
population  be  so  superior  to  that  of  the  Neapolitans,  Qt 
of  the  neighbouring  people  in  the  papal  states  t  The  soil 
and  climate  and  productions  are  the  same  in  all  these 
countries.  The  diffbrence  must  be  accounted  for  by  the 
happier  distribution  of  the  land  in  Tuscany.  In  1836, 
Tuscany  contained  1,436,785  inhabitants,  and  130,190 
landed  estates.  Deducting  7901  estates,  belonging  to 
towns,  churches,  or  other  corporate  bodies,  we  have 
122,289  belonging  to  the  people— or,  in  other  words,  48 
ftimilies  in  every  100  have  land  of  their  ovni  to  live  from. 
Can  the  striking  difference  in  the  physical  and  moral 
condition,  and  in  the  standard  of  living,  between  the 
people  of  Tuscany  and  those  of  the  papal  states  be  as- 
cribed to  any  other  cause !  The  taxes  are  as  heayy  in 
Tuscany  as  in  the  dominions  of  the  Pope ;  about  12f.  W. 
sterling  per  head  of  the  population  in  the  one,  and  12». 
lOd.  In  the  other.  But  in  the  whole  Maremma  of  Rome, 
of  about  30  leagues  in  length  by  10  or  12  in  breadth, 
Mons.  Chateauvieux  reckons  only  24  factors,  or  tenants 
of  the  large  estates  of  the  Roman  nobles.  From  the 
frontier  of  the  Neapolitan  to  that  of  the  Tuscan  state, 
the  whole  country  is  reckoned  to  be  divided  in  about 
600  landed  estates.  Compare  the  husbandry  of  Tuscany, 
the  perfect  system  of  drainage,  for  instance,  in  the  strath 
of  ihe  Amo  by  drains  between  every  two  beds  of  land, 
all  connected  with  a  main  drain — ^being  our  own  lately 
introduced  furrow  tile-draining,  but  connected  here  witii 
the  irrigation  as  well  as  the  draining  of  the  land, — com- 
pare the  clean  state  of  the  growing  crops,  the  variety  and 
succession  of  clean  crops  for  foddering  cattle  in  the  house 
all  the  year  round,  the  attention  to  collecting  manure, 
the  garden-like  cultivation  of  the  whole  face  of  the  coun- 
try ;  compare  these  with  the  desert  waste  of  the  Roman 
Maremma,  or  with  the  papal  country,  of  soil  and  pro- 
ductiveness as  good  as  that  of  the  vale  of  the  Amo,  the 
country  about  Foliguo  and  Perugia  ;  compare  the  well- 
clothed,  busy  people,  the  smart  country  girls  at  work 
about  their  cows'  food,  or  their  silkworm  leaves,  with 
the  ragged,  siJlow,  indolent  population,  lounging  about 
their  doors  in  the  papal  dominions,  starving,  and  with 
nothing  to  do  on  the  great  estates ;  nay,  compare  the 
agricultural  industry  and  operations  in  this  land  of  small 
farms,  with  the  best  of  our  large-fiam  districts,  with 
Tweedside,  or  East  Lothian— and  aoMp  your  fiagen  at 
the  wisdom  of  our  Sir  Johns,  and  all  the  host  of  ew 
book-makers  on  agriculture,  who  bleat  after  each  other 


♦  TaU-i  Magazine  for  April  1836. 


LAINO'g  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLEft. 


175 


IhH  wAmm  nw  of  thd  thriTinf -tenantry-times  of  the 
wiT'-lhat  small  (krms  are  inoompatible  with  a  high  and 
perfect  state  of  cultivation.  Scotland,  or  ElngUnd,  can 
prodac«  no  one  tract  of  land  to  be  compared  to  this  strath 
of  the  Amo,  not  to  say  for  prodnctiyeness,  because  that 
iffmidi  npon  soil  and  climate,  which  we  hare  not  of 
■aiJir  quality  to  compare,  bit  for  industry  and  intelli- 
gmee  spplied  to  hosbuidry,  for  perfect  drainage,  for  ir- 
ligttion,  for  garden-like  culture,  for  clean  state  of  crops, 
tn  abeence  of  all  waste  of  land,  labour,  or  manure,  for 
|o«d  saitiTation,  in  short,  aad  the  good  condition  of  the 
Itkoriif  caltiTator.  These  are  poiats  which  admit  of 
kiif  compared  botween  one  fhrm  and  another,  in  the 
Mrt  difdnct  soils  and  olimates.  Our  system  of  large  fimns 
vill  gain  notiiing  in  sueh  a  eomparison  with  the  husbandry 
tf  Tweaiy,  Flanders,  or  Switaerland,  under  a  system  of 
■all  flmns.  Next  to  the  distribution  of  property,  the 
—liiatiio  waUb#ing  of  the  lower  classes  in  Tuseuiy 
BBst  be  ascribed  to  the  goTemment. 

Again,  in  Switzerland,  where  he  spent  some 
letiODs,  new  argument  is  found,  not  only  for  the 
nptriorttj  of  small  proprietary  farms  ovei'  great 
feadal  estates  in  point  of  mere  economy,  bnt  from 
nrach  hieher  reasons — ^those  of  sound  morality 
tad  social  happiness.  The  parish  of  Montreux, 
on  the  banks  of  the  lake  of  Creneva,  is  cited  to 
all  Eoiope,  by  the  Malthnaea  and  Chahnenes^  as 
an  exemplary  parish ;  because  the  **  prudential 
dieck"  being  in  such  constant  operation  there,  mar- 
mgetarelatey  if  notiewy  and  births  yet  fewer  in  pro- 
ptrtion  to  the  nuurriages ;  and  hence  the  ^'population 
wrer,"  in  the  jargon  of  the  economists,  "presses  on 
ihi  means  of  subsistence."  All  owing  to  the  "  moral 
check,"  say  they:  "All  owing  to  the  numerous 
mall  land  properties,"  says  Mr.  Laing,  as  he  had, 
iadted,  said  before  in  Norway.  Many  curious 
tos  are  connected  with  this  same  Swiss  parish, 
wlierc,  if  few  children  are  bom,  still  fewer  die  in 
proportion  to  other  localities.  But  what  is  the 
Kent  of  the  pmdenee  of  the  people  of  Montreux, 
ttd  the  healthfiihiees  of  thehr  progeny  ?  We  shall 
w  what  Mr.  Laing  thinks  of  it ;  for  he  allows  the 
inarriages  of  poverty  to  be  imprudent,  though  he 


It  JB  lather  too  much  fbr  our  political  ecohomist«  to 

Bilist  moral  restraint  into  the  defence  of  the  fictitious 

fcodal  construction  of  society.  This  parish  of  Montreux, 

ITOTCT  the  Tery  rererse  of  the  conclusions  of  Sir  Francis 

dlrenioiB,  as  to  the  use  of  this  false  moral  restraint  on 

^lTOTident  marriage.     It  shows  that  economical  re- 

itnint  is  sufficient.    Our  parish  is  divided  into  three 

teBmimes  or  administrations.    In  that  in  which  I  am 

^0^,  Tcytaux,  there  is  not  a  single  pauper,  although 

^^  is  an  accumulated  poor  fand,  and  the  Tillage  thinks 

^talf  rofflciently  important  to  have  its  post-office,  its  fire 

rapae,  its  watchman;  and  it  has  a  landward  population 

Wrond.    The  reason  is  obvious  without  having  recourse 

^  «y  ocfult  moral  restraint,  or  any  tradition  of  the  evils 

rforer-popnljitionf^m  the  fate  of  the  ancient  Helvetians, 

^  Sir  ymncis  absurdly  supposes  possible,  whose  emigra- 

tiefn  from  over-population  Julius  Crosar  repressed  with 

Q»  sword.    The  parish  is  one  of  the  best  cultivated  and 

•ort  productive  rineyards  in  Europe  ;  and  is  divided 

ia  Twy  small  portions  among  a  great  body  of  small  pro- 

^i^^vi.    WlnU  is  too  U^  ap  the  hill  for  vinos,  is  in 

T^^  bay,  and  pasture  land.    There  is  no  manufac- 

•'***»  ttid  no  chance  work  going  on  in  the  parish.   These 

•'^l  proprietors,  with  their  sons  and  daughters,  work 

J»  *Wr  twn  land,  know  exactly  what  it  produces,  what 

rt  eM^mi  ^  ll^g^  mi^  whether  the  land  can  support 

two  6MQiM  cr  not.    Their  standard  of  living  is  high, 

{■  ">^  «•  proprietors.    They  are  well  lodged,  their 

WMCBwynfonahed^  and  they  live  well,  although  they 

«»  noithgtten,    I  Myed  with  one  of  ihtm  two  sum- 


mers saceessirely.  Thi^  class  of  the  inhabitants  would 
no  more  think  of  marrying  without  means  to  live  in  a 
decent  way,  than  any  gentleman's  sons  or  daughters  in 
England;  and  indeed  less,  because  there  is  no  variety  of 
means  of  living,  as  in  England.  It  must  be  altogether 
out  of  the  land.  The  class  below  them  again,  the  mere 
labourers,  or  village  tradesmen,  are  under  a  similar  eco- 
nomical restraint,  which  it  is  an  abuse  of  words  and 
principles  to  call  moral  restraint.  The  quantity  of  work 
which  each  of  the  small  proprietors  must  hire,  is  a  known 
and  filled-up  demand,  not  very  variable.  There  is  no 
com  farming,  little  or  no  horse  work ;  and  the  number  of 
labourers  and  tradesmen  who  can  live  by  the  woric  and 
custom  of  the  other  class,  is  as  fixed  and  known  as  the 
means  of  living  of  the  landowners  themselves.  There  is 
no  chance  living — no  room  for  an  additional  house  even 
for  this  olass  ;  because  the  land  is  too  valuable,  and  too 
minutely  divided,  to  be  planted  with  a  labourer's  house, 
if  his  labour  be  not  necessary.  All  that  is  wanted  is 
supplied ;  and  until  a  vacancy  naturally  opens,  in  which 
a  labourer  and  his  wife  could  find  work  and  house  room, 
he  cannot  marry.  The  economical  restraint  is  thus  quite 
as  strong  among  the  labourers,  as  among  the  class  of 
proprietors.  Their  standard  of  living,  also,  is  necessarily 
raised  by  living  and  working  all  day  along  with  a  higher 
elass.  They  are  clad  as  well,  f^miUes  and  males^as  the 
peasant  proprietors.  The  costume  of  the  canton  is  used 
by  all.  This  very  parish  might  be  cited  as  an  instance 
of  the  restraining  powers  of  property,  and  of  the  habits, 
tastes,  and  standard  of  living  which  attend  a  wide  dittH* 
sion  of  property  among  a  people,  on  theh*  own  over- 
multiplication.  It  is  a  proof  that  a  division  of  property 
by  a  law  of  succession,  difl^Brent  in  principle  ftom  the 
feudal,  is  the  true  check  upon  over-population. 

In  Switzerland  and  Grermany,  the  speculations 
of  the  political  economists  have  even  led  to  the  adop- 
tion of  direct  restraints  on  marriage,  by  the  imposi* 
tion  of  lines,  and  otherwise.  Sir  Francis  d'lrer- 
nois  approves  of  a  tax  on  marriages,  provided  it  is 
not  so  low  as  to  defeat  the  object ;  as  a  poor  couple, 
very  anxious  to  get  married,  might  still  contrive 
to  scrape  t^^er  about  £8^ — ^the  amount  levied 
in  one  State  named  : — 

But  he  thinks  the  prindple  excellent,  as  both  Rieardo 
and  Say,  it  seems,  recommend  the  postponement  of  the 
marriageable  age  of  the  poor  as  an  object  of  legislative 
enactment^— bnt  not  of  the  rich.     ....... 

All  this  monstrous,  and  demoraliong,  and  tyrannical 
interferenoe  with  the  most  sacred  of  those  private  rights 
for  which  man  enters  into  social  union  with  man,  is  the 
oonsequenoe  of  the  absurd  speculations  of  our  English 
political  economists  and  their  foreign  proselytes,  who  see 
clearly  enough  the  evil,  but  who  do  not  see,  or  are  afraid 
to  state,  that  the  remedy  is  not  in  a  false  code  of  morality, 
imposing  moral  restraint  upon  an  act  not  immoral,— the 
marriage  of  the  sexes ;  nor  in  a  false  oode  of  laws  for 
preventing  the  most  powerful  stimulus  of  nature;  but  in 
raising  the  civilisation,  habits,  mode  of  living,  and  pru- 
dence of  the  lower  classes  of  the  community  by  a  wider 
diflbsion  of  property  among  them,  by  an  inoculation  of 
the  whole  mass  of  society  with  the  restraints  which  pro- 
perty carries  with  it  upon  imprudence  and  want  of  fere- 
thought  in  human  action ,    .    . 

It  is  only  in  Ireland,  or  Sardinia,  that  the  peasant  sees 
no  prospect  of  being  better  off  at  28  or  30  years  of  age, 
than  at  18 ;  and  therefore  very  naturally,  and  very  pro- 
perly, marries  af;  18  or  very  early  in  life,  so  as  to  have  a 
prospect  of  children  grovni  up,  before  he  is  past  the  ago 
to  work  for  them ;  and  who  will  be  able  to  work  for  them- 
selves, and  perhaps  for  him,  when  he  is  worn  out. 

Whatever  may  be  said  by  the  economists,  as  to 
ihe  soundness  of  this  reasoning,  it  must  at  least  be 
confessed  more  in  accordance  with  human  feelings, 
and  the  inatinetive  sense  of  justice,  than  their 
theories  ^-^ 

Bfen  heard  with  indignation  matriage,  however  impr»- 


176 


LAING'S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


dent  and  reckless,  classed  with  foniioationy  or  theft,  as 
a  moral  delinquenoy;  and  the  morality  or  immorality  of 
hnman  action,  serionsly  stated  eyen  by  diyines,  by  Mal- 
thas and  Dr.  Chalmers,  to  depend  upon  prudential  con- 
siderations. The  rough  untutored  common  sense  of  all 
men  of  the  lower  class  rejected  this  new  code  of  morality ; 
and  the  socialists  and  radicals  with  reason  crow  oyer  the 
ecclesiastics  in  this  argument.  They  ask  for  what  pur- 
pose is  this  new-f&shioned  moral  obligation  in  the  most 
important  of  the  actions  of  man,  his  marriage,  to  be  in- 
culcated !  Is  it  to  support  any  natural  and  necessary 
system  of  society !  No.  But  to  support  an  artificiid 
feudal  division  of  property,  originating  in  the  darkest 
and  most  barbarous  ages,  by  which  one  son  alone  succeeds 
to  the  land,  and  the  others,  with  their  posterity,  are 
thrown  into  that  pauper  class,  who  must  Hto  on  the  taxes 
or  alms  of  the  rest  of  the  community 

The  most  profound  obserration  ever  made  in  the  science 
of  political  economy  is  that  of  Solomon — '^  The  destruc- 
tion of  the  poor  is  their  poverty."  It  is  their  poverty 
that  causes  their  over-multiplication,  and  their  over- 
multiplication  their  poverty.  Cure  their  poverty,  give 
them  property,  inoculate  the  whole  mass  of  society  with 
the  tastes,  habits,  and  feelings  of  prudence,  which  attend 
the  possession  of  property,  by  abolishing  the  laws  of 
succession  which  tend  to  concentrate  all  property  in  one 
upper  class,  and  over-multiplication  is  cured.  It  is  evi- 
dently curing  itself  rapidly  in  France,  without  the  un- 
natunil  and  immoral  restraints  recommended  by  political 
economists  to  be  taught  as  iigunotions  of  religion  and 
morality  by  their  clergy,  or  to  be  enforced  as  law  by  the 
local  authorities. 

A  political  economy  opposed  to  the  moral  and  natural 
economy  of  society  is  unsound.  It  rests  upon  an  arbitrary 
expediency  only.  The  speculations  upon  artificial  checks 
to  the  increase  of  population  by  legislative,  educational, 
or  conventional  restraints  inconsistent  with  the  national 
rights,  moral  duties,  and  social  relations  of  the  individui^ 
composing  the  poorer  dusses,  are  altogether  &lse  in 
principle.  The  administration  of  the  poor  law  by  the  com- 
missioners in  England — ^the  separation  of  husband  and 
wife— of  parents  and  children— the  confinement  in  work- 
houses of  all  receiving  relief— cannot  be  jqstified  on  any 
principle  but  expediency;  and  on  that,  anything — ^the 
veto  on  marriages  among  the  poor — the  enormities  al- 
luded to  by  Sir  Francis  d'lvemois — anything  and  every- 
thing, in  short,  may  be  justified.  The  destitute  either 
have  a  right  or  have  not  a  right  to  relief.  If  they  have 
not,  it  is  a  robbery  to  take  the  sum  ftom  the  richer  class 
to  relieve  them.  If  they  have,  fh)m  the  nature  and  con- 
stitution of  property  and  society,  a  right  inherent  to  them 
as  animals  to  such  a  portion  of  the  finits  of  God's  earth 
as  will  maintain  them,  it  is  unjust  and  tyrannical  to 
withhold  that  portion  except  on  conditions  inconsistent 
with  their  tree  agency  and  enjoyment  of  life  as  moral 
intelligent  beings.  The  expediency-principle  of  making 
the  poor-rate  relief  as  sour  as  possible  to  the  receiver,  in 
order  to  lessen  the  pecuniary  burden  on  the  giver,  would 
justify  the  exterminating,  or  torturing,  or  mutilating  the 
pauper  class.  This  is  firom  first  to  last  a  fiUse  lega- 
tion. 

In  labouring  to  establish  the  superiority  of  small 
farms,  Mr.  Laing  shows  the  cooperative  system  at 
work  in  Italy  and  in  Switzerland,  wherever  it  is  re- 
quired, as  in  the  dairy-farms,  and  also  wherever  it 
can  be  beneficially  employed.  Thus  the  Swiss  and 
Italian  cheeses,  the  Parmesan  or  Gniyere,  sent  to 
market  by  the  peasant-proprietors^  are  as  large  as 
those  cheeses  sent  to  market  by  the  fanners  of  Che- 
shire, paying  £200  or  £300  of  rent,  and  having  fifty 
milch  cows  in  their  meadows  :— 

In  Switzerland  each  parish  has  its  Alp,  that  is,  its 
common  pasture  for  the  cows  of  the  parish — ^which  is  the 
proper  meaning  of  the  word  Alp — and  each  inhabitant 
is  entitled  to  a  cow's  grating,  or  half  a  cow's  grazing, 
from  June  to  October,  on  this  common  pasture.  These 
grazing  rights  are  highly  prized,  for  the  Swiss  peasant 


is  extravagantly  fond  of  his  cow.  To  pass  a  winter  with- 
out a  cow  to  care  for,  would  be  a  heavy  life  to  him. 

On  these  common  mountain  grazings,  the  cheese 
is  made  by  the  herdsman  hired  by  the  owners  of 
the  cows  ;  who  keeps  a  r^;ular  account  of  the  milk 
yielded  by  each  animal  to  the  common  stock,  and, 
after  the  cheese  is  sold,  divides  the  price  by  this 
rule: — 

When  we  find  this,  which  of  all  operations  in  husbandry 
seems  most  to  require  one  laige  stock,  and  one  lai;^ 
capital  applied  to  it,  so  easily  accomplished  by  the  w^- 
understood  cooperation  of  sBiall  fiurmers,  it  is  idle  to 
argue  that  draining,  or  irrigation,  or  liming,  or  fencing, 
or  manuring,  or  any  operation  whatsoever  in  filming,  to 
which  large  capital  is  required,  cannot  be  accompli^bed 
also  by  enmll  fumen — ^not  small  tenant-fitrmers,  but 
small  proprietor-farmers,  like  the  Swiss.    .... 

I  went  one  warm  forenoon  while  ascending  the  Rhigi 
into  one  of  these  dairy  houses.  From  the  want  of  dairy- 
maids or  females  about  the  place,  and  the  appearance  of 
the  cow-man  and  his  boys,  I  thought  it  prudent  to  sit 
down  on  the  bench  outside  of  the  smoky  dwelling  room, 
and  to  ask  for  a  bowl  of  milk  there.  It  was  brought  rae 
in  a  remarkably  clean  wooden  bowl,  and  I  had  some 
curiosity,  when,  clean  or  dirty,  my  milk  was  swallowed, 
to  see  where  it  came  from.  The  man  took  me  to  a  sepa- 
rate  wooden  building ;  and  instead  of  the  disgusting  dirt 
and  sluttishness  I  had  expected,  I  found  the  most  unpre- 
tending cleanliness  in  this  rough  milk  room — ^nothing 
was  in  it  but  the  wooden  vessels  belonging  to  the  dairy ; 
but  these  were  of  unexceptionable  nicety ;  and  all  thrae 
holding  the  milk  were  standing  in  a  broad  rill  of  water 
led  from  the  neighbouring  bum,  and  rippling  through  Ihe 
centre  of  the  room,  and  prevented  by  a  little  side  sluice 
from  running  too  frill,  and  mingling  with  the  milk.  This 
bum  running  through  gave  a  freshness  and  cleanliness 
to  every  article;  although  the  whole  was  of  mde  eon- 
stmction,  and  evidently  for  use,  not  show.  The  cows 
were  stabled,  I  found,  at  some  distance  from  the  milk- 
house,  that  the  effluvia  of  their  breath  and  dung  might 
not  taint  the  milk.  Cheese  is  almost  the  only  agricul- 
tural product  of  Switzerland  that  is  exported ;  and  it  is 
manufiskctured  by  these  small  farmers  certainly  as  well, 
vrith  as  much  intelligence,  cleanliness,  and  advantage,  as 
by  large  formers. 

The  peculiar  feature  in  the  condition  of  the  Swiss 
population— the  great  charm  of  Switzerland,  next  to  its 
natural  scenery — ^is  the  air  of  wellbeing,  the  neatness, 
the  sense  of  property  imprinted  on  the  people,  their 
dwellings,  their  plots  of  land.  They  have  a  kind  of 
Robinson  Crusoe  industry  about  their  houses  and  little 
properties;  they  are  perpetually  building,  repairing, 
altering,  or  improving  something  about  their  tenements. 
Hie  spirit  of  the  proprietor  is  not  to  be  mistaken  in  all 
that  one  sees  in  Switzerland.  Some  cottages,  for  instance, 
are  adorned  with  long  texts  from  Scripture  painted  on 
or  burnt  into  tiie  wo<^  in  front  over  the  door ;  others, 
especially  in  the  Simmenthal  and  the  Haslethal,  with 
the  pedigree  of  the  builder  and  owner.  These  show, 
sometimes,  that  the  property  has  been  held  for  200  yeajv 
by  the  same  family.  The  modem  taste  of  the  proprietor 
shows  itself  in  new  windows,  or  additions  to  the  old 
origmal  picturesque  dwelling,  which,  with  its  immense 
projecting  roof  sheltering  or  shading  all  these  successive 
little  ad<&tions,  looks  like  a  hen  sitting  with  a  brood  of 
chickens  under  her  wings.  The  little  spots  of  land,  each 
close  no  bigger  than  a  garden,  show  the  same  daily  care 
in  the  fencing,  digging,  weeding,  and  watering. 

Look  at  these  things,  or  at  the  boors  of  Norway, 
— contrast  with  theirs,  the  condition  of  the  smidl 
farmers  and  peasantry  of  Ireland,  or  that  of  the 
agricultural  labourers  on  the  best,  and  largest,  and 
highest-rented,  and  most  productive  farms  of  Nor- 
folk, Berwickdiire,  or  East  Lothian,  and  say  on 
which  side  inclines  the  right  ?  But  ail  the  women 
take  their  part  in  field-work  in  Switzerland,  pmn- 


LAING'S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


177 


tog,  bindings  and  tending  ihe  vines,  and  assuming 
eren  eoaraer  tasks.  Now,  refined  English  feeling, 
which  can  see  a  poor  ill-fed,  ill-clotiied  woman, 
toiling  and  sweating  a  whole  day  over  a  wash-tub, 
ii  shocked  at  her  hoeing  turnips  or  potatoes  under 
the  hbe  vault  of  heaven,  instead  of  scrubbing  them 
in  the  back  kitchen.  The  laborious  out-door  em- 
plojnients  of  the  Swiss  and  French  women,  (on 
their  own  land,  be  it  remembered,)  even  when  their 
hnflbands  or  fathers  are  substantial  proprietors, 
i^ipear  to  have  no  ill  effects  upon  their  manners, 
but  the  very  reverse : — 

Feaales,  both  in  Fraace  and  Switseriand,  appear  to 
bftfe  a  hr  more  important  r61e  in  the  &mily,  among  the 
Ifwer  tad  middle  elasees,  than  with  us.  The  female, 
ahho«^  not  exempt  flrom  ont-door  woi^  and  even  hard 
vwk,  undertakes  the  thinking  and  managing  department 
IB  the  flmilx  affiurs,  and  the  husband  is  but  the  executiTO 
«ieer.  The  female  is,  in  &ot,  very  remarkably  superior 
11  oaimMB,  habits,  tact,uid  uitelligenoe,  to  the  husband, 
ia  aiaost  erery  fSuaily  in  the  midSe  or  lower  classes  in 
Svitieriand.  One  is  surprised  to  see  the  wife  of  such 
food,  eTen  genteel  manners,  and  sonnd  sense,  and  alto- 
gether soch  a  superior  person  to  her  station;  and  the 
InilMuid  Tery  often  a  mere  lout.  The  hen  is  the  better 
bod  lU  oTer  Switzerland.  This  is,  perhaps,  an  effect  of 
tbe  nilitary  or  servile  employments  of  a  great  proportion 
of  the  male  population  during  youth,  and  of  the  mercen- 
vj  spirit  too  prevalent  in  Switzerland.  In  France,  also, 
the  female  takes  her  Aill  share  of  business  with  the  male 
pert  of  the  fiunily,  in  keeping  accounts,  and  books,  and 
KWag  goods,  and  in  both  countries  occupies  a  higher 
ud  more  rational  social  position  certainly  than  with  us. 
lUi  seems  to  be  the  effect  of  the  distribution  of  property, 
bj  which  the  female  has  her  share  and  interest,  as  well 
u  the  male ;  and  grows  up  with  the  same  personal  in- 
terest and  sense  of  property  in  all  around  her. 

On  this  subject  we  have  outrun  our  author. 
Whfle  he  was  still  in  Prance,  we  have  overshot 
Mm  into  Switzerland  and  Italy. 

The  successor  to  the  aristocracy  and  the  clergy, 
sweptaway  by  the  Revolution,  which  (for  political 
parpoees)  the  government  of  France  has  found — ^that 
oew  power  which  in  this  country  is  termed  official 
pfttionage,and  which  Mr  Laing calls Functionarism, 
b  tiBced  in  ita  rise,  and  to  its  probable  ultimate 
oooiequences. 

^medanarumy  a  system  begun  by  Napoleon,  and 
Offried  out  by  Louis  Philippe,  spreading  over  the 
whole  continental  states,  (being  nowhere  more 
actirely  progreadve  than  in  Russia,  though  there 
wearing  a  military  guise,)  and  even  reaching  to  Bri- 
tain, where  the  late  Whig  government  showed  itself 
deeply  enamoured  of  centralization,  is  examined  at 
nne  length  by  Mr  Laing ;  who  re^rds  it  as  an  invi- 
^ons  and  dangerous  principle  in  governments.  In- 
W  hereststhesuperiority  whichhe  claims  for  Eng- 
land and  Englishmen,  on  the  absence  of  the  syste- 
ouitized  interference  of  the  continental  governments 
in  ererything  that  affects  the  public,  and  even  the 
iitdiridnal ;  and  which  leaves  nothing  in  police,  in 
^^iKation,  or  in  religion,  in  the  hands  of  the  people 
V)  dolor  themselves.  Illustrating  the  Functionary 
"Ji^of  France,  where  it  is  carried  to  the  greatest 
P^'fe^tion,  by  a  comparison  between  the  department 
of  the  Indre  and  Loire,  and  the  Scottish  county  of 
Ayr,  he  shows  that,  with  a  population  twice  as  large 
as  that  of  Ayrshire,  that  French  department  has 
378/xaftifianetionaries,  or  one  to  every  230  persons; 
whereas  Aynhire  haa  only  21  altogether.     Truly 


the  French  government  must  be  rooted  in  the  hearts 
of  a  very  considerable  part  of  the  population,  when 
together  with  the  paid  functionaries,  their  relatives 
and  connexions,  and  the  expectants  of  office,  are 
taken  into  account. 

The  passage  we  are  about  to  cite,  appean  to 
us  one  of  the  most  weighty  in  these  Notes,  if  we 
except  the  strictures  on  the  craze  which  lately  took 
possession  of  so  many  intelligent  and  liberal  per- 
sons  at  home,  for  the  introduction  of  the  French 
and  Prussian  systems  of  forced,  national  education 
among  us ;  a  temporary  craze  which  made  us  even 
welcome  the  bigotry  of  the  established  clergy,  and 
the  jealousy  of  the  dissenters,  as  obstacles  thrown 
in  the  headlong  way  of  such  a  measure,  until  people 
had  got  time  to  recover  their  senses :— - 

In  the  ratio  of  the  population  189  paid  functionaries 
in  France  live  upon  the  public,  by  doing  the  duties  which, 
at  the  utmost,  from  30  to  35  paid  ftmctionaries  live  by 
doing  in  Scotbind.  The  effects  upon  the  socisd  condition 
of  a  people  of  the  two  distinct  principles — that  of  doing 
everything  for  the  people  by  paid  ftinctionaries,  and 
government  management,  in  a  system  of  perfect  centrali- 
zation— and  that  of  doing  everything  for  the  people  by 
the  people  themselves,  and  with  as  Uttle  as  possible  of 
government  agency — ^have  never  been  satisfactorily  ex- 
amined by  our  political  philosophers.  We  have  tirades 
enough  against  the  abuse  of  power  in  the  hands  of  the 
unpaid  magistracy  of  England,  and  examples  enough  of 
the  abuse ;  but  we  have  no  impartial  judgment  given  on 
the  advantagesand  disadvantages  of  the  sy8tem,compared 
to  that  of  a  paid  body  of  judicial  functionaries.  Lord 
Brougham  has  frequently  insisted  on  the  great  social 
benefit  of  bringing  cheap  law  and  justice  home  to  every 
man's  fireside  ;  but  that  great  political  philosopher  has 
never  stated  what  this  cheap  law  and  justice  would  cost. 
The  financial  cost  is  not  the  principal  or  important  cost  in 
a  system  of  extensive  ftanctionarism,  but  the  moral  cost, 
the  deteriorating  influence  of  the  system  on  the  industry, 
habits,  and  monil  condition  of  the  people.  We  see  a 
tendency  in  our  most  enlightened  and  liberal  statesmen 
— ^which  is  only  held  in  check  by  the  financial  cost  of 
indulging  it — to  centralize  in  the  hands  of  government 
much  of  the  public  business,  the  local  magistracy  and 
police,  the  prosecution  of  offences,  the  care  of  the  poor, 
the  support  of  high  roads,  the  education  of  the  people, 
instead  of  leaving  these  duties  to  be,  as  heretofore,  per- 
formed by  tiie  people  for  themselves. 

The  effects  of  I\mcii<marism,  and  Centralization^ 
of  doing  all  for  the  people,  assuming  them  to  be 
incapable  of  doing  anything  for  themselves,  is 
shown  in  their  visible  efiPects  on  the  continental 
communities ;  in  their  effects  on  civil  liberty,  and 
upon  morals  and  national  character.  The  mind  of 
those  well-educated  Germans,  **  bred  among  the 
slavish  institutions  of  Germany,"  is  here  pronoun- 
ced to  be  "  itself  slavish :" — 

The  political  conceptions  of  the  German  mind,  as 
expressed  at  least  in  writings  or  couTcrsation,  are,  in 
general,  either  abject  to  the  last  degree,  or  extravagant 
to  the  last  degree — the  conceptions  of  slaves,  or  of  slaves 
run  mad  ;  both  equally  distant  frt>m  the  sober,  rational 
speculations  and  conclusions  of  f^ee  men,  on  the  subject 
of  their  political  and  ciril  liberties. 

Mr  Laing  carries  this  so  far  as  to  doubt  whe- 
ther 

The  Popish  church,  in  the  darkest  period  of  ihe  middle 
ages,  abstracted  so  many  people,  and  so  much  ei^ital 
from  the  paths  and  employments  of  productive  industry, 
as  the  ciril  and  military  establishments  of  the  continental 
governments  do  at  the  present  day  in  France  and  Ger- 
many. The  means  also  of  obtaining  a  livelihood  in 
monkish  or  clerical  function  were  less  demoralizing  to 


m 


tAINffS  NOTES  Of  A  TRAVELtfiR 


the  pnblie  mind  and  spirit ;  ftr  foma  kind  of  intellectnal 
ioperiority,  or  self-denial,  or  sacriflee,  was  required,  and 
pot  merely,  as  in  Ainctionarism,  barefaced  patronage. 

He  contrasts  this  tribe  of  idle,  listless  expec- 
tants, and  corrupt  and  subservient  paid  function- 
fmea  with  the  sturdy-minded,  industrious  English- 
pian  who— 

Toils  and  slaves  at  bis  trade,  to  beoome  some  day  aa 
independent  man,  to  be  beholden  to  no  one,  to  be  master 
of  bis  own  time  and  actions,  to  be  a  ftree  agent  individu- 
ally, acting  and  thinking  for  himself,  both  in  his  private 
and,  if  he  has  any,  in  his  public  capacity  or  bnsiniMS. 
7o  this  end  he  brings  np  his  sons,  and  puts  them  out  in 
the  world  with  a  trade,  and  with  capital,  if  he  has  any, 
to  attain  this  end.  The  dependence  upon  others  for  a 
living,  the  subserviency  and  seeking  for  favour,  inherent 
In  a  functionary  career,  do  not  come  within  his  sphere 
of  action.  A  living  by  productive  industry  is,  generally 
speaking,  far  more  certain,  and  more  easily  obtained  in 
bur  social  system,  in  which  military,  clerical,  and  legal 
(hnctions  under  government  patronage,  and  a  living  in 
either  of  those  branches  of  public  employment,  are  rare, 
and  altogether  out  of  reach  and  out  of  sight  of  the  middle 
classes  in  general,  forming  no  ol^ect  to  the  great  mass 
of  the  industrialist-class  to  breed  up  their  sons  to.  This 
is  the  great  moral  basis  on  which  the  national  wealth, 
industry,  and  character  of  the  English  people  rest ;  and 
Is  the  only  basis  which  can  uphold  real  liberty  in  a 
country,  or  a  social  state,  in  which  civil  liberty,  as  well 
as  political,  tree  agency  in  private  life,  as  well  as  free 
constitutional  forms  of  government,  can  exist.  The  Ger- 
mans and  French  never  can  be  free  people,  nor  very 
industrious,  very  wealthy  nations,  with  their  present 
social  economy — ^with  their  armies  of  functionaries  in 
civil  employments,  extending  the  desire  and  the  means 
among  the  classes  who  ought  to  rely  upon  their  own 
independent  industry  in  the  paths  of  trade  and  manu- 
fkcture,  of  earning  a  living  in  public  fiinction  by  other 
means  than  their  own  productive  industry. 
.  The  passport  system,  and  the  police  regulations, 
all  oTerthe  continent,  where  (as  in  France)  a  man 
must  get  a  passport  duly  signed  to  enable  hirrf  to 
more  off  a  few  miles  to  exercise  the  franchise  he 
is  said  to  enjoy,  is  justly  deaeribed  as  the  carioa- 
tme  of  liberty  :  as  Liberty  in  chains,  her  charter  in 
her  hand  and  manacles  on  her  feet. 

The  police  of  the  country,  the  security  of  person  and 
property,  are,  it  is  alleged,  better  provided  for  by  this 
governmental  surveillance  over,  and  interference  in  all 
individual  movement.  The  same  argument  would  justify 
the  locking  up  the  population  every  night  in  public  jails, 
(stood  police,  and  the  security  of  person  and  property, 
however  valuable  in  society,  are  fiur  too  dearly  paid  for 
by  the  sacrifice  of  private  free  agency  involved  in  this 
nltra^precautionary  social  economy.  The  moral  sense  of 
right,  and  the  individual  independence  of  judgment  in 
eondnot,  are  superseded  by  this  conventional  duty  of 
obedience  to  office.  M«a  lose  the  sentiment  of  what  is 
due  to  themselves  by  others,  and  to  others  by  themselves; 
and  lose  the  sense  of  moral  rectitude,  and  the  habit  of 
applying  it  to  actions.  A  Frenchman  or  German  would 
not  think  himself  entitled  to  act  upon  his  own  judgment 
and  sense  of  right,  and  refuse  obedience  to  an  order  of  a 
Superior,  if  it  were  morally  wrong;  nor  would  the  public 
feeling,  as  m  England,  go  along  with,  and  justify  the 
Individual  who,  on  his  own  sense  of  right  and  wrong, 
refhsed  to  be  an  instrument  of,  or  party  to,  any  act  not 
appioved  of  by  his  moral  sense.  The  spirit  of  subordi- 
nation and  implicit  obedience,  which  we  isolate  aad 
confine  entirely  to  military  service,  enters  on  the  continent 
Into  civil  life.  The  scenes  of  bloodshed  in  France,  under 
Ihe  revolutionary  government,  could  neter  have  taken 
place  amone  a  people  bred  up  in  the  habits  of  moral  free 
agency,  and  of  reflecting  independence  of  individual 
Judgment  on  action.  The  instruments  would  have  been 
Granting  in  the  tribunals.  The  general  moral  sense  would 
hMm  opposed  the  enaotmetit  or  fulfilment  of  such  decrees. 


The  non-interference  of  govehnnettt  in  onr  soeial  eeo- 
nomy  with  individual  free-agency,  and  the  intense  re^ 
pugnance  and  opposition  to  every  attempt  at  such  inter- 
ference with  the  individual's  rights  of  thinking  and  acting, 
have  developed  a  more  independent  movement  of  the 
moral  sense  among  the  English  people  than  among  the 
oontinentaL  It  is  fiieir  distinguished  national  character- 
istic. The  individual  Englishman,  the  most  rude  and 
uncivilized  in  manners,  the  most  depraved  in  habits,  the 
most  ignorant  in  reading,  writing,  and  religious  know- 
ledge ;  standing  but  too  often  lower  than  the  lowest  of 
other  nations  on  all  these  points ;  will  yet  be  ftrand  a 
man  wonderfully  distinct  and  tsa  above  the  educated 
continental  man  of  a  much  higher  class,  in  bis  moral 
discrimination  of  the  right  or  wrong  in  human  action ;  far 
more  decidedly  aware  of  his  dvil  rights  as  a  member  of 
society,  and  judging  far  more  acutely  of  what  he  terms 
fkir  play,  or  of  what  is  due  to  himself,  and  by  himself,  ia 
all  pubUc  or  private  relations  or  actions.  It  is  the  total 
absence  of  government  interference,  by  superintendence 
and  ftanotionaries,  ia  the  stream  of  private  aetivit/and 
industry,  that  has  developed,  in  a  remarkable  degree, 
this  spirit  of  self-government,  and  the  influence  of  the 
moral  sense  on  action  among  the  English.  It  is  their 
education.  We  may  call  them  uneducated,  beeause  they 
cuinot  read  and  write  so  generally  as  the  Scotch,  the 
French,  or  the  Prussian  people;  but  as  men  and  citiseu 
they  have  received  a  practical  education,  from  ttie  nature 
of  their  social  arrangements,  of  a  for  higher  kind  tad 
value  than  the  French,  the  Prussian,  or  even  the  Scotch 
can  lay  claim  to.  They  are  i^r  more  independent  monl 
agents  in  public  and  private  affairs. 

In  France  and  Pnissia,  the  state,  by  the  system  of 
ftmctionarism,  stepped  into  the  shoes  of  the  feudal  baton 
on  the  abolition  of  the  feudal  system  ;  and  he  who  was 
the  vassal,  and  now  calls  himself  the  citizen,  is,  in  fkct, 
as  much  restrained  in  his  civil  liberty,  and  free-agency 
as  a  moral  self-acting  member  of  society,  by  state  enact- 
ments, superfluous  legislation,  and  the  government-spirit 
of  intermeddling  by  its  ftinctionaries  in  all  things,  as  he 
was  before  by  Ms  feudal  lords.  The  physical  condition 
of  the  people  of  tiiose  countries  has,  beyond  all  doubt, 
been  improved  by  the  general  diffusion  of  property 
through  the  social  mass,  and  has  advanced  to  a  higher 
state  of  wellbeing  and  comfort  than  with  us  ;  but  their 
civil  and  moral  condition  has  not  kept  pace  and  advanced 
with  it. 

A  great  deal  is  heard  in  this  country  of  the  social 
wellbeing  of  the  people  of  Prussia,  which  is  at 
once  ascribed  to  their  compulsory  education  by  the 
State,  and  to  the  paternal  character  of  the  govern- 
ment. Here  the  comfort  of  the  people  is  ascribed 
to  a  very  different  cause :  to  the  liberal  and  wise 
policy  of  Hardenberg  ;  to  the  emancipation  of  the 
peasantry,  and  to  the  numerous  body  of  small 
hereditary  occupiers,  who  paid  in  vassal  labour  for 
the  patches  of  ground  which  they  held,  having  been 
converted  into  absplute  and  free  proprietors.  When 
the  many  commons  of  England  were  bit  by  bit 
divided,  no  merciful  and  wise  provision  of  thb  sort 
was  ever  thought  of :  they  have  all  been  swallowed 
up  in  estates  already  overgrown,  and  those  who 
profited  by  them,  driven  to  the  parish  or  the  fac- 
tory. The  measure  of  Hardenberg  did  peacefully 
for  Prussia  much  that  a  bloody  revolution  accom- 
plished for  France.  "  It  gave  property,  wellbeing, 
and  comfort,  to  a  population  of  serfs. 

It  gave  them  no  political  liberty,  though  end 
main  instrument  in  acquiring  it, — when  they  shall 
one  day  become  impatient  of  having  all  done  fot 
them  that  b  done,  and  desire  to  do  something  fof 
themselves. 

We  must  omit  all  notice  of  the  able  stricture^ 
on  ihe  inilitary  organixation  of  Pni6«%  and  tht 


LAmG*S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


\n 


poHtkal  proipects  of  tliat  country ;  which  are  not, 
According  to  oar  author,  satisfactory.  Mr  Laing's 
fiew  of  the  policy  of  England  in  relation  to  this 
and  tbt  other  continental  States  is  more  important ; 
tnd  it  is  clear  and  decided.  It  is  also,  we  are  happy 
to  believe,  the  only  view  which  will  now  be  toler- 
ttedtmong  us. 

ne  day  is  past  when  an  English  ministry,  howerer 
eOBMmtire,  eoald  Tentnre  to  propose  to  the  conntry  to 
jait  a  d«p«tie  state  in  subjugating  Poland,  or  in  repress- 
ing the  eztensioa  of  constitntional  representatire  go- 
Ttnimt  orer  an  anligbteaed,  mannfiujtnring,  and  oom- 
■tfdal  popolation  en  the  Rhine.  The  aggrandisement 
if  Fnoce  by  sneh  an  aocession  of  territory  and  people  is 
»  bngbeir  which,  in  the  present  age,  would  not  mislead 
the  eommonsense  of  England  ;  because  it  would  be  an 
leMMn  ef  the  elements  of  peace,  industry,  manufkc- 
tim,  and  power,  ia  the  pubtio  ai&urs  of  France,  lodged 
a  tht  hands  of  an  enUghtened,  iadustrious,  peaceful 
puliation— not  an  accession  of  warlike  spirit  and  means; 
i&d  is  at  any  rate  an  aggrandisement  in  no  way  affecting 
Eiglish  interests  or  honour.  England  can  only  be  a 
libtr^if  ettry  population,  from  the  White  Sea  to  the 
StaUB  of  CKbraltar,  were  to  giTS  themseWes  free  insti- 
titiias,  dvil  and  politiaal  libtoty,  inflnenoe  of  the  publio 
fw  pahHo  afkirs,  and  the  power  of  restraining  their 
nkn  from  wars  and  oppresnon. 

Td  dislike  such  aggrandizement  is  one  thing :  to 
excite  John  Bull  to  ruin  himself  afresh,  in  order 
to  maintain  ^  the  balance  of  Europe,"  that  ancient 
^tsam  which  baa  cost  industrious  England  so 
nrach  blood  and  treasure,  and  involved  her  in  debt 
ud  taxation,  is  now  beyond  the  power  of  Govern* 

MDts. 

The  Qerman  Commercial  Leagtle  reoeiree  the 

lagtheued  attention  from  Mr  Laing,  which  he  must 

tt&ceira  due  to  that  remarkable  social  movement, 

vhich,  he  considers,  in  its  resultsy  likely  to  be  the 

BNt  important  and  interestii^  event  of  this  half 

oittQiy.    And  yet,  of  these  results,  he  does  not 

wm  to  have  any  very  definite  idea,  save  that  they 

But  ultimately  overturn  the  aristocratic  principle 

if  the  Prussian  Grovemment :  manufacturing  and 

•nmcrsiai  freedom  and  prosperity  being  inoom- 

Pitible  with  an  Irresponsible  government,  acting 

t»j  edicts,  through  mere  functionaries,  who  know 

nothing  of  manufiacturing  interests,  have  no  sym- 

psthy  with  them,  are  incapable  of  legislating  for 

*an,  btit  will  not  let  them  alone.    The  principle  of 

tte  League  does  not,  it  is  whispered,  rise  in  favour 

*ith  tiie  Government,  while  the  internal  state  of 

^  OQUBtry  makea  it  rather  a  League  upon  paper 

^  IB  spirit  or  practical  efficacy  :  a  something  to 

ptoiper  German  imaginations,  and  to  talk  big 

^t   At  all  events,  our  traveller  sees  nothing  in 

tite  Uague  to  alarm  or  excite  the  jealous  fears  of 

^(tgliad.    In  the  first  place,  the  different  mem- 

^  rf  the  League  are  not  bound  together  **  by  ma- 

*^  interests  common  to  all."  In  the  next  place, 

^^  eiist  many  natural  obstacles^  although  such 

M  sn  artifieialor  conventional  were  removed.  The 

S^^^M  Baturai  obetaole  alleged  is  that  sameness  of 

«ftWtettal  productions  In  a  vast  extent  of  territory, 

'T^jiedudes  the  exchange  of  industry  for  indua- 

^»aadihag  prevents  mutual  dependence.    This 

Mr.Uing^otisidewae 

1-Jj^deJhet ^aUeh  no  Uagud  HA  remedy.    The  com  and 
~fy5**^  popul^^  instance,  in  the  easier 


wihWfljmlaipopuUtions, 
L«nhflfG«fBiay,harenow 


natural  connexion  whatsoetet 


with  the  manufkcturing  or  wine  growing  populations  in 
the  west  or  south.  The  latter  produce  in  sufficient  abun- 
dance their  own  com,  timber^  flax,  and  have  no  natural 
demand  for  the  products  of  the  former  ;  and  the  fomier 
can  f&r  more  easily  and  profitably,  and  therefore  more 
naturally,  supply  their  wants  of  manufactured  goods,  or 
of  wines,  fr^m  England,  Belgium,  and  France,  which  take 
in  return  the  only  products  they  have,  com,  timber,  flax» 
than  from  the  proTinces  of  Grermany  on  the  Bhine,  or 
ftt>m  Saxony  or  Silesia,  by  an  expensive  and  uncertain 
land  or  rirer  carriage,  not  open  seven  months  in  the  year, 
and  without  retour  ca{riage  tot  the  carriers,  and  without 
any  reciprocal  market  for  their  own  products.  There  is 
in  readity  no  common  interests  between  the  parts,  to  unite 
them  into  one  country.  They  are  one  only  in  name,  or, 
as  in  the  Prussian  domini<ms,  in  a  political  junction  under 
one  government,  but  have  no  real  and  natural  union  of 
material  interests.  The  populations  on  the  banks  of  the 
Thames  and  of  the  Ganges  are  muoh  more  efficiently  and 
truly  united  into  one  nation  by  their  material  interests^ 
than  the  populations  on  the  Vistula  or  Niemen  with  those 
on  the  Bhine  or  Moselle. 

But  we  need  not  pursue  hypothetical  reason^ 
ing  upon  a  great  experiment,  whidi  ia  still  in  ita 
infancy,  and  the  entire  character  of  which  may  be 
changed  or  greatly  modified  by  the  policy  which 
England  shall  adopt  r^arding  the  com,  meat,  and 
timber  duties,  and  restrictions.  In  discussing  the 
same  topic  in  another  section  of  the  volume,  Mr» 
Laing  says, — **  It  is  only  one  article  of  agricultural 
produce— com,  that  England  buys  or  needs :"  and 
henoe  he  argues,  that  the  isolated  demand  could 
have  little  effect  in  improving  the  husbandry  of  th^ 
continent.  But  wetake  it, that Englandneeds many 
articles,  and  some  of  them  almost  as  urgently  as 
com  itself :  she  needs,  beef,  mutton,  butter,  cheese^ 
tallow,  seeds,  flax,  wool,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  poul- 
try and  the  lesser  matters  of  vegetables  and  fruits 
— ^in  short,  every  article  of  exportable  farm  produce. 
Again^  when  he  contends  that  the  Germans  will 
never,  under  any  change  of  circumstances,  become 
customers  to  either  home  or  English  manu^turere^ 
because  their  clothing  is  now,  and  always  has 
been,  a  domestic  manufacture,  for  which  they 
have  abimdant  leisure,  we  may  reply,  that  the  self- 
same reasoning  would  have  equaUy  applied  to 
Scotland  only  fifty  or  fewer  years  wnce ;  yet  whatis 
the  fact  now  ?  Even  in  such  localities  as  Shet* 
land,  Orkney,  and  the  Hebrides,  the  spinnings 
wheel  and  the  small  loom  are  completely  at  rest, 
and  it  is  found  better  to  apply  to  Glasgow  and 
Cralashiels  Itur  clothing,  than  continue  domestic 
manufactures,  for  which  there  is  stiU  leisure. 
The  habit  of  home  manufacture  was  as  deeply 
rooted  in  Scotland  then,  as  it  appears  to  be  in  Ger- 
many now  ;  and  yet  we  have  even  in  one  generation 
witnessed  a  great  revolution  in  domestic  economy 
co-existent  with  the  most  rapid  improvements  in 
husbandry.  Are  the  young  men  and  young  women 
of  Germany  never  to  acquire  a  taste  for  finer  and 
better  manufactured  fabrics  than  those  worn  by 
their  homdy  ancestors  ?  Is  there  to  be  no  demand 
for  Manchester  chintaes,  Paideyshawls,  and  Spittol* 
fields  silks  among  them  ?  Every  argument  which 
Mr.  Laing  has  employed  to  refute  the  expectation! 
of  Mr.  Jacob  and  Dr.  Bowring,  whether  of  cli- 
nittte,  custom,  or  habit,  would  equally  have  implied 
to  Canada,  New  England,  and  Pennsylvania ;  and 
yet  among  tiXL  the»e  populations  there  is  a  derirt 


180 


LAING'S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


for  the  finer  articles  of  English  manufacture,  which 
is  only  checked  hy  inability  to  gratify  it,  as  our 
Com  Laws  forbid  free  exchanges.  But  it  is  only 
fair  to  let  Mr.  Laing  speak  on  this  point  for  him- 
self. 

It  is  the  opinion  of  some  of  our  most  eminent  political 
economists,  of  Mr.  Jacob,  Dr.  Bowring,  and  other  able 
writers  who  have  eig'oyed  the  best  opportunities  of  be- 
coming correctly  and  officially  acquainted  with  the  state 
of  the  continent,  and  from  whose  opinions,  therefore,  the 
ordinary  trayeller  dissents  with  ^n^eat  diffidence,  that 
the  abolition  of  our  com  laws  will  make  these  twenty-six 
millions  of  people,  whose  industrial  product — com,  we 
would  purchase,  become  in  return  great  consumers  of  our 
industrial  product — manufactured  goods.  This  is  a  de- 
lusion of  these  distinguished  political  economists,  arising 
from  their  applying  ideas  taken  from  our  English  social 
economy,  state  of  property  and  of  labour,  to  a  state  and 
system  of  society  existing  on  totally  different  principles. 
The  mass  of  those  twenty-six  millions  baring,  each  fiunily 
within  itself,  land,  labour,  leisure,  and  the  inretente 
custom  to  proride  their  own  food,  clothing,  necessaries, 
and  luxuries  by  their  own  work ;  and  being  moreorer 
during  the  winter  half-year  under  the  physical  impossi- 
bility of  doing  any  reguUr  out-door  agricultural  work, 
would  spin,  weave,  and  clothe  themselves  by  their  own 
household  industry  as  before,  and  buy  no  more  of  our 
manufiustures  than  they  do  now.  A  change  in  those 
habits  of  a  people  which  are  rooted  in  their  social  eco- 
nomy, in  the  distribution  of  their  property,  the  occupa- 
tion of  their  soil,  the  nature  of  their  country  and  climate, 
the  institutions  and  arrangements  of  their  governments, 
cannot  be  produced  by  any  influences  ftt>m  without. .  .  . 
It  is  quite  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  they  would 
take  our  manufactures  to  the  prejudice  of  their  own, 
because  we  take  com  from  the  banks  of  the  Vistula  ;  a 
country  vrith  which  they  have  no  natural  community  of 
interests ;  with  which  they  have  no  connexion,  unless 
on  paper. 

This  may  be  unreasonable  ;  but  surely  it  is  not 
unreasonable  to  assume  that  tfiey  will  take  manu- 
factured goods  where  they  can  obtain  them  best 
and  cheapest;  and  also  that  the  agricultural  popu- 
lation of  the  regions  of  the  Vistula  will  be  more 
attracted  to  their  com  customers  in  Britain,  than 
to  those  with  whom  they  have  only  "  a  connexion 
on  paper."  No  one  has  more  entire  faith  in  the 
great  superiority  of  our  manufacturing  powers,  and 
natural  and  acquired  adaptation  for  their  employ- 
ment, than  Mr.  Laing.  He,  indeed,  scouts  the  very 
Idea  of  rivalship,  and  thinks  the  danger  of  manu- 
facturing capital  withdrawing  itself  to  the  conti- 
nent, under  the  pressure  of  the  Com  Laws,  an  idle 
fear,  or  a  vain  threat.  This  comes  strongly  out  in 
his  notes  on  the  Com  Law  question,  which  notes  at 
first  sight,  involve  some  fallacies  and  inconsisten- 
cies. 

To  pass  to  another  topic : — kir.  Laing  broaches 
an  opinion  which  many  will  dispute,  though  he 
supports  it  ingeniously,  namely,  that  the  entire 
burthen  of  tithe  falls  wholly  and  solely  upon  the 
agricultural  labourer;  and  Ws  deduction  is — 

When  the  English  landlords  complain  of  their  poor- 
rate,  they  forget  that  the  object  of  it,  the  poor  man,  has 
been  paying  all  his  life  a  much  hearier  rich-rate  for 
them— viz.  one  tenth  of  his  time  and  labour,  for  the 
support  of  a  church  establishment  to  which  the  landlords 
and  fiirmers  contribute  none  of  thehr  ovm  property ;  and 
that  he  would  not  be  upon  the  poor-rate,  if  he  had  re- 
ceived all  his  lif«»,  wages  for  all  that  his  time  and  labour 
produced,  instead  of  working  one  day  in  ten  for  no  wages. 
Now  this  artificial  and  evil  arrangement  in  our  social 
system,  which  reduces  to  misery  and  to  the  rices  asso- 


ciated with  hopeless  misery,  both  the  agricultural  and 
manufacturing  classes  of  labourers,  will  be  gradually 
and  imperceptibly  remedied,  in  the  long  mn,  by  the 
abolition  of  the  com  laws.  This  vrill  be  the  tnie  uid 
beneficial  effect  of  the  measure.  It  will  bring  about  a 
natural  equilibrium  between  all  kinds  of  labour,  by  re- 
storing agricultural  labour  to  its  just  position  of  having 
no  peculiar  tax,  such  as  that  of  tithe,  thrown  upon  it 
alone  ;  and,  by  removing  this  pressure,  vrill  reUeve  the 
manufacturing  labour-market  from  that  forced  influx 
into  it  which  is  ^e  true  cause  of  the  low  physical  and 
moral  condition  to  which  the  manufSftcturing  operative 
class  is  reduced. 

Having  established  the  equal,  or  rather  the 
superior  productiveness  of  small  to  lai^ge  farms, 
and  the  principle  of  rents  in  kind  instead  of  money- 
rents, — ^which  he  says  is  in  reality  making  the  fei- 
mer  an  underwriter,  standing  under  the  double 
risk  of  seasons,  for  his  landlord's  share  of  what  the 
land  produces  as  well  as  for  his  own, — ^he  thus  pro-; 
ceeds  to  show  the  root  of  our  social  evils,  and  to 
unfold  his  grand  remedy  : — 

The  competition  for  land  to  hire,  in  consequence  of  the 
monopoly  of  the  property  of  land  in  large  estates,  and  the; 
difficulty,  or  impossibility  rather,  of  employing  small 
capitals  with  safety  in  any  trade  or  manufSicture  in  which, 
the  large  capitals  compete  with,  and  ruin  the  small^ 
forces  the  claiss  of  tenants  possessing  capital  out  of  their 
natural  position  as  cultivators  paid  for  the  use  of  their 
means  of  cultivation,  into  the  position  of  the  landowners 
with  respect  to  the  risks  and  losses  which  equitably,  and 
in  a  natural  instead  of  a  constrained  artificial  system  of 
land  occupancy,  would  fall  proportionably  upon  the  latter. 
The  money-rented  tenant  is  not  only  an  underwriter 
insuring  his  landowner's  interest  in  the  produce  of  the 
land  against  the  risk  of  seasons,  but  he  is  also  an  under- 
writer securing  him  against  the  fiuctuation  of  markets, 
and  a  com  merchant  paying  all  the  expenses  of  trans- 
porting and  marketing  what,  in  any  just  riew  of  the 
nature  of  rent,  is  not  his  property,  but  the  landowner's. 
It  is  his  bargain,  no  doubt,  and  it  is  his  own  will  to  accept 
the  lease  of  his  land  under  such  conditions;  but  it  is  not 
an  equitable  bargain,  nor  a  man's  free  will,  when  an  ar- 
tificial system  has  grown  up  under  a  protective  legislation 
which  leaves  him  no  alternative  but  to  step  into  all  the 
risks  for  the  landowner,  or  let  the  land  and  his  trade 
alone  altogether.  It  is  like  the  bargain  and  free  will  of 
the  passengers  in  a  vessel  stranded  on  the  Goodwin  Sands,! 
treating  with  the  Deal  boatmen  to  bring  them  to  land. 
The  com  Jaws  are  the  protective  legislation  under  which 
this  artificial  relation  between  the  landowner  and  the 
cultivator  has  grown  up.  When  these  are  abolished,  the 
relations  between  landovmer  and  cultivator  will  return 
to  a  sound  and  natural  state.  The  landovmer  willpaf 
the  cultivator  the  half  or  whatever  proportion  may  lie 
agreed  upon,  of  the  produce  of  the  land,  for  his  ci^ital, 
skill,  and  labour  in  producing  it,  and  run  his  own  risks 
of  seasons  and  markets.  The  present  tenantry  will  re- 
turn  to  the  state  from  which  they  fell— that  of  a  yeomanry 
cultivating  their  own  lands.  Their  smallest  capitals,  d 
two  or  three  thousand  pounds  sterling,  vrill  then  find 
small  estates  for  their  investment  at  the  moderate  price 
to  which  the  reduced  value  of  the  produce  of  land  will 
bring  landed  property.  The  artificial  value  given  by 
protective  legislation  for  the  benefit  of  the  landowners, 
and  by  the  exclusive  pririleges  or  political  advantages 
attached  to  their  kind  of  property,  being  taken  avray,  ft 
thousand  pounds'  worth  of  land  will  be  as  readily  fbund 
in  the  market  as  a  thousand  pounds'  v^rth  of  broad  cloth. 
I^uid  will  take  the  tendency  to  be  distributed  again  in 
small  estates  of  yeomanry  and  gentry  living  on  and  fimning 
their  own  properties,  instead  of  the  tendency  it  has  lon|; 
had,  to  be  concentrated  in  large  masses  in  the  hands  of 
great  capitalists.  The  condition  of  the  money-rented  ten- 
antry vrill  be  improved.  They  will  be  relieved  ftom  the 
unjust  position  of  having  the  risk  of  markets  and  erope 
throvm  entirely  on  them.  Many  farmers  in  the  Lothians, 
and  they  are  notthe  most  short-sighted  of  men,haveof  late 


LAING'S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


181 


liptlftted  toft  a  rent  payable  partly  or  wholly  in  grain  ; 
r  in  80  naoy  boDa  per  acre,  rained  at  the  aTerage  or 
tar  prieee  of  the  year.    This  is  bat  a  step,  a  feeling  of 

be  wiy  in  the  dark llie  next  step 

rOl  be  to  pay  as  rent  not  so  many  fixed  bolls  per  acre, 
rbetherthe  season  produces  the  crop  or  not,  but  a  fixed 
mportioo  of  the  crops  actnally  prodaced,  or  of  the  Talne 
hey  ssU  for  in  the  market.    The  tendency  clearly  is  to 
«tora  to  the  natural  principle  of  rent,  as  a  payment  by 
be  landowner  to  the  cultivator,  the  landowner  standing 
be  lisks  of  seasons  and  markets  for  his  own  interest  in 
be  produce.    The  consequences  of  this  change  will  be, 
h»X  the  tenantry  possessing  capital  will  become  yeomen 
iroprietorB  £uming  their  own  estates.    The  husbandry 
jis  immediately  below  them,  the  men  of  industry,  skill 
od  intelligence,  but  with  little  or  no  capital,  will  become 
Mt&jer  tenants,  and  the  working  labourers  in  husbandry 
irill  become  small  farmers,  holding  land  for  their  work, 
lapoiiant  improToments  in  our  social  condition  are 
tiiked  to  this  ineritable  change  in  the  state  of  landed 
pfvperty.    It  will,  in  truth,  produce  a  slow  and  quiet, 
bet  eeiaplete  rerolution  in  our  whole  social  economy — 
ne  Bodi  needed,  yery  beneficial  in  its  results  to  the 
grnt  mass  of  the  community,  and  which  never  can  come 
vitb  leas  evil  to  any  class  or  interest,  than  through  the 
padul  change  brought  about  in  the  course  of  years  by 
I  regular  act  of  legislation.    It  is  a  fact  not  to  be  denied, 
ff  btinked  at,  that  the  upper  classes  of  the  landed  social 
body  in  Britain  are  too  far  removed  by  vast  incomes, 
Md  eonventional  privOeges  and  distinctions,  from  all 
naaimity  of  knowledge,  business,  interests,  or  feelings, 
witb  the  middle  or  lower  classes  for  whom  they  legislate. 
Tbey  are  in  reality  a  kind  of  Brahmin  caste  in  the  social 
body  at  present,  educated  aloof,  and  living  aloof  from 
tbe  naas  of  the  nation.    The  landed  proprietor  is  out  of 
his  jut  position.    The  man  with  an  estate  worth  fifty, 
axty,  or  eighty  thousand  pounds,  enjoys  far  higher  poli- 
tick privilege  and  influence,  both  in  the  public  and  in 
tbe  local  ai&urs  of  the  country,  than  the  merchant  or 
uonfiKtQrer  with  an  equal  capital  invested  in  concerns 
^^rgnater  importance  to  the  community,  and  requir- 
es audi  higher  talent  for  its  management.    The  ex- 
daave  weight  in  society  which  belonged  to  landed  pro- 
perty ^lea  it  was  almost  the  only  kind  of  property, 
«»tiiuiftB  vested  in  a  class  who  noware,ftrom  their  very 
Ntioain  society,  necessarily  less  experienced  and  versed 
^tbe  Tarious  interests  of  a  modem  community  than  those 
w  whom  they  act  and  legislate.    Legislators  and  legis- 
w«>  bave  become  two  distinct  tribes,  inhabiting  the 
joe  buui,  without  common  objects,  interests,  or  Imow- 
"^  The  Reform  Bill  fiuled  to  amend  this  evil  in  our 
"Oil  eooDomy,  because  the  Bill  was  founded  on  the  false 
Fnciple  of  continuing  the  monopoly  of  political  influence 
tt«»e  kmd  of  property  only,  and  merely  attempting  to 
^reaie  the  numbers  of  those  partaking  in  the  monopoly, 
^tbe  abolition  of  the  com  laws  will  amend  the  evil. 
"» social  influence  of  all  kinds  of  property  will  be 
fjjlwd.    Property  will  not  lose  its  social  and  political 
|"n««ee,  bat  landed  property  will  have  no  more  than 
aijMt  and  equal  share;  and  all  proprietors  who  have  a 
*««  in  tbe  country  by  any  description  of  property  will 
■^•'jwce  in  its  affairs,  through  their  representatives, 
||*^«tM«able  to  that  stake.    The  landed  proprietor  will 
we  to  wbsut  to  be  measured  by  the  standard  applied 
^,'5*' proprietors — via.,  the  value  of  his  property  and 
*™  taken  together— not  by  the  feudal  standard  of 
?*2wroment  of  his  land  as  property  of  a  more  noble 
radtban  their  money-capitals,  machinery,  or  sliipping, 
JMeataied  exclusively  to  legislate  for  these,  and  to  form 
■*'''«P'««ntation  in  the  legislature.  The  landed  booby, 
kV  \^^''  extend  to  crowing  like  a  cock,  will  no  longer 
r^  leat  as  of  birth-right,  on  the  pariiamentary 
^^^  ^tb  a  Brougham,  a  Macauley,  or  an  O'ConnelL 
"»«»adaad  rational  distribution  of  the  legislative 
Jr^^^J^  tbe  equality  of  rights  and  advantages  of  all 
JJjJ^  m  proportion  to  their  stake  in  the  country, 
t^iSiki?**  ^P>**^*»>  landowners, or  labourers, 
^^'JJJJ^w  avested  in  agriculture,  manufacture,  or 
Jr™^*ifl»Bt  privilege  of  or  pressure  upon  one  kind 
W^'^TiW  class  of  people  more  than  another,  will 


follow  naturally  and  necessarily,  although  gradually,  in 
our  social  economy,  fh>m  the  abolition  of  all  protecting 
duties  on  com  in  favour  of  landed  property.  It  vdll  be 
a  revolution.  It  may  not  be  perceptible  in  the  genera- 
tion in  which  it  is  effected;  but  on  looking  back  f&mjthe 
higher  state  of  wellbeing  to  which  it  will  gradually 
raise  all  classes,  it  will  be  considered  a  great  and  bene- 
ficial revolution. 

We  stop  here,  at  a  point  up  to  which  we  can 
entirely  agree  with  our  author. 

Besides  the  warning  instance  of  Holland,  there 
is  another  and  a  melancholy  consummation  to 
the  history  of  commercial  and  manufactur- 
ing England,  which  occurs  to  our  author  when 
musing  over  the  decayed  city  of  Genoa,  and  which, 
at  this  particular  crbis,  comes  powerfully  home  to 
the  heart  of  the  patriot  and  the  philanthropist. 
He  remarks : — 

Here  in  Genoa,  the  imaginative  traveller  may  revel, 
in  his  descriptions  of  orange  groves,  vine-dad  hills,  and 
marble  palaces,  mingled  in  luxuriant  magnifioence,  and 
rising  against  a  badcground  of  Heaven-high  peaks  of 
snow  cutting  into  a  deep  blue  sky  above,  and  washed 
beneath  by  a  sea  still  more  intensely  blue.  But  that 
miserable  proseman,  the  political  economist,  goes  dodg- 
ing about  this  magnificent  city,  the  city  of  palaces,  the 
Geneva  la  Superba,  asking,  Where  do  your  middle  classes 
live  ?  Where  did  they  Uve  in  the  days  of  Genoa's  great- 
ness !  He  sees  now,  that  the  same  roof  covers  the  beggar 
and  the  prince;  for,  on  the  ground-fioors,  under  the 
marble  staircajses,  and  marble-paved  halls,  and  superb 
state  rooms  on  the  first-fioor,  there  are  vaults,  holes,  and 
coach-house-like  places  opening  into  the  streets,  in  which 
the  labouring  class  and  small  shopkeepers  pic  toge^er, 
living,  cooking,  and  doing  all  family  work,  huf  and  half 
in  the  open  air.  But  was  this  always  so !  Where  did, 
or  where  do  they  live,  who  are  neither  princes  nor  beg- 
gars !  who  are  a  degree  above  porters,  or  day  labourers, 
or  the  small  shopkeeper,  or  tnidesman  living  by  their 
custom,  in  the  means  and  habits  of  a  civiliaed  existence  I 
Where  be  the  snug,  comfortable,  suitable,  dwellings  for 
this  middle  class,  the  pith  and  marrow  of  a  nation,  which 
cover  the  land  in  England  and  Scotland  so  entirely,  that 
the  great  mansion  is  the  exception,  not  the  rule  in  our 
national  habitations,  wealthy  as  the  nation  is  \  Here, 
all  is  palace,  and  all  is  noblesse,  public  ftmctionary,  and 
beggar.  They  reckon  in  Genoa,  in  clerical  fanction  aJone, 
6,000  persons,  and  7,000  military.  Sweep  away  the 
edifices  of  nobility,  those  appropriated  to  public  ftino- 
tionaries  and  their  business,  together  with  churches, 
convents,  hospitals,  barracks,  theatres,  and  such  publio 
buildings,  and  Genoa  would  scarcely  be  a  town.  Yet 
Genoa  is  not  a  poor  town  in  one  sense.  Many  of  these 
palaces  are  inhabited  by  a  wealthy  nobility,  and,it  is  sai<^ 
there  are  more  capitalists, more  great  capitalists  in  Genoa, 
than  in  any  town  in  Italy.  To  have  erected  and  to  keep 
up  such  palaces  as  they  live  in,  or  even  to  afford  so  much 
dead  stock  as  is  invested  in  the  mere  material,  the  mar- 
ble, gilding,  pictures  of  value,  ornaments,  and  costly 
ftuiiiture,  speaks  of  enormous  wealth,  both  in  past  and 
present  days.  ^' 

And  after  describing  the  actual  condition  of  the 
population  of  Genoa,  where  the  extremes  of  luxury 
and  grandeur  and  of  the  most  squalid  poverty  meet, 
he  inquires — 

May  not  the  history  of  Genoa's  commercial  greatness 
and  decline  become,  in  the  course  of  ages,  that  of  Eng- 
land's! May  not  the  one  show  in  small,  what  the  other 
will  come  to  in  large  \  Is  not  the  same  element  of  decay 
common  to  the  social  economy  of  both !  It  is  in  the 
nature  of  trade  and  manufacture,  that  great  capital  drives 
small  capital  out  of  the  field ;  it  can  afford  to  work  for 
smaller  returns.  There  is  a  natural  tendency  in  trade 
to  monopoly,  by  the  accumulation  of  great  wealth  in  few 
hands.  It  is  not  impossible,  that  in  every  branch  of  trade 
and  manufacture  in  Britain,  the  great  capitalist  will,  in 


nt 


LAING'S  NOTES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 


timet  •niirely  ooMpxthe  fleld/and  pat  downsmahll  e»pi^ 
UlisU  in  the  sumo  lines  of  bosinesB ;  that  a  monied  aris^ 
tocraoy,  similar  to  thit  here  in  Genoa,  will  gradually  be 
formed,  the  middle  olass  of  small  capitalists  in  trade  and 
■Mnufi^tare  beoome  gradoally  extinguished,  and  a  struo- 
tore  of  jooiety  gradually  arise,  in  which  lords  and  la- 
bourers will  be  the  only  elasses  or  gradations  in  the 
commercial  and  manufacturing,  as  in  the  landed  system. 
An  approximation,  a  tendency  towards  this  state,  is  going 
on  in  England.  In  many  branches  of  industry,— for 
instance,  in  glass-making,  iron-founding,  soap-making, 
eotton-spinning,  the  great  capitalists  engaged  in  them 
have,  by  the  natural  effect  of  working  with  great  capital, 
driven  small  capitals  out  of  the  field,  and  formed  a  kind 
of  exclusive  family  property  of  some  of  these  branches  of 
manufacture.  Government,  by  excessive  taxation  and 
excise  regulation,  both  of  which  have  ultimately  the 
effect,  as  in  the  glass  and  soap  manufkoture  and  distillery 
business,  of  giving  a  monopoly  to  the  great  capitalist 
who  can  afford  the  delay  and  advance  of  money  these 
impediments  require,  has  been  hitherto  aiding,  rather 
than  counteracting,  this  tendency  of  great  capital  to 
swallow  all  the  employments  in  which  small  capital  can 
act.  It  is  a  question  practically  undetermined,  whether 
the  experiment  into  which  this  tendency  has  forced  so- 
ciety within  these  few  years,  the  junction  of  small  capi- 
talists in  joint-stock,  subscription,  or  share  companies, 
«an  compete  in  productive  industry,  with  great  capital 
in  the  hands  of  one  or  two  partners  vrielding  great  means 
with  the  energy,  activity,  and  frugality  of  an  individual. 
It  is  not  an  imaginary,  nor  perhaps  a  very  distant  evil, 
tiiat  our  middle  classes  with  their  small  capitals  may  sink 
into  nothing,  may  become,  as  here,  tradesmen  or  small 
dealers  supplying  a  few  great  manufacturing  and  com- 
mercial families  with  the  articles  of  their  household 
consumpt ;  or  supernumerary  candidates  fbr  unnecessary 
public  functions,  civil,  military,  or  clerical ;  and  that  in 
trade,  as  in  land,  a  noblesse  of  capitalists,  and  a  popula- 
tion of  serfs  working  for  them,  may  come  to  be  the  two 
main  constituent  parts  in  our  social  structure.  A  Genoa 
in  large,  England  may  possibly  beoome — with  ono  small 
class  living  hi  almost  royal  splendour  and  luxury ;  and 
the  great  mass  of  the  community  in  rags  and  hunger. 

Legislative  wisdom  and  justice,  the  common  in- 
terests,  and  the  oommon  intelligence  of  the  country, 
must  avert  such  a  catastrophe,  or  proud  England 
will  merit  no  more  sympathy  from  future  times, 
than  Mr.  Laing  now  bestows  upon  fallen  Crenoa, 
when  be  eloquently  says : — 

When  we  reflect  on  the  former  greatness  and  the 
present  decay  of  this  once  powerful  state,  how  important 
the  lesson  it  teaches !  not  the  commonplace  lesson  only 
of  the  instability  of  human  greatness — ^but  that  the  mis- 
application of  capital,  or  rather  of  human  industry — for 
dapital  is  the  command  of  human  labour  and  time,  em- 
bodied in  the  form  of  money — is  the  cause  of  the  instabi- 
lity of  greatness  in  empires,  as  in  individuals.  Look  at 
this  city  of  Genoa !  at  the  millions  upon  millions  that 
have  been  expended  unreproductively  I  The  loom,  the 
ship,  the  steam  engine,  the  factory,  reproduce  their  own 
Cost  with  a  profit,  and  the  whole  is  laid  out,  again  and 
again,  and  to  the  latest  generation,  reproductivelv ;  but 
the  palace,  the  gorgeous  ornament,  the  pageant,  the  dis- 
play of  pomp  and  power  in  fleets  and  armies  and  courtly 
splendour,  reproduce  nothing.  The  labourer  earns  his 
needful  food  during  the  time  he  is  employed  in  producing 
them;  that  done,  he  is  no  richer  than  at  first,  and  the 
means  of  his  employer  to  re-employ  him,  the  capital 
which  laid  out  in  a  reproduotive  way,  would  have  gone 
on  to  all  posterity,  augmenting  and  extending  employ- 
ment, wellbeing,  and  civilisation,  is  fixed  down  and 
buried  in  a  pile  of  stones.  The  labourers  of  the  day 
earned  their  wages  for  piling  them  together,  consumed 
and  paid  for  their  meat  and  drink  during  the  time ;  and 
that  is  all  the  result  of  the  outlay  of  capital,  which,  if 
the  (Genoese  nobles  had  employed  it  reprodnctively  in 
manufacturing  or  transporting  the  objects  of  civilized  life 
ftr  ihe  conflomtrs,  instead  ef  in  building  huge  palaces, 


would  have  vivified  the  East  Capital  is  a  bank  not«fb{ 
so  much  human  labour.  If  its  value  is  not  r^rodoeid 
by  its  outlay,  the  holder  of  it  is  wasting  his  msani,  asd 
the  industrious  of  the  country  suffer  a  loss. 

I  mourn  not  for  Grenoa.  Distant  oountries  oonqoered, 
plundered,  oppressed,  reduced  to  subjection  and  barbth 
ism,  to  enable  a  wealthy  and  ostentatious  ariitoerMy 
to  vie  with  each  other  in  splendid  extravaganoe— the 
middle  class  extinguished — the  useful  arts  and  mtnofM' 
tures,  those  which  diffuse  comfort  and  civilisation  thioai^ 
society,  and  extend  by  their  productive  action  the  sphm 
of  human  industry,  postponed  to  the  ornamental,  to  thoie 
whioh  administer  only  to  the  luxurious  ei\joymtntof  tU 
few,  and  add  little  or  nothing  to  the  means  of  liTisg, 
wellbeing,  and  industry  of  the  many — in  the  down&l 
of  such  a  state — of  a  people  of  princes  and  beggin- 
what  is  there  to  regret !  Lord  Castlereagh  netd  io( 
turn  him  in  his  grave,  if  the  annihilation  of  the  GsnoMi 
aristocracy  as  a  state  be  the  greatest  of  bis  diploastic 
sins. 

There  are  many  topics  discussed  in  these  Notes 
to  which  we  should  have  liked  to  refer,  and  we 
were  almost  bound  to  give  our  readers  some  reM 
of  the  lighter  parts  of  the  work  ;  but  we  have  al- 
ready so  fiar  exceeded  our  limits,  that  we  must  be 
contented  earnestly  to  recommend  the  sections  on 
Catholicism  and  Protestantism,  and,  above  all,  tha 
account  of  the  boasted  educational  system  of  the 
continent,  but  especially  that  of  Prussia.  If  no 
one  more  keenly  peroelyes  the  defects  of  British 
social  arrangements,  no  one  more  warmly  appre- 
ciates the  value  of  those  free,  if  imperfect  instita- 
tionsy  which  give  the  people  of  these  islands  so  great 
a  moral  superiority  over  the  continental  nations* 
On  this  text)  in  pointing  out  the  difference  which 
exists  between  Great  Britain  and  Prussia,  Austria, 
and  the  Italian  States,  Mr.  Laing  preaches  the  puieii 
gospel  of  democracy. 

Man,  in  his  social  state,  is  not  intended  by  Us  Creator 
to  be  only  a  passive  subject  of  wise  and  good  government, 
be  it  ever  so  wise  and  good,  but  to  attain  the  higher 
moral  condition  of  wisely  and  well  governing  himself) 
not  only  in  his  private  moral  capacity  as  an  indiridaalf 
but  in  his  social,  political  capacity  as  one  of  the  memben 
of  a  community.  Morality  and  religion  direct  him  hi 
his  private  capacity ;  but  if  he  is  debarred  by  the  arbltrsrj 
institutions  of  his  government  from  exercising  the  othei 
half  of  his  social  duties,  he  is,  morally  conffldered,  boi 
half  a  man,  is  answering  but  half  the  end  for  which  tm 
is  sent  into  this  world  as  a  social  being;  is  ftalflllinj 
but  half  the  duties  given  him  to  be  ftilfilled  by  his  Creir 
tor — fbr  man  is  created  a  political  as  well  as  a  mora 
being ;  has  a  political  as  well  as  a  moral  existence.  / 
people  governed  by  laws,  in  the  enactment  of  which  the; 
have  no  voice,  and  by  fhnctionaries  independent  of  publj 
opinion,  are  in  a  low  social  and  political,  and  consequent!; 
in  a  low  moral  condition,  however  suitable  and  eicellen 
the  law  itself  and  its  administration  may  be.  The; 
are  morally  slaves.  The  Prussian,  the  Austrian,  th 
Neapolitan,  the  Papal  subjects  stand  equally  upon  thi 

low  moral  level They  are  In  a  stat 

of  mental  vassalage  as  moral  and  social  beings,  in  a  stat 
of  pupilage,  not  of  tree  agency,  whatever  be  their  eoj 
cation,  or  their  physical  condition  as  to  food  and  th 
comforts  of  life.  l%e  enjoyments  and  character  of  « 
animal-people  are  all  that  men  attain  to  under  thn 
paternal  autocratic  governments,  with,  perhaps,  th 
developement,  in  the  town-populations,  of  taste  and  feel 
ing  for  the  fine  arts,  and  a  certain  polish  and  amenity jt 

manners We  attach  too  great  import 

ance  to  these  superficial,  although  intellectual  and  mort 
acquirements,  in  estimating  the  education  of  an  individna 
or  of  a  nation.  National  education,  as  it  is  called,  tnrtt 
in  ^  these  paternal  autocratic  governments  which  J« 
not  leave  the  people  to  the  education  of  their  own  W 
agenoy  as  moral  beings  united  in  society ,  ptlndpuly  Qp< 


ICING'S  NOTES  OF  A  TBAVELLJBB, 


ir83 


tfai  deTtkfMiani  of  ihem  taeUs,  manners,  snd  feelingB. 
If  eatingj  dnoking,  lodging,  an4  liying  well,  for  Tory 
little  ottUay  of  industry,  exertion,  or  bodily  labour,  and 
itill  leas  of  mental,  and  along  wiUi  these  the  enjoyment, 
tlutragh  the  eye  and  ear,  of  all  the  pleasures  that  a  cul- 
tinted,  edoeatad  taste  in  the  fine  arts  affords,  if  physical 
lood  with  this  kind  of  intellectual  culture  or  developement 
U  the  great  end  to  be  attained  by  man  in  society,  these 
A&tocntic  goTemments  are  rapidly  carrying  their  people 
to  s  higher  social  condition  than  that  of  the  people  of 
BritiiiL 

Bit  if  the  moral  and  social  duties  of  man,  as  a  mem- 
Ur  of  the  human  family,  demand  something  more  than 
bii  own  suinuil  enjoyment,  physical  wellbeing,  and  per- 
MBil  gratification,  even  in  the  intellectual  exercise  of 
Hi  tute  and  feeling — ^if  his  true  position  in  life  be  that 
ii  whioh  his  moral  and  intelleotuad  nature  can  be  fully 
ud  freely  developed  in  the  exeroise  of  his  capabilities, 
ditiea,  and  rights,  as  a  thinking,  responsible,  free  agent 
-lad  his  true  education,  that  which  fits  him  for  this 
IwitioB,— then  are  these  autocratic  governments  and 
tkir  fobjeets  in  a  low  social  position — one  far  beneath 
M  of  the  British, — ^and  their  systems  of  national  edu- 
tatioQ  in  not  adapted  to  the  great  moral  end  of  human 
aktetft,  but  merely  to  support  their  governments.  If 
ve  Curly  consider  the  social  condition  of  the  continental 
au  of  whatever  elaes,  whatever  position,  or  whatever 
c«QBtry,  Neapolitan,  or  Austrian,  or  Prussian,  we  find 
luB,  Udj  and  mvI,  m  slave*    His  going  out  and  eeming 


m,  his  personal,  bodily,  and  mental  action  in  the  nse  of 
his  property,  in  the  exercise  of  his  industry  and  talents, 
in  his  education,  his  religion,  his  l^-ws,  his  doings,  think- 
ings, readings,  talkings  m  public  or  private  affairs,  are 
fitted  en  him  by  his  master,  the  state,  like  clothing  on  ik 
oonviot ;  and  in  these  alone  can  he  move,  or  exepute  any 
act  of  social  existence.  He  has  no  individual  existence 
socially  or  morally,  for  he  has  no  individual  free  agency. 
His  education  fits  him  for  this  state  of  pupilage,  but  not 
for  independent  action  as  a  reflecting,  sel^guiding  bein^, 
sensible  of,  and  daily  exercising  his  social,  politiciu, 
moral,  and  religious  rights  and  duties,  as  a  trie  agent 
In  his  position  relatively  to  these  rights  and  duties,  the 
continental  man  stands  on  a  level  very  far  below  that  of 
the  individual  of  our  country  in  a  corresponding  cliiss  of 
society.  With  all  the  Ignorance  and  vice  imputed  to  our 
lower  classes,  they  are  in  true  and  efficient  education, 
as  members  of  society  acting  for  themselves  in  their  rights 
and  duties,  and  under,  guiiknce  of  their  own  judgment, 
moral  sense,  and  conscience,  in  a  far  higher  intellectual, 
moral,  and  religious  condition,  than  the  educated  slaves 
of  the  continent.  This  is  the  conclusion,  in  social  ecor 
uomy,  which  the  author  of  the  preceding  Notes  has  come 
to,  and  which  the  reader  is  requested  to  consider. 

The  length  at  which  we  have  analysed  a  work 
of  10  grave  a  charaeter  as  these  Notes,  must  speak 
our  sense  of  its  ability  and  importance  ;  and  of  \ht 
expansion  and  the  solidity  of  {ts  authol^s  views. 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS.* 


W«E  this  channmg  work  very  inferior  to  what 
it  ii  hi  point  of  matter  and  composition,  it  would 
itill  be  most  welcome  throughout  the  counUesd 
tlHrasande  of  the  quiet  reading  homes  of  England, 
▼ere  it  but  for  the  feelings  v^rhich  it  must  reeall  of 
the  days  when  the  name  of  Miss  Bumey  was  a 
iHnuehold  word,  as  dear  and  familiar  as  that  of 
Scott  or  Bulwer,  and  for  the  delightful  rcminis- 
eeoecs  which  it  must  awaken  of  the  first  entranced 
vuderings  of  the  youthful  imagination  into  the 
&»y  Tegions  of  fiction  and  among  the  scenes  of 
auiniclOfe. 

The  author  of  Efodina  not  only  enjoyed  as 
vide  a  popolarity  as  the  most  popular  of  the 
aodem  fictionists,  hut  in  her  own  age  she  de- 
strred  it  Within  her  own  range,  there  has  not 
Wn  a  more  felicitous  sketcher  of  English  charac- 
ter lad  oddities.  Were  Evelina  to  appear  even 
now,  with  such  nK)dlfication8  as  change  of  mode 
«m1  manners  would  lead  the  author  to  adopt,  the 
popularity  of  the  book  would,  we  apprehend,  be 
« great  as  when  it  was  warmly  and  sincerely 
pfiissd  by  Johnson,  Burke,  Sheridan,  Reynolds, 
fe.  Thrale,  Mrs.  Chohnondeley,  in  short,  by  the 
ftwfe  world ;  while  the  jealousy  or  soreness  of 
Cnmberland  formed  its  author  s  crowning  triumph. 
But  the  Diary  and  Letters  will  aflbrd  us  matter 
«»ngh  for  discussion,  without  looking  back  upon 
tkoee  delightful  fictions  which  still  charm  after 
*e  lapse  of  sixty  years. 

^^  Frances  Bumey  was  the  second  daughter 
of  a  deter, « talented,"  and  wonderfully  "  getting 

•  Disry  tnd  Letters  of  Madame  D' Arblay,  Author  of 

Evehnaj^-Ceeiha,"  *c.  Edited  by  her  Niece,  Vol.  I., 

^^rehea4iB||  the  years  1778  to  1760,  pp.  436,  wiUi  a 

Pttrtrait  of  Mbb  Bumey,  FacHjimiles  of  her  Letters,  &c., 


on''  family;  though  their  tuoeest  in  life  wii 
grounded  on  solid  merit,  as  well  as  on  good  ta<5t^ 
and  the  capacity  of  making  the  best  of  the  social 
position  wbdoh  the  abilities,  pleasing  manners,  and 
indefatigable  perseverance  of  their  father,  Bri 
Bumey,  had  acquired  for  them.  Probably  to 
enhance  her  subsequent  brilliancy,  Fanny  is  pro- 
nounced to  have  been,  in  childhood,  very  backward 
in  learning,  or  an  arrant  dunce.  At  eight  years  of 
age,  she  did  not  even  know  her  letters.  At  nine, 
she  lost  her  mother ;  and  while  her  elder  and  her 
younger  sister  were  sent  to  France  for  some  years 
to  complete  their  education,  poor  Fanny  was  left 
to  scramble  on  in  her  widowed  father^s  house  as 
she  best  could ;  so  that  she  affords  one  more  in- 
stance of  the  thorough  teaching  of  those  who  ar6 
self-taught.  She  lived  among  educated  people, 
and  she  educated  herself.  Her  father  was  gener- 
ally engaged  in  literary  composition,  his  daughter^ 
were  his  amanuenses  *  and  so  Fanny,  the  brightest 
of  them,  became  insensibly  an  authoress,  and 
"  awakening  one  morning,  found  herself  famous." 
At  ten  years  old,  thfe  neglected  Fanny,  we  are  told, 
could  absolutely  read  ;  and  as  writing  was  one  main 
business  of  the  head  of  the  house,  so  soon  as  she  could 
make  pot-hooks  and  hangers,  she  began  imitatlvely 
to  scribble  rhymes  and  little  stories.  In  a  few  more 
years,  this  taste  was  fortunately  superseded  by  the 
love  of  reading ;  for  the  author  of  Evelina  and 
Cecilia,  unlike  most  inventive  writers,  was  an 
observer  of  character  and  manners  before  she  be- 
came a  reader, — one  cause,  probably,  of  her  pre- 
cocity. The  Quarterfy  Review,  with  that  malicious 
love  of  truth  which  may  sometimes  be  a  duty  in 
critics,  has  destroyed  the  fond  illusion  of  a  work 
of  iiction,  pregnaut  with  quick  and  mature  obser- 
vation of  IHe,  being  written  by  a  girl  of  seventeen ; 


> 


184 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


which  gross  improbability  was  at  one  time  credited. 
EveUna^  not  a  jnyenile,  was  not  even  a- hasty  per- 
formance. The  author  must  have  been  shaping 
and  turning  it  in  her  mind  for  many  years ;  and 
when,  in  her  twenty-sixth  year,  it  finally  appeared, 
it  was  the  production  of  a  mature  woman,  who, 
with  the  outward  seeming  of  excessive  shyness  and 
reserve,  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  society,  and  re- 
flected upon  what  ^e  saw.  Though  never  at  a 
^rVi  ichooly  Miss  Bumey  had,  all  her  life,  under 
her  father  s  roof,  lived  in  the  improving  school 
of  a  varied  and  accomplished  society.  Of  her 
education,  her  Editor  remarks : — 

Although  the  education  of  Dr.  Barney's  danghten  was 
not  conducted  according  to  the  elaborate  systems  of  the 
present  day,  they  yet  eigoyed  some  advantages  which 
more  than  compensated  for  the  absence  of  regular  and 
salaried  instructors.  The  sentiments  and  example  of 
their  father  excited  them  to  love  whatever  was  upright, 
virtuous,  and  amiable  ;  while,  firom  not  being  secluded 
in  a  school-room,  they  also  shared  the  conversation  of 
their  fkther's  guests;  and,  in  London,  Dr.  Bumey*s 
miscellaneous  but  agreeable  society  included  some  of 
those  most  eminent  for  literature  in  our  own  country, 
together  with  many  accomplished  foreigners,  whose  ob- 
servations and  criticisms  were  in  themselves  lessons. 
Perhaps  the  taste  of  Frances  Bumey  was  formed  much 
in  the  same  vray  as  that  of  her  celebrated  contemporary, 
Madame  de  Sta^I,  who  relates  that  she  used  to  sit  witii 
her  work,  on  a  little  stool  at  her  mother's  knee,  and 
listen  to  the  conversation  of  all  Monsieur  Neckar's  en- 
lightened visiters;  thus  gathering  notions  on  literature 
and  politics  long  ere  it  was  suspected  that  she  knew  the 
meaning  of  the  words. 

If,  however,  the  above  methods  were  of  themselves 
sufficient  for  education,  all  good  oonversers  might  offer  a 
^  royal  road  "  to  learning.  But  the  benefit  here  obtained 
was  chiefly  that  of  directing  the  attention  to  intellectual 
pursuits,  enlightening  the  judgment,  and  exciting  a 
thirst  for  knowledge  which  led  the  youthfUl  Frances  to 
diligent  and  laborious  application.  By  the  time  she  vras 
fburteen  she  had  carefully  studied  many  of  the  best 
autfiors  in  her  fkther's  library,  of  which  she  had  the  un- 
controlled range.  She  began  also  to  make  extracts, 
keeping  a  eaUUogv^  raitonni  of  the  books  she  read ;  and 
some  of  her  early  remarks  were  such  as  would  not  have 
disgraced  a  maturer  judgment. 

While  her  sbters  were  acquiring  accomplish- 
ments in  France,  and  "  finishing  their  education," 
it  was  in  such  quiet  studies  that  the  author  of 
"  Evelina,"  alone,  in  her  father  s  house,  improved 
her  mind  and  talents.  Among  the  happy  in- 
fluences around  her,  next  to  the  example  of  her 
father,  to  whom  she  was  devotedly  attached,  and, 
perhaps,  before  that  influence,  was  the  afiectionate 
care  of  a  gentleman, — a  sincere  and  old  Mend  of  the 
Bumeys,  of  whom  the  world  has  already  heard  as 
Fanny's  second  father, — ^the  Hermit  of  Chesington, 
—her  beloved  ^  Daddy  Crisp."  This  old  gentle- 
man, who  had  more  than  pretensions  to  literature, 
is  not  the  least  interesting  person  in  the  gallery  of 
accomplished  and  intellectuid  persons  among  whom 
the  volume  places  us.  He  had,  probably,  been  an 
early  patron  of  Dr.  Bumey's,  and  he  was  his 
*^  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,"  when  he  needed 
friends.  The  excellent  sense,  good  taste,  and  ac- 
quirements of  this  gentleman,  as  well  as  the  genial 
nature,  revealed  in  his  letters  to  Fanny,  give  him 
a  lively  interest  with  the  admirers  of  Miss  Burney, 
whom  the  reader  must  like  all  the  better  for  her 
wrdial  regard  for  her  "Daddy."    This  is,  periiaps, 


the  finest  trait  of  individual  character  iK^iich  th< 
volume  presents.  The  following  passage  came 
us  back  to  the  ruralities  of  the  neighbourhood  ol 
London  seventy  years  ago : — 

At  this  time  Mr.  Crisp  had  given  up  the  worid,  in  eon 
sequence  of  various  losses,  diminished  fortune,  and  dii 
appointed  hopes;  and  he  had  fixed  his  dwelling  in  ai 
old-fkshioned  country-house,  called  Chesington  Hill,  no 
fttr  f^m  Kingston  in  Surrey,  and  within  a  fsw  miles  o 
Hampton.  This  mansion  stood  upon  a  large  and  near!] 
desolate  common,  and  not  a  road  or  even  a  track  led  t< 
it  fiiom  Epsom,  which  was  the  nearest  town.  It  wu 
encircled  by  ploughed  fields,  and  one-half  of  the  boildinj 
was  inhabited  by  a  fumer ;  while,  in  the  remaining  por- 
tion dwelt  the  proprietor,  Christopher  Hamilton,  Eaq. 
with  whom  Mr.  Crisp  had  adopted  some  pie^  pUo, 
which  enabled  him  to  consider  Chesington  as  his  deeided 
residence.  At  the  death  of  Mr.  Hamilton,  the  house,^eIi 
was  then  his  only  property,  devolved  to  his  maiden  sis- 
ter, Mrs.  Hamilton,  who,  with  her  niece.  Miss  Kitty 
Cooke,  continued  to  receive  Mr.  Crisp  as  an  inmate,  and 
to  admit  other  persons  as  occasional  boarders. 

This  independent  method  of  visiting  his  friend,  and  iA 
obtaining  country  air  and  exercise  for  his  children,  ex* 
actly  suited  the  views  of  Dr.  Bumey,  and  they  all  in 
turn,  or  in  groups,  enjoyed  the  society  of  their  Chesing- 
ton Daddif,  as  they  familiarly  called  Mr.  Crisp;  wlu'le  he 
vnbs  indulgent  to  aJl  their  youthfiil  vagaries;  aiid  aaosed 
with  observing  their  difibrent  characters. 

Fanny  must  have  been  his  favourite.  Nor  was 
she  always,  nor  probably  by  nature,  the  half- 
prudish  and  over-conscious,  self-occupied,  or  ego- 
tistical person,  which  an  overpowering  burst  of 
applause,  the  necessity  of  managing  a  Uterary 
reputation,  and  the  etiquette  of  court  life  after- 
wards rendered  her.  After  she  had  ^  grown 
famous,"  Mr.  Crisp,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  "  Fan- 
nikin,"  thus  refers  to  her  as  a  child : — 

Do  you  remember,  about  a  doien  years  ago,  how  yoo 
used  to  dance  Nancy  Dawsou  on  Uie  gnuss-plot,  with 
your  cap  on  the  ground,  and  your  long  hair  streaming 
down  your  back,  one  shoe  off*,  and  throwing  abont  your 
head  like  a  mad  thing  ?  Now  you  are  to  dance  Nancy 
Dawson  with  fetters  on;  there  is  the  difference :  yet  then 
is  certainly  a  nameless  grace  and  charm  in  giving  a  loon 
to  that  wildness  and  friskiness  sometimes. 

I  am  very  glad  you  have  secured  lilrs.  Montagu  for 
your  friend;  her  weight  and  interest  are  powerfW;  bill 
there  is  one  particular  I  do  not  relish;  though  she  mem 
it  as  a  mark  of  favour  and  distinction— it  is,  where  a^ 
says,  **  If  Miss  Bumey  does  vmte  a  play,  I  beg  I  xn»T 
know  of  it,  and  (if  she  thinks  proper)  see  it."  j 

Now,  Fanny,  this  same  seeing  it,  (in  a  professed  iem»H 
writ,  authoress,  and  Maecenas  into  the  bargain,)  I  fe»'.^ 
plies  too  much  interference — implies  advisiag,  corrects 
altering,  &c.  &c  &c ;  not  only  so,  but  in  so  high  a  cnl 
the  not  submitting  to  such  grand  authority,  might  P 
sibly  give  a  secret,  ooncealed,  lurking  ofTenije.    rl< 
d'ye  see,  as  I  told  you  once  before,  I  would  have 
whole  be  all  my  ovm— all  of  a  piece;  and  to  tell  y<>" 
truth,  I  would  not  give  a  pin  for  the  advice  of  the  aW 
friend  who  would  not  suffer  me  at  last  to  foUow  my  oi 
judgment  writhout  resentment. 

"  Daddy  Crisp  "  had,  at  one  time,  »^^  *  ,  . 
deal  of  the  blue  queens,  and  he  appears  to  hsti 
understood  them  thoroughly. 

Dr.  Bumey  married  an  excellent  and  devjj 
widow  hidy  while  his  daughters  were  dawning  wtt 
womanhood  ;  but  though  Mrs.  Bumey  "^^  " 
have  possessed  the  respectful  esteem  of  her  clevo 
step-daughter,  she  does  not  appear  to  have  enjoy« 
her  confidence.  Thus,  Fannys  literary  pwj^ 
were  all  pursued  by  stealth ;  and  ^^^9^lf!v] 
about  to  publish  anonymously,  »be  deemed  it 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


185 


datj  to  fint  apprize  her  father  of  the  event,  the 
Doctor  either  considered  her  communication  a  joke, 
or  ebooeing  to  have  no  responsibility  in  the  affair, 
treated  it  as  rach.  Yet  he  managed-  admirably 
to  ensare  her  saccess  when  the  right  time  came, 
ind  enjoyed  her  literary  fEime  witii  the  best  feel- 
ings of  a  father. 

After  all,  ^  Evelina,"  at  first,  was  left  pretty 
ffloch  to  make  her  own  way.  The  manu- 
script, sent  anonymously  to  Dodsley,  was  re- 
jected by  him  with  dignity,  and  it  was  next 
oflbcd  to  Mr.  Lowndes,  who  appears  to  have 
beoi  then  a  rather  obscure  bookseller  in  Fleet 
Street  The  negotiator  on  this  occasion  was 
Fanny's  younger  brother  Charles,  and  her  sole 
eonfidante  her  favourite  sister  Susan.  Mr.  Lowndes 
ofiered  twenty  pounds  for  the  manuscript,  and 
the  group  were  delighted  with  the  magnificence 
of  the  sum,  which  "  Daddy  Crisp "  forwards 
aid  should  have  been  £1000.  In  January, 
1778,  the  Book—the  wonderful  Book— the  Book 
of  Books — the  sole  object  of  its  author's  jour- 
nal for  several  years,— of  her  thoughts  by  day, 
aod  her  dreams  by  night,  was  fairly  ushered  into 
the  worJd.  Its  author  had  been  bom  on  the  13th 
Jane,  1752,  or  twenty-five  years  and  six  months 
earlier.  Her  private  journal  had  been  begun  ten 
jeazs  previously ;  and  is,  we  are  told,  fully  as  in- 
teieetmg  to  her  family  at  its  commencement  as  in 
her  more  brilliant  periods.  But  the  editor  has,  in 
the  meanwhile,  judiciously  started  with  the  me- 
morable era  in  the  life  of  her  aunt,  marked  by  the 
appearance  of  this  first  work.  The  volume  before 
08,  and  the  year  1778  is,  therefore,  thus  play- 
My  commenced  by  Miss  Bumey  : — 

This  year  was  ushered  in  by  a  grand  and  most  impor- 
tut  eTent !  At  the  latter  end  of  January,  the  literary 
vorid  was  favoured  with  the  first  publication  of  the  in- 
goioiu,  learned,  and  most  profound  Fanny  Bumey !  I 
^Mibc  not  but  this  memorable  aflBur  will,  in  future  times, 
■iric  the  period  whence  chronologers  will  date  the 
KBilh  of  the  polite  arts  in  this  island  1 

Ihis  admirable  authoress  has  named  her  most  elabo- 
Bte  perfonnaace,  Evelina;  or,  a  Young  Lady*$  Em- 
tnue  into  the  World, 

Peihaps  this  may  seem  a  rather  bold  attempt  and  title, 
bt  s  female  whose  knowledge  -of  the  world  is  very  con- 
fiBedfUd  whose  inclinations,  as  well  as  situation,  incline 
her  to  s  private  and  domestic  life.  All  I  can  urge  is, 
that  I  have  only  presumed  to  trace  the  accidents  and 
xiTentores  to  which  a  "  young  woman  "  is  liable;  I  have 
w»t  pretended  to  show  the  world  what  it  actually  i$,  but 
^hit  it  appear*  to  a  girl  of  seventeen :  and  so  fiir  as 
that,  surely  any  girl  who  is  past  seventeen  may  safely 
do }  The  motto  of  my  excuse  shall  be  Uken  from  Pope's 
■Temple  of  Fame:" 

In  vm  work,  regard  the  writer's  end ; 
None  e  er  can  compaes  more  than  they  intend. 

This  canon  of  Pope's,  by  the  way,  never  can  be 
fPI^ieable  to  the  works  of  youthful  genius.  The 
jouri^l  is  aocompletelyfilled  with  theauthor's  hopes 
Md  fnn,  triumphs  and  checks,  while  "  Evelina" 
waa  making  her  way  into  the  world  of  fashion, 
that  we  fear  it  might  become  tiresome  to  any 
i«^,  however  patient,  to  hear  all  or  half  that 
people  said,  and  all  that  Miss  Bumey  hoped, 
feared,  and  believed,  about  her  absorbing  book,  if 
the  theme  were  not  agreeably  relieved  by  the  de- 
lij^itfal  inadental  matter  introduced.     If  every 

so,  XCHL — VOL.  IX* 


one  thought  as  much  about  their  own  book  as  did 
poor  Miss  Bumey,  and  passed  through  such  an 
ordeal,  authors,  but  especially  authoresses,  were  a 
race  dreadfully  to  be  pitied.  But  a  good  deal  must 
depend  upon  mental  constitution,  and  something 
on  the  change  of  times.  Rousseau,  when  hungry 
and  unknown,  could  not  enter  a  confectioners 
shop  to  buy  a  cake,  for  the  dread  of  people  looking 
at  him  and  watching  him ;  and  the  author  of 
^'Evelina"  certainly  endured  more  pangs  and 
throes  from  people  speaking  of  the  booky  or  from  not 
speaking  of  the  book,  or  not  in  the  right  vein,  than 
Shakspeare  suffered  with  all  his  dramas,  or  Scott 
with  all  his  novels.  In  short,  Miss  Bumey  was  as 
high  fantastic  about  her  book,  as  a  lover  about  his 
mistress, — now  thrilling  with  pleasure  at  an  eulo- 
gium, — ^now  in  a  ferment  if  the  book  was  alluded 
to  at  all;  unable  to  approach  where  it  was  in 
course  of  reading,  or  yet  to  stay  away.  Next  to 
being  married,  or,  perhaps,  something  more  trying 
as  more  unusual,  must,  to  a  young,  sensitive  woman, 
be  the  publication  of  her  first  book.  The  example 
of  Miss  Bumey  should  teach  all  ladies  in  the  same 
perilous  fircumstances,  who  are  not  properly  case- 
hardened,  to  enjoy  the  honeymoon  of  authorship 
in  the  shades  of  privacy,  and  to  keep  no  journal. 

In  these  degenerate  days,  the  name  of  a  popular 
novel  would  be  dead,  buried,  and  forgotten,  in  the 
time  which  it  took  to  bring  the  popular  "  Evelina" 
fairly  into  notice.  Between  January  and  July, 
it  crept  on  and  on  ;  and  by  the  end  of  the  latter 
month,  "Daddy  Crisp"  had  been  told  who  was 
the  proud  and  happy  author  of  the  amusing  novel 
which  some  of  the  Bumeys  had,  experimentally, 
read  to  him;  and  Dr.  Bumey  had  informed  Mrs. 
Thnde,  who  had  admired  the  work,  and  re- 
commended it  to  him,  that  the  author  was  none 
other  than  "  our  Fanny T  Mrs.  Thrale  instantly 
wrote  a  kind  and  complimentary  letter  to  the  proud 
father,  and  mentioned  that  Johnson  had  said  there 
were  passages  in  the  book  which  might  do  honour 
to  Richardson.  The  exulting  author  breaks  out 
into  this  delightful,  and,  we  fear,  almost  last  sally 
of  youthful  and  natural  glee  : — 

But  Dr.  Johnson's  approbation ! — it  almost  crazed  me 
with  agreeable  surprise — ^it  gave  me  such  a  flight  of 
spirits,  that  I  danced  a  jig  to  Mr.  Crisp,  without  any 
preparation,  music,  or  explanation — to  his  no  small 
amazement  and  diversion.  I  left  him,  however,  to  miJce 
his  own  comments  upon  my  fiiskiness,  without  affordbg 
him  the  smallest  assistance. 

An  invitation  to  Streatham,  the  country  resi- 
dence of  the  Thrales,  immediately  followed.  Miss 
Bumey  was  forthwith  to  be  a  literary  /ion,— a  com- 
parative rarity  in  those  days, — which  Mrs.  Thrale 
had  the  happiness  to  catch  and  exhibit  first.  "  She 
is  our  own,"  said  that  lady  to  Johnson :  "  we  caught 
her  first."  Mrs.  Thrale,  however,  exercised  her 
privileges  with  true  delicacy,  and  genuine  kind- 
ness.— And  now  for  a  younff  authoress' y2r«f  entrance 
into  the  world.  j 

London,  August. — I  have  liow  to  write  an  account  of 
the  most  consequential  day  I  have  spent  since  my  birth : 
namely,  my  Streatham  visits 

Our  journey  to  Streatham  was  the  least  pleasant  part 
of  the  day ;  for  the  roads  were  dreadftdly  dusty,  and  I  was 
really  in  the  fidgets  fh>m  thinking  what  my  reception 
might  be,  and  from  fearing  they  would  expect  a  less 


isa 


MISS  BURNETS  DIARY  AND  LETTERS, 


awkward  and  backward  kind  of  penon  than  I  was  sore 
they  would  find, 

Mr.  Thrale's  honse  is  white,  and  Terjr  pleasantly 
situated,  in  a  fine  paddock.  Mrs.  Thrale  was  strolling 
about,  and  came  to  us  as  we  got  out  of  the  chaise. 

♦*Ah,"  cried  sh^,  "I  hear  Dr.  Bumey*t  Toioe !  md 
you  have  brought  your  daughter! — well9now  yon  ve 
good!" 

She  then  receired  me,  taking  both  my  hands,  and  with 
mixed  politeness  and  cordiality  welcoming  me  to  Streat- 
ham,  she  led  me  into  the  house,  and  addreesed  herself 
almost  wholly  for  a  few  minute«  to  my  &ther,  as  if  to 
giye  me  an  assurance  she  did  not  mean  to  regard  me  as 
a  show,  or  to  distress  or  frighten  me  by  drawing  me  out. 
Afterwards  she  took  me  up  stairsu  and  showed  me  the 
house,  and  said  she  had  very  much  wished  to  see  me  at 
Streatham,  and  should  always  think  herself  much  obliged 
to  Dr.  Bumey  for  his  goodness  in  bringing  nie,  wUoh 
she  looked  upon  as  a  yery  great  fikvour. 

But  though  we  were  some  time  together,  and  though 
she  was  so.  very  ciTil,  she  did  not  hint  at  my  book,  and  I 
loTc  her  much  more  than  oyer  for  her  delicacy  in  aToid- 
ing  a  subject  which  she  could  net  bqt  see  would  hayt 
greatly  embarrassed  me. 

When  we  returned  to  the  music-room,  we  found  Miss 
Thrale  was  with  my  father.  Miss  Thrale  is  a  very  fine 
girl,  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  but  cold  and  reserved, 
though  tall  of  knowledge  and  intelligenee. 

Soon  after,  Mrs.  Thrale  took  me  to  the  l^rary;  she 
talked  a  little  while  upon  common  topics,  and  then,  at 
last,  she  mentioned  *  Evelina." 

**  Yesterday  at  supper,"  said  she,  **we  talked  it  all 
over,  and  discussed  all  your  characters;  but  Dr.  John- 
son's favourite  is  Mr.  Smith.  He  declares  the  fine  gen- 
tleman manqui  was  never  better  drawn :  and  he  acted 
him  all  the  evening,  saying  he  was  '  all  for  the  ladies  1' 
He  repeated  whole  scenes  by  heart.  I  declare  I  was 
astonished  at  him.  0  you  can't  imagine  how  much  he 
was  pleased  with  the  book ;  he  *  could  not  get  rid  of  the 
rogue,'  he  told  me.  But  was  it  not  droll,"  said  ^e, 
^that  I  should  recommend  it  to  Dr.  Bumey!  and  tease 
him  so  innocently,  to  read  it !" 

I  now  prevailed  upon  Mrs.  Thrale  to  let  me  amuse  my- 
self, and  she  went  to  dress.  I  then  prowled  about  io 
choose  some  book,  and  I  saw,  upon  tiie  reading-table, 
^  Evelina." — I  had  just  fixed  upon  a  new  translation  of 
Cicero's  Lselius,whenthelibrary-doorwas  opened,andMr. 
Seward  entered.  I  instantly  put  away  my  book,  because 
I  dreaded  being  thought  studious  and  affected.  He 
oflTered  his  service  to  find  anything  for  me,  and  then,  in 
the  same  breath,  ran  on  to  speak  of  the  book  with  wldoh 
I  had  myself  "favoured  the  world  !" 

When  we  were  summoned  to  dinner,  Mrs.  Thrale  made 
my  father  and  me  sit  on  each  side  of  her.  I  said  that 
I  hoped  I  did  not  take  Dr.  Johnson's  place — ^for  he  had 
not  yet  appeared. 

**No,"  answered  Mrs.  Thrale,  **he  vrill  sit  by  you, 
which  I  am  sure  will  give  him  great  pleasure." 

Soon  after  we  were  seated,  this  great  man  entered.  I 
have  so  true  a  veneration  for  him,  that  the  very  sight  of 
him  inspires  me  with  delight  and  reverence,  notwith- 
standing the  cruel  infirmities  to  which  he  is  subject}  for 
he  has  almost  perpetual  convulsive  movements,  either  of 
his  hands,  lips,  feet,  or  knees,  and  sometimes  of  all  to- 
gether. 

Mrs.  Thrale  introduced  me  to  him,  and  he  took  his 
place.  We  had  a  noble  dinner,  and  a  most  elegant  des- 
sert. Dr.  Johnson,  in  the  middle  of  dinner,  asked  Mrs. 
Thrale  what  was  in  some  little  pies  that  were  near  him. 
**  Mutton,"  answered  she,  "  so  I  don't  ask  you  to  eat 
any,  because  I  know  you  despise  it." 

**  No,  madam,  no,"  cried  he;  **  I  despise  nothing  that 
is  good  of  its  sort ;  but  I  am  too  proud  uqw  to  eat  of  it. 
Sitting  by  Miss  Bumey  makes  me  very  proud  to-day  ! " 

There  is  here  and  elsewhere,  much  of  Johnson's 
table-talk  ;  and  he  certainly  appears  in  a  very 
amiable  light,  in  relation  to  Miss  Bumey.  He  ad- 
mired her  lively  talents  ;  and  he  must  have  had  a 
fellow-feeling  with  her  position,  and  many  kindly  I 


wishes  for  her 'success.  Besides^  the  was  the  £aT(Mir- 
ite  of  his  "  mistress." 

Mr.  Thrale  does  not  appear  to  have  be^i  honied 
away  by  the  enthnaiaam  of  his  lady.  At  fiiat^  h9 
seems  to  have  been  r^>elling  to  the  youi^  autho* 
reta,  but  he  gradually  grew  in  her  esteem,  and  the 
slow  but  sure  good-liking  was  mutuaL  But  v^e 
must  return  to  the  joumsd : — 

How  gratefhl  do  I  feel  te  thii  dear  Dr.  Johpseiit  for 
never  naming  me  and  the  book  as  belonging  one  to  the 
other^  and  yet  making  sa  allusion  that  showed  his 
thoughts  led  to  it,  and,  at  the  same  time,  that  seemed  to 
justify  the  character  as  being  natural !  But,  indeed,  the 
delicacy  I  met  with  fh>m  him,  and  fipom  aU  the  Thiales, 
was  yet  mora  flattering  to  me  than  the  praise  with  w^idi 
I  have  heard  they  have  honoured  my  book. 

After  dinner,  when  Mrs.  Thrale  and  I  left  the  gentle- 
men, wC  had  a  conversation  that  to  me  could  not  bat  be 
delightful,  as  she  was  all  good  humour,  spirits,  lense,  and 
aoriMbmty,  Surely  I  may  make  words,  when  at  a  leoa, 
if  Dr.  Johnson  does. 

However,  I  shall  not  attempt  to  write  any  more  par- 
ticulars of  this  day — ^than  which  I  have  never  known  a 
happier,  because  the  chief  subject  that  was  started  and 
kept  up,  was  an  invitation  fbr  me  to  Streatham,  and  » 
desire  that  I  might  accompany  my  father  thithnr  next 
week,  and  stay  with  them  some  time. 

We  left  Streatham  at  about  eight  o'clock,  and  Mr. 
Seward,  who  handed  me  into  the  chaise,  added  his  in- 
terest to  the  rest,  that  my  father  would  not  fail  to  brin^ 
me.  In  shorty  I  was  loaded  with  civilities  from  tbem 
all;  and  my  ride  home  was  equally  happy  with  the  rest 
of  the  day,  for  my  kind  and  most  beloved  father  was  so 
happy  in  my  happiness,  and  congratulated  me  so  sweetly, 
that  ne  could,  like  myself,  think  on  no  other  subject :  and 
he  told  me  that,  after  passing  through  such  a  house  aA 
that,  I  could  have  noUiing  to  fear — meaning  ibr  my  book, 

my  honoured  book 

«  Sir  Joshua,  it  seems,  vows  he  would  give  fifty  pounds 
to  know  the  author !  I  have  also  heard,  by  the  means 
of  Charles,  that  other  persons  have  ddared  they  «*m 
find  him  out  1 

This  intelligence  determined  me  upon  going  myself  te 
Mr.  Lowndes,  and  discovering  what  sort  of  answers  he 
made  to  sach  curious  inquirers  as  I  found  were  likely  to 
address  him.  But  as  I  did  not  dare  trust  myself  to 
speak,  for  I  felt  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  act  my 
part  weU,  I  asked  my  mother  to  accompany  me. 

The  cunning  ladies  made  nothing  of  the  book- 
seller. 

In  a  few  days,  her  long  visit  to  Streatham 
was  made  ;  and  during  this  and  the  next  two  sea- 
sons, much  of  Miss  Bumey's  time  was  spent  at 
this  hospitable  and  learned  residence,  where  ahe 
met  many  of  the  literary  notahilUies  of  the  day. 
She  also  accompanied  the  Thrales  to  Brighton^ 
Tunbridge,  and  Bath ;  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  in  her 
own  way,  which,  probably,  was  the  best,  did  all 
she  could  to  ^  push  her,"  both  as  an  author,  and 
a  young  lady. 

The  friends  of  Johnson— the  Thraleia,  as  is  weU- 
known,  lived  in  great  magnificence,  and  with  ex- 
treme elegance  for  "  people  in  trade."  The  social 
position  of  Mr.  Thrale,  tiie  richest  of  rich  Londoa 
brewers,  the  Member  for  Southwark,  the  hi^sband 
of  Mrs.  ThraJe,  the  friend  of  .Johnson,  and,  more-- 
over,  a  really  worthy,  accomplished,  and  sensible 
man,  would,  at  first  sight,  seem  to  the  world  to  be 
one  to  fill  people  with  envy.  Yet  there  is  mnoh 
to  console  those  enjoying  peace,  health,  and  a 
mere  competence,  when  they  look  more'  oloaely 
into  the  life  of  the  Thrales. 
When  we  arrived  here,  Mrs.  Thrale  showed  me  my 


MISS  BURNEY'9  DJARY  AND  LETTERS. 


m 


tonHfithith  h  an  exeeedhig  pleMant  one^aad  then  eon- 
d«et«d  lie  to  the  lihnay,  Siera  to  diTert  myself  whUt 
ilMdreue<L 

Wm  ThnUe  WMm  joined  me :  and  I  begin  to  like  her. 
Mr.  Thrale  was  nei^ier  well  nor  in  gpirits  all  day.    In- 
deedy  be  seems  not  to  be  a  bappy  man,  though  he  has 
twy  means  of  happiness  in  his  power.    But  I  think  I 
ha^e  rarahf  seen  a  rery  riob  man  with  a  li^t  heart  and 
light  spiiita. 
Dr.  Johnson  was  in  the  ntmoet  good  hnmonr. 
On  a  gabeeqiient  day^  she  writes  :*- 
Dr.  Johnson  came  home  to  dinner. 
In  the  evening  he  was  as  lively  and  tall  of  T^t  and 
qrart  as  I  have  ever  seen  him;  and  Mrs.  Thrale  and  I 
had  him  quite  to  ourselves;  for  Mr.  Thrale  came  in 
from  giving  an  election  dinner  (to  which  he  sent  two 
bucks  and  six  pine  apples^  so  tired,  that  he  neither 
opened  his  eyes  nor  mouth,  but  fell  fast  asleep.    Indeed, 
after  tea  he  generally  does. 

In  the  following  year,  Mr.  Tkrale  had  the  first 
of  ihoBe  paralytic  attacks  which  soon  afterwards 
cat  him  off.  While  the  worn  and  worried  millionaire 
was  sleeping,  the  gay,  old,  and  poor  man  of  letters, 
Johnson,  now  past  seventy^  was  lively  and  talka- 
tive enoogh,  and  always  good-humoured,  save 
when  boied  by  any  of  the  show-people,  that  Mrs. 
Thrale  delighted  to  draw  to  her  coterie.  On  the  first 
night  that  Miss  Bnmey  spent  at  Streatham,  she 
rdates : — 

At  nJ^  Mrs.  Thrale  asked  if  I  would  have  anything  t 
I  aaswered  *  No;"  but  Dr.  Johnson  said, 

*  Yes:  she  is  used,  madam,  to  suppers;  she  would 
Hke  an  egg  or  two,  and  a  few  slices  of  ham,  or  a  rasher 
—a  raaher,  I  believe,  would  please  her  better." 

How  ridienloosl  However,  nothing  could  persuade 
Mrs.  ThnUe  not  to  have  the  cloth  laid :  and  Dr.  John- 
aoB  was  M  Ikeetions,  that  he  challenged  Mr.  Thrale  to 
get  dmnk ! 

**  I  wish,"  said  he,  **  my  master  would  say  to  me, 
JoliBson,  if  you  wUl  oblige  me,  you  will  call  fbr  a  bottle 
6f  Toakm,  and  then  we  will  set  to  it,  glass  for  glass,  till 
it  is  dooe;  and  after  that,  I  will  say,  Thrale,  if  you  will 
eblige  me,  you  will  call  for  another  bottle  of  Toulon, 
nd  tbes  we  will  set  to  it,  gUss  for  gbiss,  till  that  is 
4oDe :  and  bv  the  time  we  should  have  drunk  the  two 
Wtlee,  we  i&ould  be  so  happy,  and  such  good  iViends, 
that  we  shonld  fly  into  each  otiier's  arms,  and  both  to- 
grther  eaU  for  Oe  third  I" 

I  ate  nothing,  that  they  might  not  again  use  such  a 
atiemoiiy  with  me.  Indeed,  their  late  dinners  forbid 
sappers,  especially  as  Dr.  Johnson  made  me  eat  cake  at 
tea,  Ibr  he  held  it  till  I  took  it,  with  an  odd  or  absent 
fsmplsinaafifi 

He  was  extremely  comical  after  supper,  and  would 
Bot  waWa  Mrs.  Thrale  and  me  to  go  to  bed  for  near  an 
boor  alter  we  made  the  motion.  .... 

Now  for  this  morning's  breakfiist. 

Dr.  Johnson,  as  usual,  came  last  into  the  library;  he 
was  in  high  spirits,  and  ftill  of  mirth  and  sport.  I  had 
the  hoaoor  of  sitting  next  to  him :  and  now,  all  at  once, 
he  tang  adde  his  reserve,  thinking,  perhaps,  that  it  was 
time  I  shonld  fling  aside  mine. 

Mrs.  Thrale  tohi  him  that  she  intended  takfaig  me  to 
Mr.T *a. 

*  So  yon  on|^  madam,'' cried  he;  ^ 'tis  your  business 
t»  be  deerone  to  her." 

Then  saddenly  he  snatched  my  hand,  and  kissbg  it, 
'^  Ah !"  he  added, <<they  will  littie  thmk  what  a  Tartar 
ymeairy  to  them  1" 

«Ko,  tiiat  they  wonH!''  eried  Mrs.  Thrale;  ''Miss 
Beney  looks  so  meek  and  so  quiet,  nobody  would  sus- 
pect what  a  eomioal  girl  she  is;  but  I  believe  die  has  a 
great  deal  of  malice  at  heart." 

*  (Ml,  die  is  a  toad  I"  cried  the  doctor,  laughhig— ^  a 
fily  7<Mag  ngne !  with  her  Smiths  and  her  Branghtons !" 

*  Why,  Dr.  Johnson,"  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  "  I  hope  you 
tie  rety  wtSi  fliie  momingl  if  one  may  judge  by  your 


spirits  and  good  humour,  the  fever  yon  threa^ned  us 
with  is  gone  oflf." 

He  had  complained  that  he  was  going  to  be  ill  last 
night. 

"  Why  no,  madam,  no,"  answered  he;  "  I  am  not  yet 
well;  I  could  not  sleep  at  all;  there  I  Uy,  restless  and 
uneasy,  and  thinking  all  the  time  of  Miss  Bumey.  Per- 
haps I  have  olfonded  her,  thought  I ;  perhaps  she  is 
angry;  I  have  seen  her  but  once,  and  I  talked  to  her  of 
a  rasher  I — Were  you  angry  1" 

I  think  I  need  not  tell  you  my  answer. 

**  I  have  been  endeavouring  to  find  some  excuse,"  oon- 
tinuedhe,  ^and,  as  I  could  not  sleep,  I  got  up,  and 
looked  for  some  authority  for  the  word;  and  I  find, 
madam,  it  is  used  by  Dryden :  in  one  of  his  prologues, 
he  says-—^  And  snatch  a  homely  rasher  from  the  coals.' 
So  yon  must  not  mind  me,  madam ;  I  si^  strange  things, 
but  I  mean  no  harm." 

I  was  almost  afraid  he  thought  I  was  really  idiot 
enough  to  have  taken  him  seriously ;  but,  a  few  minutes 
after,  he  put  his  hand  on  my  arm,  and  shaking  his  head, 
exclaimed, 

"  Oh,  yon  are  a  sly  little  rogue  I— what  a  Holbouni 
beau  have  you  drawn  I" 

«  Ay,  Miss  Bumey,"  said  Bfrs.  Thrale,  "the  Holboum 
beau  is  Dr.  Johnson's  favourite;  and  'we  have  all  your 
characters  by  heart,  from  Mr.  Smith  up  to  Lady  Louisa." 

<<0h,  Mr.  Smith,  Mr.  Smith  is  the  manl"  cried  he, 
laughing  riolentiy.  **  Harry  Fielding  never  drew  so 
good  a  character ! — such  a  fine  varnish  of  low  politeness! 
— such  a  struggle  to  appear  a  gentleman  I  Madam,  there 
is  no  character  better  drawn  any  where— in  any  book  or 
by  any  author." 

I  almost  poked  myself  under  the  table.  Never  did  I 
fbel  so  delicious  a  conftision  sinee  I  was  boin  I 

It  would  be  impossible,  we  presume,  for  any 
lady  to  entertain  kind  wishes  for  a  young  female 
friend,  without  proposing  to  marry  her  well.  Seve- 
ral matrimonial  plans  were  started,  between  jest 
and  earnest,  for  Miss  Bumey.  One  party  was  a 
rich  booby  knight,  the  nephew  and  ward  of  Mr. 
Thrale,  which  we  mention  to  introduce  a  trait 
which  does  honour  to  her  heart  and  judgment ; 
though  we  do  not  say  what  might  have  been  the 
result,  had  Sir  J—  popped  the  question. 

**  Mr.  Thrale  says  nothing  would  make  him  half  so 

happy  as  giving  Miss  Bumey  to  Sir  J L ." 

.  Mercy  1  what  an  exclamation  did  I  give.  I  wonder 
you  did  not  hear  me  to  St.  Martin's  Street.  However, 
she  continued, 

**  Mr.  Thrale  says.  Miss  Bumey  seems  more  formed 
to  draw  a  husband  to  herself,  by  her  humour  when  gay, 
and  her  good  sense  when  serious,  than  almost  anybody 
he  ever  saw." 

^He  does  me  much  honour,"  cried  I;  though  I  can- 
not say  I  much  enjoyed  such  a  proof  of  his  good  opinion 

as  giving  me  to  Sir  J L- —  ;  but  Mr.  Thrale  is 

bol^  his  uncle  and  his  guardian,  and  thinks,  perhaps, 
he  would  do  a  mutual  g<wd  office  in  securing  me  so  much 
money,  and  his  nephew  a  decMit  companion.  Oh,  if  he 
knew  how  little  I  require  with  regard  to  money — how 
much  to  even  bear  with  a  companion  I  But  he  was  not 
brought  up  wi^  such  folks  as  my  fitther,  my  Daddy 
Oisp,  and  my  Susan;  and  does  not  know  what  indiffer- 
ence to  all  things  but  good  society  such  people  as  those 
inspire. 

*^  My  master  says  a  very  good  speech,"  cried  the  doc- , 
tor,  '^  if  Miss  Bumey's  hu^and  should  have  anything 
in  common  with  herself ;  but  I  know  not  how  we  can 

level  her  with  Sir  J L ,  unless  she  would  be 

content  to  put  her  virtues  and  talents  in  a  scale  against 
his  thousands  ;  and  poor  Sir  J must  give  cheat- 
ing weight  even  then  !  However,  If  we  bestow  such 
a  prise  upon  him,  he  shall  settle  his  whole  fortune  on 
her." 

Ah !  thought  I,  I  am  more  mercenary  than  you  fancy 
me,  for  not  even  that  would  bribe  me  high  enough. 


188 


MISS  BURNErS  DURY  AND  LETTERS. 


Before  Dr.  Joh  iBon  had  fiuis  led  his  doge,  I  was  ac- 
tually on  the  grojnd,  fjr  there  was  no  standing  it, — or 
Bitting  it,  rather :  and  Mrs.  Thrale  seemed  delighted  for 
jne. 

As  we  can  no  more  stand  more  of  this  than  Miss 
Bumey,  we  skip  it,  and  come  to  one  of  Johnson's 
extraordinary  opinions  of  a  book  written  by  a  man 
who  was  .great,  simply  because  he  did  not  know  the 
value  of  his  own  resources.     "  Mrs.  Thrale  gave, 

Me  a  long  and  rery  entertaining  acooant  of  Dr.  Gold- 
smith, who  was  intimately  known  here ;  but  in  speaking 
of  **  The  Good-natured  Man,"  when  I  extolled  my  fa- 
vourite Croaker,  I  found  that  admirable  character  was  a 
downright  theft  from  Dr.  Johnson.  Look  at  the  **  Ram- 
bler,*' and  you  will  find  Suspirius  is  the  man;  and  that 
not  merely  the  idea,  but  the  particulars  of  the  character, 
are  all  stolen  thence  I 

While  we  were  yet  reading  this  **  Rambler,"  Dr.  John- 
son came  in :  we  told  him  what  we  were  about. 

**  Ah,  madam !"  cried  he,  ^  Goldsmith  was  not  scru- 
pulous; but  he  would  hare  been  a  great  man  had  he 
known  the  real  value  of  his  own  internal  resources." 

**  Miss  Bumey,"  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  "  is  foud  of  his 
*  Vicar  of  Wakefield:*  and  so  am  I j— don't  you  like  it, 
Sir!" 

*^  No,  madam,  it  is  very  faulty;  there  is  nothing  of 
real  life  in  it,  and  very  little  of  nature.  It  is  a  mere 
fanciflil  performance." 

He  then  seated  himself  upon  a  sofa,  and  calling  to  me, 
said  ''Come — Evelina — come  and  sit  by  me." 

I  obeyed;  and  he  took  me  almost  in  his  arms — ^that  is, 
one  of  his  arms,  for  one  would  go  three  times,  at  least,, 
round  me — and,  half  laughing,  half  serious,  he  charged 
me  to  '^  be  a  good  girl  V* 

**  But,  my  dear,"  continued  he  with  a  very  droll  look, 
''what  makes  you  so  fond  of  the  Scotch  t  I  don't  like 
you  for  that — I  hate  these  Scotch,  and  so  must  you.  I 
wish  Branghton  had  sent  the  dog  to  jail  I  That  Scotch 
dog.  Macartney." 

The  Doctor  liked  at  all  times  ^^  to  astonish  the 
natives."  He  had  by  this  time  made  his  celebrated 
journey  to  the  Hebrides,  and  he  paid  Miss  Bumey 
the  compliment  of  widiing  she  had  been  of  the 
party.  After  the  Doctor,  who  piqued  himself  at  all 
times  upon  his  gallantry  and  politeness,  had  been 
super-refined  atStreatham,  he  became  a  critic  in  the 
dress  of  fine  ladies  ;  without^  however,  forgettmg 
very  different  aspects  of  many-coloured  female  life. 
The  following  is  peculiarly  rich  ;  and  we  like  the 
Streatham  ladies  all  the  better,  for  enjoying  John- 
son's rollicking  description  of  their  frail  sisters. 

We  got  home  late,  and  had  the  company  of  Mr.  E , 

and  of  Mr.  Rose  Fuller,  a  young  man  who  lives  at 
Streatham,  and  is  nephew  of  the  f&mous  Rose  Fuller : 
and  whether  Dr.  Johnson  did  not.  like  them,  or  whether 
he  was  displeased  that  we  went  out,  or  whether  he  was 
not  well,  I  know  not ;  but  he  never  opened  his  mouth, 
except  in  answer  to  a  question,  till  he  bid  us  good 
night. 

Saturday  morning. — Dr.  Johnson  was  again  all  him- 
self;  and  so  civil  to  me ! — even  admiring  ^w  I  dressed 
myself !  Indeed,  it  is  well  I  have  so  much  of  his  favour ; 
for  it  seems  he  always  speaks  his  mind  concerning  the 
dress  of  ladies;  and  all  ladies  who  are  here  obey  his  in- 
junctions implicitly,  and  alter  whatever  he  disapproves. 
This  is  a  part  of  his  character  that  much  surprises  me : 
but  notwithstanding  he  is  sometimes  so  absent,  and 
always  so  near-sighted,  he  scrutinizes  into  every  part  of 
almost  everybody's  i^pearance.  They  tell  me  of  a  Miss 
Brown,  who  often  visits  here,  and  who  has  a  slovenly 
way  of  dressing.  "  And  when  she  comes  down  in  a 
morning,"  says  Mrs.  Thrale,  "her  hair  will  be  all  loose, 
and  her  cap  half  off;  and  then  Dr.  Johnson,  who  sees 
something  is  wrong,  and  does  not  know  where  the  fault 
13^  concludes  it  is  in  the  cap,  and  says,  '  My  dear,  what 


do  you  wear  such  a  vile  cap  fur ! '  '  I'll  change  it,  Sit,' 
cries  the  poor  girl,  'if  you  don't  like  it.'  *  Ay,  do,'  he 
says ;  and  away  runs  poor  Miss  Brown ;  but  when  she 
gels  on  another,  its  the  same  thing,  for  the  cap  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  fault.  And  then  she  wooden 
Dr.  Johnson  should  not  like  the  cap,  for  she  thinks  it 
very  pretty.  And  so  on  with  her  gown,  which  he  also 
makes  her  change ;  but  if  the  poor  girl  were  to  change 
through  all  her  wardrobe,  unless  she  could  put  her  things 
on  better,  he  would  still  find  fault." 

When  Dr.  Johnson  was  gone,  she  told  me  of  my 
mother's  being  obliged  to  clumge  her  dress. 

"  New,"  said  she, "  Mrs.  Bumey  had  on  a  very  pretty 
linen  jacket  and  coat,  and  was  going  to  church ;  bnt  Dr. 
Johnson,  who,  I  suppose,  did  not  like  her  in  a  jacket, 
saw  something  was  the  matter,  and  so  found  fault  with 
the  linen:  and  he  looked  and  peered,  and  then  said, 
'  Why,  madam,  this  won't  do !  you  must  not  go  to  chorch 
so  I'  So  away  went  poor  Mrs.  Bumey  and  changed  her 
gown !  And  when  she  had  done  so,  he  did  not  like  it, 
but  he  did  not  know  why ;  so  he  told  her  she  should  not 
wear  a  black  hat  and  cloak  in  summer !  Oh,  how  he 
did  bother  poor  Mrs.  Barney  1  and  liimself  too,for  if  the 
things  had  been  put  on  to  his  mind,  he  would  h&ye  taken 
no  notice  of  them." 

And  now  let  me  try  to  recollect  an  account  he  gare  ns 
of  certain  celebrated  ladies  of  his  acquaintance:  an  ac- 
count which,  had  you  heard  from  himself,  would  hare 
made  you  die  with  laughing,  his  manner  is  so  peculiar, 
and  enforces  his  humour  so  originally. 

It  was  begun  by  Mrs.  Thrale's  apologising  to  him  for 
troubling  him  with  some  question  she  thought  trifUng— 
O,  I  remember  I  We  had  been  talking  of  coloun,  and 
of  the  fantastic  names  given  to  them,  and  why  the  palest 
lilac  should  be  called  a  ioupir  itouffc;  and  when  Dr. 
Johnson  came  in  she  applied  to  him. 

"  Why,  madam,"  said  he  with  wonderftil  readiness, 
"it  is  called  a  stifled  sigh  because  it  is  checked  in  its 
progress,  and  only  half  a  colour." 

I  could  not  help  expressing  my  amazement  at  his  uni- 
versal readiness  upon  all  subjects,  and  Mrs.  Thrale  said 
to  him, 

"  Sir,  Miss  Bumey  wonders  at  your  patience  inUi 
such  stuff;  but  I  tell  her  you  are  used  to  me, for  I  be- 
lieve I  torment  you  with  more  foolish  questions  than 
anybody  else  dares  do." 

"  No,  madam,"  said  he,  "  you  don't  torment  me-yon 
teaze  me,  indeed,  sometimes." 

"Ay,  so  I  do,  Dr.  Johnson;  and  I  wonder  you  bear 
with  my  nonsense." 

"  No,  madam,  you  never  talk  nonsense ;  you  bare  is 
much  sense,  and  more  wit,  than  any  woman  I  know ! 

"  Oh,"  cried  Mra.  Thrale,  blushing,  "  it  is  my  turn  to 
go  under  the  table  this  morning.  Miss  Bumey  1" 

"  And  yet,"  contmuOd  the  doctor,  with  the  most  comi- 
cal look,  "  I  have  known  all  the  wits,  from  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague down  to  Bet  Flmt  1"  ^  ^ 

"  Bet  Flint  I"  cried  Mrs.  Thrale ;  "  pray  who  is  she  r 

"  Oh,  a  fine  character,  madam  I  She  was  habiturily 
a  slut  and  a  drunkard,  and  occasionally  a  thief  sod  a 
harlot."  ^ 

"  And,  for  Heaven's  sake,  how  came  you  to  know  her  r 

"  Why,  madam,  she  figured  in  the  literary  world,  too  i 
Bet  Flint  wrote  her  own  life,  and  called  herself  Cassan- 
dra, and  it  was  in  verse — it  began : 

*  When  Nature  first  ordained  my  birth, 
A  diminutive  I  was  bora  on  earth: 
And  then  I  came  horn  a  dark  abode. 
Into  a  gay  and  gaudy  world.* 
So  Bet  brought  me  her  verses  to  correct ;  but  I  «*^«^ 
half-a-crown,  and  she  liked  it  as  well.     Bet  h*J  *  °"J  1 
spirit — she  advertised  for  a  husband,  but  she  "*(*  "   | 
success,  for  she  told  me  no  man  aspired  to  h^  ^"^ 
she  hired  very  handsome  lodgings  and  a  footboy ;  wi 
she  got  a  harpsichord,  but  Bet  could  not  play;  however, 
she  put  herself  in  fine  attitudes,  and  drummed. 

Then  he  gave  an  account  of  another  of  these  g«"^ 
who  called  herself  by  some  fine  name,  I  hare  fcfrgowsa 

«  She  had  not  quite  the  same  stock  of  Thrtoe,"  con-. 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LfiTTfiRS. 


189 


tiaaid  lie,  'nor  the  same  stock  of  honesty  as  Bet  Flint; 
bit  I  sapfNtse  she  envied  her  accomplishments,  for  she 
wu  m  little  moved  by  the  power  of  harmony,  that  while 
Bet  FIiDt  tbooght  she  was  drumming  very  divinely,  the 
other  jsde  had  her  indicted  fbr  a  nuisance  I" 

*  And  pray  what  became  of  her,  Sir  V* 

*  Why,  madam,  she  stole  a  quilt  fVom  the  man  of  the 
houe,  and  he  had  her  taken  up :  but  Bet  Flint  had  a 
ipirit  not  to  be  subdued ;  so  when  she  found  herself 
obliged  to  |0  to  jail,  she  ordered  a  sedan  chair,  and  bid 
Iter  ibotboy  walk  before  her.  However,  the  boy  proved 
Rfraetory,  for  he  was  ashamed,  though  his  mistress  was 

'  And  did  she  erer  get  out  of  jail  again.  Sir  V* 

**  Yes,  madam ;  when  she  came  to  her  trial,  the  judge 

ioquittedher.  'So  now,'  she  said  to  me,  'the  quilt  is 
Bj  own,  and  now  1*11  make  a  petticoat  of  it.'  Oh,  I 
loved  Bet  Flint!" 

Oh,  how  we  all  laughed !  Then  he  gave  an  account 
«f  aaoUier  Udy,  who  called  herself  Laurinda,  and  who 
slao  wrote  verses  and  stole  fiimitnre;  but  he  had  not  the 
lUK  afbction  for  her,  he  said,  though  she  too  **  was  a 
hdy  who  had  high  notions  of  honour." 

Then  followed  the  history  of  another,  who  called  her- 
idf  Horteasia,  and  who  walked  up  and  down  the  park 
repeating  a  book  of  VirgiL 

'^  Bat,**  said  he,  "  though  I  know  her  story,  I  never 
bd  the  good  fortune  to  see  her." 

After  this  he  gave  us  an  account  of  the  famous  Mrs. 
Pinkfthman ;  **  And  she,"  he  said,  *^  told  me  she  owed 
all  her  misfortunes  to  her  wit ;  for  she  was  ^o  unhappy  as 
to  marry  a  man  who  thought  himself  also  a  wit,  though 
I  beliere  she  gave  him  not  implicit  credit  for  it,  but  it 
eceaaoned  much  contradiction  and  ill-will." 

■Bless  me, Sir  r  cried  Mrs.  Thrale,  "how  can  all 
these  vagabonds  contrive  to  get  at  you,  of  all  people !" 
•  "0  the  dear  creatures !"  cried  he,  laughing  heartily, 
'I  canH  bat  be  glad  to  see  them !" 

•Why  I  wonder.  Sir,  you  never  went  to  see  Mrs. 
Rodd  among  the  rest !" 

"  Why,  madam,  I  believe  I  should,"  said  he,  **  if  it  was 
Ki  for  the  newspapers ;  but  I  am  prevented  many 
holies  that  I  should  like  very  well,  since  I  am  become 
sMh  a  theme  for  the  papers." 

Now  would  you  ever  have  imagined  this  I  Bet  Flint, 
it  teems,  once  took  Kitty  Fisher  to  see  him,  but  to  his  no 
little  regret  he  was  not  at  home.  **  And  Mrs.  Williams," 
1*  sdded, «  did  not  love  Bet  Flint,  but  Bet  Flint  made 
ietsetf  very  easy  about  that." 

How  Mr.  Crisp  would  have  enjoyed  this  account !  He 
|>Te  It  all  with  so  droll  a  solemnity,  and  it  was  all  so 
^a«ipected,  that  Mrs.  Thrale  and  I  were  both  almost 
•^oslly  diverted.  

Snee  we  are  among  the  female  wits,  we  may  as 
^  finish  them.  The  anecdotes  are  not  new  to 
^  world,  yet  they  are  new  from  the  pen  of  Miss 
Bumey. 

Mis.  Thrale  told  a  story  of  Hannah  More,  which  I 
^k  exceeds,  in  its  severity,  all  the  severe  things  I  have 
Jtt  heard  of  Dr.  Johnson's  saying. 

Whea  she  was  introduced  to  him,  not  long  ago,  she 
begaa  anging  his  praise  in  the  warmest  manner,  and  talk- 
J"Sof  the  pleasure  and  the  instruction  she  had  received 
non  Us  writings,  with  the  highest  encomiums.  For 
B«Ke  time  he  heurd  her  with  that  quietness  which  a  long 
'*^  of  praise  has  given  him :  she  then  redoubled  her 
f^nAea,  and,  as  Mr.  Seward  caUs  it,  peppered  still  more 
«^i  till,  at  length,  he  turned  suddenly  to  her,  with  a 
Aea  and  angry  countenance,  and  said,  ^  Madam,  before 
^  flatter  a  man  so  grossly  to  his  face,  you  should  con- 
*der  whether  or  not  your  flattery  is  worth  his  haying." 

"^Urwards  m  conyersation,  he  said,  that  if 
"little  Bumey"  served  him  as  Hannah  More  did, 
«  should  say  the  same  to  her.  Nor,  much  as  he 
«»««<i  "Dear  Bumey,"  and  praised  her  « ho- 
nored book,"  would  he  be  insincere  with  her. 
"US  is  the  rest  of  the  dialogue  ;— 


Mrs.  T. — If  you  are  spoilt,  we  call  Ohly  say,  nothing 
in  the  world  is  so  pleasant  as  being  spoilt. 

Br.  J. — No,  no ;  Bumey  will  not  be  spoilt :  she  knows 
too  well  what  praise  she  has  a  claim  to,  and  what  not, 
to  be  in  any  danger  of  spoiling. 

F.  B. — I  do,  indeed,  believe  I  shall  never  be  spoilt  at 
Streatham,  for  it  is  the  last  place  where  I  can  feel  of  any 
consequence. 

Mrs.  T. — Well,  Sir,  she  is  our  Miss  Bumey,  however; 
we  were  the  first  to  catch  her,  and  now  we  have  got,  we 
will  keep  her.    And  so  she  is  all  our  own. 

Dr.  J, — Yes,  I  hope  she  is ;  I  should  be  very  sorry  to 
lose  Miss  Bumey. 

F.  B. — Oh,  dear !  how  can  two  such  people  sit  and 
talk  such 

Mrs.  T. — Such  stuff*,  you  think!  but  Br.  Johnson's 
love 

Dr.  J. — Love  I  no,  I  don't  entirely  love  her  yet ;  I 
must  see  more  of  her  first ;  I  have  much  too  high  an  * 
opinion  of  her  to  flatter  her.    I  have,  indeed,  seen  no- 
thing of  her  but  what  is  fit  to  be  loved,  but  I  must  know 
her  more.    I  admire  her,  and  greatly  too. 

F.  B. — Well  this  is  a  very  new  style  to  me  I  I  have 
long  enough  had  reason  to  think  myself  loved,  but  ad- 
miration is  perfectly  new  to  me. 

Dr.  J. — I  admire  her  for  her  observation,'for  her  good 
sense,  for  her  humour,  for  her  discemment,  for  her  man- 
ner of  expressing  them,  and  for  all  her  writing  talents. 

At  Miss  Bumey's  first  interview  with  the  bril-  ^ 
liant  and  vivacious  Mrs.  Cholmondely,  she  thus 
finbhes  her  sketch  of  Hannah  More : — 

After  this.  Miss  More  was  mentioned;  and  I  was 
asked  what  I  thought  of  her  I 

**  Don't  be  formal  with  me ;  if  you  are,  I  sha'n't  like 
you !" 

**  I  have  no  hope  that  you  will  any  way  I" 

^  Oh,  fie  1  fie  I  but  as  to  Miss  More— I  don't  like  her 
at  all ;  that  is,  I  detest  her  !  She  does  nothing  but 
fiatter  and  fawn;  and  then  she  thinks  ill  of  nobody. 
Don't  you  hate  a  person  who  thinks  ill  of  nobody  I" 

My  father  then  told  what  Dr.  Johnson  had  said  to 
her  on  the  occasion  of  her  praising  him. 

"  This  rejoices,  this  does  me  good  !"  cried  she ;  "  I 
would  have  given  the  world  to  have  heard  that.  Oh, 
there's  no  supporting  the  company  of  professed  flatterers. 
She  gives  me  such  doses  of  it,  that  I  cannot  endure  her  ; 
but  I  always  sit  still  and  make  no  answer,  but  receive 
it  as  if  I  thought  it  my  due :  that  is  the  only  way  to 
quiet  her.  She  is  really  detestable.  I  hope.  Miss  Bur- 
ney,  you  don't  think  I  admire  all  geniuses !  The  only 
person  I  flatter,"  continued  she,  **  is  Garrick ;  and  ho 
likes  it  so  much,  that  it  pays  one  by  the  spirits  it  gives 
him.    Other  people  that  I  like,  I  dare  not  flatter !" 

A  rat-tat-tat-tat  ensued,  and  the  Earlof  Harcourt  was 
announced. 

Though  an  adorer  of  "our  superiors,"  a  very 
beadle  of  "  social  order,"  Johnson  was  somewhat 
of  a  democrat  in  literature,  even  in  spite  of  him- 
self. His  dislike  of  Mrs.  Montagu  sprang  as 
much  from  her  overweening  airs,  as  from  what  ho 
considered  her  inordinate  or  shallow  pretensions  to 
learning : — 

Mrs.  T. — ^To-morrow,  Sir,  Mrs.  Montagu  dines  here, 
and  then  yon  will  have  talk  enough. 

Dr.  Johnson  began  to  see-saw  with  a  countenance 
strongly  expressive  of  inward  fun ;  and  after  eigoying  it 
some  time  in  silence,  he  suddenly,  and  with  great  ani- 
mation, tumed  to  me  and  cried^ — 

"  Down  with  her,  Bumey  !— -down  with  her  I — spare 
her  not  1 — attack  her,  fight  her,  and  down  with  her  at 
once  I  You  are  a  rising  wit,  and  she  is  at  the  top ;  and 
when  I  was  beginning  the  world,  and  was  nothing  and 
nobody,  the  joy  of  my  life  was  to  fire  at  all  the  estab- 
lished wits !  and  then  everybody  loved  to  halloo  me 
on.  But  there  is  no  game  now ;  everybody  would  be 
glad  to  see  me  conquered  :  but  then,  when  I  was  new, 
to  Tanquish  the  great  ones  was  all  the  delight  of  my 


190 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


poor  little  deu*  soul !  So  at  her,  Barney — at  her,  and 
down  with  her  I*' 

Oh,  how  we  were  all  amused  t  By  the  way  I  must 
tell  you  that  Mrs.  Montagu  is  in  very  great  estimation 
^here,  even  with  Dr.  Johnson  himself,  when  others  do 
'not  praise  her  improperly.  Mrs.  Thrale  ranks  her  as 
the  first  of  women  in  the  literary  way.  I  should  have 
told  you  that  Miss  Gregory,  daughter  of  the  Gregory 
who  wrote  the  **  Letters,"  or  "  Legacy  of  Adyice,"  lives 
with  Mrs.  Montagu,  and  was  inrited  to  accompany  her. 

"Mark,  now,"  said  Dr.  Johnson,  **  if  I  contradict  her 
to-morrow.  I  am  determined,  let  her  say  what  she  will, 
that  I  will  not  contradict  her." 

Mrs.  T. — Why,  to  be  sure.  Sir,  you  did  put  her  a  little 

out  of  countenance  last  time  she  came.    Yet  you  were 

neither  rough,  nor  cruel,  nor  ill-natured ;  but  still,  when 

a  lady  changes  colour,  we  imagine  her  feelings  are  not 

.  quite  composed. 

Dr.  J. — Why,  madam,  I  won't  answer  that  I  sha*n*t 
contradict  her  again,  if  she  proTokes  me  as  she  did 
then;  but  a  less  provocation  I  will  withstand.  I  be- 
lieve I  am  not  high  in  her  good  graces  already;  and  I 
begin,  (added  he,  laughing  heartily,)  to  tremble  for  my 
adimi^ion  into  her  new  house.  I  doiu>t  I  shall  never  see 
the  inside  of  it. 

We  could  not  prevail  with  him  to  stay  till  Mrs.  Mon- 
tagu arrived,  though,  by  appohitment,  she  came  very 
early.    She  and  Miss  Gregory  came  by  one  o'clock. 

There  was  no  party  to  meet  her. 

She  is  middle-sized,  very  thin,  aod  looks  infirm ;  she 
has  a  sensible  and  penetrating  countenance,  and  the  air 
and  manner  of  a  woman  accustomed  to  being  distin- 
guished, and  of  great  parts.  Dr.  Johnson,  who  agrees 
in  this,  told  us  that  a  Mrs.  Hervey,  of  his  acquaintance, 
says,  she  can  remember  Mrs.  Montagu  trying  for  this 
same  air  and  manner.  Mr.  Crisp  has  said  the  same: 
however,  nobody  can  now  impartially  see  her,  and  not 
confess  Uiat  she  has  extremely  well  succeeded. 

Mrs.  Montagu,  though  not  a  particular  admirer 
t}{  the  booky  kindly  proposed  to  marry  its  author 
to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  She  and  the  then  At- 
torney-general, Mr.  Wedderbume,  thought  the 
Branghtons,  in  whom  Johnson  delighted,  insuffer- 
ably bad — "  strange  low  cpeatures." 

There  are,  in  the  Diary,  many  sketches  of  char- 
acters and  of  groups,  quite  as  good  as  anything 
to  be  found  in  Miss  Bumey's  novels ;  and,  more- 
over,/ac-«i»i^.  We  shall  try  to  select  a  few  of 
those  cabinet  pictures  of  the  bon  Um  of  the  middle 
and  higher  cls^ses  in  those  olden  days ;  and  of  Bath 
and  Tunbridge  literary  and  fiashionable  society. 

Sunday  we  went  to  Streatham  ohureh,  and  alterwaords 

to  visit  the  family  of  the  P        o,  who  now  live  in  B 

House,  which  is  about  half-a-nule  off.  The  papa  I  did 
not  see  ;  the  mamma  is  a  civil,  simple  woman,  and  the 
daughters  are  pretty,  well  dressed,  trifling,  and  ftirionsly 
extravagant. 

While  Mrs.  Thrale  and  I  were  dressing,  and,  as  usual, 
confabbing,  a  chaise  drove  into  the  park,  and  word  was 
brought  that  Mr.  Seward  was  arrived. 

*  You  don't  know  much  of  Mr.  Seward,  Miss  Bur- 
ney  1"  said  Mrs.  Thrale. 

I  could  have  told  her  I  wished  he  had  not  known 
much  of  me ;  but  her  maid  was  in  my  way,  and  I  only 
said  "  No." 

^  But  I  hope  you  will  know  more  of  him,"  said  she, 
"  for  I  want  you  to  take  to  him.  He  is  a  charming 
young  man,  though  not  without  oddities.  Few  people 
do  him  justice,  because,  as  Dr.  Johnson  caUs  b^tn^  he  is 
an  abrupt  young  man  ;  but  he  has  excellent  qualities, 
and  an  excellent  understanding.  He  has  the  misfortune 
to  be  an  hypochondriac;  so  he  runs  about  the  world  to 
borrow  spirits,  and  to  forget  himself.  But  after  all,  if 
bis  disorders  are  merely  imaginary,  the  imagination  is 
disorder  sufficient,  and  iherefore  1  am  sorry  lor  him." 


•*  The  day  passed  very  agreeably,  but  1  have  bo  time  for 
particulars.  I  fight  very  shy  with  Mr.  Seward,  tad  u 
he  has  a  great  share  of  sense  and  penetration,  and  not  a 
little  one  of  pride  and  reserve,  he  takes  the  hint ;  tad  1 
believe  he  would  as  soon  bite  off  his  own  nose  as  mentioa 
^  ETelina"  again.  And,  indeed,  now  that  the  propriety 
of  his  after-conduct  has  softened  me  in  his  IkToiir,  I 
begin  to  think  of  him  much  iir  the  same  way  Mrs.  Thnle 
does,  for  he  is  very  sensible,  very  intelligent,  and  yvq 
well  bred. 

Monday  was  the  day  for  our  great  party ;  and  the 
doctor  came  home,  at  Mrs.  Thrale's  request,  to  meet 
them. 

The  party  consisted  of  Mr.  C ,  who  was  formerly 

a  timl^r-merchant,  but  having  amassed  a  fortune  of 
one  million  of  pounds,  he  has  left  off  business.  He  is  a 
good-natured,  busy  sort  of  man. 

Mrs.  C y  his  lady,  a  sort  of  Mrs.  Nobody. 

Mr.  N y  another  rich  business  leaver-off. 

Mrs.  N >  his  lady  ;  a  pretty  sort  of  womao,  iHio 

was  formerly  a  pupil  of  Dr.  Hawkesworth.  I  had  a 
great  deal  of  talk  with  her  about  him,  and  about  my 
favourite  Bffiss  Kinnaird,  whom  she  knew  very  well. 

Mr.  George  and  Mr.  Thomas  N y  her  sons-in-law. 

Mr.  R ,  of  whom  I  know  nothing,  but  that  he 

married  into  Mr.  Thrale's  family. 

Lady  Ladd  ;  I  ought  to  have  begun  with  her.  I  heg 
her  ladyship  a  thousand  pardons — though  if  rfie  knew 
my  offencej  I  am  sure  I  should  not  obtain  one.  She  is 
own  sister  to  Mr.  Thrale.  She  is  a  tall  and  stoat 
woman,  has  an  air  of  mingled  dignity  and  baoghtiness, 
both  of  which  wear  off  in  conversation.  She  dresses 
very  youthfhl  and  gaily,  and  attends  to  her  person  with 
no  little  complacency.  She  appears  to  me  uncultiyated 
in  knowledge,  though  an  adept  hi  the  manners  of  the 
world,  and  all  that.  She  chooses  to  be  much  more  lifely 
than  her  brother ;  but  liveliness  sits  as  awkwardly  npon 
her  as  her  pink  ribbons.  In  talking  her  over  with  Mrs. 
llirale,  who  hasa  very  prop«rregardforher,butwho,lam 
sure,  cannot  be  blind  to  her  faults,  she  gave  me  another 
proof  to  those  I  have  already  had,  of  the  uncontrolled 
fVeedom  of  speech  which  Dr.  Johnson  exercises  to  erery- 
body,  and  which  everybody  receives  quietly  ftom  him. 
Lady  Ladd  has  been  very  handsome,  but  is  now,  I  think, 
quite  ugly— at  least  she  has  a  sort  of  face  I  like  not. 
Well,  she  was  a  little  while  ago  dressed  in  so  showy  a 
manner  as  to  attract  the  doctor's  notice,  and  when  he 
had  looked  at  her  some  time,  he  broke  out  aloud  into 
this  quotation : 

"  With  patches^  paint,  and  jeweb  on) 
Sure  Phillis  u  not  twenty-one ! 
But  if  at  night  you  Phillis  see, 
The  dame  at  least  is  foity-three.** 
I  don*t  reooUeot  the  verses  exactly,  bat  meh  was  their 
purport. 

«  However,"  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  «  Lady  Ladd  took  i^ 
very  good-naturedly,  and  only  said,  . 

<*  *  I  know  enough  of  that  forty-three— I  don't  deaW 
to  hear  any  more  of  it !' "  ^ 

Mias  Moss,  a  pretty  girl,  who  pUyed  and  snngi  to  m 
great  fotigue  of  Mrs.  Thrale ;  Mr.  Boee  FuUw,  Mr.j 
Embry,  Mr.  Seward,  Dr.  Johnson,  the  three  ThraleJ, 
and  myself,  dose  the  party.  . 

We  had  a  sumptuous  dinner  of  three  «<>'»"*■».  "^y' 
most  superb  dessert.  I  shall  give  no  aooount  of  «J*  "^i 
because  our  common  days  are  so  much  mow  ^f^''^  ^ 
counting.  .  .y^ 

I  had  the  honour  of  makhig  tea  and  coffee  ** '"^ 
set,  and  npon  my  word  I  was  pretty  well  tired  J*"^^  " 
the  evenhig  the  company  divided  pretty  much  into  p»^ 


how  I  did.  ,        .  .    .  1^ 

« I  was  aftuid,  Sir,"  cried  I,  «you  did  not  int^  " 

know  me  again,  for  you  have  not  spoken  to  me  «»» 

since  your  return  fVom  town.**  .    a  t  «^ 

**  My  dear,"  cried  he,  taking  both  my  hands,    i  ^ 

not  sore  of  you,  1  am  so  near  sighted,  and  1  appwaen 

making  some  mistake." 


MBS  BURNERS  DIARY  AND  LETTERS, 


191 


Ttadnwin^  m^  veiry  unexpectedlj  tewarda  him^  lie 
Mtoiliy  Jdased  me ! 

To  be  sore,  I  was  a  little  sittprieed,  baviiig  ■<>  idea  of 
meh  froetioosneas  from  him.  HoweTer.  I  was  glad 
lobody  was  ia  the  toom  but  Mn.  Thnie,  wlio  sU>od 
doM  to  ns,  aad  Mr.  Embiy,  who  was  lounging  on  a 
mA  at  the  fkiibest  end  of  the  room.  Mn.  Thrale 
kogfaed  heartily,  and  said  she  hoped  I  was  contented 
with  Mb  amends  fbr  not  knowing  me  sooner. 

One  day  afterwaidB  that  she  met  Johnflon  at 
Sir  Joduu  RijmMs\  she  writes  Mis.  ThnJe,  that 
be  gallantly  oflfered  to  escort  her  to  Grab  Street^ 

Toeee  tiie  ruins  of  the  honse  demolished  there  in  the  late 
n0^  br  a  mob  that)  as  he  obserred,  conld  be  no  friend 
to  the  MBies  I  He  inquired  if  I  had  ever  yet  yisited 
Gnb  Street!,  bat  was  obliged  to  restrain  his  anger 
wben  I  soswered,  ^  No,"  because  he  acknowledged  he 
had  nerer  paid  his  respects  to  it  himself.  '^  Howeyer," 
»fi  bt,  **  you  and  I,  Bomeyy  will  go  together ;  we  have 
tverygood  ri^togo  :  so  well  yiait  the  mansions  <tf  our 
progeuton,  and  take  up  our  own  freedom  together." 

Hun's  for  youy  Biadam>  what  can  be  grander  I 

The  sketches  given  of  Bath  society  are  derer 
and  complete.  These  were  the  palmy  days  of  Bath, 
when  Ansteyy  and  Jemingham  (*^  a  pink  and 
white  poet)")  Dr.  Porteous  the  Bishop  of  Chester, 
and  afterwards  Bishop  of  Londcm,  the  Bowdkrs, — 
Holy  Family  the  first, — Mrs.  Dobson,  ahd  many 
other  eminences  were  among  the  residents ;  and 
among  the  visiters,  Mrs.  Montagu,  Mrs.  Carter,  the 
Thiaks,  and  Miss  Bnmey ;  with  Lady  Miller  of 
Bath  Easton,  and  her  immortal  vase  close  at  hand. 

We  give  precedence  to  a  lady,  who.  In  her  own 
(pinion,  was  well  entitled  to  take  it. 

Mta.  K— « is  a  Webb  lady,  of  immense  fortone,  who 
Ittfi ahoase  in  the  descent,  and  lives  in  a  most  magni- 
ioBt  style.  She  is  about  fifty,  very  good  humoured, 
venbred,  and  civil,  and  her  waist  d<^  not  measure 
iboTe  a  boghead.  She  is  not  very  deep,  I  must  o#n ; 
^  what  of  that !  If  all  were  wits,  where  would  be 
tbe  admirers  at  ibem  ! 

9ie  received  me  very  graciously,  having  particularly 
desired  Mn.  Thrale  to  bring  me  :  fbr  she  is  an  invalid, 
ttd  makes  no  visits  herself.  She  told  me  she  knew  my 
■ade  at  Shrewsbnry  very  well, 

'And pray,  ma'am,"  says  she,  "how  does  Dr.  Bnmey 
^  r-**  Very  well,"  I  thanked  her.-^  Do  you  know  Dr. 
Biaty,  ma'am!"  said  Mr.  Thrale.— «  No,  Sir,  but  I 
hw  his  book.  I  think  if  s  vastly  pretty."—**  Why,  yes, 
Ba'am,"  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  **  Dr.  Bumev  has  found  out 
^  art  of  making  all  people  like  both  him  and  his 

His cotueal  enotigh  to  see  how  she  is  always  pto- 
^^kad  at  healing  thMe  underlings  praise  him.  She  is 
i^y  to  kill  them  fbr  liking  him,  and  has  a  whimsical 
Mtion  that  their  applause  deffrades  him. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Mrs.  K ,  *  and  there  is 

^^>^>l>ody  else,  too,  that  has  made  all  people  like  her 
bMk.'^->  Tme,  ma'am ;  Dr.  Barney's  diuighter  inherits 
wart  from  him."— ^0,  ma'am,  I  was  so  entertained  I 
Ob,  dear !  and  1  was  quite  ill  too,  ma'am,  quite  HI  when 
*  «ad  it  But  for  all  that — why,  why,  ma'am,  I  was 
>a  eager,  and  I  wanted  sadly  to  see  the  author." 

Aftsrwards,  who  should  be  annonneed  but  the  author 
•nhe«Ba«i  Guide,"  Mr.  Anstey.  I  was  now  aU  eye  ; 
mjgji  bebg  aUe  to  be  all  ear,  I  heard  but  Httle 
^  he  said,  and  that  little  was  scaroe  worth  hearmg. 
'^  W  no  opportunity  of  shining,  and  was  as  Budi  like 
••^  ■»*  as  you  can  imagine.  It  is  very  unfhir  to 
^9^ViadefB  ftom  a  man  iJl  at  once ;  yet  it  was  im- 
JJj™  to  help  being  disappointed,  because  his  air, 
wkt,  and  manner,  are  mi|^ty  heavy  and  nnfovourable 

ISBIBL 

Botheieaeethe  pride  of  riches t  andMO  Whon  tbt 


simple  Mrs.  K Can  draw  to  her  house  !    However, 

her  party  was  not  thrown  away  upon  her,~a8  I  ought 
to  say,  because  highly  honoured  by  her  exultingly  whis- 
pering to  Mrs.  Thrale. 

*Now,  ma'am,  now,  Mrs.  l%rale,  I'm  quite  happy; 
ibr  I'm  surrounded  with  people  of  sense  1  Here's  Mrs. 
Montagu,  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  and  Mr.  Anstey,  and  Miss 
Bumey.  L'm  quite  surrounded,  as  1  may  say,  by  people 
of  sense  I" 

Wednesday  was  a  sort  of  grand  day.    We  all  dined 

and  spent  the  evening  at  Mrs.  K 's.    Our  party  was 

Mrs.  Montagu,  Mrs.  Poynts,  Miss  Gregory,  Miss  Owen, 
Dr.  Maningham,  and  Mr.  Hunt. 

The  ladies  you  have  heard  of  enough.  Of  the  men. 
Dr.  Maninghft^  is  very  good  humoured,  fUt,  and  face- 
tiousi  He  asked  m6  very  much  after  my  dear  father, 
whom  he  met  with  at  Buxtcm,  and  after  the  Denoyers, 
with  whom  he  seemed  extremely  intimate ;  and  so,  in- 
deed, he  was  well  inclined  to  be  with  me,  for  he  shook 
me  by  the  wrist  twenty  times  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
Mr.  Hunt  is  a  young  man  of  very  large  independent  for- 
tune, very  ugly,  very  priggish,  a  violent  tidker,  and  a 
8^-piqtier  upon  immense  good  breeding. 

Mrs.  K took  the  first  opportunity  that  presented 

itself,  to  make  me,  in  a  low  voice,  abundance  of  civil 
speeches  about  **  Evelina."  All  the  loud  speeches  were 
made  by  Mr.  Hunt,  who  talked  incessantly,  and  of 
nothing  but  danoinff  I  Poor  Mrs.  Montagu  looked  tired 
to  death,  and  could  not  get  in  a  word  ;— 4t  was  really 
ridiculous  to  see  how  this  coxcomb  silenced  her. 

When  everybody  was  gone  but  ourselves  and  Miss 
Gregory,  we  Misses  growing  somewhat  fkoetious  in  a 

comer,  Mrs.  K ^>od  humouredly  called  out,  **  I'm 

sure,  hwiies,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  so  merry.  Ah  I 
one  of  you  young  ladies, — I  don't  say  which— has  given 
me  a  deal  <^  entertainment !  I'm  sure  I  could  never 
leave  off  reading ;  and  when  Miss  Owen  came  into  my 
room,  says  I,  dont  speak  a  word  to  me,  for  I'm  so  en- 
gaged !  I  could  not  bear  to  be  stopped — and  then,  Mrs. 
Thrale,  I  had  such  a  prodigious  desire  to  see  her — ^for  I 
said,  says  I,  *  I'm  sure  she  must  have  a  good  heart. — 
Here's  sudi  fine  sentiments,'  says  I.— Oh  1  it's  a  sweet 
book!" 

**  Ay,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Thrale ;  **  and  we  that  know 
her,  like  her  yet  better  than  her  book." 

**  Well,  ma'am,"  answered  she,  **  and  I  that  know  the 
book  best,— to  be  sure  I  like  that." 

*  Then,  ma'am,  you  show  your  taste ;  and  I  my  judg- 
ment." 

**  And  what  nwst  I  ehow  !**  cried  I—**  my  back,  I 
believe,  and  run  away,  if  you  go  on  so  !" 

Here,  then,  it  stopped ;  but  when  I  was  taking  leave, 
Mrs.  E repeated  her  praises,  and  added, 

**I'm  sure,  ma'am,  you  must  have  a  very  happy  way 
of  thinking ;  and  then  there's  Mrs.  Duval, — such  a  natu- 
ral character !" 

Such  scenes  and  patronesses  must  have  afforded 
Johnson's  "sly  littUe  Barney,"  **the  Tartar,"  let 
loose  among  them,  an  infinite  deal  of  amusement, 
although  disgust  was  sometimes  inevitable.  What 
follows  is  stOl  better.  In  several  novels,  we  have 
seen  such  conversaziones  delineated ;  but  how  far 
does  truth  exceed  fiction  I  * 

Friday  was  a  busy  and  comical  day.  We  had  an 
engagement  of  long  standing,  to  drink  tea  with  Miss 
Lawes,  wMAer  we  all  went,  and  a  most  queer  evening 
did  we  spend. 

When  we  entered,  she  and  all  her  company  were 
looking  out  of  the  window ;  however,  she  found  us  out 
in  a  few  minutes,  and  made  us  welcome  in  a  strain  of 
delight  and  humbleness  at  receiving  us,  that  put  her 
mto  a  flutter  of  spirits,  from  which  she  never  recovered  all 
the  evening. 

Her  fiit,  jolly  mother,  took  her  seat  at  the  top  of  the 
room ;  next  to  her  sat  a  lady  in  a  riding  habit,  whom  I 
soon  found  to  be  Mrs.  Dobson ;  below  her  sat  a  gentle- 
woman, prim,  upright,  neat,  and  mean ;  and,  next  to 
her,  sat  another|thl0,l»gsed,  wrinkled;  fine,  and  tawdry. 


192 


MISS  BURNErS  DIARY  AND  LETTERS^ 


w;th  a  tboaaand  frippery  ornaments  and  old-fiishionedfar- 
belows ;  she  was  excellently  nicknamed,  by  Mrs.  Tbrale^ 
the  Duchess  of  Monmouth.  On  the  opposite  side  was 
placed  Mrs.  Thrale,  and,  next  to  her,  Qneeny  [BiiM 
Thrale.]  For  my  own  part,  little  liking  the  appearance 
of  the  set,  and  half-dreading  Mrs.  Dobison,  fh>m  whose 
notice  I  wished  to  escape,  I  had  made  up  myself  to  one 
of  the  now-deserted  windows,  and  Mr.  Thrale  had  fol- 
lowed me.    As  to  Miss  L- ,  she  came  to  stand  by 

me,  and  her  panic,  I  &ncy,  returned,  for  she  seemed 
quite  panting  with  a  desire  to  say  something,  and  an  in- 
capacity to  utter  it.  It  proTed  happy  for  me  that  I  had 
taken  this  place,  for  in  a  few  minutes  the  mean,  neat 
woman,  whose  name  was  Aubrey,  asked  if  Miss  Thrale 
was  Miss  Thrale !  "  Yes,  ma'am.'* — "  And  pray,  ma'am, 
who  is  that  other  young  lady !"  ^  A  daughter  of  Dr. 
Bumey's,  ma'am."— «  What  I"  cried  Mrs.  Dobson,  «*  is 
that  the  lady  that  has  fkvoured  us  with  that  excellent 
novel  1"  **  Yes,  ma'am." — Then  burst  forth  a  whole 
ToUey  from  iill  at  once.  "  Very  extraordinary,  indeed  l" 
said  one — **  Dear  heart,  who'd  haye  thought  it !"  said 
another—^  I  nerer  saw  the  like  in  my  life  I"  said  a  third. 
And  Mrs.  Dobson,  entering  more  in  detail,  began  prais- 
ing it  through,  but  chiefly  Evelina  herself,  which  she 
said  was  the  most  natural  character  she  had  ever  met 
in  any  book. 

Meantime,  I  had  almost  thrown  myself  out  of  the 
window,  in  my  eagerness  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  tMs 

gross  and  noisy  applause ;  but  poor  Miss  L ,  having 

stood  quite  silent  a  long  time,  simpering  and  nodding  her 
assent  to  what  was  said,  at  last  broke  forth  with — 

^  I  assure  you,  ma'am,  we've  been  all  quite  delighted: 
that  is,  we  had  read  it  before,  but  only  now  upon  read- 
ing it  again — "  I  thanked  her,  and  talked  of  something 
else,  and  she  took  the  hint  to  have  done ;  but  said, — 
•*  Pray,  ma'am,  will  you  fetvour  me  vnth  your  opinion  of 
Mrs.  Dobson's  works  t" — A  pretty  question,  in^  a  room 
so  small  that  even  a  whisper  would  be  heard  ftt>m  one 
end  to  another  1  However,  I  truly  said  I  had  not*  read 
them. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whalley  now  arrived,  and  I  was  obliged 
to  go  to  a  chair — ^when  such  staring  followed;  they 
could  not  have  opened  their  eyes  wider  when  they  first 
looked  at  the  Guildhall  giants  !  I  looked  with  aJl  the 
gravity  and  demureness  possible,  in  order  to  keep  them 
from  coming  plump  to  the  subject  again,  and,  indeed 
this,  for  a  while,  kept  them  off. — Soon  after  Dr.  Har- 
rington arrived,  which  closed  our  party.    Miss  L 

went  whispering  to  him,  and  then  came  up  to  me  with  a 
look  of  dismay,  and  said, — **  O,  ma'am,  I'm  so  prodi- 
giously concerned ;  Mr.  Henry  won't  come  I"—**  Who, 
ma'am  t"  **  Mr.  Henry,  ma'am,  the  doctor's  son.  But, 
to  be  sure,  he  does  not  know  you  are  here,  or  else — but 
I'm  quite  concerned,  indeed,  for  here  now  we  shall  have 
no  young  gentlemen  !" — "  O,  all  the  better,"  cried  I,  **  I 
hope  we  shall  be  able  to  do  very  well  without."  **  O 
yes,  ma'am,  to  be  sure.  I  don't  mean  for  any  common 
young  gentlemen ;  but  Mr.  Henry,  ma'am,  it's  quite  an- 
other thing ; — ^however,  I  think  he  might  have  come ;  but 
I  did  not  happen  to  mention  in  my  card  that  you  was  to 
be  here,  and  so— but  I  think  it  serves  him  right  for  not 
coming  to  see  me." 

Soon  after  the  mamma  hobbled  to  me,  and  began  a 
furious  panegyric^  upon  my  book,  saying,  at  the  same 
time,—**  I  wonder.  Miss,  how  you  could  get  at  them  low 
characters.  As  to  the  lords  and  ladies,  ^t's  no  wonder 
at  all ;  but  as  to  t'others,  why,  I  have  not  stirred,  night 
nor  morning,  while  I've  been  reading  it :  if  I  don't  won- 
der how  you  could  be  so  clever !" 

And  much,  much  more.    And,  scarcely  had  she  un- 

burthened  herself,  ere  Miss  L trotted  back  to  me, 

crying,  in  a  tone  of  mingled  triumph  and  vexation, — 
**  Well,  ma'am,  Mr.  Henry  vrill  be  very  much  mortified 
when  he  knows  who  has  been  here ;  that  he  vrill,  indeed : 
however,  I'm  sure  he  deserves  it  I" 

Soon  after  this,  a  chair  next  mine  being  vacated,  Mrs. 
Dobson  came  and  seated  herself  in  it,  to  my  somewhat 
dismay,  as  I  knew  what  would  follow.  Plump  she  came 
upon  her  subject,  saying, — 

**  Miss  Bumey,  I  am  come  to  thank  you  for  the  vast 


entertainment  you  have  given  me.  I  am  quite  hippy  to 
see  you ;  I  vnBhed*to  see  you  very  much.  It's  acWni- 
ing  book,  indeed ;  the  characters  are  vastly  well  sup- 
ported 1" 

In  short,  she  ran  on  for  half-an-hour,  I  believe,  i& 
nothing  but  plain,  unadorned,  downright  praise;  yMt 
I  could  only  bow,  and  say  she  was  very  good,  and  long 
to  walk  out  of  the  room. 

When  she  had  run  herself  out  of  breath,  and  exhausted 
her  store  of  compliments,  she  began  telling  me  of  her 
own  aflisurs ;  talked,  without  any  introduction  or  lead- 
ing speeches,  of  her  translations,  and  took  oeoasioii  to 
acquaint  me  she  had  made  £400  of  her  **  Petrarea." 
She  then  added  some  other  anecdotes,  which  I  have  not 
time  to  mention,  and  then  said, — 

**  Miss  Bumey,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  wait  upon 
you  and  Mrs.  Thrale.  I  have  longed  to  know  Mrs. 
Thrale  these  many  years:  pray,  do  you  think  I  may 
wait  upon  you  both  on  Sunday  morning  I" 

**  To  be  sure,  we  shall  be  very  happy." 

^  Well,  then,  if  you  don't  think  it  will  be  an  intrusion 
— ^but  vrill  you  be  so  good  as  to  mention  it  to  Mrs. 
Thrale!" 

I  was  obliged  to  say  **  Yes  f*  and  soon  after  she  quitted 
me,  to  go  and  'give  another  dose  of  flummery  to  Mrs. 
Thrale. 

I  was  not  two  minutes  relieved  ere  Miss  L re- 
turned, to  again  assure  me  how  glad  she  vras  that  Mr. 
Henry  would  be  mortified.  The  poor  lady  was  quite 
heart-broken  that  we  did  not  meet. 

The  next  vacation  of  my  neighbouring  chair  was  filled 

by  Mrs.  L ,  vdio  brought  me  some  flowers :  and  when 

I  thanked  her,  said, — 

**  0  miss,  you  deserve  everything  I  You've  writ  the 
best  and  prettiest  book.  That  lord  there— I  forget  his 
name,  that  marries  her  at  last— what  a  fine  gentleman 
he  is  !  You  deserve  everything  for  dravring  such  a  char- 
acter; and  then  Miss  Elena,  there,  Miss  Behnont,  as 
she  is  at  last — ^what  a  noble  couple  of  'em  you  have  put 
together  I  As  to  that  t'other  lord  I  vras  glad  he  had 
not  her,  for  I  see  he  had  nothing  but  a  bad  design." 

Well,  have  you  enough  of  this  ridicnlous  evening  t 
Mrs.  Thrale  and  I  have  mutually  agreed  that  we  neither 
of  us  ever  before  had  so  complete  a  dish  of  gross  flattery 
as  this  night.  Yet  let  me  be  fair,  and  tell  you  that  this 
Mrs.  Dobson,  though  coarse,  low-bred,  forward,  self- 
sufficient,  and  flaunting,  seems  to  have  a  strong  and 
masculine  understanding,  and  parts  that,  had  they  heen 
united  writh  modesty,  or  fostered  by  education,  might 
have  made  her  a  shining  and  agreeable  woman ;  but  she 
has  eridently  kept  low  company,  which  she  has  risen 
above  in  literature,  but  not  in  manners. 

At  the  "  Whalleys,"  whoever  they  may  havebeen, 
Miss  Bumey  wasintroduced  by  Mrs.  Thrale  to  Lady 
Miller,  the  high-priestess  of  the  mysteries  of  Bath 
Easton,  and  its  far-famed  Vase,  or  dainty  dishfhlof 
rhymes.  Scottish  people  never  heard  of  anything 
approaching  these  rites,  save  the  kindred  fooleries 
perpetrated  by  the  late  Earl  of  Buchan,onthe  birth- 
day of  Thomson.  Miss  Bumey  was  not  only  » 
shrewd  observer  but,  when  not  speaking  of  those 
who  could  use  the  freedom  to  read  her  journal  over 
her  shoulder,  she  was  just  and  candid.  Her  esti- 
mate of  the  tremendous  blue  of  Bath  Easton,  is> 
therefore,  to  be  received  implicitly. 

Do  you  know  now,  that  notwithstanding  Bath  Easton 
is  so  much  laughed  at  in  London,  nothing  here  is  more 
tonish  than  to  visit  Lady  Miller,  who  is  extremely  ca- 
rious in  her  company,  admitting  few  people  who  are  not 
of  rank  or  of  fame,  and  excluding  of  those  all  who  are 
not  people  of  character  very  unblemished. 

Some  time  after.  Lady  Miller  took  a  seat  next  ndoo 
on  the  sofa,  to  play  at  cards,  and  vras  excessively  civil 
indeed— scolded  Mn.  Thrale  for  not  sooner  making  as 
acquainted,  and  had  the  politeness  to  offer  to  take  me  to 
the  balls  herself,  as  she  heard  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thrale  did 
not  choose  to  go. 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS* 


193 


After  all  this,  it  is  hardly  fair  to  tell  yoa  what  I 
tiiiBk  of  her.  Howerer,  the  truth  is,  I  always,  to  the 
best  of  my  intentions,  speak  honestly  what  I  think  of 
tl»  folks  I  see,  without  being  biassed  either  by  their 
ciTilities  or  neglect :  and  that  yon  will  allow  is  being  a 
ytrj  fiuthfbl  historian. 

Well,  then.  Lady  Miller,  is  a  round,  plump,  coarse- 
looking  dame  of  about  forty,  and  while  all  her  aim  is  to 
ippetr  an  elegant  woman  of  fashion,  all  her  success  is  to 
Nem  an  ordinary  woman  in  very  common  life,  witii  fine 
flotfaes  on.  Her  manners  are  bustling,  her  air  is  mock- 
iapotant,  and  her  manners  very  inelegant. 

So  modi  for  the  lady  of  Bath  Kaston ;  who,  howeyer, 
seeas  extremely  good-natured^  and  who  is,  I  am  sure, 
extremely  ciyih 

We  long  to  direct  the  attention  of  the  modem 
Fhariseea,  to  the  manner  in  which  a  bishop,  who 
had  preached  in  the  morning  *^  at  the  request  of 
Mtb.  Thrale,"  concluded  the  amusements  of  the 
SKwd  day.  There  is  a  just  medium  in  every- 
thing ;  and  among  others,  in  Sabbath  observances, 
the  Bishop  of  Peterborough's  Sunday  being  as  far 
on  the  one  side  of  right,  as  that  which  the  "  unco 
gnde"  enjoin  on  their  poorer  neighbours,  what- 
ever license  they  may  take  for  themselves,  is  on 
theoyier.  But  this  merry  Sunday  evening,  and  the 
Curiosity  Shop,  which  a  humourist  had  fitted  up 
for  a  dweUing,  full  of  mechanical  tricks  and  sur- 
prises, we  must  waive  from  profound  veneration 
for  the  Muses  of  Bath  Easton  and  <*  Vase  time." 

Tbnnday,  June  B,  1780.— We  went  to  Bath  Easton. 
Mia.  Lambii^  went  with  us. 

The  boose  is  charmingly  situated,  well  fitted  up,  con- 
^ient,  and  pleasant,  and  not  large,  but  commodious 
ad  elegant.  Thursday  is  still  their  public  day  for  com- 
psoj,  thoogh  the  business  of  the  vase  is  over  for  this 


The  room  into  which  we  were  conducted  was  so  much 
crowded  we  could  hardly  make  our  way.  Lady  Miller 
ttte  to  the  door,  and  as  she  had  first  done  to  the  rest 
of  OS,  took  my  hand,  and  led  me  up  to  a  most  prodigious 
£it  old  lady,  and  introduced  me  to  her.  This  was  Mrs. 
Rilgs,  her  ladyship's  mother,  who  seems  to  have  Bath 
Ewon  and  its  owners  under  her  feet. 

I  WIS  smiled  upon  with  a  graciousness  designedly 
ittriud,  and  seemed  most  uncommonly  welcome.  Mrs. 
l%s  looked  as  if  sbe  could  have  shouted  for  joy  at  sight 
^  Be !  She  is  mighty  merry  and  facetious.  Sir  John 
*»•  twy  quiet,  but  very  civil. 

I  law  the  place  appropriated  for  the  vase,  but  at  this 
tine  it  was  removed.  As  it  was  hot,  Sir  John  Miller 
«6ied  OS  to  walk  round  the  house,  and  see  his  green- 
Iwwe,  &c  So  away  we  set  off,  Harriet  Bowdler  ac- 
covvaybg  me,  and  some  others  following.     .... 

Afterwards,  when  we  returned  into  the  house,  we 
^Mmd  another  room  filled  with  company.  Among  those 
that  I  knew  were  the  Caldwells,  the  Grenvilles,  some  of 
*he  Bowdlers,  Mr.  Wyndham,  and  Miss  J . 

Thii  Miss  J had,  when  I  last  met  her  at  Mrs. 

I^abart's,  desired  to  be  introduced  to  me,  as  Mrs.  Lam- 
^  told  me,  who  performed  that  ceremony ;  for  Mrs. 
^^Bbart,  wiUi  whom  I  am  in  no  small  favour,  always 
■^  me  the  most  consequential :  and  I  found  she  was 
I'h*-  Biihton*s  old  friend,  and  therefore  all  I  remember 
^•nng  of  her  |^ve  me  no  desire  to  make  her  my  new  one. 
HoweTer,  nothing  convinced  me  more  that  I  was  the 
r«  It  Bath,  than  her  making  this  overture,  for  every- 
^f  1  ever  heard  of  her  proved  her  insolent  pride. 
^1*^  Beau  Travell  has  spoken  very  highly  of  me  1 

So  my  ^me  ig  now  made,  and  Blrs.  G ,  who  had 

P^||Bed  Be  when  she  entered  the  room  at  Bath  Easton 
^hite  1  Wig  engaged  in  conversation  with  Lady  Miller, 
•'^^"•M^  ioddenly  came  up,  and  with  a  look  of  equal 
*^"T'^  >ad  pleasure  at  sight  of  me,  most  graciously 
and  sfflihiigly  addressed  me.  My  coldness  in  return  to 
«1  »csc  a^eniug,  heartless,  row-led  people^  I  try  not 


to  repress,  though,  to  treat  them  with  such  respect  as 
their  superior  stations  fairly  claim,  I  would  not  for  the 
world  neglect. 

Some  time  after,  while  I  was  talking  with  Miss 

W and  Harriet  Bowdler,  Mrs.  Riggs  came  up  to 

us,  and  with  an  expression  of  comical  admiration,  fixed 
her  eyes  upon  me,  and  for  some  time  amused  herself 
with  apparently  watching  me.  Mrs.  Lambart,  who  was  aft 
cards,  turned  round  and  begged  me  to  give  her  her  cloak, 
for  she  felt  rheumatic ;  I  could  not  readily  find  it,  and 
after  looking  some  time,  I  was  obliged  to  give  her  my 
own ;  but  iirhile  I  was  hunting,  Mrs.  Riggs  followed  me, 
laughing,  nodding,  and  loo^g  much  delighted,  and 
every  now  and  then  saying, — 

"<  That's  right,  Evelinal— Ah,  look  for  it,  Evelina  I— 
Evelina  always  did  so — she  always  looked  for  people's 
cloaks,  and  was  obliging  and  well-bred  !" 

I  grinned  a  little  to  be  sure,  but  tried  to  escape  her^ 

by  again  getting  between  Miss  W and  Harriet 

Bowdler ;  but  &&s.  Riggs  still  kept  opposite  to  me,  ex- 
pressing, from  time  to  time,  by  uplifted  hands  and  eyes, 
comical  applause. 

Harriet  Bowdler  modestly  mumbled  some  praise,  but 
addressed  it  to  Miss  Thrale.  1  begged  a  truce,  and  re- 
tired to  a  chair  in  a  comer,  at  the  request  of  Miss 

W to  have  a  tiu-ii-4tUy  for  which,  however,  her 

strange  levity  gave  me  no  great  desire • 

Our  conversation  would  have  lasted  till  leave-taking, 
but  for  our  being  interrupted  by  Bliss  Miller,  a  most 
beautiful  little  girl  of  ten  years  old. 

Miss  W begged  her  to  sing  us  a  French  scmg. 

She  coquetted,  but  Mrs.  Riggs  came  to  us,  and  said  if  I 
wished  it,  I  did  her  grand-daughter  great  honour,  and 
she  insisted  upon  her  obedience.  The  little  girl  laughed 
and  complied,  and  we  went  into  another  room  to  hear 
her,  followed  by  the  Misses  Caldwell.  She  sung  in  a 
pretty  childish  manner  enough. 

When  we  became  more  intimate,  she  said, — 

^  Ma'am,  I  have  a  great  favour  to  request  of  yoa>  if 
you  please  1" 

I  begged  to  know  what  it  was,  and  assured  her  I 
would  grant  it ;  and  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  these  misses, 
I  led  her  to  the  window. 

"<  Ma'am,"  said  the  Uttle  girl,  ^will  you  then  be  so 
good  as  to  tell  me  where  Evelina  is  now  1" 

I  was  a  little  surprised  at  the  question,  and  told  her 
I  had  not  heard  lately 

She  told  me  repeatedly  how  sorry  she  was  that  I  had 
not  come  to  Bath  Easton  hi  ^  vase  time,"  and  how  sorry 
her  mamma  had  been. 

When  we  were  coming  away,  and  Lady  BGller  and 
Sir  John  had  both  taken  very  civil  leave  of  me,  I  curtsied 
in  passing  Mrs.  Riggs,  and  she  rose,  and  called  after 
■^  Set  about  another !" 


The  remaining  part  of  the  volume  is  chiefly 
filled  with  the  letters  between  Mrs.  Thrale  and 
Miss  Bumey :  or  with  the  epistles  of  the  latter  to 
her  family  whUe  at  Bath,  and  in  extreme  terror 
about  the  Anti-Popery,  Lord  Greoi;ge  Grordon  riots, 
which  were  then  alarming  London,  and  which 
had  extended  to  Bath  among  other  places. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Thrale  knev^  who  was  the  author 
of  Evelina,  she  had  been  seized  with  a  vehement  de- 
sire that  Miss  Bumey  should  write  a  comedy.  The 
Streatham  coterie,  with  the  exception  of  Johnson, 
who  seems  to  have  left  the  matter  to  her  own  judg- 
ment and  inclination,  took  up  the  subject  warmly ; 
Sheridan,  whom  she  met  at  a  party  at  the  house  of 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  urged  it ;  and  Miss  Bumey 
was  fairly  flattered  and  persecuted  into  making  the 
attempt.  Both  her  fathers  pronounced  the  comedy, 
when  finished,  a  failure ;  though  it  was  loudly 
commended  by  Murphy  and  other  persons,  who  had 
read  some  of  the  acts,  and  she  acquiesced  in  the 
judgment  of  her  truest^  best  friends^  with  great 


194 


rttSS  BttRNJ^Y^S  DIARY  AND  LfeTTERS* 


good  sense  and  sweetness  of  temper.  The  letters  of 
<<  Daddy  Crisp/' upon thismomentoasoocasion,giye8 
ih«  raHamtle  of  the  cleverest  and  most  lively  no- 
velists usually  failing  in  the  drama.  **  Daddy 
Crisp"  though  not  himself  a  successful  writer  for 
the  stage^  was  an  excellent  dramatic  critic.  We 
can  give  but  one  illustrative  paragraph  :-* 

Tis  certain  different  talents  are  requisite  fbr  the  two 
ipecies  of  writing,  though  they  are  by  no  means  incom- 
patible ;  I  fear,  howerer,  the  labonring  oar  lies  on  the 
eomio  author. 

In  these  little  entertaining  elegant  histories,  the  writer 
has  h&B  fbil  scope ;  as  large  a  range  as  he  pleases  to  hunt 
in — to  pick,  onll,  select  i^tever  he  likes :  he  takes  his 
own  time — ^he  may  be  as  minute  as  he  pleases,  and  the 
more  minute  the  better,  prorided  that  taste,  a  deep  and 
penetrating  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  the  world, 
accompany  that  minuteness.  When  this  is  the  case,  the 
rery  soul,  and  all  its  most  secret  recesses  and  workings, 
are  deyeloped  and  laid  as  open  to  the  view,  as  the  blc^ 
globules  circulating  in  a  frog's  foot,  when  seen  through 
a  microscope.  The  exquisite  touche!  such  a  work  is  ca- 
pable of,  (of  which,  "  Evelina "  is,  without  flattery,  a 
glaring  instance,)  are  truly  charming.  But  of  these 
great  adyantages,  these  resources,  you  are  strangely  cur- 
tailed the  moment  you  begin  a  comedy.  There  eyery- 
thing  passes  in  dialogue, — ^all  goes  on  rapidly :  narra- 
tive  and  descriptiye,  if  not  extremely  short,  become 
intolerable.  The  detail,  which  in  Fielding,  Mariyaux, 
and  Crebillon,  is  so  delightfhl.  on  the  stage  would  bear 
down  all  patience.  There  all  must  be  compressed  into 
qnintessence ;  the  moment  the  scene  ceases  to  moye  on 
briskly,  and  business  seems  to  hang,  sighs  and  groans 
are  the  consc/quence.  Dreadful  sound  ! — In  a  word,  if 
the  plot,  the  story  of  the  comedy  does  not  open  and  un- 
fold itself  in  the  easy,  natural,  unconstrained  flow  of  the 
dialogue — ^if  that  disJogue  does  not  go  on  with  spirit, 
wit,  variety,  ftin,  humour,  repartee,  and — and  all  in 
short  into  Ihe  bargain — terriUur I-^good  by  t'ye  I 

Before  the  luckless  comedy  had  been  submitted 
to  Mr.  Crisp's  criticism,  its  author  writes  him  thus : 
and  her  letters  to  him  are  always  charming,  from 
containing  so  much  of  her  best  and  warmest  heart. 
This,  we  should  premise,  was  before  the  close  of 
the  American  War,  and  when  public  affairs  were 
in  a  yery  bad  state. 

This  seems  a  strange,  unseasonable  period  for  my 
undertaking,  among  the  rest :  but  yet,  my  dear  daddy, 
when  you  nave  read  my  conyersation  with  Mr.  Sheridan, 
I  believe  you  will  agree  that  I  must  have  been  wholly 
insensible,  nay,  almost  ungratefhl;  to  resist  encourage- 
ment, snch  as  he  gave  me — ^nay,  more  than  encourage- 
ment, entreaties,  all  of  which  he  warmly  repeated  to  my 
father. 

Now,  as  to  the  play  itself,  I  own  I  had  wished  to 
have  been  the  bearer  of  it  when  I  visit  Chesington ;  but 
you  seem  so  urgent,  and  my  father  himself  is  so  desirous 
to  carry  it  you,  that  I  have  given  that  plan  up. 

O  my  dear  daddy,  if  your  next  letter  were  to  contain 
your  real  opinion  of  it,  how  should  I  dread  to  open  it ! 
Be.  however,  ab  honest  as  your  good  nature  and  deUcacy 
will  allow  you  to  be,  and  assure  yourself  I  shall  be  very 
certain  that  all  your  criticisms  will  proceed  from  your 
earnest  wishes  to  obviate  those  of  oUiers,  and  that  you 
would  have  much  more  pleasure  in  being  my  panegyrist. 

And  now  let  me  tell  you  what  I  wish  in  regard  to 
this  afikir.  I  should  like  that  your  first  reading  should 
have  nothing  to  do  with  me— 4^  you  should  go  quick 
through  it,  or  let  my  father  read  it  to  you-^oigetting 
all  the  time,  as  much  as  you  can,  that  Fannikin  is  the 
Writer,  or  even  that  it  is  a  play  in  manuscript,  and*capa- 
ble  of  alterations ; — and  then,  when  you  have  done,  I 
should  like  to  have  three  lines,  telling  me,  as  nearly  as 
you  can  trust  my  candour,  its  general  effect.  After  that 
take  it  to  your  own  desk,  and  lash  it  at  your  leisure. 

Adieu^  my  dear  daddy  I    1  shall  hope  to  hear  from 


you  yery  soon,  and  pray  believe  me,  yours  ever  sod 
ever,  Frances  Bubket. 

On  the  first  oondemnation  of  her  play^she  writei 
thttB>— 

if tw  F,  Bumey  to  Dr.  Burnetf. 

The  flbtal  knell,  then,  is  knolled,  and  down  among  the 
dead  men  smk  the  poor  **  Witlings  "-^or  ever,  and  for 
ever,  and  for  ever  I 

I  give  a  sigh,  whether  I  will  or  not,  to  their  memory! 
for,  however  worthless,  they  were  imt  enfans;  and  one 
must  do  one's  nature,  as  Mr.  Crisp  will  tell  you  of  the 
dog. 

You,  my  dearest  Sir,  who  enjoyed,  I  really  think,  even 
more  than  myself,  the  astonisMng  success  of  my  first  at- 
tempt, would,  t  believe,  even  more  than  myself,  be  hurt 
at  the  fiailure  of  my  second ;  and  I  am  sure  I  speak  frott 
the  bottom  of  a  very  honest  heart,  when  I  most  solemnly 
declare,  that  npon  your  account  any  disgrace  would 
mortify  and  afflict  me  more  than  upon  my  own ;  for 
whatever  appears  with  your  knowledige,  will  be  n»tn- 
rally  supposed  to  have  met  with  your  approbation,  uA^ 
perhaps,  your  assistance ;  therefore,  thon^  all  ptf^enlar 
censure  would  fidl  where  it  ought — upon  me— yet  any 
general  censure  of  the  whole,  and  the  plan,  would  croel* 
ly,  but  certainly  involve  you  in  its  severity 

You  bid  me  open  my  heart  to  you,— and  so,  my  de•^ 
est  Sir,  I  will,  for  it  is  the  greatest  happiness  nimj  life 
that  I  dare  be  sincere  to  you.  I  expected  msoy  objec- 
tions to  be  raised — a  thousand  errors  to  be  pointed  out 
— and  a  million  of  alterations  to  be  proposed;  bat  the 
suppre&Dsion  of  the  piece  were  words  I  did  not  expect ; 
mdeed,  after  the  warm  approbation  of  Bilrs.  ThnOe.  and 
the  repeated  commendations  and  flattery  of  Mr.  Mur- 
phy, how  could  1 1        

What  my  daddy  Crisp  says,  **  that  it  would  be  the 
best  policy,  but  for  pecuniary  advantages,  for  me  to 
write  no  more,"  is  exactly  what  I  have  always  thought 
since  ^  Evelina"  was  published.  But  I  vrill  not  now  talk 
of  puttmg  it  in  practice,— for  the  best  way  I  can  take  of 
showing  thaA  I  have  a  true  and  just  sense  of  the  spj^t  of 
your  condemnation,  is  not  to  sink  sulky  and  dejected 
under  it,  but  to  exert  myself  to  the  utmost  of  my  powder 
in  endeavours  to  produce  something  less  reprehensible. 
And  this  shall  be  the  v^y  I  vrill  pursue  as  soon  as  my 
mind  is  more  at  ease  about  Hetty  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  and 
as  soon  as  I  have  read  myself  into  a  forgetflilness  of  my 
old  <immat«|WT«)n<B,— lest  I  should  produce  something 
else  as  witless  as  the  last 

Mm  F.  Bnmey  to  Mr,  Critp. 

Well !  "there  are  plays  that  are  to  be  sai^,  ^^ 
phfcys  that  are  not  to  be  saved !"  so  good  night,  nr- 
Dabbler !— good  night.  Lady  Smatter,— Mrs.  Sapient,- 
Mrs.  Voluble,— Ito.  Wheedle,— Censor,--Cecilia,- 
Beaufort,— and  you,  you  great  oaf,  Bobby !— good  nlgw  i 
good  night  1  _  . 

And  good  momfaig.  Miss  Fanny  Bumey  J— 1  "pPj 
now  yon  have  opened  your  eyes  fbr  some  ti»e»J^r„^ 
not  close  them  in  so  drowsy  a  fit  agahi— at  least  m  w^ 
fWl  of  the  moon.  .^i. 

I  won't  tell  you  I  have  been  absolutely  f^  ]T 
delight  at  the  fall  of  the  curtain ;  but  I  intend  to  tt*e 
the  affair  in  the  tatU  mieux  manner,  and  to  J^J*^*®  "J- 
self  for  your  censure  by  this  greatest  proof  I  nave  er 
received  of  the  sincerity,  candour,  and,  let  me  »«  , 
esteem,  of  my  dear  daddy.  And  as  I  happen  ioio^ 
myself  rather  more  than  my  play,  this  consolation  is  u" 
a  very  trifling  one.  .^t  | 

As  to  all  you  say  of  my  reputation  and  so  lorw,^ 
perceive'  the  kindness  of  your  endeavours  *?  PJ*  JJy. 
humour  vrith  myself,  and  prevent  my  taking  hull,  w^ 
if  I  did,  I  should  deserve  to  receive,  °P^"  •?L"  2S 
trial,  hollow  praise  firom  you,— and  the  rest  ttom 
Public.  ^^ 

This  is  taking  the  aflFair  in  the  best  spirit  J '^ 
affords  a  lesson  to  aU  authors,  from  the  ArchbiBfl^ 
of  Granada  downwards.  Hernext  work  was  t^'«^ 
which  is  still  esteemed  her  most  1 


MISS  BURNERS  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


1D5 


tion ;  though  EveUna  was  the  public's  first  love ; 
md  though  we  do  confess  a  sneaking  kindness  for 
CamUa^  fdiich  comprehends  all  the  beauties  of  its 
Mthor  8  Hianner.  After  ^  publication  of  CecUiOy 
those  being  days  when  literary  talent  could  cover 
eren  plebeian  birth.  Miss  Bumey^  instead  of 
accomplishing  any  of  the  good  matches  which  Mrs. 
Thrak  proje^ed  fbr  her,  was  offered  the  place  of 
i  Maid  of  Honour  to  Queen  Charlotte.  The  next 
portion  of  her  Diary y  will  therefore  refer  to  the  so- 
ber Court  of  G«orge  lU.  While  in  attendance 
00  hir  royal  mifltress^  the  maid  of  honour  was  ne- 
ceaarily  brought  into  daily  intercourse  with  the 
penoQB  then  forming  the  Court ;  and  she  kept  a 
Diary  of  the  conversations  that  passed,  as  minute 
asd  fiiD,  we  are  informed,  as  the  specimens  we 


have  given  above.  To  this  portion  of  the  work  we 
therefore  look  forward,  with,  if  possible,  greater 
interest  than  we  did  for  the  appearance  of  the  pre- 
sent volume.  Of  the  Thrales,  Johnson,  and  the  other 
distinguished  literary  individuals  of  her  society,  the 
world  already  knew  a  great  deal ;  while  compara- 
tively nothing  is  known  about  the  Court  of  George 
III.  in  the  way  that  Miss  Bumey,  from  her  oppor- 
tunities, tastes,  and  abilities,  wbs  qualified  to  de* 
scribe  its  characters^  and  chronicle  its  events.  We 
hope  that  the  editor  will  lose  no  time ;  and  above 
all,  will  not  be  betrayed,  by  the  sickly,  squeanash 
i^prehensionof  giving  offence,  into  undue  suppres* 
sions.  After  a  lapse  of  sixty  years^  and  of  several 
reigns,  the  Court  of  Ge(»ge  IIL  is  be6<»ne  the  fair 
suhjeot  of  impartial  histofy. 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


UmcHak  0/  Oe  Civil  Jf^ars  0/ England.  Edited 
tnm.  the  Original  Letters^  by  Henry  Cary,  MA., 
2  Tols.  8vo,  doth.    Colbum. 

TiKorigiiials  of  these  letters^idiidi  embiaoe  a  period 
efaixtf  the  moeteTe&tfdl  years  in  English  history,  from 
1646  to  1652,  are  found  in  ^Hiat  m  called  the  Tammtr 
C«Uectiimy  in  the  Bodleian  libnury.  Among  the  writers 
we  fiad  the  moot  eminrat  historical  charaeters  of  the 
ptriod,  CbarlM  the  First  and  Second,  and  Cromwell, 
iichided.  The  Letters  are  arranged  in  chronological 
«Her.  Tlie  book,  though  not  one  of  ephemeral  interest, 
win  be  peculiarly  attractive  to  the  student  of  history,  and 
>  esKBtial  to  the  historian.  The  additional  light  which 
Utlff9W8  upon  the  personal  character,  and  the  secret 
botory  of  Charles,  (the  Royal  Martyr ,)  confirms  the  opin- 
■13  which  all  enlightened  and  thou^tM  men,  admirers 
«f  eoQBtitutional  freedom,  entertain  of  that  unhappy  per- 
soa;  who,  while  attempting  to  enslave  his  subjects,  was 
^  «ini  worst  enemy.  The  letters  of  Cromwell  are 
viitten  during  his  Irish  and  Scottish  expeditions.  They 
iR  BMdeit  and  clear  narratiyes  of  the  progress  of  the 
vtf ;  and  are  replete  with  indiyidnal  character.  The 
lettcfs  of  the  traitor  and  hypocrite.  Monk,  addressed  to 
Crmwell,  while  he  headed  the  forces  in  Scotland  under 
CioBvell,are  yet  greater  curiosities^  from  the  diq[day  of 
cWaeter. 

^  Lord  Stanley  we  would  respectftilly  recommend 
the  atten^Te  perusal  of  a  discourse  by  Jeremy  Taylor, 
*B  tke  laiHUneaB  of  alienating  church  lands  to  serre  the 
pvpMM  of  the  king^ — Le,  of  the  state,  when  public 
Mcevity  demands  such  alienation.  It  is  in  the  form  of 
»lrttw,  addressed  by  Taylor  to  Dr.  Richard  Bayly,  who 
W  impounded  certain  queries  on  this  ticklish  subject 
^  iiteation  of  the  discourse,  as  stated  by  its  author  in 
Ui|oiiNiipt,Ss  to  prove  *  that  church  lands  are,  in  their 
utife  aad  condition,  alienable  upon  great  and  notorious 

**••***•«.'•    We  sludl  quote  one  paragraph : — 

^J^e»  ire  some  sins  called  **  crying  sins  f*  that  is,  such 
™A  W  will  more  certainly  and  i^parently  rerenge ; 
■■d  ipViwiuu  of  widows  and  orphans  is  one ;  but,  I 
^^JH**^!  thsy  account  not  sacrilege  in  this  number ; 
nom  wliaice  I  can  collect  nothing,  but  that  God  hath 
Me  apforeatly  undertaken  the  protection  of  widows* 
«wn«  aad  orphans'  portions,  than  of  church  lands.  And 


then,  if  We  suppose  these  widows  placed  in  an  hospital 
to  pray  and  spin,  I  would  fkin  know  what  holiness  of 
lands  or  dedications  signifies,  that  is  not  more  eminently 
in  the  lands  given  fbr  an  hospital  fbr  widows,  than  a 
college  for  priests  !  And  yet,  if  an  hospital  be  spoiled 
or  widows  injured,  we  call  it  oppression,  not  icterUe^e, 

And  by  the  way,  Sir,  be  pleased  to  put  the  case  as  it 
was  in  some  instances  in  thie  days  of  that  oormorant  of 
church  lands,  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  in  Edward  the  Sixths 
that  lands  given  to  the  clergy  should  be  converted  to 
the  maintenance  of  widows  or  sick  persons.  I  desire  to 
be  resolved  whether  that  be  sacrilege  !  And  if  so,  upon 
what  ground  it  is  said  to  be  so !  If  not,  then,  whether 
the  lands  be  God's  portion,  any  more  if  they  maintain 
the  clergy  than  if  they  maintain  the  indigent  and  ne- 
eessitous  laity !  And  whether  or  no,  if  the  condition  of 
the  king's  restitutions  were  to  alien  the  lands  of  Bethlem 
or  St.  Thomas's  Hospital,  the  clergy  of  £ngland  would 
affirm  it  lawf\il !  And  then  whv  not,  if  the  condition 
were  to  alien  one  manor  of  the  Bishop  of  St.  David's,  or 
one  close  t  If  one,  then  more,  and  then  all  as  well  as 
any;  for  one  is  as  much  dediciUed  to  God  as  all,  and  the 
alienation  is  as  direct  a  sacrilege.  But  this  were  a  hard 
case,  should  it  be  denied  to  the  king's  necessities,  and 
the  clamourous  importunities  of  the  people,  and  the  ne- 
cessities for  peace  I 

But  here  we  leave  the  subject,  again  commending  it 
to  the  study  of  Lord  Stanley  and  Sir  Robert  Inglis. 

The  following  letter  exhibits  Cromwell  in  an  amiable 
li^it,  and  is  admirable  in  style.  It  is  addressed  to  the 
Speaker : — 

Mr.  Speaker,— It  having  pleased  Grod  to  take  away^ 
by  death,  Colonel  John  Maleverer,  a  very  usefUl  mem- 
ber of  this  army,  I  thought  it  requisite  to  move  you  in 
behalf  of  his  sad  widow,  and  seven  small  children. 

I  need  not  say  much.  His  fiiithfUlness  in  your  service, 
and  his  willingness  to  be  spent  in  the  same,  is  very  well 
known.  And  truly  he  had  a  spirit  very  much  beyond 
his  natural  strength  of  body,  having  undergone  many  fits 
of  sickness  during  this  hard  service  in  your  field,  where 
he  was  constant  and  diligent  in  his  ohafge;  and  notwith- 
standing the  weakness  of  his  body,  thou^^t  himself  bound 
in  conscience  to  continue  to  the  utmost,  preferring  the 
public  service  before  his  private  relations.  And  as  I 
have  been  credibly  informed,  his  losses  by  Uie  royal  and 
malignant  party,  have  been  very  great,  being  occasioned 
by  hu  appearing  with  the  first  in  his  county  for  the  Par- 
liament. 

I  have  therefore  made  bold  to  represent  these  things 
before  you,  that  you  may  timely  consider  of  those  that 
he  hath  left  behind  him,  and  bestow  some  mark  of  &vour 


190 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


upon  them  towards  tbeir  comfortable  subsiBtence. — I 
re«t.  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

0.  Cbomwell. 

Edinburgh,  December  28th,  1650. 

A  cnrions  letter,  written  to  the  Speaker  by  N.  Lem- 
priere.  Bailie  of  Jersey,  npon  that  island,  acknowledging 
the  soTOreignty  of  the  Parliament,  gives  an  interesting 
aeoonnt  of  the  laws  and  usages  of  Jersey  at  the  period. 

It  is  not  easy  to  say,  whether  the  soldiers  of  the  Par- 
liament, or  the  cavaliers,  whether  friends  or  foes,  were 
the  greatest  sconrges  to  the  peaceful  inhabitants  of  the 
districts  npon  which  the j  were  then  let  loose.  The  letter, 
of  which  the  following  is  an  extract,  was  written  by  Col. 
Cooke  to  the  Parliamentary  Commissioners,  when  their 
troops  were  in  Wicklow  and  Wexford,  driving  the  Irish 
rebels  before  them,  and  desolating  the  country. 

Upon  this  day  se'nnight  in  the  evening,  our  forces  all 
rendezvoused  at  Enniscorthy,  some  having  marched  ten 
miles  that  day,  some  twenty  ;  about  ten  of  the  clock  the 
same  night,  we  be|^  our  march  towards  the  enemy's 
quarters,  having  twelve  miles  to  march  before  we  could 
come  to  do  service.  In  the  morning  before  day,  we  were 
in  tiie  midst  of  them ;  but  they  lay  so  dispersed  that  we 
could  not  then  do  much  npon  them.  Some  we  took, 
and  some  we  killed.  In  searching  the  woods  and  bogs, 
we  found  great  store  of  com,  which  we  burnt,  also  all 
the  houses  and  cabins  we  could  find  ;  in  all  which  we 
found  great  plenty  of  com.  We  continued  burning  and 
destroying  for  four  days  ;  in  which  time  we  wanted  no 
provision  for  horse  or  man,  finding  also  housing  enough 
to  lie  in,  though  we  bumt  our  quarters  every  morning, 
and  continued  buming  all  day  after.  He  vras  an  idle 
soldier,  that  had  not  either  a  fkt  lamb,  veal,  pig,  or 
poultry,  or  all  of  them,  every  night  to  his  supper. 

Even  the  wart  of  the  '98  have  not  eradicated  from  the 
memories  of  the  Irish,  the  cmelties  of  Cromwell's  sol- 
diers. In  England  the  royalist  troops  acted  the  same 
part,  without  the  excuse  that  they  were  in  an  alien 
country.  From  a  letter  of  date  1 646,  addressed  to  Luke 
Robinson,  then  member  of  Parliament  for  the  North 
Riding  of  Yorkshire,  and  written  ft*om  Scarborough  by 
Thomas  Smallwood,  probably  a  farmer,  we  gather  the 
bearing  of  the  subdued  cavaliers  and  their  new  auxili- 
aries:— 

Though  my  neighbours  have  felt  the  smart  of  New- 
castle's army,  and  twice  of  the  Scots,  yet  these  times 
were  times  of  peace  and  prosperity,  in  comparison  of  this 
present  time ;  never  were  poor  people  so  oppressed  as 
we  are.  The  commander-in-chief,  in  these  parts,  is  one 
M^or-General  Vandraske,  a  civil  gentleman.  His  regi- 
ment consists  of  many  Papists,  French,  Dutch,  Irish, 
Scotch ;  and  those  that  are  Englishmen  are,  four  parts  of 
tlMm,  the  king's  reduced,  or  rather  subdued,  soldiers,  who, 
now  0^  conquerors  and  tyrants,  came  ft^m  New- 
ark, Oxford,  and  others  of  his  garrisons.  They  are 
most  of  them  very  mde  in  their  carriage,  for  they  every 
day  ride  abroad  and  rob  all  men  and  women  they  meet 
with.  None  can,  vnth  safety,  pass  to  or  from  a  fair,  or 
town,  or  market ;  they  have  leh  us  no  horses  that  are 
fit  to  carry  a  man ;  and  profess,  whensoever  they  go  away, 
to  leave  us  no  other  goods. 

In  their  quarters  they  demean  themselves  most  bar- 
barously. They  beat  their  men  and  women  causelessly. 
They  will  not  eat  either  salt  beef,  or  milk,  or  butter,  nor 
drink  any  small  beer ;  but  force  the  poor  men  to  buy 
them  mutton,  lamb,  and  chickens,  and  ale  In  abundance ; 
and  though  they  put  their  horses  in  the  mown  grass, 
yet  they  will  force  their  landlords  to  find  them  every 
day  a  peck  of  oats  for  each  horse.  Our  honest  men  are 
many  of  them  forced  to  leave  their  houses ;  some  are  fled 
in  to  Whitby  Strand,  some  in  to  the  English  army  near 
York,  and  others  into  the  East  Riding.  I  was  forced  tp 
fly  from  my  house,  and  leave  all  I  had  to  their  mercy ; 
as  for  those  towns  where  no  soldiers  are  quartered,  they 
compel  them  to  pay  monies  to  them;  some  towns  £8^ 


some  £10,  some  £16,  some  £20  per  diem;  so  that  if 
some  speedy  course  be  not  taken  the  whole  country  will 
be  destroyed. 

I  cannot  see  how  they  can  possibly  subsist  twenty  days 
in  all  likelihood;  and  though  these  burdens  lie  upon  them, 
they  dare  not  complain.  No  justice  was  yet  done,  ex- 
cept  upon  one  man,  who  was  shot  to  death  for  killing  \as 
landlord  (in  cool  blood.)  They  change  their  quarters 
every  other  day,  which  proves  a  very  heavy  burden  to 
the  poor  people.  Honest  men  dare  not  show  a  Bible 
amongst  them,  except  it  have  both  the  Common  Pnyen 
and  Apocrypha  in  it ;  and  it  were  treason  for  the  piJdr 
godly  men  to  pray  in  their  families.    Sir,  I  want  words 

to  express  the  misery  the  country  is  in 

If  you  please  acquaint  Sir  Matt.  Boynton  and  Mr. 
Thomas  Chalmers,  that  they  can  expect  no  more  rents 
from  us.  The  Lord  incline  the  hearts  of  the  Pariiamont 
to  study  some  relief  for  us. 

The  Scots  army,  consisting  of  a  miscellaneous  creWj 
gathered  from  every  quarter,  were  equally  oppressiTe. 
One  Emanuel  Issachar,  writing  to  the  burgesses  then  in 
Parliament  for  the  towns  of  Yorkshire,  quaintly  says,— 

Gentlemen, — ^your  languishing  country  expects  com- 
fort ftt>m  you :  rid€  they  cannot,  to  inform  yon,  for  their 
horses  are  all  taken  from  them ;  run  they  cannot,  their 
hearts  are  too  heavy,  their  burdens  too  great ;  they  hare 
much  to  complain,  but  dare  not ;  cry  aloud  they  would, 
if  their  spirit  were  not  too  far  spent ;  and  they  have  bad 
so  little  encouragement  to  ride,  run,  complain,  or  ay, 
less  success  in  it,  greater  oppression  by  it,  that  they  gire 
all  for  lost  without  your  present  assistance 

After  enumerating  the  enormities  and  rapacity  of  the 
soldiers,  this  honest  man,  who  must,  probably  from  his 
style,  have  been  a  dominie^  continues — 

Nay,  many  an  honest  mail  is  forced  to  trudge  night 
and  diay  to  fetch  them  wine,  ale,  or  beer,  or  what  extra- 
ordinary fibre  as  they  desire,  at  his  great  charge ;  and 
this  he  does  to  buy  a  little  peace :  and  thus  he  prostrates 
himself  and  estate  to  buy  a  little  quiet,  to  the  lust  and 
rage  of  such  as  have  been  our  open  enemies,  such  as  arc 
lately  come  out,  and  such  who,  though  they  have  pre- 
tended to  be  our  friends,  now  declare  themselves  for  the 
king,  threaten  the  parliament  for  buming  their  papers, 
&c.— threaten  all  public  officers,  and  aU  the  Parliament  s 
friends,  calling  them  English  dogs,  &c.— countenancing 
and  entertaining,  daily.  Papists  and  delinquents,  and,  in 
one  word,  lives  as  if  it  were  their  design  to  destroy  our 
country. 

The  vnriter  then  pertinently  inquires.  If  those  hefriendt, 
why  deal  they  so  unkindly  ! 

In  conclusion,  we  must  say,  that  as  we  proceed  to 
peruse  the  entire  collection  of  letters,  its  value  and  in- 
terest rises  in  our  estimation.    It  contains  the  naked 
troth  of  history. 
Ths  Music  ofths  Church;  containing  a  General  ffu- 

tory  ofMwiCy  S^c.  Sfc.     By  Thomas  Hirst.    Pp* 

357.    Whittaker  &  Co. 

We  have  never  yet  met  with  any  work  of  which  the 
subject  was  the  Music  of  the  Church,  and  the  ^^^^J^j 
musicians,  that  was   not  both  pleasant  and  profitable 
reading.    Mr.  Hirst's  work  certoinly  forms  no  exception 
to  our  uniform  course  of  experience.    Its  plan  is  popular 
and  comprehensive.   It  is  written  for  those  who  may  no 
have  means  or  opportunity  to  study  the  subject  discusse 
in  all  its  details  and  intricacies,  but  who  desire  a  g^ 
ral  knowledge  of  it,  that  shaU  be  accurate  and  ^^^^ 
full.    The  work  is  divided  into  four  Parts.    The  m 
contains  a  general  history  of  the  art,  from  the  ear 
periods  until  the  present  day ;  the  second  Part  is  the  m 
elaborate — it  is  exclusively  devoted  to  Hebrew  « 
The  remaining  Parts  are  the  most  <*"^*''*"^'J!-0f 
apprehend,  the  most  usefrd.    They  treat,  in  a  number 


LITERARY  REGISTER, 


197 


disdaei  ebapters,  of  mnsic  as  it  is  connected  with  Divine 
wonkip,  in  the  C3iarch  and  among  the  Dissenten^  in  this 
oemtrf. 

In  amogementy  and  farions  other  secondary  matters, 
the  author  shows  no  great  degree  of  literary  skill,  or  ex- 
perienoe;  bat  his  work  is  stnffed  full  of  excellent  matter, 
aad  well  supplies  a  want  which  many  feel,  besides  form- 
ing a  really  entertaining  yolnme.  We  shall  give  a 
brief  ipedmen  or  two;  regretting  that  our  space  at  pre- 
mU  fezbids  farther  ministering  to  the  pleasure  of  our 
rauien. 

TBB  MUSIC  OF  THE  BEFORMEBS. 

The  feeble  rays  of  dirine  truth  which  broke  fh>m 
the  mind  of  Wickliff,  on  a  dark  and  cortupt  age,  and 
vkieh  increased  their  radiance,  till  the  deformity  and 
inpioos  domination  of  the  Romish  church  was  broken  at 
the  refonaation,  carried  with  them  some  alteration  in  the 
^md  urtice  of  the  church.  A  more  simplified  style  of 
ngiag  was  practised  by  the  followers  of  Wickliff,  and 
Thkh  was  carried  forwards  by  the  Hussites. 

With  these  examples  before  him,  Calvin  gave  a  still 
greater  impulse  to  dissent  flrom  the  choral  service  of 
the  popish  church,  with  which,  on  many  other  accounts, 
it  is  well  known  he  had  but  little  sympathy.  With  the 
uoetuce  of  Theodore  Besa,  he  introduced  a  new  ver- 
Boi  of  the  psalms,  set  to  music  by  Guillaume  Franco,  in 
e«e  put  only.  These  compositions  soon  became  popular 
throogfa  all  the  reformed  churches. 

Martin  Luther,  from  having  an  ear,  no  doubt  more 
ceneetly  attuned  to  melodious  sounds  than  those  of  the 
two  foregoing  celebrated  men,  and  a  soul  on  which  de- 
votion ascended  more  readily  on  the  sublime  strains  of 
^tion,  retained  more  of  the  splendour  of  the  estab- 
hshed  choral  krvice.  He  composed  many  hymns,  some 
tf  which  he  himself  set  to  music ;  specimens  of  both  re- 
■ain  to  the  present  time.  The  hymn  beginning,  ^  Great 
God,  what  do  I  see  and  hear,**  &c.,  and  the  ^  Old  Hun- 
dred "  tune,  are  considered,  amidst  some  doubts,  to  be 
of  the  number. 

In  England  many  of  the  reformers  disapproved  of  the 
Mcnhff  spirit,  and  enmbersome  ceremonies,  of  the  musi- 
ol  part  of  tiie  church  service,  and  Latimer  went  so  fiur 
u  to  foibid  singing  of  any  kind  within  the  limits  of  his 

Marbeck  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  first  who  set 
^  Cathedral  service  of  the  Reformed  Church  of  Eng- 
had.  He  composed  but  for  one  voice,  and  they  were 
PihGihtdin  1511.  Elizabeth,  in  her  direction  to  the 
c^g7}gave  partionlar  attention  to  the  musio  of  the 
diardi,  a  jing,  *^  Let  there  be  a  modest  and  distinct  song 
■sed  in  all  pvts  of  the  common  prayers  of  the  church ; 
,  >ad  for  the  comforting  of  all  such  as  delight  in  music,  it 
B>7  he  permitted,  that,  in  the  beginning  and  in  the  end 
•f  the  common  prayer,  either  morning  or  evening,  there 
»i7  be  rang  an  hymn,  or  such  like  song,  to  the  praise 
•fAhughty  God."  The  purity  of  her  motives  in  this 
^Sux  are,  however,  rendered  very  questionable  ;  at  all 
erents,  she  manifested  an  arbitrary  spirit  in  the  manner 
mwhieh  she  sought  to  supply  choristers  with  singing  boys. 

ORlOllf  OF  OOD  SAVE  THE  KIKO. 

^Joang  the  cebrated  writers  and  performers  of  music 
^  this  period,  was  Dr.  John  Bull,  to  whom  tradition 
|["Qibee  the  honour  of  composing  our  national  air  of 

G^  save  the  King."  This  honour,  however,  has  never 
"^  nianiBiously  bestowed ;  and  it  has  lately  oonsider- 
wy  &ded  on  the  Doctor's  brow,  by  information  supplied 
^  u  elaborate  and  erudite  work  on  **0\A  National 
^^i  Airs,"  by  W.  Oiappell.  Mr.  ChappcU  there 
j'Bowi,h7  considerations  of  great  force,  that  the  author 
<***•  nifaem  was  a  Henry  Oirey,  then  Uving  in  London, 
twwhojitmay  be  remarked,  was  the  grandfather  of 
the  QoQter  of  the  late  Edmund  Kean.  Carey  was  dis- 
Jwcted  towards  the  reigning  government,  and  composed 
wciir  on  the  eve  of  the  insurrection  in  1715,  in  ftir- 
wance  of  ^  cause  of  James  the  pretender,  whose 
2J»e  was  the  burden  of  its  theme.  The  insurrection 
wkd,aiid  the  tune  lay  dormant  till  the  oocurrence  of 


the  victory  of  Admiral  Vernon,  in  1 740,  when  the  author 
met  a  party  at  a  tavern,  and  sang  it — substituting  the 
word  George  for  Jamety  in  celebration  of  the  triumph. 
Dr.  Ame  harmonized  it,  and  brought  it  out  in  Drury 
Lane  Theatre  in  1745,  with  great  effect,  when  another 
pretender  aspired  to  usurp  the  British  crown.  It  then 
took  an  elevated  stand  in  the  musical  world,  and  may  be 
said  ever  since  to  have  been  in  growing  favour  with  the 
public.  It  is  singular  that  this  anthem  has  greatly  served 
the  cause  it  was  intended  to  destroy.  About  the  year  1 743, 
Carey  put  an  end  to  his  life,  being,  at  the  advanced  age 
of  eighty  years,  in  abject  circumstances,  haring  only  a 
half^nny  in  his  pocket. 

Passing  over  many  illustrious  names  native  and  foreign, 
we  come  to  one  whose  history  is  new  to  us,  and,  we  should 
imagine,  to  many  of  our  readers,  who  may,  nevertheless, 
be  fkmiliar  with  his  compositions.  The  people  have  had 
their  Handels,  and  Purcells ;  composers,  springing  up 
as  directly  fh>m  their  bosom,  as  do  their  poets,  their 
Bumses,  Elliotts,  and  NicoUs. 

JAMES  LEACH. 

The  name  of  Leach  is  well  deserving  a  place  in  every 
historical  sketch  of  English  music,  however  brief;  and 
to  omit  it,  in  the  estimation  of  many,  would  be  to  make 
a  blank  that  conld  not  be  filled  by  a  more  worthy  name. 

James  Leach  was  bom  in  humble  circumstances,  and 
principally  earned  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow, 
as  a  weaver,  at  Rochdale,  in  Lancashire.  Having  a  na- 
tural musical  genius,  and  yielding  to  its  impulses  in 
making  some  proficiency  in  the  instmmentid  department, 
he  became  one  of  the  king's  band.  But  he  was  also  dis- 
tinguished as  a  vocalist,  and  appeared  to  most  advantage 
in  the  counter  part.  In  this  region  he  made  his  musical 
powers  commendably  known,  as  a  singer  at  one  of  the 
great  musical  festivals,  held  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

His  first  efforts  at  composition  appear  to  have  had  no 
other  object  than  his  own  recreation,  or  that  of  those 
with  whom  he  was  intimately  connected.  In  the  pre- 
face to  his  first  set  of  tunes,  he  thus  expresses  himself : 
— ^^  The  truth  of  the  matter  i^  tiiis :  haring  had  a  turn 
for  music  from  my  infimcy,  I  have  employed  my  leisure 
hours  in  cultivating  the  same.  A/ew  years  ago  I  com- 
posed a  few  tunes,  and  without  the  least  design  of  their 
being  made  public,  being  at  the  time  ignorant  of  the 
rules  of  composition.  These  few  tunes,  accordhigly,  got 
handed  about,  and  were  introduced  into  many  pnblio 
congregations,  insomuch  that  I  was  called  upon  from  all 
quarters  for  copies,  so  that  I  found  myself  under  the  dis- 
agreeable necessity  of  denying  many  requests  of  that 
kind.  For,  having  a  family  to  maintain  with  my  hand- 
labour,  I  had  already  spent  more  time  than  I  oould  well 
spare ;  but  sC  friend  of  mine,  knowing  my  importunities 
of  that  kind,  and  wishing  the  tunes  to  be  more  generally 
known,  advised  me,  by  all  means  to  compose  a  few  more 
to  some  select  pieces,  and  let  a  number  of  them  be  struck 
off,  as  the  price  would  be  small,  so  that  euch  as  wished 
to  have  them,  might  procure  them  at  a  small  expense; 
and  therefore  I  now  submit  them  to  the  judgment  of  the 
public :  I  mean  such  as  understand  music." 

This  preface  is  dated  Rochdale,  June  29th,  1789, 
and  it  does  not  appear  to  have  been  reprinted  in  any 
subsequent  edition.  In  the  first  sentence  of  the  extract 
just  given,  I  have  altered  a  word  or  two,  as  the  original 
is  glaringly  ungrammatical ;  indeed,  the  whole  prdiace 
betrays  great  ignorance  of,  in  their  plainest  forms,  the 
rules  of  literary  composition,  and  shows  it  to  have  been 
Leach's  unaided  performance.  The  work  was  published 
by  subscription,  and  met  with  such  a  welcome  reception, 
as  to  encourage  him  to  go  on  composing ;  indeed,  be  an- 
nounced in  the  same  prefkpe,  that,  **  Another  volume  of 
tunes  of  the  same  size  and  price  will  be  published  in  a 
few  mouths."  These  two  publications  contain  the  whole 
of  his  psalm  and  hymn  tunes.  His  set  pieces  and  an- 
thems were  issued  in  twelve  numbers  after  his  death,  for 
the  benefit  of  his  surriving  family.  He  came  to  his  end 
in  a  melancholy  manner.  Sometime  in  the  year  1797, 
ho  was  taking  a  journey  on  the  top  of  a  coach,  and  while 
humming  over  the  Coftaan,  the  first  piece  he  made,  thie 


1^ 


LITERABY  REGISTER, 


eoftch  upset,  aad  he  wu  killed  on  the  epot,  not  more 
than  thirty-five  years  of  age,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
current  of  rising  fiune.  For  some  years  before  his  death 
he  had  nearly,  if  not  altogether,  hud  aside  his  regular 
employment,  and  he  was  supported  partly  by  the  free 
generosity  of  his  fHends,  and  partly  by  the  exercise  of 
his  musical  talents,  and  the  profits  of  his  publications. 
The  Rot.  Alexander  Mather,  a  celebrated  minister  in 
the  Wesleyan  Connexion,  of  which  body  of  Christians 
Leach  was  a  member,  is  said  to  have  been  a  valuable 
fHend  to  him,  and  used  his  influence  to  bring  him  into 


notice. 

Perhaps  Leach  cannot  be  considered  as  evincing  very 
great  originality,  in  the  severe,  abstract,  and  compre- 
hensive meaning  of  that  term.  Yet  there  is  so  much  of 
honest,  calm,  thoughtfiil,  independence  of  genius,  in  con- 
ception and  development,  in  the  working  out  of  its 
Tarions  themes,  as  to  entitle  him,  in  a  subordinate  de- 
gree at  least,  to  be  considered  a  reformer,  in  the  republic 
of  musical  science,  and  at  the  head  of  a  respectable  class. 
In  his  music  we  recognise  a  considerable  elevation  above 
the  prosings  of  the  majority  of  composers  which  preceded 
him.  He  seems  to  occupy  the  same  position  in  the  his- 
tory of  music,  as  Dr.  Watts  does  in  poetical  psalmody. 
There  is  in  the  character  of  his  music  an  identity ;  as 
painters  would  say,  a  keeping  in  the  likeness :  that  is,  in 
principle,  not  in  detail ;  in  the  superintending  spirit  of 
the  theme,  not  in  the  themes  themselves.  For  in  this 
fespect,  few  writers  present  greater  variety  than  he, 
within  the  prescribed  limits  of  psalmody.  But,  whether 
you  turn  to  the  solemnly  impressive  strains  of  ComplaUUf 
Joammu,  Egypt,  Shields,  &c.,  or  plume  yourselves  to  ac- 
company him  in  MochdiUe,  Syria,  Redemption,  &c.,  in 
their  more  free  and  dignified  evolutions ;  or  unite  in  the 
airy  and  buoyant  trippings  of  Cyprus,  Orpheus,  &c.,  you 
feel  the  presence  of  I^aoh,  in  the  unitv  of  his  command- 
ing genius.  His  imagination  is  not  so  bold,  adventurous, 
and  startling,  as  is  that  of  some  other  first-rate  com- 
posers ;  but  this  is  counterbalanced  bv  an  addition  of 
judgment,  which  adds  strength  to  the  pinions  of  his  ima- 
gination, and  makes  his  flight  more  secure,  and  his 
return  move  certain.  In  him  the  difl^nt  parts  of  the 
tune  come  to  a  friendly  close,  without  the  fear  of  each 
accusing  the  other  of  wandering  too  far  ftom  the  melody 
of  the  Sieme.  In  hi$  lighter  eflfUsions,  there  is  nothing 
of  dash,  or  prettiness,  or  frivolity,  for  the  purpose  of 
oonrting  applause  from  low  or  vitiated  tastes ;  and  in 
his  funeral  specimens  he  does  not  sink  into  twaddle,  and 
unmeaning  and  affected  oroakings ;  but, 

"  He  is  discreet. 
And  marks  the  point  where  sense  and  dulness  meet** 

In  him  there  is  also  a  fur  prop|ortion  of  strength,  expan- 
sion, and  harmony,  blended  with  cheerfulness  and  pro- 
priety of  adaptation.  He  is,  moreover,  at  times  brilliant 
and  tender. 

His  anthems  and  set  pieoes  are  of  unequal  merit.  His 
Oruoi/igion,  as  a  whole,  is  the  best  ....  Many 
of  his  pieces  were  left  unfinished  at  his  death,  which  will 
aooount  for  the  falling  off  in  the  latter  portion. 

The  assertion  of  Dr.  Bumey  is  both  bold  and  true, 
and  is  therefore  encouraging  to  real  though  humble 
genius,  that  **  Music  has  been  more  advanced  by  un- 
learned men,  than  by  philosophers  and  mathematicians.'* 
The  Doctor's  argument  will  not  readily  find  a  more  strik- 
ing illustration  than  in  James  Leach.  A  friend  of  the 
author  requested  him  to  do  justice  to  the  character  of 
^  poor  Leach,"  observing,  that  ^  he  had  been  of  great 
service  to  Methodism.**  The  reason  for  such  a  request 
is  too  limited ;  as  the  Dissenters  and  Church  of  England 
share  the  same  benefiML  To  say  that  in  all  Christian 
assemblies,  where  devotion  breaks  forth  in  praise. 
Leach's  tunes  are  worthy  ot  a  place,  would  be  only 
asserting  the  fact,  the  proof  of  which  is  heard  in  the 
various  and  extreme  parts  of  the  militant  church.  And 
the  day  is  very  distant,  when  the  strains  of  Leach  will 
cease  to  stimulate  tiie  pleasures  of  devotion. 

Several  other  not  mute  but  inglorious  Handels  and 
Charles  Wesleys  find,  for  the  first  time,  honourable  men- 


tion in  this  popular  history,  which  we  oommend  to  aQ 

musical  readers  who  are  not  too  fastidious. 

Ccggar  de  BeUo  GaUico,    With   a  Geographic] 

Index.  Edited  by  Philip  Smith,  B.  A.  ^npldo 

&  Marshall. 
I.  The  Book  qf  the  Poets.     From  Chaucer  U 

peattie. 
U.  TheB<K>kofiheMod&mPom<ffih$NwttmA 

Centwry.    Octavo.    Soott,  WebstefP,  and  Geary. 

These  handsome  and  massive  volumes  are  of  sa  orda 
of  embellished  works,  which  every  lover  of  polite  liten- 
ture  must  rejoice  to  see  gradually  displacing  the  ephe- 
meral and  flimsy  decorated  wares  which  have  been  in 
vogue  of  late  years.  They  consist  of  well-selected,  Uste- 
M,  and  characteristio  specimens  of  the  English  poet^ 
richly  and  beauttAilly  embellished  in  the  style  of  the 
well-known  edition  of  Rogers'  Italy,  and  other  poens; 
the  works  of  Campbell,  published  by  Moxon,  and  one  of 
Murray's  editions  of  Byron.  There  are  about  fifty  illos- 
trations  to  each  work ;  all  of  them  good,  and  nany  ef 
them  exquisite.  The  ^m^e  field  of  English  poetry  girei 
ample  scope  for  designs ;  and  Corbould,  Uwins,  Gsloott, 
&c.  &C.,  have  surveyed  it  with  poetical  as  well  as  artistio 
eyes.  The  engraving  of  these  delicious  vigntttes  is  by 
Finden  and  Heath.  The  books  are  elegantly  printed, 
and  are  worthy  of  the  proud  name.  Book  of  tbb  Poeis. 
Such  works  as  this,  forming  the  inost  valuable  part  of 
the  decorative  furniture,  or  appliances  of  the  drawing- 
room,  or  lady's  morning-room^  can  never  be  too  numerous 
for  the  public;  nor,  we  should  hope,  for  the  publiaben, 
who,  by  sending  out  such  works,  exalt  and  itiiiM  the 
taste  to  which  they  minister. 

The  **  Book  of  the  Poets"  contains  a  preliminaiy 
essay  on  English  poetry,  ftrom  its  rise  to  the  era  (^ 
Cowper;  the  "Book  of  the  Modem  Poete"  a  di^ 
sertation  on  the  poetry  of  the  19th  century.  Ta  thi 
specimens  of  each  poet  is  prefixed  a  brief  biognphi^ 
notice,  so  that  the  works  are  in  some  sort  a  history  ^ 
English  poetry,  and  an  index,  with  copious  spednens  « 
each  poet  of  any  note.  Independently  of  exteiMl 
elegance,  we  cannot  tell  where,  within  the  aams  ooH 
pass,  one  might  find  so  much  that  is  of  sterUng  and  pef^ 
manent  value  in  English  poetical  literature.  j 

The  PhUoaopf^  of  Necessity ,  or  the  Law  of  Cm 

sequences^  as  applicable  to  Menial,  Moral,  em 

Social  Science.  By  Charles  Bray.  Second voluwl 

Longman  and  Co, 

The  second  volume  of  this  work,  which  is  now  beftn 
us,  we  consider  of  more  value  than  the  first.  It  i 
practical.  It  deals  in  facts  and  figures,  instead  d 
indulging  in  speculation,  sometimes  vague  and  nnsatii 
fkctory.  Here  there  can  be  no  mistake.  IfMr.Br8y,vei] 
much  (as  we  believe)  underrates  the  intelligence  of  th( 
working-classes,^he  thoroughly  understands  their  snffefl 
ings  and  their  wants ;  and  if  all  his  remedies  for  ti 
social  evils  he  perceives,  be  not  such  as  men  are  likely  J 
agree  about,  they  must  at  least  concur  in  admiring  hi 
benevolent  spirit,  and  expansive  sympathies.  ^^'J 
struck  with  one  of  his  isolated  opinions,  from  its  coM 
dence  with  the  opinions  of  Mr.  Laing  and  others,  wl| 
are  neither  of  the  co^iperative  school,  nor  of  that  of  ^ 
political  economists.  It  is  thus  expressed  ^— *  We  donW 
if  any  country  can  long  continue  prosperous,  where  till 
manufkcturing  population  greatly  exceeds  in  wojab^ 
the  agricultural."    The  idea  is  worthy  of  oonsideratiod 


LITERARY  REGISTER, 


ilde 


][ainard,£8q^Banri8terofLawofTeza6.  Smith 

and  Elder. 

Tbe  aathor  of  tliifl  book  seems  io  bays  emigrated 
nahly,  to  hsTe  suffered  in  eonseqnenoe,  and  to  be  in  the 
nry  bad  bamonr  which  tempts  men  to  oommit  iiijustice, 
withoat  being  oonscioas  of  tbeir  bias.  We  cannot  see 
uch  to  recommend  Texas  to  the  British  people  as  a 
field  of  emigration.  Bat  if  any  are  meditating  sncb  a 
step,  they  would  do  well  to  read  this  book  as  a  co^reo- 
tire  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  glowing  descriptions.  Tmth  lies 
betv«en  them,  and  probably  inclines  to  ^x,  Kennedy's 
iiiie.  The  good  adTioe  with  which  the  Texan  barrister 
bu  fiiToared  Lord  Palmerston,  now  lUls  to  Lord  Aber- 
deen^ share,  who,  we  dare  not  promise  onr  aathor,  will 
lad  a  more  willing  ear  to  the  voice  of  the  charmer. 

Fmak  Ckarmaer:  an  Essay.     By  Albert 
Pennington. 

This  little  book  contains  a  great  deal  of  good  coonael 
to  jonagwomen ;  and  also  what  seems  to  be  oonaidered^e- 
ewaryia  all  works  of  the  sort  written  by  men,  agreat  deal 
Bonofeompliment ;  ftUsome,  were  it  only  fVom  its  saper- 
Suitj.  It  will  be  better  for  both  sexes  when  the  men 
■0  longer  feel  the  necessity  of  paying  off  in  panegyric 
vbt  is  denied  to  the  women  in  jastice. 
A  ^i&-eoai  Bey's  BeeoUeOions  of  Hertford  School 

By  Geoige  Wickam.    Harvey  and  Parton, 

Tins  is  a  simple  and  homely  narrative,  relSMrring 
KHber  to  great  personages  nor  momentous  events  ;  and 
jet  the  powerful  instinct  which,  in  all  circumstances, 
ukes  *<]ian  dear  to  man,"  impels  one  to  read  on  to  the 
ad,with  imabated  interest,  the  man's  unvarnished  story 
If  the  boy's  sehool-Ufe. 

Pomt  of  Past  Yiars.    By  James  Parker. 
Menzies,  Edinburgh. 

AeoQeetion  of  sweet  and  tender  verses,  without  strongly 
urked  character.  We  have,  however,  seen  worse  gain 
pixel  in  Universities,  and  put  forth  by  persons  of  quality 
h  AiaBa]a,with  great  applaose  firom  fiuhionable  circles. 

Ln^  Alice.    A  Ballad  Romance.    By  El-ton. 
Saunders  and  Otley. 

Iliere  is  rare  candour  in  this,  probably  very  youthful, 
*qout  to  the  favour  of  the  Muses.  His  friends,  con- 
^  to  all  former  prooedent,  when  consulted,  advised 
^  M  to  publish.  But  publish  he  would.  He  might 
h&Tc  committed  many  a  worse  fblly.  Yet  we  approve 
the  dedsioD  of  the  friends.  The  romance,  written  in  the 
^enhaUad  jingle-jangle  which  English  metres  allo^, 
ii  not  without  melody  ;  and  it  has  a  story.  These  are 
pot  points. 

Sdma'B  Bride  of  Messina.     Translated  by 
A.  Lodge,  Eac[.9  MA.    Bohn,  London. 

la  httrodudng  this  hi^y  finished  production  of 
SduUer's  genins  and  matured  skill  and  taste  to  the 
^^  reader,  the  Translator  states,  that  it  has  been 
1««  his  afan  to  give  a  dose  version  of  the  original  than 
mdi  a  tnneeript  of  the  author's  thoughts  as  might  be 
^°i**ted  by  a  portion  of  his  spirit,  and  wear  a  certain  air 
of  ori^nility.  Whether  tlus  is  gained  or  not,  the  per- 
formaaeeirears  a  more  finished  and  classic  air  from  be- 
uigthoB  treated. 
^  Life  ond  Times  of  Cranmer:  an  American 

httk  woik,  reprinted  in  this  country. 


EoHonal  Beadinp  Lessons  ;  er^  EfOertm^nff  Intel- 
leoH/Ml  Exercises  for  Okildren.  By  the  author  of 
the  "  Diversions  of  Hollyoot ;  or,  The  Mother's 
Artof  Thinkinj;»''&c«&c.  ;withaKey,  OUver 
&  Boyd. 

We  leam^  fpom  the  prelkoe,  that  this  smaJl  tome 
forms  a  link  in  a  series  of  little  books  for  children,  of 
which  some  have  previously  appeared.  It  owes  its  exis- 
tence to  its  author^  dislike  of  the  system  of  elementary 
cramming ;  and  consists  of  entertaming  little  stories,  and 
descriptive  sketches  in  prose,  with  a  fsw  in  verse,  which 
are  printed  in  a  way  that  must  exercise  the  mental  fia- 
culties  of  the  juvenile  reader.  We  daresay  some  of  them 
might  like  to  sip  the  honey  by  itself,  without  partaking 
of  the  wholesome  medieine  of  which  it  is  the  medium; 
but  this  the  plan  of  the  work  renders  impossible.  Any 
educational  work  of  ^riiich  the  tendency  is  the  discour- 
agement of  memparrc^nff  or  showy  pretension,  deserves 
commendation  at  this  period,  when  it  is  mudi  to  be  feared 
that  solid  improvement  in  education  by  no  means  keeps 
pace  with  the  bustle  and  parade  which  keen  competitiom 
has  introduced  among  schools,  and  in  elementary  books. 
Four  Lectures  to  Young  Men.  Innes,  Edinburgh. 
These  Lectures  were  delivered  in  Edinburgh  by  four 
of  the  Clergymen  belonging  to  the  city.  The  first  lecture, 
by  the  Rev.  Andrew  Thomson,  is  worthy  of  particular 
attention.  It  rises  above  the  ordinary  commonplace  of 
such  discourses. 

Tat^s  Modem  Cambist.  Fourth  Edition,  with  ex- 
tensive Alterations  and  Additions.  Effingham 
Wilson. 

What  to  Teach  and  how  to  Tsach  cf,  so  thata  Child 
may  become  a  Wise  and  Oood  Man.     By  Henry 
Mayhew.    William  Smith,  Fleet  Street. 
This  is  the  first  portion  of  a  philosophic  treatise  on 

Education,  which  is  to  be  completed  in  three  divisions. 

This  first  part,  "On  the  Cultivation  of  the  Intellect," 

Scarce  corresponds  with  the  practical  title. 

The  Classical  Prommdation  of  Proper  Names.  By 
.Thomas  Swinburne  Carr,  King's  Colleg«,  Lon- 
don. 

The  utility  of  this  work  is  obvious  ;  and  it  must  be  of 
yet  greater  value  to  Scottish  classical  students  and 
teachers  than  in  England.  An  Appendix  contains  some 
useful  information  connected  with  the  subject,  and  the 
proper  pronunciation  of  all  the  Scripture  names. 
Greek  Poetry  for  Schools.  Edited  by  Philip  Smith, 
B.  A.  Simpkin  and  Marshall. 
The  extracts  are  reprinted  firom  Dr.  Friedmann's 
"  Eleine  Griechische  Poetisdie  Anthologie."  A  feiy 
alterations  have  been  made  by  the  editor,  which  he,  of 
course,  considers  for  the  better  ;  and  he  has  added  two 
Idyls,  for  the  sake  of  introducing  the  learner  to  the  Doric 
dialect.  The  book  contains  three  books  of  the  Odyssey, 
many  extracts  from  the  Iliad,  and  something  ttom  nearly 
all  the  Ghreek  poets.  It  is,  besides,  a  beautifiil  specimen 
of  Greek  typography.  The  type  is  peculiarly  well  cat, 
clear,  bold,  and  yet  delicate. 
Look  Fonoard.    A  Tale.    By  Catherine  Irene 

Finch. 
This  is  a  very  pretty  story  for  the  young  of  the  humbler 
classes,  replete  with  good  sense,  good  taste,  and  good 
moral  feeling.    It  cannot  be  read  without  profit. 


200 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


The  Mar^  ofErromanga;  or,  The  Philosophy  of 
Missions^  iUustnUed  from  the  Labours,  Deaths 
and  Character  of  the  late  Rev,  John  Williams, 
By  John  Campbell,  D.  D.  Author  of  "  Jethro," 
"  Maritime  Discovery,"  &c.,  &c.  1  volume 
octavo,  cloth,  pp.  448.  With  coloured  frontis- 
piece, &C.    Snow :  London. 

Dr.  Campbell  is  an  enthusiast  for  Missions.  Under 
the  above  oomprehensive  title,  he  has  arranged  foorteen 
Letters,  addressed  to  distinguished  individuals,  which 
form  a  series  of  disconrses  on  Missionary  Enterprise,  and 
its  various  noble  objeets  ;  and  also,  in  some  respects,  a 
sequel  to  the  Narrative  of  the  lamented  Williams  ;  the 
Martte  of  Erbomawqa.  In  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Camp- 
bell, the  missionary  enterprise  of  Williams  alone,  ^  is  of 
more  real  value  than  all  the  writings  of  a  CUrke,  a 
Butler,  a  Paley,  a  Chalmers,  a  Leland,  and  a  Lardner, 
united."  This  is  a  bold  assertion,  but  we  are  not  pre- 
pared to  dispute  it.  The  seeds  sown,  the  good  done, 
the  new  state  of  society  created  in  the  Islands  of  the 
South  Sea,  by  the  labours  of  one  genuine  Apostle,  are 
visible,  real,  and  tangible ;  the  effects  and  influences  of 
the  writings  of  the  eminent  individuals  enumerated,  it  is 
not  so  easy  to  calculate.  In  Polynesia,  a  great  moral  revo- 
lution has  been  accomplished  by  a  working-man :  under 
the  printed  lessons  of  the  divines  named  above,  we  fear 
society  remains,  if  somewhat  wiser,  very  little  better  than 
before  they  lived  and  wrote.  In  the  right  path  it  moves 
at  a  snail's  pace;  while  in  the  regions  of  missionary  enter- 
prise the  progress  of  many  centuries  has  been  made  in  a 
few  years. 

Dr.  Campbell  has  contrived  to  impart  extrinsic  interest 
to  his  work,  by  the  choice  of  the  persons  to  whom  he 
addresses  the  several  branches  of  his  subject.  To  teachers 
of  Sunday  and  other  schools,  he  devolves  the  duty  of 
inculcating  the  missionary  spirit;  the  members  of  the 
London  and  American  Peace  Societies  he  addresses  on 
the  tendency  of  Missionary  labours  to  extinguish  War, 
and  to  establish  Peace.  This  branch  of  the  subject  is 
farther  illustrated  in  Letters  to  Mr  Maoaulay  and  to  the 
Duke  of  Wellington.  Indeed,  the  Doctor's  illustrations 
of  the  spirit  and  principles  of  the  Gospel,  in  relation  to 
War  and  Peace,  are  not  the  least  valuable  portion  of  his 
work.  His  Grace  of  Wellington  receives  high  praise  ; 
but  he  is,  at  the  same  time,  told  some  home-truths.  Now, 
as  the  Duke  is  quite  as  much  the  hero  of  the  Saints  as 
of  the  Sinners  of  the  land ;  of  those  who  profess  to  follow 
the  principles  of  the  Gospel  of  Peace,  as  of  those  who 
cue  for  none  of  these  things, — ^we  could  not  find  a  more 
apt  passage  for  quotation  than  a  part  of  the  author's 
warning  or  remonstrance.  It,  besides,  affords  a  fair  spe- 
cimen of  his  manner,  which  is  fluent  and  discursive ;  not 
absolutely  o'er  informed  with  matter;  but  generally 
showing  various  and  copious  knowledge,  and  just  senti- 
ments :^ 

Among  all  conquerors,  I  have  read  of  none  who  de- 
mands a  tithe  of  the  respect  which  I  feel  for  your  Grraoe. 
But  truth  compels  me  to  say,  that,  although  I  view  you 
as  the  F^ce  of  Captains,  I  am  constrained  to  look  upon 
yon  as  immeasurably  less  than  the  least  of  all  mission- 
aries. Oh  I  how  high  and  holy  is  their  vocation  as  com- 
pared with  that  which  occupied  the  first  half  of  your 
eventftd  lifo  t  With  them,  eternity  is  everything  ;  with 
your  Grace,  it  appeared  in  those  days,  to  be  nothing. 
They  walk  daily  and  hourly  with  God  ;  ftrom  all  that  I 
ean  discover  of  your  Grace's  vievrs,  fh>m  your  volumes, 
written  during  your  warlike  operations^  God  was  not  in 


all  your  thoughts  !  I  can  find  no  difference  of  crt'  - 
between  your  Grace  and  Napoleon,  with  respect  to  t  fa- 
ture  world  and  the  hope  of  man  ;  nor  can  I  find  any- 
thing, in  which  eitlier  he  or  your  Grace  differs  fnm 
Alexander  or  Oesar,  who  dwelt  in  the  darkuMs  of  idola- 
try. The  letters  of  condolence  which  you  wrote  fnm 
fields  of  battle  to  the  friends  of  those  who  fell  tt  jonr 
side,  are  most  affecting  proofs  and  illustrations.  Tbe 
considerations,  for  example,  which  you  employ  to  oodso1« 
the  friends  of  Colonel  Lake,  are,  that  he  fell  **  the  ad- 
miration of  the  whole  army,"  and  **  in  the  achievement 
of  one  of  the  most  heroic  actions."  In  the  case  of  Colo- 
nel Cameron,  you  endeavour  to  comfort  his  father  witk 
the  thought,  that  ^he  fell  in  the  perfbrmance  of  hii 
duty."  You  labour  to  soothe  Lord  Somers  on  the 
death  of  his  son,  vrith  the  assurance,  that  he  ''fell  in 
the  zealous  and  gallant  discharge  of  his  duty."  Ah ! 
my  Lord  Duke,  and  is  this  all!  With  the  wounds, 
and  the  blood,  and  the  agonies,  and  the  death,  was 
there  an  utter  end  of  these  men  t  Is  there  no  differ- 
ence between  the  warrior  and  his  horse  t  Does  the  shell 
or  shot  which  slays  them  jointly,  extinguish  both  their 
beings  at  once  t  Does  nothing  of  man  survive  I  Has 
vour  Grace  not  one  thought  to  bestow  upon  the  disem- 
bodied spirits  of  those  hapless  officers  and  men  who 
perished  by  obeying  you,  who  contributed  to  your  tIc- 
tory,  and  to  your  fame  \  Only  think  of  them  a  moment ! 
Where  are  they!  What  are  they!  Are  yonailent! 
My  Lord  Duke,  can  you  answer  these  questions  t  Is 
military  knowledge,  are  military  thoughts,  entirely  bound- 
ed by  this  sublunary  scene  !  Not  one  idea  concerning 
the  world  of  spirits  can  be  gathered  from  yoor  Grace's 
Despatches,  General  Orders,  and  Letters 

On  that  terrible  night  which  drew  its  curtain  aronnd 
the  dismal  field  of  Waterloo,  after  parting  with  Blnoher, 
and  crossing  the  battle  plain  by  moonlight,  and  behold- 
ing a  scene  of  carnage  seldom  paralleled  in  the  annals  of 
war,  it  is  reported,  to  the  honour  of  your  manhood  and 
humanity,  that,  covering  your  face  with  your  hands,  yon 
burst  into  tears.  The  heaps  of  dead  you  then  saw,  the 
moans  of  the  dying,  and  the  wail  of  the  wounded,  you 
then  heard,  might  well  have  moved  a  heart  harder  than 
yours.  It  is  but  just  to  quote  your  well  remembered 
words,  in  one  of  your  letters, which  ran  thus:— "My 
heart  is  broken  by  the  terrible  loss  I  have  sustained  of 
my  old  friends  and  companions,  and  my  poor  soldiers ; 
and  1  shall  not  be  satisfied  with  this  battle,  however 
glorious,  if  it  does  not  put  an  end  to  Buonapuie."  Ah ! 
my  Lord  Duke,  was  it  really  glorious  !  Is  glory  to  be 
measured  by  the  havoc  of  armies, — ^by  the  (Ostress,  the 
distraction,  the  woe,  and  the  despair  created  throoghout 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  families  !  Shall  I  appeal  f^m 
this  Aceldama,  this  field  of  blood,  to  the  fathers  and  mo- 
thers, brothers  and  sisters,  wives  and  children,  relatiTes 
and  friends  of  the  slain,  whether,  in  very  deed,  this  was 
a  **  glorious  battle ! "  I  well  remember  the  joy  of  these 
nations,  but  what  meant  the  solitary  weeping,  the  deep 
grief,  and  the  settled  sorrow  of  such  multitudes  over  all 
the  land  !    Their  answer  was — WcUerloo  ! 

Sir  Charles  Bell,  who  followed  the  army  that  he  might 
improve  his  knowledge  of  gun-shot  wounds,  and  eniid 
his  surgical  lectures,  throws  a  light  upon  one  of  the  aai 
pects  of  the  glory  of  Waterloo.  He  describes  the  oondt 
tion  of  the  hospitals,  in  terms  which  make  the  ears  tinglV 
and  the  blood  run  cold  !  It  was,  as  your  Grace  wlB 
doubtless  remember,  fiill  sixteen  days  after  the  battk 
before  the  work  of  the  surgeons  was  finished.  Wh« 
about  three  weeks  after  the  tremendous  day,  the  lir 
proceeded  in  the  work  of  burying  the  dead,  it  was  foi 
that  wounded  men  had  crawled  to  the  carcases  of  d< 
horses,  and  gnawed  their  raw  flesh  for  food,  till  puM 
faction  put  an  end  to  the  horrid  banquet,  and  they  dii 
of  hunger  I  Such  facts  as  these  will  help  to  demonstral 
how  far  this  was  a  really  glorious  battle  I  Ahu  I  glo^ 
und  battle  are  terms  which  ill  agree. 

In  a  letter  addressed  to  Lord  Brougham  on  the  rt 
suits  of  missionary  hbours  on  slavery  and  edacation,  til 
author  deals  as  plainly  with  the  great  statesman  4 
he  does  vrith  the  illustrious  soldier;  though  the  exof 


i 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


201 


-  .m  IS  «U  that  we  can  quote.  Harkg  enmneraied  all 
the  pnUk  honors  which  Brougham  a^d  won,  he  con* 
tinnes:— 

Your  lordship's  speeches  and  writings  i^U  go  down 
to  tbe  latest  ages,  and  live  as  long  as  tliB  language 
«iios0  rich  resoorces  they  exemplify  and  exhaust  His- 
tory, miinflaenced  hj  party  and  envy,  will  'do  your 
lordship  justice.  Posterity  will,  indeed,  assign,  you  a 
hi  hi^er  place  on  ^  Fame's  dread  mountain,^'  than 
eren  that  which  has  been  accorded  b^  the  bulk  or  your 
cofitcBponries.  In  spei^ng  thus,  I  make  no  refe^uce 
to  jonr  rank,  my  lord  ;  no  man  erer  owed  less  to  nnk 
tb&B  your  lordship  ;  yon  descended  when  you  entem 
the  Upper  House. .  You  elevated  the  peerage — not  tn^ 
pccnge  you.  The  historian  will  chiefly  delight  in  the 
pttriotio  Commoner.  Eren  now  the  lord  is  lost  in  the 
Bu.  Your  simple  name,  in  after  times,  will  blaze  in 
^  as  the  sun,  while  your  coronet  will  be  a  tiny  speck 
ta  its  disc,  scarcely  Tisible.  No  liying  statesman  has 
K  Bieh  to  hope,  and  so  little  to  fear  from  future  gener- 
atioBs,  as  your  lordship.  The  great  points  of  your  po- 
litical creed  will  assuredly  be  at  length  embraced  by  all 
ssttoos.  The  progress  of  reason,  the  Toice  of  prophecy, 
ibe  interests  of  earth,  all  unite  to  support  your  views  of 
var,  peace,  slavery,  education,  and  the  surpassing  glories 
of  moral  greatness.  Every  age  vnll  bring  the  mind  of 
Ea^d  more  and  more  into  unison  with  yours.  Like 
prophecy,  your  lordship's  character  will  gain  with  the 
adTuoe  of  time.  And  when  the  period  arrives  at  which 
**  tbe  kingdom  and  dominion,  and  the  greatness  of  the 
kiBfdom  under  the  whole  heaven,  shall  be  given  to  the 
people  of  the  saints  of  the  Most  high,  whoso  kingdom  is 
u  ererias^ng  kingdom,  and  all  dominions  shall  serve 
ttd  obey  him  ;" — when  this  period  arrives,  my  lord,  the 
eriis  which  you  have  denounced  and  opposed,  witii  so 
Boch  consistency,  energy,  and  eloquence,  will  cease  to 
h,  and  the  good  which  you  have  so  long  and  so  strenu- 
«8ly  laboured  to  promote,  will  be  more  than  realized 
thfooi^at  the  whole  earth ;  for,  be  assured,  my  lord, 
jonr  utmost  demands  and  desires  ate,  according  to  the 
T^nme  of  Inspiration,  a  poor  instalment  of  the  felicity 
vhieh  awaits  our  now  dis&acted  and  afflicted  world. 

My  lord,  it  will  be  allowed  by  multitudes  of  the  best 
xad  wisest  of  mankind,  that  I  have  not  overdrawn  the 
picture  of  your  lordship's  prospects  of  future  renown. 
PeiBODal  and  political  adversaries  are  incompetent  judges 
of  such  a  matter  ;  and  so,  indeed^  are  personal  and  po- 
iJtitsl  friends.  But  a  great  reverse  awaits  your  lord- 
ilap's  positicm.  Men  who  are  now  all  but  unknown, 
^,  in  the  better  days  of  our  world,  be  inconceivably 
■we  ilhstrious  than  your  lordship.  You  will  then  be 
WMidered  as  only  a  humble  personage,  in  comparison 
with  such  a  man  as  the  missionary  martyr,  Williams. 
One  chapter  of  the  **  Missionary  Enterprizes,"  will  then 
bear  a  higher  value  than  all  the  writings  of  your  lordship, 
ud  of  ^  the  orators,  statesmen,  historians,  and  philo- 
'^^tei  in  our  language.  Everything  is  permanently 
great  only  as  it  belongs  to  Christ  and  his  kingdom. 
»««r  speeches  in  behalf  of  John  Smith,  will  accordingly 
^sMss  an  interest  with  the  ages  to  come,  infinitely 
peater  than  any  other — the  most  celebrated  not  ex- 
ctpted— that  you  ever  uttered.  Tliose  speeches  are 
iioitified  with  the  cause  of  Christ,  and  they  wiH  partake 
rfita  immortality.  Next  to  those  will  be  your  speeches 
*ad  letters  on  education  ;  then  those  against  slavery  : 
aod  finally,  such  as  were  made  in  defence  of  civil  and 
''iigioas  liberty.  All  the  others,  splendid  as  they  are, 
^  be  deemed  of  inferior  worth.  My  lord,  if  these 
!?^  be  so,  are  not  the  bulk  of  your  great  compeers 
UTing  to  little  purpose,  and  in  a  manner  which  but  ill 
^poTts  with  their  high  destinies  and  real  interests  as 
JfflBwrtd  beings  I  If  there  is  truth  in  the  awful  dis- 
elosoiei  of  the  sacred  Scriptures,  how  lamentable  is  the 
pFospecirftijg  y^^  ^^y  Qf  tjjjg  world's  great  men  ! 

^^  Pueages  whet  curiosity  about  the  hero  of  this 
^A ;  the  Xtttyr  of  Erromanga,  thus  exalted  above  all 
contemporary  greatness.  And  in  what  did  the  supe- 
narity  of  Williams  consist  ?— In  adaptation  to  the  situa- 

W.*XaX^T0L.  IX. 


tion  into  which  religious  zeal  led  him ;  in  a  competent 
knowledge  of  a  most  use&l  plain  handicraft ;  an  adroit 
mechanical  turn,  and  astonishing  fortitude  and  perse- 
verance. He  could  neither  have  occupied  the  station, 
nor  fulfilled  the  duties  of  a  Brougham  nor  a  Welling- 
ton ;  and  yet  it  is  cheering  to  think  how  much  men  of  his 
resolute  character,  though  of  limited  intellectual  calibre, 
have  the  power  of  achieving  for  humanity,  when  they  go 
forth  as  the  pioneen  of  civilisation  and  pure  Christianity. 
Dr.  Campbell  has  formed,  perhaps,  an  overweening  opin- 
ion of  Williams ;  but  certamly  not  of  the  great  work 
which  he  was  the  honoured  instrument  in  accomplishing. 
We  will  gather  a  few  sentences  from  his  estimate  or 
Vlogy  of  his  hero,  as  our  concluding  specimen,  premis- 
ing (though  the  history  of  this  Missionary  is  pretty  well 
knoW)  that  he  was  a  respectable  artisan,^  who,  oon- 
vertea  by  the  preaching  of  the  Rev. 'Mr.  East  of  Bir- 
mingham, devoted  himself  to  the  work  of  missions : — 

His  religidh  was  simple,  healthAil,  robust,  and  manly. 
His  vievrs  of  the  gospel  were  highly  scriptural.  Of  the 
theology  of  the  schools  he  knew  but  little  ;  he  took  his 
creed  from  the  Volume  of  Inspiration.  He  was  no 
TTrangler  ;  yet  he  was  a  workman  that  needed  not  to 
be  ashamed,  for  he  rightly  divided  the  word  of  truth. 
He  was  such  a  teacher  as  Paul  or  Timothy  would,  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation,  have  ordained  to  the  work  of 
the  ministry.  Although  not  ^mighty  in  the  Scriptures," 
he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  word  of  God.  Upon 
what  is  technically  termed  '^  experience,"  he  was  a  safb 
guide  and  a  fine  model.  Much  that  is  in  great  repute, 
in  some  religious  circles,  had  no  place  in  his  instruc- 
tions ;  he  had  not  within  him  one  particle  of  what  is 
called  religious  enthusiasm.  In  respect  of  his  views 
and  sentiments,  all  was  pure,  clear,  and  scriptural.  He 
had  no  sympathy  vrith  the  system  of  impulses  and  im- 
pressions, and  vagaries  of  the  fancy.    Experience  vritii 

him  was  not  an  end,  but  a  means 

Every  exhibition  of  truth  had  a  practical  bearing  ;  the 
uniform  tendency  of  his  ministration  of  the  gospel  of 
mercy  was,  to  elevate  the  soul,  to  form  the  character,  to 
meetcn  men  ^  to  be  partakerp  of  the  inheritance  of  the 
saints  in  light."  His  views  of  the  Divine  cliaracter  were 
remarkably  clear,  and,  therefore,  in  the  highest  degree 
consolatory.  He  was  himself  a  happy  man,  a  cheerAil 
Christian  !  They  who  saw  him  but  for  a  few  minutes 
would  have  pronounced  him  a  man  of  a  joyous  spirit. 
He  seemed  to  walk  in  the  beams  of  a  perpetual  sunshine. 
In  this  respect,  perhaps,  no  man  ever  formed  a  more 
striking  contrast  to  David  Brainerd.  The  dismal  gloom, 
the  deep  depression,  the  lonely  sorrow,  of  that  holy  but 
melancholy  man,  sadly  contrasted  with  the  peace,  the 
comfort,  the  hope,  and  the  gladness  of  the  Martyr  of 
Erromanga  !  Truly  "the  joy  of  the  Lord  was  his 
strength."  A  man  of  melancholy  temperament,  a  man 
with  dark  and  doleful  views  of  ihfi  gospel  of  mercy,  is 
not  a  proper  person  to  be  sent  to  the  field  of  missions. 

He  went  forth  vrith  his  mind  a  comparative  blank  re- 
specting all  that  appertains  to  controversy  about  church 
order  and  Christian  ordinances.  Wherever  he  found  a 
consistent  believer,  he  found  a  brother,  and  as  such  he 
was  ready  to  embrace  him.  He  knew  no  church  but 
the  church  of  Christ ;  he  was  for  all  that  were  for  his 
Lord  I  A  mind  like  his,  however,  so  industrious  and  so 
inquisitive,  was  not  likely  to  remain  long  without  some 
settled  notions  on  this  great  and  important  subject. 
When  he  arrived  in  England  in  1834,  he  accordingly 
manifested  a  perfect  acquaintance  with  it.  He  had  be- 
come, iVom  conviction  sincere  and  deep,  a  Dissenter 
from  the  Church  of  England  and  from  all  Ecclesiastical 
Establishments.  He  perceived  them  to  be  rotten  at  the 
core — foiinded  in  fatal  error,  and  irreconcilably  hostile 
to  the  quiet  of  nations,  the  peace  of  churches,  and  the 
true  interests  of  Christ's  kingdom.  This  opinion  he 
most  firmly,  though  mildly,  held  ;  and,  upon  all  proper 
occasions,  was  ready  to  avow  it.     ...,,..• 

R 


W9 


ZiTTERARY  REGISTER. 


Bui  vnUi  all  thase  qnalifloMiMS,  Hr.  WUlums  would 
)uk¥«  been  of  tBuJl  yalne  to  the  South  Sea  IsUuiden 
save  for  his  Tabal-Cain  aeooaiplishnente.  In  the  ear- 
nest «u88ioiuu7  papers,  or  perhaps  in  the  vojage  of  the 
D^f9  we  reooUeot  an  aneeclote  of  an  Otaheitean,  ^o  had 
been»  with  many  of  hit  ooimtrjFiiieny  indnoed  to  attend 
\t^  miniBtrationB  of  the  nissiottaries,  by  the  present  of  a 
few  nails,  distribnted  at  tiie  eonclnsiOB  of  the  eerrioe. 
The  nails  fUl  off  in  nnmber,  and  with  them  the  leal  of 
the  oon^^ert,  iHio,  one  Snmday,  on  retaming  from  worship, 
on  being  asked  what  had  passed,  remarked—-^  Plenty 
of  the  word  of  Qod,bnt  very  few  nails."  Now^C^lliams 
eonld  not  only  giro  a  few  nails,  but  teaoh  the  art  of 
making  nails  by  thousands,  and  many  other  usefhl 
things.  He  was,  therefore,  the  true  apostle  fer  a  bar- 
barous raee,    On  this  head  our  author  remarks : — 

Mechanic<U  ingenuity  was  a  striking  feature  in  the 
character  of  Mr.  Williams.  He  was  highly  endowed 
with  the  feoulty  «f  invention,  and  would  flkve  attained 
distinction  had  he  devoted  himself  to  the  iraproTed  ap- 
plication of  mechanic  powers.  The  exercise  of  his  genius 
in  this  direction  was  one  of  the  sources  of  his  amaaing 
Hucces  in  the  missionary  field.  Magic  and  miracles 
would  not  have  stood  him  in  half  the  stead  of  his  skill 
in  the  usefhl  arts.  His  exhibitions  in  this  way  spoke  to 
the  senses  of  the  savages,  who  stood  in  dumb  amase- 
ment,  and  confessed  the  white  man's  superiority.  The 
art  to  which  he  had  been  specially  bred — that  of  a 
amith,— was,  of  all  arts,  to  him  infinitely  the  most  im- 
portant. The  art  of  working  in  iron  stands  at  the  head 
of  all  others :  they  are  all  subordinate  to  it,  and  de- 
pendent upon  it.  In  no  country  has  civilisation  ever 
been  known  to  precede  the  use  of  iron.  It  is  essential 
as  an  instrument  in  the  cultivation  of  the  soil,  and  in 
the  production  of  every  comfort  of  civilized  life.  Com- 
bined with  this  highly  important  feet,  is  the  well-known 
circumstance,  that  the  art  of  working  in  iron  surpasses 
in  usefhlness  all  otiier  arts,  as  much  as  iron  itself  sur- 
passes all  other  materials  put  in  requisition  by  the  wants 
and  habits  of  dvili^d  life*    Cicero  well  observes  that 


there  is  an  afllnity  among  the  sciences,  so  that  he  wife 
has  become  an  adept  in  one,  is,  to  some  extent,  initiatsd 
in  the  rest.  So  likewise  is  it  in  regard  to  languages. 
But  besides  the  affinities, — ^the  principles  common  to 
them  all^ — ^there  are  leading  sciences,  and  leading  hn. 
guages,  the  mastery  of  whi<$h  renders  farther  coiuinesti 
an  easy  achievement.  The  analogy  is  complete  h  the 
case  before  us.  He  who  has  thoroughly  acquired  the  ut 
of  working  in  iron  will  be  at  no  loss,  though  at  lint  bat 
rudely,  to  work  in  other  substances.  All  sorts  of  wood- 
work, house-building,  ship-building,  agricultural  nople- 
ments,  and  all  that  is  necessary  to  the  early  stages  of 
civilisation,  will  come  within  his  province  and  Ins  power. 
The  mathematical  principles  of  these  two  trades,  in  pw- 
ticular,  have  much  in  common  ;  and  working  in  wood  is 
simple  and  easy,  compared  with  iron. 

These  fects  explain  the  secret  of  Mr.  Williams'e  re- 
markable skill  in  all  mechanical  operations— opentioni, 
which,  in  the  first  instance,  constituted  his  grc^  chim 
in  the  eyes  of  the  poor  natives — operations  wbidi  so 
amazingly  contributed  to  his  success  in  promoting  ciri- 
lisation, — and  operations  which  form  one  of  the  chief 
and  most  interesting  features  of  his  ^  Enterprizes.**  Hid 
he  been  bred  to  any  other  art,  he  would  have  made 
a  very  different  and  a  very  subordinate  figure  in  Poly- 
nesia. Had  he  gone  to  any  other  part  of  the  mission 
field,  his  skill  in  working  iron,  and  his  great  mechaoical 
genius,  had  been  of  comparatively  little  use,  and  inmost 
places,  of  absolutely  none.  Had  he  been  appointed  to  the 
West  Indies,  to  Hindostan,  to  China,  to  Madagascar,  or 
to  South  Africa,  he  would  still  have  been  a  respectable 
missionary  ;  but  he  would  never  have  shone  with  that 
peculiar  and  peerless  splendour  which  now  surrounds  his 
name.  No  man  ever  owed  more  to  providential  eironm- 
stances  than  John  Williams  :  they  made  him.  Neman, 
on  the  other  hand,  ever  more  promptly  and  aptly  met 
the  enlarged  and  ever- varying  demands  of  such  circum- 
stances, mastered  their  current,  and  turned  them  to  his 
purpose. 

From  these  extracts  our  readers  may  form  some  idea 
of  a  work  devoted  to  a  most  important  subject ;  written 
in  a  fervent  spirit,  and  aibrdini;  much  enttitaUmentsi 
well  as  instruoUon* 


POLITICAL    REGISTER. 


OPENING  OP  PARLIAMENT. 

Pabuament  was  opened  on  the  3d  of  February,  by  the 
Queen  In  person.  The  Speech,  as  usual,'  consisted  of 
vague  generalities,  and  of  paragraphs  informing  the 
public  of  what  they  already  knew.  Rather  unexpectedly 
t  to  us,  considering  the  politics  of  the  Ministry,  and  their 
'assertions  no  longer  ago  than  August  last,  it  contained 
the  following  sentences  ; — *^  I  recommend  to  your  con- 
sideration the  state  of  the  Laws  which  afibct  the  import 
^f  Com,,  and  of  other  articles,  the  produce  of  foreign 
<xmntries."  **I  have  observed,  with  deep  regret,  the 
continued  distress  in  the  manufacturing  districts  of  the 
country.  The  sufilsrings  and  privations  which  have  re- 
sulted firom  it,  have  been  borne  with  exemplary  patience 
and  fortitude."  The  announcement,  that  the  Ci>m  and 
Provision  Laws  required  **  Consideration,'*  is  evidently  a 
great  boon  extorted  fh)m  those  who,  onlv  a  few  months 
ago,upheId  those  Laws  as  the  perfection  of  human  wisdom ; 
and  dooms  them,  at  no  distant  period,  to  destruction.  Sir 
Robert  Peel  stated,  in  the  first  week  of  the  Session,  that 
the  existing  prohibitions  against  the  importation  of  f^sh 
animal  food,  and  oxen,  sheep,  and  otner  live  animals 
reared  for  food,  are  not  to  be  continued.  This,  also,  is  an 
important  announcement.  It  proclaims,  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  from  undoubted  authority, 
the  hideous  and  all  but  incredible  fact,  which  we,  for 
years,  have  been  printing,  that  f^sh  animal  food,  and 
live  animals  whose  fiesh  is  used  as  food,  are,  by  the  aris- 
tocracy, not  tcuced  merely^  but  absolutely  pbohibtied  ; 
while  horses  and  asses  are  importable  at  a  trifiing 
duty ;  and  taionkeys,  parrots,  dogs,  cats,^.,  as  well 


as  lobsters  and  turbote,  are  free.  Stock-fish,  howefer, 
as  a  vulgar  article  of  food.  Is  not  forgotten,  the  doty 
being  5s.  per  120.  These  fiicts  would  of  ^emselves  enable 
any  one  of  ordinary  sagacity  to  discover  of  what  clw8 
the  legislators  of  this  country  are  composed. 

As  far,  however,  as  Sir  Robert  Peel  has  yet  gow 
there  is  little  ground  for  expecting  much  practicaT 
from  the  principles  to  be  found  in  the  Queen's  speech. 
We  do  not  imagine  it  Very  probable  that  his  new  Core 
Bill  will,  unmodified,  pass  into  law ;  and  whether  it 
does  or  not,  is,  we  really  think,  a  matter  of  absolute 
indlffierence.  It  has  not  satisfied  any  party,  and  we 
do  not  remember  any  measure  which  has  been  so 
generally. condemned.  It  has,  however,  been  very 
useful  in  increasing  the  agitation  against  the  Con 
Laws.  The  delegates  of  the  Com  Law  Association^ 
sitting  in  London,  denounced  it  as  a  mockery  and  Inffjl* 
at  ^e  moment  it  was  announced;  and  ajfeeling  of  indig- 
nation pervaded  the  country  as  soon  as  the  scheme  was 
published.  Immediately  after  it  was  known  »*  MaO" 
chester^-the  second  town  in  the  kingdom— a  mectfng  oi 
the  most  respectable  manuflacturers  and  merchant  was 
held,  and  a  deelarcAion—uoi  a  petition  to  either  House 
of  Parliament,  or  an  address  to  the  Crown— was  agreed 
to,  the  conclusion  of  which  we  have  only  room  to  give* 
*  Earing  U$t  all  confidence  tii  ike  Government,  and  the 
Haute  ofOommone,  at  atjC>retentoonttitutedyViAdwm 
not  only  the  repeal  of  bad  laws  already  existing,  but  also 
a  guarantee  for  good  government  ibr  the  future;  ww 
anxious  to  avoid  those  unhappy  outbreaks  which  must 
inevitably  result  from  the  conthiued  oppression  andrtsT' 


POLITICAL  REGISTEIU 


203 


iHiim  of  tiie  pMple ;  and  feeling  eonvinoed  that  no 
iftelail  remedies  will  be  applied  nntil  the  power  d  apply^ 
'mg  them  be  lodged  in  the  hands  of  the  people,  "we  re* 
ipectflillj,  bat  finnlj,  demand  that  the  fhuichise  be  forth* 
witk  extended  to  etery  man  who  is  twenty-one  years  of 
tge,  of  foond  mind,  unstained  by  crime;  together  with 
fte  prirflege  of  teeret  voting,  and  such  other  matters  of 
detdl  IB  may  be  ftmnd  necessary  to  the  honest  and  prac- 
tical woddng  of  tiie  principle."  SimOar  meetmgs  have 
been  beki  at  Rochdale,  Leeds,  Liverpool,  Glasgow,  &c. 
ThMigk  IS  yet  nothing  has  been  done  in  Edinborgh,  we 
ea  testify  that  the  feeling  is  equally  intense,  and  that 
■en,  Mtherto  the  most  opposed  to  an  extension  of  the 
nfiige,  see  that,  except  by  that  means,  there  is  no  hope 
fcr^ooontry.  The  aristocracy  are  evidently  deter- 
wini  to  resist  to  the  utmost — ^to  place  their  estates, 
sad  perbsps  their  lives,  in  issue,  to  support  a  system  of 
hvB  which  ruin  and  destroy  all  other  classes  of  the  com- 
BDnity,an4  are  not,  we  verily  believe,  of  any  advantage 
ti  ^  bndewneri  themMlves.  But,  in  tmth,  we  do  not 
tink  (katthe  aristoeracy  are  so  ignorant  as  to  imagine 
tbt  even  their  rents  are  likely  to  be  depreseed  by  the 
Rfol  of  the  Com  Laws.  Many  of  them  are  perfectly 
eoiideBt  that  they  will  not ;  and  the  increased  rents 
And  withm  these  fcw  months,  for  fimns  out  of  lease, 
Aiw  dearly  that  the  iiumen  fear  little  any  change 
vltickis  likely  to  be  created  by  a  repeal  of  the  Com  Laws. 
No;  it  is  not  a  reduction  of  rent  that  the  aristocrats  fieel 
i^itij.  What  they  fear  is,  that,  under  any  ciroumstanees, 
dnj  aboold  be  d^eated  in  a  struggle  with  the  people. 
Ae  leai  qosation  now  at  issue  is — ^not  the  repeal  of  the 
con  Hid  promion  laws,  bat  whether  twenty-seven  mil- 
Em  of  mhahitants  of  the  united  kingdom  are  or  are  not 
lobenled  by  some  thirty  Uiousand  proud,  ignorant, 
ad  bi|[Dted  landowners;  for  so  few  are  the  number  of 
m  tyrants,  not  only  as  statistically  proved,  but  as  ad- 
■ittsd  Vy  the  Tory  section  of  the  landowners  themselves. 
Bat  IB  the  question  now  at  issue,  and  the  only  question. 

Of  Peel's  new  Sliding  Scale,  we  must  now  give  a 
fcw  detaili.  At  present,  when  the  price  is  51s.,  the 
<lityis  SSB.8d.  By  the  new  scale,  it  is  20b. ;  and  that 
is  tiie  maximum.  Now,  this  looks  well  on  paper,  but,  in 
FHBt  sf  ikct,  20s.  is  a  prohibitory  duty.  We  have  re- 
ared to  tome  of  the  returns,  and,  firom  a  rough  caku- 
IitiaB,we  think  we  may  venture  confidently  to  say,  that 
Aen  kare  not  been  entered  for  home  consumption 
IMM  qoarfters,  during  the  last  fourteen  years,  at  a  duty 
«f 201.  Twtnty  shillings  has  proved  a  prohibitory  duty; 
adve,therelbiie,  oonour  with  Sir  Robert  Peel  in  saying 
it  9  tttksB  to  make  it  higher.  It  is  exposing  the  land- 
•««en  to  o'  toquy  without  an  object  The  20s.  duty 
ttmes  the  "or  man  as  effectually  as  any  higher  duty ; 
»d  a  aeaL  .. Mch  goes  fkrther  thui  the  point  of  absolute 
Ofibte,  ou|^  surely  to  be  amended  for  the  benefit — 
Mt  of  the  poor—but  of  the  rich.  Let  us  now  look  at 
Oe  etiisr  end  of  the  Scale— at  the  working  end.  At 
P^Mat,  li.  is  tiie  lowest  duty— to  which  rate  it  is 
'^'loetd  when  the  price  reaches  73e.  Above  74s.,  by 
tie  new  scale,  there  is  to  be  no  duty  at  aU.  Nobody 
S>^Mlgis  a  shilling  duty.  It  is  useful  to  enable  us  to 
2*certaia  the  quantity  of  grain  imported,  and  taken  into 
MBM  consumption ;  for  experience  teaches,  that  where 
^  ^ty  at  an  is  imposed  on  a  commodity  imported,  the 
RveiQt  ofBcers,  as  well  as  the  importers,  get  exceed- 
B^eareless  in  specifying,  with  any  accuracy,  the  quan- 
^-  Nether  of  these  parties  oould  see  the  use  of  spe- 
^ys^  whether  a  vessel  contained  800  or  500  quarters 
Jj»"St,  were  no  duty  to  be  imposed  on  it.  At  738., 
I^dsty, by  the  old  and  new  scales,  is  the  same.  Is.; 
^d^  femahidsr  of  the  scale, as  flur  as  it  is  practically 

*^  oaa  easily  be  given  :— 

lVi«.       N'ew  8edU,       Present  Seaie, 

72s. 2s 28.  8d. 

718. 3s 6s.  8d. 

708. 48 10s.  8d. 

t)J  fcl!!?^  to  go  fiorther,  for  we  have  already  reached 
"^fr^JBg  point— the  point  of  starvation.  If  ever  the 
word  HttsOiog  was  properly  applicable,  it  is  to  Sir  Ro- 
wrt  PeeTi  modification  of  the  SUding  Scale. 


Asia. — ^The  ^  little '^  wars  in  Asia  will  make  large 
drafts  on  the  Exchequer,  and  tiie  prospect  of  their  ter- 
mination appears  more  distant  than  ever.  It  is  true 
that  we  beat  the  Chinese  wherever  they  show  face;  but 
it  is  already  apparent  that  we  are  teaching  them  the  art 
of  war.  More  troops  are  demanded  fr<m  India;  but 
they  cannot  be  spared.  The  mud  forts  which  used  to 
form  so  excellent  a  subject  for  ridicule,  are  found  to  be 
only  mud  externally;  and  some  of  them,  at  leasts  are 
constructed  of  such  materials — good  granite — that  thel 
heaviest  guns  now  used  in  our  ships  of  war  prodOeef 
no  effect  on  them;  it  is  only  when  the  shot  enters  hf 
the  embrasures  that  any  harm  is  done.  We  have  re- 
occupied  Ghusan,  and  taken  Ningpo,  one  of  the  largest 
towns  in  the  empire;  but  still  the  Chinese  show  no  in- 
clination to  treat.  Since  the  previous  occupation  of 
Chusan,  great  improvement  in  the  construction  of  artil- 
lery has  become  apparent.  The  next  attack  will  proba* 
bly  be  on  Pekin;  but  we  suspect  that,  even  were  thai 
city  taken,  we  would  be  no  farther  advanced  than  at 
present.  The  Emperor  and  court  will  take  care  to  ro* 
move  to  some  more  inland  locality,  before  our  troops  can 
reach  Pekin;  and  there  they  will  maintain  the  same  ^ 
Hoy  as  at  present — ^give  no  answer  to  our  demands,  bal 
allow  time  and  disease  to  operate  in  their  behalf.  We 
do  not  entertain  the  exaggerated  notions  of  that  city 
generally  current;  but  we  have  no  doubt  it  is  at  least  as 
populous  as  Paris,  and  that  it  probably  contains  800,000, 
or  one  million,  of  inhabitants.  Yet  Paris  requires  aa 
armed  force  of  at  least  50,000  men  to  keep  the  popula* 
tion  in  order ;  and  the  garrison  of  London*-quiet  as  the 
people  are,  and  have  long  been— consists,  at  this  momenti 
of  four  regiments  of  horse,  and  three  regiments  of  foot, 
besides  numerous  other  troops  at  Chatham,  Woolwich^ 
and  elsewhere  in  the  vicinity.  Our  whole  force  in  China 
is  composed  of  the  Service  Companies  of  the  following 
regiments,  all  foot :— IBtii,  26th,  49tii,  55th,  98th,  and  a 
few  battalions  of  sepoys,  probably  not  exceeding  in  all 
6000  men,— about  the  strength  of  the  garrison  usually 
kept  under  the  Tory  regime  in  Dublin.  It  is  evidentiy 
impossible  with  such  a  force  to  hold  possession  of  Pekin 
alone,  even  were  it  taken  without  any  loss  ^— especially 
anong  a  people  who  will  not  likely  adopt  tiie  Eun^ieaa 
rules  of  warfkre,  but  who  may  probably  resort  to  all 
sorts  of  irregular  contrivsAoes  for  getting  rid  of  their 
enemy,  such  as  poisoning  the  water  and  the  food — an 
art  in  which  the  Chinese  axe  great  adepts— Sicilian 
veq^ers,  and  other  very  improper  means  in  the  eyes 
of  a  soldier.  The  opium  war  is  just  beginning ;  and 
before  it  is  ended,  there  is  no  great  foresight  required  to 
predict  that  some  thousands  of  British  lives  will  be 
sacrificed,  and  a  million  or  two  added  to  the  National 
Debt.  Besides,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  our 
soldiers  have  never  yet  been  engaged  with  what  we  may 
call  the  troops  of  the  line  of  the  Chinese  emperor.  It 
is  generally  understood,  that,  besides  the  militia,  who 
defend  the  outposts,  there  is  a  large  body  of  Tartar 
troops  maintained  for  the  defoneci  of  the  capital,  mostiy 
horse — a  sort  of  pretorian  cohort,  who  may  prove  of 
firmer  materials  than  the  Chinese  soldiers  hitherto 
encountered.  The  whole  peoi^e  are  enrolled  for  service^ 
when  called  on,  fh>m  an  early  age,  so  that  millions  of 
soldiers  may  be  raised  without  any  difficulty,  under  a 
Government  so  despotic  as  the  Chinese  ;  and  however 
inefficient  as  compared  with  European  soldiers,  they  will 
harass  and  annoy  to  death  by  their  mere  numbers  the 
handfhl  of  troops  we  have  sent  against  them. 

If  we  turn  from  Chhia  to  In<i^  the  prospect  is  still 
more  eloomy.  Though  the  accounts  are  contradicted, 
there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  a  general  insnrreo- 
tion  has  taken  plaoe  throu^out  Afghanistan,  a  king- 
dom of  great  extent  on  the  north-east  of  India,  and 
situated  between  that  country  and  Persia,  containing 
fourteen  millions  of  inhabitants.  Whether  the  insurrec- 
tion has  extended  into  the  neighbouring  countries,  is  not 
yet  ascertained  ;  but  its  speedy  suppression  alone  will 
prevent,  perhaps,  a  general  revolt  in  India.  It  is  too 
plain  that,  throughout  the  whole  of  India,  the  English 
are  detested,  and  that  peace  is  preserved  solely  by  the 
powerfU  force  we  maintain  there,  and  by  the  political 


204 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


xntrigueB  through  r/hich  one  prince  is  set  against  another. 
This  much  seems  certain,  that  many  of  Uie  officers.  Sir 
Alexander  Barnes  among  others,  have  fallen  victims  at 
Cabal  to  the  first  f\iry  of  the  popolaee,  and  that  our 
troops  in  that  city  and  neighbouriiood  were,  at  the  date 
of  the  last  advices,  surrounded  and  blocbetded  by  an 
armed  population,  daily  augmenting  in  numbers.  Whe- 
ther any  of  our  soldiers  will  ever  return  through  the 
narrow  gorges,  defensible  by  a  fewmen  against  thousands, 
is  at  least  questionable.  It  may  well  be  asked,  what 
have  we  to  do  at  Cabul,  a  city  some  hundreds  of  miles 
beyond  the  extreme  frontiers  of  Hindostan,  and  at  least 
1500  miles  from  the  nearest  presidency  1  All  the  an- 
swer that  can  be  given  is,  that  possibly  at  some  fhture 
period  the  French  or  Russians  may  make  use  of  this 
pass  to  invade  India,  and  that,  therefore,  for  the  purpose 
of  guarding  against  a  very  remote  possible  evil,  we  mast 
expose  ourselves  at  this  moment  to  great  expense,  risk, 
and  danger ;  while  our  expedition,  instead  of  diminishing 
the  risk  of  future  invasion,  greatly  augments  such  risk — 
as  the  event  has  already  proved — by  irritating  a  great 
population  throughout  an  exclusive  territory  against  us. 
These  wars,  unless  relinquished,  vrill  not  prove  so  **  little*' 
as  has  hitherto  been  imagined.  Both  are  unjust,  and 
have  been  disapproved  of  by  the  best  judges,  both  civil 
and  military ;  and  it  is  the  duty  of  the  people  of  this 
country  to  apply  to  the  throne,  and  to  Parliament,  to 
put  an  end  to  them.  Both  are  mere  ebullitions  of  the 
pride  of  the  aristocracy,  with  which  the  people  have  no 
concern. 

Trade  and  Maihtfactures  continue  as  gloomy  as 
ever,  and  there  appears,  as  yet,  no  alleviation  of  the 
distress.  *  No  animation  is  apparent  in  any  branch  of 
trade.  A  very  important  document  regarding  the  state 
of  the  cotton  trade  has  appeared  since  our  last.  It  is 
a  circular,  addressed  by  no  less  than  sixty  of  the  most 
respectable  firms  in  Manchester  to  the  wholesale  houses 
in  London  interested  in  the  cotton  trade.  It  appears 
from  this  document  that  the  consumption  of  cotton  wool 
has  been  156,012  bales  less  in  1841  than  in  1840— a 
quantity  that  would  load  24,000  carts  with  nearly  a  ton 
each.  Yet  the  export  of  yams  and  cotton  goods  was 
greater  in  1841  thui  in  1840,  thus  demonstrating  that 
the  whole  of  the  enormous  decrease  in  the  consumption 
of  cotton  has  been  occasioned  by  the  foiling  off  of  the 
home  trade.  **  Experience  has  taught  us,*'  say  the  Man- 
chester manufacturers,  ''that  when  provisions  are  cheap, 
the  home  trade  in  manufkctures  is  prosperous,  and  vice 
terM.  The  average  price  of  wheat  for  the  three  years, 
1 884, 5, 6,  was  448.  8d. ;  for  the  three  years,  1 889, 40, 41, 
it  was  68s.  a  quarter — being  an  increase  of  50  per  cent.; 
and  other  provisions  were  in  proportion.  Suppose  the  whole 
food  of  the  people  cost  one  hundred  millions  a-year  in 
the  cheaper  period— not  £4  per  annum  per  head — it  wiU 
have  cost  one  hundred  and  fifty  millions  last  year,  so 
that  there  were  fifty  millions  less  to  expend  on  clothing 
in  1841,  than  on  the  average  of  1 834,  5, 6.  Surely  these 
fkcts  show  that  the  Com  Laws  must  be,  at  least,  one  great 
cause  of  the  distress. 

The  ship-ovmers  are  again  moving  for  a  repeal  of  the 
Reciproci^  treaties :  they  do  not  even  yet  seem  to  see 
that  no  legislation  can  give  them  the  monopoly  of 
the  carrying  trade  of  the  world,  which  they  enjoyed 
during  the  war ;  for  it  is  only  during  war,  and  after  our 
Navy  has  swept  the  ocean  of  every  foreign  vessel,  that  we 
can  again  have  the  monopoly.  Let  them  agitata  for  a  re- 
peal of  the  duties  on  timber  and  the  other  materials  of 
which  their  ships  are  built,  and  for  the  liberty  of  vic- 
tualling their  ships  with  untaxed  provisions.  Tliey  will 
then  be  iu  a  state  of  equality  vrith  foreigners.  To  cla- 
mour fbr  the  repeal  of  the  Reciprocity  treaties,  which 
alone  have  sared  our  shipping  from  roin,  is  worse  than 
useless.    A  very  important  fMst  regarding  our  shipping 


is  deserving  of  attention.  The  West  India  Steam  Kati- 
gation  Company  have  hired  foreign  vessels  to  carry  eoals 
to  their  dep6ts  in  the  West  Indies,  the  freight  of  the 
foreign  vessels  being  much  lower  than  the  British.  Wc 
doubt  if  the  repeal  of  the  Reciprocity  treaties  would 
reach  such  a  case  as  this.  It  appears  that  distiess  is 
not  confined  to  the  country,  but  has  extended  to  our 
colonies.  The  markets  of  Australia  are  so  glutted  with 
British  manufactures,  that  they  are  sold  cheaper  there 
than  at  home  ;  yet  the  extent  of  our  exports  is  relied  on 
by  Sir  Robert  Peel  as  evidence  of  prosperity,— as  if  it 
was  a  sign  of  prosperity  to  have  bales  of  goods  lyis; 
rotting  at  the  Antipodes,  or  selling  for  less  than  they 
cost.  The  West  India  planters  alM  are  in  anything  hot 
a  fiourishing  condition.  In  Jamaica,  there  are  not  hslf- 
a-dozen  estates  in  the  island  which,  for  the  last  three  or 
four  years,  have  paid  the  expense  of  cultivation. 

AGRICULTURE. 
The  weather  fbr  the  last  tew  weeks  has  been  very 
favourable  for  ploughing ;  and  there  is  every  prospect 
of  a  large  breadth  of  wheat  being  soim  in  better  condi- 
tion, than  the  winter  crop  was  got  into  the  ground. 
Agricultural  operations  are  all  well  advanced,  there 
having  been  few  material  'intenruptions  during  the 
winter.  We  have  seen  no  reason  to  alter  the  estim&te 
of  the  last  crop  we  have  given  on  former  occasions.  It 
is  undoubtedly  very  de£ient.  The  report  from  Caith- 
ness is,  that  the  crop  turns  out  very  middling  :  oats 
weighing  from  37  lbs.  to  39  lbs.  a  budiel,  and  b^  from 
46  to  48  lbs.  Owing  to  the  apprehended  chuige  in 
the  Com  Laws,  markets  have  continued  very  dull; 
but  now  that  it  is  seen  that  the  landed  interest  have 
no  reason  to  fear  any  material  change,  they  may  be 
expected  to  get  brisker.  Supplies  of  foreign  grain 
have  been  coming  in  all  the  vrinter,  and  there  is  now 
a  large  quantity  in  the  country.  Speculators  most, 
therefore,  anticipate  a  great  reduction  of  duty  be- 
fore next  harvest.  The  duty  on  wheat,  on  10th  Feb., 
rose  to  25s..  8d.  Agricultural  societies,  which  have  done 
so  much  good  in  Scotland,  are  rapidly  spreadini^ver  Eng- 
land. The  Royal  Agricultural  Society  of  England,  formed 
in  imitation  of  our  Highland  Society,and  in  which  the  Dnke 
of  Richmond  takes  much  interest,  hold  their  next  great 
meeting  at  Bristol.  Numerous  other  societies  and  dabs 
have  beien  formed,  at  the  meetings  of  which  much  nsefol 
information  has  been  elicited.  We  are  glad  to  obserre, 
that  in  Bngland,  the  propriety  of  granting  leases  is  be- 
ginning to  be  appreciated.  At  a  meeting  at  Gloucester, 
Earl  Ducie,  after  pointing  out  to  the  fkraers  the  neeee- 
sity  of  continual  progress  and  improvement  in  tgrical- 
ture,  remarked,  that  he  never  wished  to  see  any  mia 
enter  upon  a  farm  without  a  lease.  He  would  regard 
the  tenant  as  a  fool  who  would  sink  money  on  a  firm 
vrithout  the  protection  of  a  lease  ;  because,  howerer 
much  confidence  he  might  have  in  the  landlord,  he  bad 
no  security  for  a  similar  treatment  if  a  son  or  trustees 
came  into  the  management.  At  a  meeting  at  Chepstow, 
the  following  mode  of  feeding  farm  horses  was  recom- 
mended :  their  fodder  to  consist  of  two-thirds  hay  and 
one-third  wheat  straw  chopped  small  with  half  a  bushel 
of  barley  or  bran  meal,  a  bushel  of  bran,  and  140  lbs.  of 
Swedish  turnips,  per  week.  A  species  of  barley  has  been 
discovered  in  Worcestershire,  not  only  very  prolific,  but 
which  produces  two  crops  in  the  year  if  sown  early  in 
spring.  After  being  cut  in  July,  new  shoots  spring  np 
which  are  ripe  in  October.  I^e-draining  goes  on  vi- 
gorously throughout  the  kingdom,  and  numerous  patents 
have  been  taken  out  for  machines  for  making  the  tiles. 
One  of  these  machines  was  shown  lately  in  the  Grass- 
market,  so  simple  in  its  construction,  that  it  can  be  sold 
for  £10,  yet  so  efficient, that  one  man  can  make  by  means 
of  it,  5000  or  6000  tiles  a  day. 


Printed  by  William  Tait,  107,  Trince's  Street,  Edinbnrgh. 


TAIT'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


APRIL,  1842. 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


BY  MBS.  OORE. 


(Ckmtmued  from  page  166  ofmr  March  No,  J 


CHAPTER  T. 
"  ph!  moiher — jt%  no  mother.^— Savags. 
**  I  HAD  no  intention  of  offending  you,  dearest 
TOf^ha^  idiispered  Basil,  when  at  length  the  sub- 
s^iog  of  Lad  J  Anneeley's  emotion  seemed  to  jasti- 
fr  his  addressing  her.  But,  to  his  great  surprise, 
on  the  withdrawal  of  her  hands  from  her  face  to 
eaabk  her  to  reply,  her  countenance  had  so  com- 
pletely resumed  its  usual  rigidity,  that  ail  apology 
appeared  superfluous.  He  now  attempted  to  take 
into  his  own  one  of  the  hands  which  had  been 
ecnening  those  stem  features ;  but  it  was  obstinate- 
ly fixed  to  her  side. 

'^  Believe  me,  I  had  no  intention  of  offending 
,roa,'*  reiterated  the  young  man,  with  still  more 
eanest  affection. 

^  Your  excuses  are  a  deeper  ofience  than  your 
iadiacretion,"  replied  Lady  Annesley,  in  a  harsh 
^^.  **  Your  coming  hidier  at  all,  has  disturbed 
»nd  thwarted  me.  Your  conduct,  now  you  are 
Jwe,  seems  scarcely  likely  to  reconcile  me  to  your 
tibobedience." 

"  Dearest  mother  l"  cried  Basil,  stung  by  her 
severity  out  of  his  habitual  deference  of  reserve, 
''yoa  well  know  that  your  wishes  are  laws  to  me, 
-^t  I  would  sacrifice  my  happiness  here  and 
Iwwfter  for  your  sake," 

**  You  are  a  large  talker,  Basil,"  interrupted 
Udy  Annesley.  **  It  is  easy  to  protest— easy  to 
™J^ertake  services  or  sacrifices  that  can  never  be 
required  of  you.  I  requested  you  to  abstain  for 
^  present,  from  visiting  the  Grange. — Yet,  you 
Me  here!" 

**  I  have  already  explained  my  motives,"  cried 
^wl,  eageriy — ^  already  pledged  myself  to  imme- 
*Iiate  departure.  If  you  wish  it,  mother,  I  will 
"^  wait  till  to-morrow — ^I  will  be  off  this,  very 
"igM.  I  can  return  to  Lyndhurst, — I  can  sleep  at 
tbe  inn.  It  is  late.  The  fellow  who  brought  my 
|^>W"J^  ^fl  scarcely  be  persuaded  to  return  for 
It  to-night.  But  early  in  the  morning  he  shall  be 
»«e,  In  thne  to  enableme  tostart  by  the  first  coach." 
*^y  Annesley  gazed  a  moment  upon  the  young 
and  handsome  face,  on  which  the  most  earnest  sin- 
^™y  was  pamted  at  that  moment. 

1^^  ^*««  to-night,  my  son,"  said  she,  calmly, 
at  the  doee  of  her  scrutiny.  **  Another  time,  be 
more  aoqnieseent.'' 

30.  C^TOL.  IX. 


'^  But  I  assure  you,  dearest  mother,  I  should 
be  well  accommodated  at  Lyndhurst ;  and  it  may 
be  as  well  to  be  there  in  waiting  for  the  coach.  I — ^" 

"  You  will  remain  here^  if  you  please !  '*  inter- 
rupted Lady  Annesley,  in  a  cold  and  positive  tone. 
"  It  is,  as  you  observe,  late  ;  and  the  hour  is  un- 
seemly for  traversing  the  fields.  The  forest  pro- 
duces inconvenient  neighbours,  and  dangerous 
company.  The  illness  of  my  poor  Nicholas  pro- 
ceeded, in  the  first  instance,  from  a  rough  encoun- 
ter on  the  road,  one  evening  at  dusk,  on  his  return 
from  conveying  my  letters  to  the  post.  I  pray 
you,  therefore,  to  remain  here — " 

"  Certainly,  if  such  be  your  desire." 

*^  But  not  the  less  to  hasten  your  departure  at  an 
early  hour  to-morrow.  I  will  even  take  my  \eave 
of  you  to-night,  Basil ;  for  I  must  watch  Uirough 
the  small  hours,  to  enable  poor  Dorcas  to  take 
some  sleep  ;  and  shall  probably  retire  to  rest  just 
as  you  are  stirring." 

"  As  you  please,  dear  mother,"  replied  the  dis- 
pirited young  man,  perceiving  by  her  tone  and 
gesture  that  these  words  implied  dismissal  for  the 
night.  "  If  you  must  indeed  watch  by  the  poor 
old  man,  I  can  understand  that  my  presence  here 
must  be  importunate.  But  if  you  would  only  per- 
mit me  for  this  one  night  to  take  your  place — " 

^  I  have  already  expressed  my  pleasure  on  that 
point." 

"At  least,  since  you  judge  me  too  restless  or 
careless  for  a  nurse,  (though  you  used  to  praise 
my  care  when  I  waited  upon  yourself  during  your 
attack  of  ague  last  year,)  at  least,  there  is  Han- 
nah to  relieve  you.  Hannah  b  a  stout,  active, 
trusty  girl,  who  would  be  none  the  worse  for  want- 
ing, occasionally,  a  night's  rest." 

"  She  is  iM<  to  be  trusted.  The  young  are  ever 
inefficient  watchers.  With  them  *  the  spirit  may  be 
willing,  but  the  flesh  is  weak.'— 7%  have  no 
distracting  thoughts  to  keep  their  senses  on  the 
alert, — ^no  cares  to  render  them  wakeful.  "Kiey 
lay  Uieir  heads  on  their  pillows,  and  are  in  Heaven 
till  morning ;  and  when  they  attempt  the  watchers 
chair  of  penance,  fancy  their  heads  upon  their  pil- 
lows!" 

"  If  it  be  on  that  account  you  refuse  my  services," 
observed  Basil,  "I  promise  you,  mother,  that  I 
have  cares  enough  in  my  keeping,  both  of  my  own 

S 


206 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


and  of  other  people,  to  keep  me  as  wakeftil  as  you 
could  desire." 

Again  did  Lady  Annesley  intently  examine  her 
son. 

"  Yon  have  no  right  to  have  cares  of  your  own," 
said  she ;  *^  and  I  advise  you  to  be  ciautious  how 
you  become  care-keeper  for  others.  Your  own  turn 
will  come.  You  have  your  share,  Basil,  in  the 
typical:  inheritance  of  the  sons  .of  Adam, — the 
thorns  which  the  earth  was  condemned  to  bring 
forth  in  punishment  for  the  sin  of  our  common 
parents.  Such  is  the  commandment  of  a  jealous 
God!" 

"I  am  more  in  fear  of  the  penalty  entailed 
upon  my  head  by  the  fall  of  man,"  observed 
Basil,  in  a  low  voice,  ^'than  of  having  to  an- 
swer for  any  sins  of  my  own  parents.  But,  as 
I  said  before,  mother,  if  it  be  because  you  think 
me  a  sleepy-head  that  you  deny  me  the  pleasure  of 
relieving  your  guard  for  this  one  night 

^^  Once  and  for  all,  it  is  not  on  that  account,"  said 
Lady  Annesley,  in  an  angry  voice ;  "  you  were  not 
Wont,  Basil,  to  be  so  pertinacious  or  so  inquisitive. 
Amend  the  fault  before  we  meet  again  ;  and  show 
me  that  it  is  already  repented  by  immediate  com- 
pliance with  my  requests.  Retire  to  test,  that 
you  may  be  stirring  the  earlier. — Yonder  is  your 
bed-candle. — Good  night." — 

Basil  Anne&ley  was  conscious  at  that  moment 
of  a  choking  sensation  in  his  throat,  such  as  he 
had  often  experienced  in  childhood,  when  unjustly 
chidden ;  and  which  now  almost  suggested  resistance 
to  authority  thus  harshly  exercised.  He  remained 
a  moment  doubtful  whether  to  fling  himself  at 
Lady  Annesley's  feet,  and  implore  a  more  motherly 
entreatment ;  or  stand  forth  reprovingly  in  all  the 
energy  of  his  youthful  sense  of  her  injustice,  and 
hazard  a  still  stronger  appeal.  But  that  momen- 
tary pause  recalled  to  his  generous  mind  that  his 
mother  was  hi^rassed  by  fatigue,  and  care-worn 
by  the  danger  of  her  faithful  servant;  and  he  deter- 
mined, as  his  filial  piety  had  so  often  determined 
before,  to  submit  and  be  patient. 

After  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  the  slender  hand 
which,  if  no  longer  obstinately  withheld  from  him, 
was  far  from  encouragingly  held  forth,  he  took  the 
candle  from  the  marble  table,  hastily  lighted  It, 
and  silently  withdrew ;  eager  to  give  vent,  in  his 
own  chamber,  to  the  emotions  contending  in  his 
heart. 

But  on  his  arrival  there,  he  was  struck  by  the 
order  in  which  his  things  were  laid  out  for  him  ; 
and  the  more  than  usual  care  with  which  his 
comfort  had  been  provided  for. — Hoping  to  obtain 
an  interview  with  old  Dorcas,  and  entreat  her  in- 
£uence  with  her  lady,  to  obtain  him  his  due  share 
in  the  family  vigils,  he  strove  to  discover  some  de- 
ficiency entitling  him  to  ring  for  assistance. — Im- 
possible ! — Everything  was  in  its  place — everything 
forthcomipg ;  the  kettle  beside  the  fire, — the  boot- 
jack and  slippers  beside  the  chair. —  ^ 

*'  I  can,  at  all  events,  summon  Hannah,  on  pre- 
tence of  wishing  to  be  called  before  daybreak,"  said 
he,  musing. 

Having  fulfilled  his  intention,  he  anxiously 
awaited  the  tap  at  the  door,  announcing  the  usually 


assiduous  attendance  of  the  active  damsel.  But 
no  knock  was  heard, — no  Hannah  made  her  ap- 
pearance ;  and  when,  weary  of  waiting  and  hav- 
ing twice  poked  up  the  fire  into  a  blaze  to  beguile 
his  impatience,  he  ventured  to  ring  again,  the  s&me 
silence  prevailed.  Nothing  was  audible  but  the 
shrill  whistling  of  the  wind  in  the  old  corridor; 
and  now  and  then,  a  squeak  and  a  scuffle  among 
the  merry  mice,  coursing  each  other  in  brigades^ 
by  moonlight,  in  the  deserted  chambers  above. 

A  third  time  did  Basil  make  the  attempt,  which, 
he  trusted,  would  summon  poor  Dorcas  for  a  mo- 
ment from  the  chamber  of  the  invalid  which  lay 
at  the  extremity  of  an  adjoining  passage.  But,lo! 
when,  instead  of  the  expected  tap,  the  door  revolved 
slowly  upon  its  hinges,  it  was  his  mother,  and  not 
her  attendant,  who  stood  before  him ! — 

"  Are  you  in  want  of  anything,  that  you  thus 
disturb  the  house?" — said  she,  gravely.  "I  thought 
I  had  been  careful  in  supplying  all  you  could  pos- 
sibly need  to-night." 

"  I  merely  rang  for  Hannah,  to  say  that " 

**  Hannah  has  retired  to  bed,  and  Dorcas  is  retir- 
ing," persisted  Lady  Annesley.  "  When  yon  re- 
leased me  just  now,  I  took  up  my  post  for  the 
night  beside  the  sick  man  ;  satisfied  that,  having 
carefully  arranged  your  room  with  my  own  hands 
previous  to  joining  you  at  tea,  no  further  atten- 
dance would  be  wanting. — Is  there  anything  I  can 
procure  or  do  for  you  ? " — 

"  Could  I  have  entertained  the  least  idea,  dcarert 
mother,  that  you  had  abeady  given  yourself  all 
this  trouble  on  my  account 

'*  I  ask  you  again,  is  there  anything  farther  I 
can  do  for  you  ? — Be  quick ! — My  presence  is  re- 
quired elsewhere." — 

"  Nothing  on  earth." 

"  You  rang,  then,  to  summon  the  girl  for  a  need- 
less attendance?" 

"I  rang  to  request  I  might  be  called  at  the 
earliest  hour  of  morning,  to  secure  my  obedience 
to  your  orders,"  replied  Basil,  proudly. 

"  Did  you  suppose  that  I  should  leave  the  hour 
of  your  rising  to  chance?  Be  satisfied ! — You  shall 
be  called  betimes.  And  now,  let  me  entreat  you 
tb  abstain  from  further  disturbance.  You  are  in 
the  house  of  sickness — perhaps  to  become,  before 
morning,  the  house  of  death  !" — 

Basil  stood  confounded  at  the  unmerited  harsh- 
ness of  his  mother ;  and  did  not  recover  his  self- 
possession  for  many  minutes  after  Lady  Annesley 
quitted  the  room.  His  heart  was  now  sorer  than 
before.  He  was  more  than  ever  stung  by  her  se- 
verity, on  finding  it  coupled  with  the  vigilance  of 
mother-love  which  had  presided  over  the  arrange- 
ments of  his  chamber.  He  felt  that  he  mudt,  in- 
deed, be  a  grievous  offender,  since  the  affections  of 
her  heart  were  thus  controllable  by  the  sternness 
of  her  displeasure. 

He  now  flung  himself  despondingly,  into  a  seat 
before  the  fire ;  and  placing  his  feet  upon  the  old- 
fashioned  fender,  and  fixing  his  eyes  upon  the  heavy 
bi-assdogs  supporting  the  crackling  logs — upon  the 
hearth,  tried  to  feel  himself  at  home.  It  is  strange 
how  often  the  habitation  familiar  to  us  from  in- 
fancy, seems  less  familiar  and  less  ft  home  to  us,  than 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER 


207 


die  dwening  of  the  stranger.  For  the  life  and 
toulof  him  Basil  could  not  feel  at  home.  He 
kept  dreading  the  reentrance  of  his  mother  for 
farther  reprehension,  jret  equally  feared  to  holt  the 
door  igainst  her  return,  least  siie  should  take  of- 
fence &t  this  seeming  defiance.  His  yery  thoughts, 
under  the  influence  of  such  impressions,  did  not  seem 
secure  from  her  intrusion.  There  were  subjects  on 
which  he  felt  afraid  to  ponder.  There  were  people 
he  dared  not  pass  in  review  or  recall  with  the  ten- 
derness of  memory,  lest  he  should  suddenly  find 
the  leTere  eye  of  Lady  Annesley  fixed  upon  his 
&ee,  prepar»l  to  scan  and  scrutinize  the  nature  of 


Most  people  are  conscious  of  the  sort  of  disbur- 
thenment  of  thought  and  sentiment  apt  to  follow 
t  transition  from  cities  to  the  country.  In  the 
qniet  of  the  first  night  spent  out  of  town,  disjointed 
nnages  reconnect  themselves ;  ideas  and  conclu- 
sions assume  a  r^ular  train  of  thought ;  and  Basil 
operienced  all  the  desire  of  one  suddenly  enfran- 
ehM  from  the  rabble  and  tumult  of  London,  to 
dvell  upon  the  course  of  recent  events,  and  deter- 
mine more  consideringly  what  portion  of  his  loves 
ind  friendships  had  been  lavished  in  vain. 

But  it  was  no  moment  for  such  reveries.  The 
diead  of  his  mother^s  reappearance  was  potent 
oter  his  mind,  as  over  that  of  a  child  the  terror  of 
a  midnight  apparition. — His  thoughts  were  para- 
lyzed.—He  could  not  even  feel  freely  at  that  mo- 
ment- 
Wondering  surmises  hastily  traversed  his  brain 
iith  r^rd  to  the  mysterious  portrait  he  had 
swn  that  evening,  and  the  still  more  mysterious 
onotions  betrayed  by  his  mother.  Painfully- 
pleising  visions  flitted  before  his  eyes  of  the  bright 
form  of  Esther — ^his  own  Esther, — his  beloved 
Esther !  But  just  as  her  eyes  seemed  gazing  into 
S  the  creaking  of  the  wainscot  seemed  to  indi- 
cate from  without  the  approach  of  Lady  Annesley ; 
uhI  the  light  of  the  fire  appeared  a  reflection  of 
that  which  had  recently  brightened  the  chamber, 
^  Uie  taper  held  in  the  hand  of  his  motherc 

Hie  night  was  banning  to  be  tempestuous.  As 
the  moon  had  set,  the  winds  were  rising ; — ^beating 
"»nadngly  against  the  crazy  walls  of  the  old 
^^nnge,  as  if  to  demand  how  they  had  dared  so  long 
to  withstand  the  attacks  of  time  and  tide ;  and  roar- 
ing h  the  vast  chimney,  as  though  to  inquire  the 
meaning  of  an  unwonted  inmate  in  that  room. 

Bj  degrees,  the  storm  rose  into  fierceness.  The 
shrill  whistling  of  the  winds  became  a  shriek  ;  and 
the  arrowy  pattering  of  sleet  was  heard  sharply 
'guost  the  windows. 

Under  this  influence,  the  spirits  of  Basil  became 
8*21  more  and  more  depressed .  He  was  incapable  of 
^«i  the  sensations  of  comfort  imparted  by  a  warm 
^de,  when  listening  to  a  storm  without.  He 
^  to  intruder  in  his  mother  s  house, — ^he  was  an 
jJ"«ifrom  his  mother's  heart.  Lady  Annesley 
—  ■^'^  in  which  she  rejected  his  participation, 
■""«  W  cares  for  which  she  disdained  his  so- 
w»-— At  that  moment,  Basil  felt  himself  to  be 
most  nnhappy. 

To  sit  and  gaze  upon  the  glowing  embers,  how- 
^^>  ifforded  little  consolation.    It  is  when  per- 


plexed, not  when  afflicted,  that  we  delight  in  fire- 
gazing.  At  length,  the  warmth  which  imparted 
no  pleasure,  seemed  to  inspire  energy  :  for,  sudden- 
ly starting  up,  he  recalled  to  mind  that  the  surest 
way  to  win  his  mother's  confidence,  was  implicit 
obedience ;  and  that,  in  order  "  early  to  rise,"  it 
was  expedient  to  adopt  the  pYeceptof  **  early  to  bed.** 

Midnight  had  already  struck,  previous  to  this 
good  resolution  ;  and  ere  his  head  had  been  long 
upon  the  pillow,  the  first  hour  of  morning  was 
sternly  announced  by  the  crazy  old  clock  gracing 
the  stair-head  adjoining  his  chamber.  It  was 
unlikely,  however,  that  he  should  hear  the 
striking  of  a  second,  for  he  was  growing  drowsy. 
His  cares  assumed  a  less  definite  pressure ;  and  the 
shape  of  Esther  hovered  less  visibly  before  his 
closing  eyes.  Easier  in  spirit — easy  in  position, 
he  forgot  the  causes  of  maternal  oppression  and  his 
own  subservience  to  a  Jew,  and  fell  quietly  asleep. 

His  dreams,  however,  soon  became  unquiet.  The 
expressive  countenance  portrayed  by  the  minia- 
ture, (its  handsome  features  commingled  with  those 
of  Abednego  Osalez  and  of  his  own  face,)  seemed 
to  mock  and  perplex  his  slumbers.  Again  did  his 
stem  mother  harshly  reproach  him  ;  and  strange 
voices  seemed  to  mingle  in  mockery  with  her  up- 
braidings. 

He  woke  :  he  started  from  his  feverish  pillow ! 
The  strange  voices  were  easily  explained  by  the 
fitful  moaning  of  the  storm,  which  now  appeared 
to  sink  into  the  sobbing  of  despair, — now  to  rise 
into  shrieks  of  eldritch  laughter.  But  there  were 
no  faces  around  him  to  explain  the  vbions  of  his 
disquiet.  He  was  alone,  with  scarcely  a  gleam  of 
light  emanating  from  the  dying  embers  on  the 
hearth. 

In  another  moment,  he  would  have  sunk  down 
again  upon  his  pillow,  and  fallen  once  more 
asleep,  but  that  his  disturbed  imagination  con- 
ceived an  idea,  that  the  wailing  which  at  first  ap- 
peared that  of  the  storm  without,  might  after  sill 
be  the  expression  of  human  suffering, — the  plain- 
tive cries  of  the  dying  man.  fiis  mother  might 
be  exposed  to  the  dreadful  task  of  watching  alone 
over  an  agonized  bed  of  death ! — 

He  rose,  and  flung  on  his  dressing-gown.  Dis- 
pleased as  Lady  Annesley  might  be  at  his  presum- 
ing to  disobey  her  commands,  he  would  not  sufler 
this.  He  could  not  forbear!— He  would  insist 
upon  sharing  her  vigils.  Softly  opening  the  door, 
he  proceeded  without  a  light  along  the  corridor, 
hoping  to  attain  the  door  of  the  apartment,  which 
he  knew  to  have  been  appropriated  to  the  poor  old 
man.  But,  as  he  advanced,  he  became  again  per- 
suaded that  those  mournful  meanings  really  pro- 
ceeded from  the  gusts  of  the  storm.  Nay,  as  he 
approached  nearer  the  chamber  of  sickness,  these 
happened  to  have  fallen  into  such  momentary 
stillness,  that  the  beating  of  his  own  heart  seemed 
almost  as  audible,  as  he  recognised,  in  the  dead  of 
the  night,  the  stem  voice  of  Lady  Annesley  reciting 
aloud,  the  prayers  for  the  sick  and  grievously 
afflicted,  beside  the  bed  of  the  dying  man. 

Retreating  in  haste  to  his  chamber,  as  if  un- 
worthy to  share  a  task  so  solemn,  Basil  was  soon 
in  bed ;  and  the  momentary  chill  and  movement 


ro8 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MOxNEY-LENDER. 


of  his  exploit  seemed  to  have  restored  the  power 
of  slumber ;  for  he  now  slept  heavily,  and  slep 
long. — How  long  he  knew  not :  hut  a  pale  grey 
light  was  stealing  into  the  chamber,  when  again 
he  opened  his  eyes. 

And  %h%9  time,  he  could  not  deceive  himself.  A 
£ace  was  bending  over  him,  and  peering  into  Am. 
Not  the  ideal  face  of  Esther  however.  There  was 
no  mistaking  it  for  any  one  of  the  visages  which 
had  haunted  his  dreams ;  or  even  for  the  rosy  face 
of  the  damsel  who,  Lady  Annesley  had  informed 
him,  was  charged  to  rouse  him  at  daybreak.  It 
was  an  aged  face,  withered  by  time  and  sorrow — 
even  that  of  his  mother's  ancient  gentlewoman. 

"  Master  Basil,  I  say, — dear  Master  Basil," 
gasped  the  intruder,  ^^  I  have  been  calling  you 
these  five  minutes." — 

'^  Thanks,  Dorcas,  many  thanks. — ^I  fear  I  have 
been  sleeping  heavily. — Send  me  my  shaving- water, 
and  I  wUl  be  up  directly.  Is  it  late,— or  am  I  yet 
in  time?" — 

"  Hush,  Sir ;  speak  softly,  I  beg  of  you.  My 
lady  has  not  been  an  hour  in  bed ;  and  having 
forced  her  to  take  an  anodyne  draught  after  the 
dreadful  night  she  has  been  passing,  so  as  to  ensure 
her  a  few  hours'  rest  to  meet  her  further  trials, 
I  am  grievously  afraid  of  having  her  waked. — No- 
thing more  injurious.  Master  Basil,  than  being  dis- 
turbed when  opiates  are  taking  effect ;  and  my 
poor  lady  is  in  no  state  to  bear  farther  extremities. 
She  has  not  slept  till  now,  these  live  nights  past ; 
nor  enjoyed  undisturbed  slumber  from  the  In^in- 
ning  of  the  poor  old  gardener  s  illness."  • 

"  I  will  be  very  careful,  Dorcas.  It  liad  been 
already  settled  between  us,  that  she  was  not  to  be 
disturbed  for  my  departure.  I  will  dress  imme- 
diately, and  shi^  have  left  the  houBe  without  her 
knowing  it." 

"  It  is  not  tha^  Sir. — I  do  not  vsish  you  to  go, 
Master  Basil. — I  want  your  help.  Sir ;  I  am  in 
great  trouble, — sore  trouble  and  digress !" — ^faltered 
the  old  waiting-woman,  drawing  her  hand  across 
her  eyes. 

*'  I  am  inclined  to  thank  God  for  your  being 
here.  Sir ; — and  yet  I  fear  my  lady  will  never 
forgive  me  for  having  even  mentioned  the  subject 
to  you. — But  indeed,  and  indeed.  Sir,  such  scenes 
are  too  much  for  her !  It  would  go  against  my 
conscience, — ^nay,  I  believe  it  is  as  much  as  her  life 
is  worth — to  wake  her  at  this  moment.  Yet  indeed. 
Sir,  I  cannot  manage  him  alone." 

"  Are  you  in  need,  then,  of  my  assistance  for 
Nicholas,  Dorcas  ?'  cried  young  Annesley. — "  I  will 
be  with  you  in  a  moment, ** 

"  But  you  are  not  aware,  Sir  ;  I  must  first  ap- 
prize you, — ^your  kind,  good  heart.  Master  Basil, 
would  be  too  much  shocked ;" — 

**  My  dear  Dorcas,  it  is  not  the  first  time  I  have 
seen  a  dying  man.  Even  my  professional  duties 
sometimes  lead  me  to  an  hospital." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Sir !  But  not  to  a  death-bed  like  this. 
It  is  a  hard  thing  even  for  me^  who  have  passed 
through  enough  and  to  spare  of  the  sorry  sights  of 
this  world,  to  see  my  poor  old  fellow-ser\'ant  in 
such  a  condition. — ^But  for  mur  voung  ^yes,  l^Iaster 
Basil, '' 


"  Only  give  me  a  moment  to  tlirow  on  my 
clothes, ^" 

'^  I  am  not  without  hope.  Sir,  that,  startled  by 
your  coming,  whom  he  has  not  seen  for  months, 
Nicholas  may  so  far  recover  his  reason  as  to  know 
you ;  and  then,  perhaps,  he  might  compose  him- 
self, and  be  quieted  without  recourse  to  violent 
means," 

"  To  vioUnit  means  ?"— interrupted  Basil.  "  Is 
the  poor  fellow,  then,  bereft  of  his  reason  1** 

^  He  has  had  repeated  attacks  of  delirinm 
throughout  his  illness.  Yesterday  morning,  the 
professional  gentleman  who  comes  from  South- 
ampton to  visit  him,  found  it  necessary  to  place 
him  under  restraint.  Towards  evening,  he  became 
calmer ;  and  my  lady  insisted  upon  releasing  him 
from  the  strait- waistcoat.  Infirm  as  he  is,— feeble, 
_^ying, — she  says  his  violence  is  merely  that  of 
woids,  and  that  he  can  do  no  serious  injury  to  him- 
self or  others." 

"  Gracious  Heaven ! — ^My  mother  has  been  ex- 
posed, then,  alone,  throughout  the  ni^t,  to  the 
violence  of  a  lunatic ! " 

"  Nicholas  was  never  known,  even  in  his  worst 
paroxysms.  Master  Basil,  to  lift  his  hand,  or  even 
his  voice,  against  my  lady.  Her  presence  seems 
to  have  a  soothing  power  over  him,  beyond  the 
authority  or  coercion  of  the  physicians." 

"  But  why,  Dorcas,  did  you  not  tell  me  all  this 
kst  night?" 

"  I  was  sent  to  bed  by  my  lady.  Sir,  tired  and 
exhausted  with  struggling  against  him,  without  so 
much  as  an  intimation  of  your  arrival ;  and  I  am 
convinced,  that,  after  so  anxiously  keeping  you 
away  from  the  Grange  lest  you  should  witness 
this  mournful  scene,  my  lady  was  in  hopes  you 
would  be  off  to  London  without  obtaining  any 
suspicion  of  the  matter." 

"  How  strange  I  "—faltered  youi^g  Annesley. 

"  My  lady  loves  you  too  well.  Master  Ba^,  to 
bear  your  being  unnecessarily  troubled." 

"But  herself,  Dorcas?" 

"  My  lady  is  used  to  trouble — ^ 

**  My  dear,  dear  mother ! " — 

"  Show  your  affection.  Sir,  by  lending  me  your 
assistance,  and  securing  her  a  few  hours'  sleep : 
she  will  wake  refreshed  and  comforted.  But  unless 
I  can  prevail  upon  you  to  remain,  I  have  not 
courage  to  undertake  him  alone,  till  the  Doctor 
comes." 

Having  persuaded  the  ancient  gentlewoman  to 
facilitate  her  own  object  by  leaving  him  to  dress 
and  rejoin  her,  Basil  hastily  and  anxiously  accom- 
plished his  toilet.  He  was  soon  at  the  door  from 
which  he  had  so  timidly  retreated  in  the  dead  of 
night. 

On  entering  the  chamber,  he  perceived  Dorcas 
stationed  on  one  side  the  bed ;  and,  hidden  within 
the  curtains  on  the  other,  weeping  and  trembling, 
the  stout  servant  girl,  who  had  been  left  in  charge 
of  the  maniac  during  her  companion's  absence. 
The  grey  light  of  dawn  dimly  penetrated  the  scene ; 
falling  chiefly  on  the  white  head  of  the  venerable 
sufferer,  who  was  propped  with  pillows,  and  staring 
around  him  with  the  ghastly  fixedness  character- 
istic of  aberration  of  intellect. 


ABKDXEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


309 


**  Do  not  be  afraid  of  approaching  him.  Sir :  he 
M  quite  hannksB ! " — said  Dorcas,  with  the  blunt- 
nes  of  a  coarse  mind,  on  seeing  her  young  master 
beatate  beside  the  door,  impressed  by  the  patri- 
trebal  aq^ect  of  the  old  man,  whose  hoary  beard 
hid  been  many  weeks  unshorn. — *^  Besides,  as  I 
Slid  jast  now,  the  surprise  might  do  him  good." 

"My  poor  Nicholas  !**  faltered  young  Annesley, 
who  had  by  thb  time  reached  the  bed. 

''  Who  called  me  V — demanded  the  patient,  in  a 
hoDowToice, 

**  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  have  been  so  ill, 
Niehdas,"  persisted  Basil,  avoiding  a  direct  reply, 
with  a  view  to  determine  his  power  of  recognition. 

Instead  of  answering,  the  old  man  fi;xed  his 
ghsqr  eyes  upon  the  person  who  thus  unexpect- 
ed! j  presented  himself;  and  for  some  moments 
did  not  vary  the  dull  steadfastness  of  his  gaze. 
At  length,  a  gradual  ray  of  intelligence  seemed  to 
bngfaten  that  soulless  stare. 

**1  know  you  now/" — said  he,  in  a  low  voice. 
'^Iknow  you,  and  I  tell  you  to  begone! — What 
ueyon  doing  here? — ^Must  there  be  more  blood 
npon  your  hand? — Has  not  my  lord  expressly 
bttlden  US  spurn  you  from  his  gate? — But  there 
seeded  no  bidding  of  his :  I  would  have  done  it 
ntdd ! — ^Even  /  would  not  witness  the  shame  of 
my  young  lady!" 

''My  poor  Nicholas,  compose  yourself!'*  said 
Baal,  m  a  soothing  voice,  bending  kindly  towards 
him. 

"  Yottr  poor  Nicholas  ?" — shouted  the  maniac,  at 
the  top  of  his  broken  voice,  causing  young  Annes- 
ley to  start  back. — "How  dare  you  call  me  your 
poor  Nicholas  ? — How  dare  you  attempt  to  cajole 
oe?— Away  with  you ! — ^Away,  Jew ! — I  know 
yon,  I  tell  you.  "Wien  first  your  gold  persuaded 
^  nnsaspectingly  to  do  your  bidding,  I  thought 
yott  a  gentleman, — I  thought  you  a  man  ! — ^And 
BOW  I  spit  upon  you  as  a  false  and  unbelieving 
Jew  I  Away,  away,  I  say  ;  or  there  is  strength 
^nongfa  still  in  the  old  man's  gripe  to  tear  you  limb 
from  limb!" 

"For  God's  sake,  Mr.  Annesley,  Sir,  get  away 
from  him  T  screamed  the  girl,  who,  in  the  danger 
<tf  another,  lost  sight  of  her  own. — ^**He  will  be 
the  death  of  you.  Sir!"— 

''He  shall  not  go! — ^I  have  him  fast?"  cried 
tbe  maniac,  grasping  the  arm  of  the  unresisting 
young  man. 

**  Indeed,  Master  Basil,  it  will  be  safer  to  leave 
the  room,"— <nried  Dorcas,  becoming  terrified  in  her 
timt 

«  BM  f-^-what  Basil  ? — ay,  ay,  another  of  her 
t^!  She  wants  to  impose  him  upon  my  lord  as 
^gnndson ;  but  she  cannot  deceive  me,'  I  am 
**  yet  80  old,  or  so  bUnd,  as  not  to  discover  him 
^"'fn^  all  his  disguises ;  and  from  the  moment 
^  attempted  to  take  the  life  of  my  master's  son,  I 
«WQteliig  own  should  not  be  safe  if  he  came  hither 
■8«B-— And  now  I  have  caught  you  ! — ^As  usual 
— «»  maal— as  of  old — stealing  into  the  house*  like 
a  thi^  m  the  dark,  when  others  are  asleep,— others 
mffeni^  and  weeping ; — ay,  weeping  tears  of  blood 
[w  the  sorrows  you  have  caused !— My  poor  young 
UdyJ*— 


Basil  Annesley  was  now  becoming  really  inti- 
midated ;  not  by  the  sense  of  his  own  danger, 
but  by  the  dread  of  obtaining  surreptitious  insight 
into  the  secrets  of  his  mother.  The  word  "  Jew," 
— the  allusion  to  blood, — ^to  family  sorrow, — to 
family  disgrace,— caused  his  own  blood  to  thrill 
within  his  veins. 

"  Be  calm,  my  poor  old  friend,"  faltered  he,  in 
an  altered  voice,  without  attempting  to  disengage 
his  arm  from  the  grasp  of  the  lunatic.  ^Look 
at  me,  Nicholas ! — Recall  me  to  your  mind ! — Re- 
member little  Basil — ^remember  Basil  Annesley  !** 
— A  sort  of  howl  instantly  burst  from  the  infuriated 
patient, — a  howl  terminating  in  a  burst  of  frenetic 
laughter. 

"  Ankeslet,  forsooth !"— cried  he.  **  Poor  fool, 
poor  fool! — ^poor  cover  to  shame, — ^poor  blind, 
blind  dupe ! — Annesley  ? — ^the  victim  of  a  cunning, 
paltry  Jew  I  If  your  name  be  Annesley,  again  I 
say,  away  with  ye ! — €ro  hide  yourself  in  the 
grave,  as  your  father  did  before  you !  He  swore 
he  would! — He  said  nothing  but  death  could 
efiace  such  dishonour  ;  a  violent  death — a  hloody 
death.  But  the  drops  he  shed  in  obtaining  it^ 
young  man,  wrought  not  half  the  anguish  in  the 
heart  they  burst  from,  that  the  tears  of  his  repen-* 
tant  widow  have  wrung  out  of  the  depths  of  her 
own.  Away  with  ye,  I  say  again,  and  hide  your- 
self,—child  of  the  foulest  faUier  and  guiltiest  mother 
that  ever  called  down  upon  the  head  of  their  off- 
spring the  judgments  of  God  !" — 

Basil  Annesley  shuddered  as  he  listened.  The 
trembling  fingers  of  the  delirious  sufferer  still 
griped  his  arm.  But  it  was  not  their  feverish 
hold  which  caused  his  heart  to  quail. — ^A  heavy 
hand  was  upon  his  shoulder ! — His  mother  stood 
beside  him ! — 

Disturbed  from  her  slumbers  hy  the  dreadful 
cry  uttered  by  her  distracted  charge.  Lady  Annes- 
ley had  risen  in  haste,  and  hurried,  in  her  night- 
dress, to  his  chamber. — 

She  arrived  there  just  in  time  to  overhear  tho 
terrible  revelations  which  had  driven  every  tinge 
of  colour  from  the  cheeks  of  her  son. 

CHAPTEB  VI. 

There  are  few  sunnier  or  pleasanter  mansions 
in  the  metropolis,  than  the  one  in  Ariington  Street, 
inhabited  by  the  Maitland  family ;  overlooking 
the  Green  Park,  across  a  trimly  little  garden 
belted  with  lilac  bushes  and  evergi«ens ;  but  con- 
taining within,  a  scene  of  brighter  seeming  than 
the  gayest  London  thoroughfare  can  supply. 

Lmpossible  to  conceive  a  stronger  contrast  than 
between  the  stem  retreat  of  Sir  Bernard  Annes- 
ley's  widow,  and  the  brilliant  abode  of  Lord 
Maiiland's  wife : — ^the  one  grim  and  gloomy  as 
her  own  care-crazed  destinies ;  the  other  radiant 
with  gilding  and  varnish,  porcelain  and  or-molu, 
musi(»d  instruments,  and  fashionable  caricatures : 
everything  that  modem  luxury  can  supply  to  daz2de 
the  eyes  of  Time  with  their  senseless  glitter. 

The  Maitlands  were,  in  most  respects,  showy 
people — ^heartless  people — ^people  of  the  day — such 
as  might  be  expected  in  a  family  where  the  father 


n« 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


is  on  the  turf,  and  the  only  duties  of  the  mother  s 
life  not  discharged  by  proxy,  are  those  of  a  pa- 
troness of  Almack's.  Lady  Maitland's  daughters 
were  the  production  of  the  governess  ;  Lord  Mait- 
land's  son,  the  work  of  Eton  and  Sandhurst ;  and, 
considering  the  superficial  second  nature  deriv- 
able from  such  sources,  the  young  people  were 
amiable  enough.  They  did  no  harm  in  the  world. 
It  was  not  their  own  fault  that  they  had  never 
been  taught  to  do  good.  Their  town  residence 
was  one  of  those  pleasant  houses  which  constitute 
a  charming  lounge  for  London  idlers.  There  were 
always  chat,  scandal,  and  music  waiting  till  called 
for  at  the  Maitlands'. 

Before  her  daughters  grew  up,  her  ladyship  had 
adopted  the  system  of  encouraging  morning  visi- 
ters to  assist  her  in  frittering  away  her  leisure  ; — 
and  there  appeared  no  pretext  for  suddenly  oppos- 
ing an  obstacle  to  the  tide  of  busy  idleness  she  had 
brought  upon  herself.  It  was  impossible  to  say 
frankly — "  I  no  longer  desire  young  men  to  fre- 
quent my  house,  because  my  daughters  are  now 
young  women ;  and  if  they  see  Laura  and  Lucy 
too  familiarly,  they  may  not  be.  tempted  to  make 
them  their  wives."  The  thing  was,  therefore,  suf- 
fered to  go  on. 

Besides,  the  spoiled  child  of  the  family,  John 
Maitland  the  eldest  son,  was  too  devoid  of  rational 
pursuits  to  dispense  with  constant  society.  John 
hated  to  be  alone  with  his  family.  John  was  in 
the  Guards — a  fixture  in  London ;  and  would  have 
made  himself  a  considerable  nuisance  to  the  fa- 
mily with  whom  he  hated  to  be  left  alone,  unless 
his  pleasure  had  been  duly  studied. 

His  brother  officers  had  consequently  the  run  of 
the  sunny  drawing-room  in  Arlington  Street.  As 
the  Dowager-Colonel,  old  Carrington,  often  ob- 
served, '*  there  would  have  been  no  getting  through 
the  winter  in  town,  without  the  Maitlands!" — a 
comprehensive  popularity  fatal  to  young  ladies  on 
their  preferment.  It  is  not  often  marriages  take 
place  in  a  family,  where  the  daughters  are  only 
generalized  as  "the  So-and-So's." 

"What  the  deuce  has  become  of  Annesley?" 
demanded  John  Maitland  of  Captain  Blencowe, 
who  was  sitting  with  them  in  Arlington  Street 
the  day  after  Basil's  departure  for  Barlingham 
Grange. 

"  Out  of  town,**  was  the  careless  reply. 

"  I  fancied  that  most  of  the  holiday  parties  were 
kroken  up,"  observed  Laura  Maitland,  whoee  notion 
of  country  attraction  consisted  in  a  gay  mansion, 
where  thirty  people  sit  down  daily  to  dinner ;  in  a 
hunting  county  with  meets  on  the  lawn,— or  with 
bUliards  and  private  theatricals  where  the  sporting 
is  indifferent. 

"  Annesley  is  not  gone  to  join  a  party,  Annes- 
ley  goes  into  the  country  to  be  privately  flogged 
with  his  mother's  apron-string!"  replied  Captain 
Blencowe,  jocosely. 

"  To  be  tied  to  it,  I  suppose  you  mean,"  observed 
John  Maitland,  who  was  sealing  notes  at  a  writing- 
table,  where  his  mother  had  been  dictating  invita- 
tions. 

"  I  don't  think  she  likes  him  weU  enough  to 
•eeure  Jii*  company  by  c^eiciv*  wibmis,"  retorted 


Blencowe,     "  I  never  saw  so  oold  or  Isnk  a 
woman  as  Lady  Annesley." 

"  But  where  does  one  meet  her.  Captain  Blen- 
cowe ?"  inquired  Lucy  Maitland,  firom  the  embrqi- 
dery-frame  at  which  she  sat  listening. 

"  Lady  Maitland  may  perhaps  have  met  her,  fiv^ 
and-twenty  years  ago.  In  our  time,  she  has  li?ed 
the  life  of  a  recluse. ' 

"  Then  how  came  you  to  see  her?" 

"I  did  not  come.  On  the  contrary,  she  came  to 
see  me.  When  Basil  had  that  attack  of  quinsy  last 
year,  and  was  so  near  dying,  I  wrote  to  Lady 
Annesley,  who  hurried  up  to  town.  I  was  officiate 
ing  as  hia  nurse ;  and  vow  to  Heaven,  that  the 
sight  of  her  severe  countenance  and  mourning  dress, 
from  morning  till  night>  made  me  ahnost  as  ill  as 
himself. — After  sitting  up  with  her  half  a  night,  I 
fancied  I  had  been  in  the  company  of  one  of  the 
familiars  of  the  Inquisition !" 

"  By  Jove,  Blencowe — ^how  you  do  ronuuice  l" 
cried  John  Maitland.  "To  conjure  an  ugly  old 
wonruin,  in  a  black  bombazeen  gown,  into  a  familial 
of  the  Inquisition  I" 

"  How  could  I  tell  into  what  she  might  conjure 
m€  f  She  had  all  the  air  of  a  practitioner  of  the 
Black  Art ! — However,  with  all  Lady  Annesley's 
apparent  harshness,  if  she  be  half  so  good  a 
mother  as  nurse,  Basil  can  have  no  fault  to  find 
with  her." 

"  But  doea  he  find  fault  T— inquired  Lucy  Mait- 
land, with  interest. 

"  Basil  seldom  finds  fault  with  anything  or  any- 
body, for  he  is  the  best-natured  fellow  in  the 
world.  But  I  suspect  that  be  would  sooner  a^ 
raign  the  Commander-in-chief,  or  the  Conmiander- 
in-chief  s  Commander-in-d^te/tMtmo,  than  allude 
slightingly  to  his  mother.  Annesley  is  ahnost  su- 
perstitious in  his  filial  devotion." 

John  Maitland  looked  round  from  the  writing- 
table  with  a  significant  gesture  towards  Blencowe, 
as  if  to  implore  silence  on  so  delicate  a  topic  in 
presence  of  his  own  mother ;  while  Lucy  murmured 
something  over  her  crocAef  work  that  sounded  v«ry 
like  commendation. 

"  I  am  sadly  afraid  young  Annesley  is  likely  to 
make  a  fool  of  himself  I"  sententiously  interpoied 
Colonel  Carrington,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  estab- 
lishing himself,  his  half  hour  per  diemf  in  Lady 
Maitland's  drawing-room,  as  much  as  a  matter  of 
routine,  as  he  swallowed  his  morning  dose  of  Har- 
rison's gout  mixture,  or  his  evening  digestion-pill, 
fancying  that  because  the  boys  of  the  regiment 
were  amused  there,  he  must  be  amused  there  also ; 
for  it  had  become  a  matter  of  course  for  every 
ensign,  on  entering  the  r^^iment,  to  fall  in  love 
with  one  or  other  of  John  Maitland's  sisters ;  and 
if  of  sufficient  fortune  or  connexions,  to  be  ad- 
mitted as  a  lounger  in  Arlington  Streets—the 
daughters  favouring  them  as  agreeable  partner^  or 
the  mother  as  eligible  partners  for  life. 

If  the  Dowager-Colonel  formed  the  same  preten- 
sions as  his  younger  and  more  acceptable  brother 
officers,  he  was  admitted  with  very  different  views. 
Old  Carrington,  the  butt  of  the  subalterns  at  mess, 
was  also  the  butt  of  the  Maitlands  drawing-room ; 
nor  did  they  seem  aware  how  many  peopla  aceepi 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


211 


it  18  a  rare  ifidication  of  the  ill-nature  and  ill- 
breeding  of  a  society  to  have  an  established  butt  as 
A  stimulant  to  its  attempts  at  wit. 

One  of  the  many  ways  in  which  the  old  beau 
lent  himself  to  the  fulfilment  of  their  purposes, 
was  by  his  jealousy  of  every  good-looking  young 
fellow  who  joined  the  regiment.  Till  Wilberton 
came,  Annesley  had  been  the  object  of  his  anti- 
pathy ;  and  Colonel  Carrington  still  rarely  neg- 
lected an  opportunity  of  attacking  Basil. 

On  the  present  occasion,  finding  that  no  notice 
was  taken  of  the  first  discharge  of  his  battery,  he 
hazarded  a  second  fire.  ^  I  am  afraid,"  said  he, 
more  articulately,  '^  young  Annesley  is  likely  to 
nake  a  fool  of  himself, — which  I  sincerely  regret. 
Let  Lady  Annesley  be  as  disagreeable  as  she  may, 
fiadl  b  an  only  son,  and  the  son  of  a  gallant 
soldier.  I  should  be  sorry,  indeed,  to  see  his 
mother's  old  age  rendered  miserable  by  his  ruin." 

''In  what  does  Basil  make  himself  a  greater 
M  than  the  rest  of  usT  demanded  John  Mait- 
land,  (Captain  Blencowe  being  too  much  engrossed 
bj  Lucy's  work-basket  to  take  up  the  cudgels  in 
defienee  of  his  absent  friend.)  ^  We  are  all  toler- 
ibk  asses,  one  way  or  other.  For  my  part,  I  look 
apon  Basil  Annesley  as  the  Solon  of  the  battalion." 

''Then  give  me  leave  to  observe,  that  you  say 
nry  little  for  the  rest  of  us !"  said  the  Colonel, 
crabbedly,  settling  his  long  throat  in  an  old- 
£Mhioned  stock. 

"  Pretty  nearly  as  much  as  you  deserve,"  grace* 
hdy  retorted  young  Maitland.  ^*  For  instance, 
be  does  not  ruin  himself  in  perfumes  and  cosmetics, 
nke  Loftus,  fi>r  the  cultivation  of  whbkers  that 
will  not  grow,  and  the  dispersion  of  freckles  that 
ibSI;  or  like  Wilberton,  in  building  cabs  and 
Sroughams  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  those  eternal 
oesta  and  cyphers  of  his  emblazoned  in  some  new 
&8hion.  He  does  not  set  Graham's  in  an  uproar, 
Bight  after  night,  by  his  bad  play,  like  Blencowe 
ycnder,  who  is  whispering  so  low  to  Lucy  that  I 
endude  that  neither  of  them  hear  what  we  are 
•ying— " 

"  Did  yon  speak  to  me  ?"  inquired  Captain  Blen- 
cowe, consciously,  suddenly  starting  up. 

**  Nor  does  he,  like  you,  my  dear  Colonel,"  per- 
flated John  liaitland,  *' amuse  the  figurantes  at 
Teheanal,  by  the  stifF-jointed  deliberation  with 
whidi  he  stalks  out  of  the  way  when  they  are 
clearing  the  stage  for  action." 

Colonel  Carrington  was,  just  then,  troubled  with 
n  ttveie  a  fit  of  coughing,  that  he  heard  not  a 
sjUable  of  this  rude  attack. 

^You  seem  to  have  got  your  winter  cough 
^iin,Cobnel  Carrington  ?" — said  Laura  Maitland, 
with  pretended  solicitude ;  '*you  should  try  some 
Arabic  lozenges." 

"  Nonsense — ^bzenges  T  interrupted  her  brother ; 
^Ctfrington's  cough  proceeds  firom  asthma.  It 
to  a  very  serious  thing  to  trifle  with  a  chronic 
asthma  r 

''I have  told  you  a  hundred  times,  Maitland, 
Aat  it  18  nothing  of  the  sort,"  pettishly  mtcrrupted 
the  Dowagcr-Cotonel ;  "Cannot  a  man  take  cold 
J*thout  having  an  habitual  asthma  ?—ybtf  are,  in 
««^  tlw  saoae  of  my  catarrh,  by  throwing  up  the 


window  at  the  Club,  with  an  east  wind  blowing  in 
our  faces,  to  shout  to  Harman  in  his  cab  about  the 
issue  of  the  pigeon-match.  It  would  not  have  hurt 
him  to  get  ou^  or  you  to  go  out,  rather  than  run 
the  chance  of  giving  cold  to  twenty  of  your  friends." 

^^  And  aggravating  the  habitual  asthma  of  the 
twenty-first ! — Well,  well,  my  dear  Colonel, — I'm 
sorry  I  mentioned  it.  I  know  it  is  a  delicate 
point ; — and  the  men  know  it  is  a  delicate  point, 
particularly  on  field-days,  and  in  a  high  wind. 
However,  many  poor  fellows  in  the  prime  of  life 
are  subject  to  gout  and  asthma.  Many  besides 
yourself  suffer  from  gout  and  asthma  before  they 
are  fifty :— don  t  they,  mother  T 

"  Have  you  finished  sealing  those  notes,  John  V* 
demanded  Lady  Maitland,  by  way  of  motherly  in- 
terference. 

^*  All  those  that  signify  :  all  the  elder  sons  and 
young  baronets  of  decent  estate  have  been  des- 
patched, I  left  the  younger  brothers  and  Irish 
dowagers  to  the  last,  in  case  the  seal  should  get 
too  warm,  and  myself  too  Ittkewarm^  to  escape  the 
charge  of  sloveidiness. — ^We  shall  still  do  very 
well,  however,  for  a  *Lady  Maitland  requests 
the  honour  of  Lord  George  Rawdon's  company 
to  a  small  early  party  on  Friday  next:'  for 
if  Rawdon  were  not  a  Lord  George,  I  suppose  we 
might  give  him  a  wafer  at  once."   . 

"  What  was  that  you  were  saying  about  gout 
and  asthma,  Colonel  Carrington?" — demanded 
Lady  Maitland,  conceiving  in  her  turn,  that  it 
might  be  as  well  to  change  the  conversation. 

"  I  was  saying,"  interposed  the  Colonel — choos- 
ing, for  his  own  sake,  to  misunderstand  her, — 
'Hhat  it  is  a  lamentable  thing  young  Annesley 
should  be  making  such  a  fool  of  himself." 

"That  is  the  third  time  you  have  repeated 
yc^urself,  Carr,  my  fine  fellow  1"  said  young  Mait- 
land, completing  the  sealing  of  the  last  note ; 
"  and  I  see  you  are  determined  we  should  ask  ques- 
tions. You  sha'n  t  be  kept  in  suspense  any  longer. 
How  is  Annesley  likely  to  make  a  fool  of  himself 
— when^ — where  f — Make  haste ! — say  your  worst, 
and  put  him  and  w  out  of  our  pain." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Maitland,"  said  the 
Colonel,  again  settling  his  head  uneasily  in  his 
stock :  "  I  know  no  more  than  yourself  of  his 
proceedings.  The  rehearsals  I  attend  you  attend 
also ;  and  for  once  that  /  set  foot  in  Graham's, 
you  are  there  twenty  times !" 

"  But  is  there  anything  that  commits  Mr.  An- 
nesley more  than  the  rest  of  the  world,  in  frequent- 
ing either  of  those  places  T  inquired  Lucy  Mait^ 
land,  addressmg  her  question  directly  to  Captain 
Blencowe, — as  much  as  to  say,  "  If  you  love  me, 
take  the  part  of  your  friend  ;"  which,  if  he  loved 
her,  he  was  the  less  likely  to  do, 

**  I  trust  not — ^being  therein  as  great  a  delinquent 
as  himself,"  rejoined  Blencowe.  "  But  those  who 
want  to  hear  Annesley  abused,  need  only  listen  to 
Wilberton  and  Carrington— one  of  whom  is  jeal- 
ous of  him,  and  the  other  envious." 

"Which  of  them  is  envious T  inquired  Lucy 
Maitland,  looking  archly  up  from  her  work. 

"  The  man  wi3i  the  least  mind  of  the  two  ;— 
Envy  bemg  meaner  than  Jealousy." 


212 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


Miss  Maitland  shrugged  her  shoulders,  as  if  to 
imply  the  slightness  of  mental  distinction  between 
the  young  Ensign  and  old  Colonel. 

"  Wilberton  is  envious  of  Basil,"  resumed  Cap- 
tain Blencowe  ;  "  because  he  is  luckier  at  tennis 
than  himself.  Carrington  is  jealous  of  him  ;  be- 
cause  .    But  you  turn  away,  Miss  Maitland  I 

Have  you  no  curiosity  to  learn  why  Carrington  is 
jealous  of  him  ?" — 

<* None  in  the  world!" 

^  Nor  even  any  to  ascertain  what  Carrington  is 
evidently  dying  to  tell,"  added  Captain  Blencowe, 
*<  concerning  poor  Annesley's  modes  and  method 
of  playing  the  fool  V 

*^  Still  less !  I  have  great  faith  in  the  judgment 
of  a  man  so  much  older  than  myself  as  Colonel 
Carrington,"  replied  Lucy,  trying  to  command 
emotions  of  either  anger  or  sympathy ; — *^  but  it 
would  require  far  mare  to  persuade  me  that  a 
person  so  universally  liked  in  the  world,  and  loved 
in  the  regiment^ — ^whom  we  see  almost  daily,  and 
always  in  so  reasonable  a  mood  and  with  such  gentle- 
manly habits  and  feelings, — is  disgracing  himself." 

"My  dear  Lucy,  you  are  very  severe!  You 
forget  to  whom  you  are  speaking,"  observed  her 
brother  with  mock  gravity. 

"  I  am  speaking  to  three  or  four  of  the  intimate 
friends  of  Mr.  Annesley,"  persisted  the  young  lady, 
blushing  deepl3\ 

"  We  flatter  ourselves,  that,  however  grand  that 
title  may  appear  to  you,  we  have  higher  qualifica- 
tions," retorted  John  Maitland.  "  We  flatter 
ourselves,  (at  least  so  the  peerage  entitles  us,)  that 
we  are  *  all  honourable  men.'  We  flatter  ourselves, 
that  we  all  *  play  the  fool,'  as  Carrington  calls  it, 
if  not  to  our  heart's  content,  to  the  content  of  our 
enemies — ^viz.,  to  the  heart's  content  of  our  inti- 
mate friends.  You  are  consequently  personal.  Miss 
Lucy  Maitland,  shamefully  personal,  when  you 
talk  about  Annesley's  ^  disgracing^  himself,  because 
his  friend  yonder  says  he  is  playing  the  fool. 
Understand  for  the  future,  my  dear  little  sister,  that 
nobody  disgraces  himself  now-a-days,  whose  name 
does  not  appear  in  the  Saturday  Gazette  or  the  Sun- 
day newspapers." 

"  Then  Basil  Annesley  is  safe,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  old  Colonel,  spitefully,  giving  his  head  this 
time  a  shake  in  his  stock,  as  violent  as  though  he 
were  trying  the  strength  of  the  vertebra, — "for  he 
is  too  insignificant,  in  point  of  fortune  and  family, 
to  achieve  either  of  these  evils." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  claim  exemption  for 
him,  Carr,  on  some  friendhf  grounds  or  other !" 
cried  John  Maitland,  laughing  outright.  "But 
take  courage  !  Insignificant  as  we  all  are,  no  one 
knows  at  what  honour^  we  may  arrive.  The  least 
people,  as  well  as  the  greatest,  pretend  now-a-days 
to  the  distinction  of  bankruptcy.  The  fellow  who 
supplies  cigars  to  the  door  steps  of  the  club,  was 
threatening  the  other  day  to  betake  himself  to 
Basinghall  Street,  if  we  did  not  all  square  accounts 
with  him  ;  and  I  never  feel  certain,  any  Saturday 
night  of  the  year,  of  not  seeing  the  name  of  *  Thomas 
John  Maitland,  Lord  Maitland,  horse-dealer,' 
figuring  in  the  list  of  private  defaulters,  which 
would  be  a  bore,  you  know,  on  opera  night !" 


"  Lord  Maitland  would  not  be  the  first  peer  of 
the  realm  who  has  a,]^peared  in  the  Gazette,"  ob- 
served Blencowe,  accepting  his  friehd's  arguments 
as  a  joke,  by  an  attempt  at  rejoinder ;  seeing 
that,  in  a  mansion  so  splendidly  furnished,  having 
three  servants  in  gay  liveries  waiting  in  the  hall, 
and  a  butler  on  the  stairs,  it  was  impossible  to  treat 
it  as  earnest.  It  is  true  he  had  heard  it  rumoured, 
that  two  of  these  domestics  were  bailiffs,  in  family 
liveries,  exercising  their  guardianship  in  behalf  of 
John  Doe  and  Richard  Roe,  over  the  family  plate. 
But  the  same  scandal  was  astir  of  one  or  two  other 
noble  houses  of  his  acquaintance,  where  he  knew  it 
to  be  groundless  ;  and  of  all  the  **  truths  stranger 
than  fiction"  of  fashionable  life,  few  appear  less 
credible  to  novices,  than  the  facility  of  keeping  up 
appearances,  with  a  rent  roll  of  twenty  thousand 
a-year,  on  which  twenty-five  thousand  a-yearis 
owing. 

It  seemed  impossible  even  to  Blencowe— even  to 
the  old  Colonel  of  so  many  years'  London  experi- 
ence,— that  there  could  be  any  want  of  money  in  a 
house  where  the  dinners  were  so  excellent,  the 
establishment  so  brilliant.  Lady  Maitland  bad 
her  diamonds  and  her  opera-box, — ^the  girls  their 
saddle-horses  and  French  maids.  The  rooms  in 
Arlington  Street  were  bright  vnth  exotics,— the 
evening  parties  frequent, — the  morning  luncheons 
luxurious.  No  finer  grapes  or  pine  apples  were 
eaten,  no  older  sherry  drunk  in  London,  than 
were  to  be  found  every  day  at  three  o'clock,  at  the 
service  of  the  lounging  associates  of  young  Mait- 
land. 

Whatever  was  newest  and  prettiest  in  fashionabk 
attire,  was  first  worn  by  Lady  Maitland  and  her 
daughters.  Whatever  appeared  that  was  attrac- 
tive, in  the  way  of  books,  music,  work,  gaudj 
annuals  or  fashionable  engravings,  was  to  be  found 
on  their  table.  They  ordered  everything  without 
regard  to  expense, — as  is  usually  the  case  with 
persons  who  order  on  credit.  They  denied  them- 
selves nothing.  Such  good-natured  people  as  the 
Maitlands  have  seldom  courage  to  be  niggardly  in 
their  care  of  their  own  comforts.  No  wonder, 
therefore,  that  they  had  troops  of  friends  and  ho^ 
of  pleasant  acquaintances : 

For  men,  like  butterflies. 
Show  not  their  mealy  wings  but  to  the  snmiaer ; 

and  in  a  house  where  all  was  so  decidedly  sum* 
merish,  the  butterflies  called  men  naturally 
abounded. 

On  entering  the  doors  in  Arlington  Street,  whett; 
open  for  parties,  they  were  saluted  with  the  sound 
of  music,  the  sparkling  of  lights,  the  blandishments 
of  youth  and  beauty.  Luxury  was  enthroned  thert 
in  all  her  efirdgence  of  bravery, — a  very  Circe  in 
her  fatal  charming ! — 

Nevertheless,  had  the  dull  old  Colonel  or  smaii 
young  Captain  been  clearer  of  observation,  they 
must  have  noticed,  that,  at  the  incautious  sally  d 
her  son,  the  brows  of  Lady  MaitUnd  suddenly  con-^ 
tracted ;  and  might  have  chanced  to  remember  the- 
adage,  that  **  many  a  true  word  is  said  in  jest. 
They  saw  nothing,  however,  but  the  aocustomea 
cheerfulness  of  the  room,  and  mirthfnlness  of  i^ 
inmates ;  for,  having  dined  with  the  Maitlands  th« 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


218 


preceding  day, — admired  the  splendour  of  the* 
family  plate,  and  the  number  of  racing-cups  on  the 
baffe^  they  had  complimented  Lord  Maitland  too 
anoerely  on  the  excellence  of  his  hock  and  claret, 
to  treat  otherwise,  than  as  an  exquisite  jest,  the  idea 
of  iiis  appearing  in  the  Gazette. 

**  What  a  ciisedly  stupid  invention,  mother,  is 
this  new  taper-stand !"  added  John  Maitland,  after 
boming  his  fingers  in  attempting  to  put  out  the 
light  with  an  extinguisher  of  silver  filigree.  "  You 
mHj  onght  to  obtain  a  premium  from  Baldock, 
Fogg,  and  Emanuel,  for  trying  to  bring  their  stupid 
DOTdties  into  fashion." 

"  Considermg  that  it  was  youy  John,  who  broke 
the  stand  of  old  Sevres,  which  that  one  in  your 
hand  wa3  bought  to  replace,"  said  Lady  Maitland, 
-("  a  bijou,  a  positive  bijou, — which  cost  fourteen 
gnineas^— whereas  the  taper  in  your  hand  was 
only  five,)  the  less  you  say  on  the  subject  the 
better!" 

"  Don't  be  in  a  rage,  my  dear  good  mother ! " 
lemonatrated  the  graceless  guardsman.  **  Consider 
for  a  moment  your  obligation  to  me,  for  affording 
Tou  a  pretext  for  the  purchase  of  a  new  bauble, — 
the  fifty-second,  I  rather  think,  in  the  course  of 
the  year.  You  are  the  Providence  of  tlie  rococo 
^ !— You  know  very  well  that  Emanuel  would 
lend  here  to  inquire  after  your  health,  were  two 
liiys  to  pass  without  your  carriage  having  stopped 
it  his  door!" 

"I  wish  you  would  not  talk  such  nonsense  !" 
said  Lady  Maitland,  really  angry.  "  It  is  by 
these  kind  of  assertions  you  persuade  your  father 
into  a  belief  of  my  extravagance ;  when,  if  the 
troth  were  told,  I  might  have  purchased  a  service 
of  dd  Sevres,  and  dozens  of  filigree  stands  with 
the  sum  whidh " 

**  Well,  well! — ^we  are  all  silly  enough  in  our 
ny,  it  seems,  as  well  as  Basil  Annesley,"  inter- 
mpted  young  Maitland,  more  delicate  about  the 
liHrayal  of  his  own  weaknesses,  than  in  discussing 
those  of  other  people.  "  I  don't  pretend  not  to  be 
tttravagant.  Like  Othello's  handkerchief,—*! 
had  it  bom  my  mother.' " 

**  You  deserve  to  have  a  severe  scolding  from 
yoor  nwther,  John,"  said  his  elder  sister,  (rising 
from  the  table,  where  she  was  emblazoning  with 
eobalt,  Vermillion,  and  gold,  escutcheons  for  an 
Jwaldic  ilhntration  of  the  baronial  houses  of  Eng- 
i«nd,  to  grace  a  costly  album,)  fancying  it  was 
her  hrother  s  allusions  which  at  that  moment  drove 
I*dy  Maitland  from  the  room ;  nor  was  it  till,  ten 
"unntes  afterwards,  her  ladyship  made  her  reap- 
P««nee  with  a  portion  of  the  broken  inkstand,  to 
''i^to  Colonel  Carrington  the  exquisite  beauty 
of  one  of  its  groups  of  hergkres  gaktntes^  that  Laura 
^**enied  her  mistake. 

Bot  Lady  MuUand  was  mistaken  also.  Instead 
oC  obtauimg  sympathy  from  the  old  beau,  she  found 
^  ^-deep  in  further  scandal  respecting  Basil 
Annedey. 

**I  admit  that  Verelst  is  a  clever  artist,"  he  was 
obsCTriiig  gg  giie  entered.  **  But  the  passion  for 
firtu  is  sot  strong  enough,  at  Annesley's  age,  to 
J«wurt  for  his  devoting  hour  after  hour  to  the 
™3r  of  an  obscure  Jew." 


"I  don't  believe  Verelst  to  be  a  Jew,"  said 
Blencowe,  coldly. 

^*  His  wife,  at  least,  is  a  Jewess,"  said  Carring- 
ton ;  *'  and  so,  doubtless,  are  his  daughters.  The 
girl  for  whom  Annesley  obtained  admission  into 
the  choruses  at  the  Opera  was  called  Esther,  and 
her  sister  s  name  is  Salome." 

*^  The  great  Newton's  name  was  Isaac ;  but  I 
never  heard  that  he  was  a  Jew.  What's  in  a  name  ? 
A  rose,  (or  Esther,)  by  any  other  name  would  smell 
as  sweet,"  cried  John  Maitland.  '^ Faugh!  give 
me  an  ounce  of  civet  ! — ^Who  would  fancy  we 
were  talking  of  filthy  Jews !" 

At  that  moment.  Lady  Maitland  insisted  upon 
exhibiting  her  fragment  of  Sevres,  which  excited 
little  interest  with  the  Dowager- Colonel,  who  was 
preparing  a  new  assault. 

*^  Annesley's  protig^e  did  not  have  much  success, 
I  fancy?" — said  he,  addressing  young  Maitland. 

"  As  if  you  wefe  not  perfectly  aware,  my  dear 
fellow,  that  she  had  not  even  the  opportunity  for 
failure !  The  poor  girl  was  so  terrified  by  the 
impudence  of  a  set  of  old  fellows — ^yourself,  I  fancy, 
among  the  rest — amateurs,  as  they  call  themselves, 
who  used  to  stare  her  out  of  countenance  at  rehear- 
sal, that,  on  the  eve  of  her  appearance  in  Otello, 
she  was  seized  with  a  fever  from  mere  afiright ; 
and  was  far  nearer  giving  up  the  ghost  than  assist- 
ing in  softening  (in  A,  Minor)  the  hard  heart  of 
Signor  Brabantio !" 

"  I  recollect  now ! — ^a  footlight  panic,  as  the  thea- 
trical people  call  it,"  said  the  old  Colonel,  with 
another  nervous  twbt  of  the  neck  within  his 
stock. 

**  No  such  thing ! — Esther  Verelst  had  not  so 
much  as  2k  glimpse  of  the  footlights !"  cried  Blen- 
cowe, inteHering.  **She  never  even  attended  a 
full-dress  rehearsal.  Nay,  so  far  from  Annesley  hav- 
ing recommended  her  to  the  managers  as  you  sup- 
pose, or  assert,  I  never  saw  a  man  more  shocked 
than  he  was  on  recognising  her  in  her  shabby  old 
brown  pelisse  among  the  chorus-singers.  The  poor 
girl,  who  had  been  singing  last  year  at  the  Ancient 
Concerts^  and  knew  the  importance  to  her  family 
of  doubling  her  salary,  had  obtained  an  engage- 
ment unknown  to  any  one  ;  very  little  surmising 
the  difference  between  an  Ancient  Concert  singer^ 
and  a  Chorus  girl  of  the  King's  Theatre,  at  half-a- 
guinea  a-week  ?" 

'*  Poor  Esther! — she  was  far  too  good  for  a 
chorus  girl !"  said  John  Maitland,  with  good-na- 
tured interest ; — ^  too  good  a  singer,  and  too  good 
a  girl ^" 

"  She  soon,  however,  found  out  her  mistake :  and 
it  was  then  that  Annesley  protected  her,  and  tried 
to  get  her  engagement  broken.  Esther  was  too 
efficient  a  performer,  however,  to  be  readily  dis- 
pensed with  :  and,  I  believe,  nothing  short  of  the 
utter  incapacity  produced  by  her  dangerous  illness, 
would  have  softened  in  her  favour  that  nether 
mill-stone,  a  managerial  heart." 

"  And  what  has  become  of  thb  poor  girl  T  de- 
manded the  elder  Miss  Maitland, — ^Lucy  being  too 
much  interested  in  the  question,  to  adventure  the 
inquiry. 

"  That  you  had  better  inquire  of  Annesley*  on 


m 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDEE. 


his  return  to  town,''  said  the  old  beau ;  *■  tar  he 
never  leaves  her  father's  house." 

'^And  who  is  her  father?"  persisted  Laura 
Maitland. 

**  A  foreign  artist,  whom  Annesley  picked  up, 
when  a  boy,  at  some  fareign  aniversity — Jena,  or 
Gottingen, — or  wherever  he  was  brought  up." 

^'  Yerelst  was  Basil  Annesley's  drawing-master, 
when  a  student  at  Heidelberg,"  said  Blencowe, 
firmly ;  *'  and,  like  half  the  artists  of  half  the  coun- 
tries in  Europe,  is  a  man  of  large  family  and 
moderate  means.  He  got  into  some  political  scrape 
at  Heidelberg,  and  fled  to  this  country  :  so' he  says 
at  least.  But  all  foreign  refugees  in  England  talk 
of  politieal  scrapes,  as  more  popular  here  than 
any  other.  In  England,  he  knew  only  Annesley, 
and  another  chap  or  two,  to  whom  he  had  given 
lessons  at  Heidelberg :  but  Basil  appears  to  be  the 
only  one  of  them  who  profited  by  his  lessons,  or 
ohose  to  recollect  his  old  master :  and  the  first 
thing  we  heard  of  Yerelst,  was  a  raffle  proposed  at 
the  Club  for  one  of  his  pictures — won,  by  the 
way,  by  Carrington ; — and  a  beautiful  thing  it 
was." 

*'  Yes  I — I  have  been  offered  three  times  the  up- 
set price  of  that  picture  by  several  engravers,"  said 
the  Colonel,  with  an  air  of  complacency  ;  ^'  but  I 
never  chose  to  part  with  it." 

*^  As  Yerelst  and  his  family  are  starving,  you 
might,  at  least,  have  obtained  him  an  order  for  a 
copy,"  observed  John  Maitland. 

"  In  order  that  my  own  might  never  afterwards 
be  considered  an  original  1"  said  the  Colonel, 
gravely. 

"  And  what  then?  You  would  have  puta  hundred 
guineas  in  the  poor  fellow's  pocket,  without  taking 
one  out  of  your  own, — which  you  know,  Carr,  you 
would  as  soon  part  with,  as  with  your  life's-blood !" 
« On  the  contrary,"  retorted  the  Colonel—"  I 
bought,  last  summer,  a  set  of  sporting  sketches  of 
Yerelst,  which  had  been  previouudy  offered  to  your- 
self, and  rejected." 

"  Ay ! — ^because  you  got  them  at  half-price  ; 
whereas  /had  the  decency  to  reject  them,  because, 
not  having  the  money  to  pay  for  them,  I  thought 
I  should  be  an  ugly  customer  for  a  poor  fellow  Uke 
Yerelst." 
*^  Quite  right  I'*  interposed  Lucy. 
*^  But  why  did  you  never  mention  this  artist,  or 
his  works,  to  u$,  John  ?"  inquired  her  sister. 

"  Because  I  considered  that  young  ladies  ought 
not  to  have  pocket-money  enough  to  enable  them 
to  buy  pictures,"  replied  John  Maitland  ; — "  and 
to  the  minor  relief  of  Missish  charity,  such  a  man 
as  Yerelst  would  never  stoop.  He  has  the  soul  of 
a  genius,  and  the  courage  of  a  lion ! " 

^  Which  does  not,  however,  appear  to  be  shared 
by  his  family,"  observed  Laura ;  "  since  you  say 
that  his  daughter  was  too  timid  to  singat  the  Opera?" 
"  Esther  is  a  bit  of  a  lioness,  I  admit,  in  her 
way,"  said  Captain  Blencowe,  with  a  smile  ;  add- 
ing, in  a  lower  voice,  and  with  a  glance  at  the  old 
Colonel — ^**But  what  chance  has  even  a  lioness, 
when  opposed  to  a  set  of  tigers?" 

Miss  Maitland  did  not  choose  to  hear,  or,  ai  all 
events^  to  smile,  as  he  expected. 


^  "  It  seems  to  me,  my  dear  John,"  said  she,  ptill 
remonstrating  with  her  brother,  *'  that  the  roan, 
not  too  proud  to  give  lessons  to  Mr.  Basil  Annes- 
ley, need  not  be  too  proud  to  afford  them  to  Laura 
Maitland.  I  toant  a  drawing-master.— Mamma 
has  promised  me  a  drawing-master — " 
.  "  But  how  do  you  know,  my  dear,  that  this 
Yerelst  m^n  is  a  competent  master?"  intempted 
Lady  Maitland. 

**  Do  you  not  hear.  Mamma,  that  Colonel  Car- 
rington has  been  offered  three  times  the  price  of 
his  picture  ?"— observed  Laura,  less  reverentlythaa 
feelingly. 

"  A  man  may  paint  very  well  himself,  and  have 
great  conceptions  of  his  art,"  observed  the  old  Co- 
lonel, ^*  who  is  incapable  of  imparting  instrucUon 
to  others." 

"  Yery  tensibfy  observed !"  remarked  Lady  Mait- 
land, who  appeared  to  have  no  great  leamng  to- 
wards the  indigent  drawing-master. 

"  At  all  events,  one  might  do  something  for  the 
daughter,"  observed  Lucy.  ^^  If  she  sang  at  the 
Ancient  Concert  last  year,  she  must  understand  her 
business.  We  have  long  been  talking  of  getting 
up  some  quartettes  with  Colonel  Loftus,  and  Sir 
Watkin.  Miss  Yerelst  might  be  of  material  use  to 
us. — Supposing  I  write  to  engage  her?" 

"  You  are  very  easily  interested,  my  dear  Lncy, 
for  Basil  Annesley's  pro^^^/"  said  her  brother,  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "  You  are  not  half  so 
good  to  mine  I — I  have  two  or  three  chorus-singers 
to  recommend  to  you." 

^But  not  the  daughters  of  meritorious  artists  in 
distress,"  said  his  sbter,  with  indignation. 

**  The  *  meritorious'  and  *  distress'  you  hare 
taken  solely  upon  Blencowe's  showing;  who  never 
tells  truth  but  once  a-week — and  this  is  nof  his 
day.  However,  if  you  mean  to  oblige  Annesley-— 
who,  I  know,  is  a  vast  favourite  of  yours— you  will 
scarcely  effect  it  by  bringing  Esther  Yerelst  into 
contact  with  Colonel  Loftus,  or  any  other  fine  gen- 
tleman of  the  staring  Carrington  School,  Believe 
me,  he  would  much  rather  let  the  whole  family 
starve  in  decent  privacy." 

"  It  is  easy  enough  for  fine  gentlemen  of  the 
prating  Maitland  School  to  talk  lightly  of  ttarmg^^ 

retorted  his  sister  ;  "  but  I  assure  you,  John ^^ 

At  that  moment  the  butler,  having  entered  the 
room,  whispered,  more  closely  than  is  usual  for 
butlers  to  whisper  in  drawing-rooms,  a  message  to 
Lady  Maitland. 

«  Tell  him  Lord  Maitland  is  out,"  was  her  lady* 
ship's  audible  reply. 

«  I  have  told  him  so  repeatedly,  alreadjr,  my 
hidy,"  was  the  butler's  rejoinder.  "  He  particularly 
wishes  to  know  whether  his  lordship  dines  at  home. 
"  Of  course  he  does,— yet  stay — I  really  cannot 
tell,"  said  her  ladyship,  apparently  enlightened  by 
her  second  thoughts.  "  But  if  Lord  Maitland  does 
not  dine  at  home,  he  dines  at  White's." 

The  butler  left  the  room  noiselessly,  as  every 
well-bred  ghost  and  well-bred  butler  retreats  from 
sight ;  and  Laura  Maitland  again  renewed  her  in- 
terrogations respecting  Basil's  Esther.  "  Was  she 
handsome  or  ugly — tall  or  short — h«r  voice  a  so- 
prano or  mezzo  soprano?"*—  • 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


215 


**  Sit  is  a  monstroiis  pretty  girl,  with  a  xnon* 
stnms  pretty  Toice,  I  can  tell  you ;  or  Annesley 
would  not  haTe  worn  himself  out  at  elbows  paying 
debts  for  her  father/'  cried  John,  almost  out  of  pa- 
tience with  her  pertinacity. 

^  I  never  heard  anything  bo  impertinent,"  now 
bant  from  the  lips  of  Lady  Maitland,  who  was 
agsin  coUoquicing  in  whispers  with  the  mysterious 
batler.  **  Tell  him  I  nm>er  see  people  on  business ! 
—If  he  call  to-morrow  at  breakfiast,  Wilson,  (say 
Leid  Maitland  break&sU  at  eleyen,)  he  will  h% 
most  likely  to  see  him.*' 

"  I  ntber  think  nd,  my  lady  ;  for  my  lord  par- 
ttcokrly  desired  that  this  person  might  never  be 
adsutted  to  him,"  said  the  grave  Mr.  Wilson  with 
Mkei  pr€pm9€y  to  avenge  certain  unexpiated 
wrmigs  of  his  own  upon  her  ladyship,  and  her 
lidyabip's  daughters. 

"  TeU  him  what  you  are  desired  /"  said  Lady 
MsitUnd,  in  a  haughty  tone. 

**  I  have  done  my  best  to  send  him  away,"  said 
Wilscm.  ^  But  he  has  stationed  himself  \n  the 
Hbivy,  my  lady,  and  will  not  leave  the  house. 
He  says  it  is  essential  (if  my  lord  is  red^  out) 
tbst  he  should  have  an  audience  of  your  ladyship." 

**  I  shall  certainly  not  expose  myself  to  au  inter- 
Tiev  with  a  stranger — a  man  of  whom  I  know  no- 
tbiBgl"  said  Lady  Maitland,  with  manifestly  in- 
OMaiBg  agitation. 

''What  IS  all  this,  mother?"  inquired  John, 
whs  had  now  caaght  here  and  there  a  few  words 
of  the  conversation. 

**  Meiely  that  there  is  a  person  below,  who  in* 
•Us  upon  seeing  your  father." 

'^ScMne  impertuient  fellow  of  a  tradesman,  I 
Kppoee,  with  a  large  account  to  make  up  ;  (they 
bsTe  always  large  accounts  to  make  up  I)--Well ! 
y»  insist  too,  Wilaon ! — We  insist  upon  his  tak- 
ia|  himself  off!  Lord  Maitland  is  not,  and  Lady 
Haitland  doea  not  choote  to  be,  at  home." 

**  It  is  not  a  tradesman.  Sir,"  said  the  butler 


aloud,  far  the  bene^t  of  the  party.  ^^  If  it  had 
been  a  tradesman,  I  should  not  have  presumed  to 
trouble  her  ladyship.  The  gentleman  came  in  his 
own  carriage,  which  is  still  at  the  door." 

"  My  tailor  always  visits  me  in  his  cab,"  said 
Blencowe,  "  except  when  he  brings  his  bill,  when 
he  comes  in  his  chariot." 

"  If  your  tailor  drive  such  a  deuced  fine  pair  of 
bloods  as  this  fellow,"  said  John  Maitland,  who, 
from  the  front  drawing-room,  had  taken  a  suiTey 
in  the  interim  of  the  equipage  of  the  mysterious 
guest,  which  was  waiting  at  the  door, — "  he  is  less  a 
tailor  than  you  take  him  for  !" 

^^  Go  down  and  speak  to  him,  John,"  said  Lady 
Maitland,  by  this  time  reassured.  '*  I  daresay  it 
b  somebody  out  of  Yorkshire,  about  electioneering 
business." 

And  for  once — ^mored,  perhaps,  by  some  la- 
tent curiosity  of  his  own,  to  ascertain  the  proprie- 
tor of  such  a  capital  pair  of  horses, — young  Mait- 
land exhibited  the  utmost  alacrity  of  filial  obe- 
dience. 

When  he  had  left  the  room,  old  Carrington,  who 
was  inquisitiveness  itself,  began  to  fidget  in  his 
stock  to  a  degree  that  almost  threatened  disloca- 
tion to  his  ostrich-like  throat.  At  one  moment,  he 
had  been  on  the  point  of  offering  Lady  Maitland  to 
accompany  her  son.  To  assuage  his  restless  curi- 
osity concerning  the  pertinacious  visiter,  he  had 
no  resource  but  to  fall  once  more  upon  the  Verelsts, 
in  the  hope  of  picking  a  third  course  of  scandal 
out  of  the  remnants  of  the  feast. 

Just,  however,  as  he  was  beginning, — **  I  am 
assured  by  Loftus  that  Verelst's  second  daughter — 
that  beautiful  Salome,"  he  was  again  interrupted. 
With  a  face  pale  as  death,  John  Maitland  rushed 
back  into  the  room. 

"  Why  could  you  not  tell  me  at  once,  mother," 
said  he,  sinking  into  a  chair,  ^that  it  was  that 
danmable  A.  0.  !"— 
(2b^cofl<»nu^.) 


ZANONI.* 


Wg  hava  the  authority  of  the  author  for  saying 
that  this  work  ^  is  a  romance,  and  not  a  romance  ; 
a  troth  for  those  who  can  comprehend  it,  and  an 
cxtcavagaoce  for  those  who  cannot "  There  is 
SBo^MT  eat^ory,  in  which  we  place  ourselyes. 
^  work  is  a  wild  and  overdone  extrayagance, 
vith  a  liberal  mixture  ci  the  true  and  the  beautl- 
W ;  ef  eloquence  and  poetry.  The  author  appears 
to  eBtertain  some  apprehension  that  his  work  will 
BQt  be  popular  ;  and  this  instinct  is  probably  just. 
I^  Mory  was  begun  some  years  since  in  a  Maga- 
*"«>  aow  deceased ;  but  it  did  not  go  far,  and  what 
^»*»  printed  appears  to  us  (from  recollection)  to 
^^▼s  nndeigone  considerable  alteration.  When 
^  VBFoiiatnrml  machinery  b  dismissed,  the  stoiy 
*•  ▼tty  nroplc.  Gaetano  Pisani  was  a  violinist, 
^0  gamed  a  humble  livelihood  by  playing  in  the 


•^affi.L.Balwer. 


Three  volnmes.    Sannders 


orchestra  of  the  great  theatre  of  San  Carlo  in 
Naples.  He  was  a  man  of  fine  genius  for  hb  art ; 
but  simple,  awkward,  grotesque,  unworldly ; 
^*  an  inspired  idiot,"  a  small  Beethoven  in  hb 
enthusiasm  for  music,  and  in  eccentricities  of  char- 
acter ;  and  a  Mozart  in  guileless  simplicity. 
Between  the  Neapolitan  musician  and  hb  instru- 
ment, there  was  an  indbsoluble  connexion,  an 
entire  blenc^pg  of  souls.  He  might  most  appro- 
priately have  sung,  ^^  My  fiddle  and  am."  Yet  hb 
violin  was  only  dear,  because  it  gave  voice  to  hb 
music. 

Yon  conld  not  separate  the  man  firom  his  mnsic ;  it 
was  himself.  Without  it,  he  was  nothing,  a  mere  ma- 
chine. WiA  it,  he  was  king  oyer  worlds  of  hb  owiu 
Poor  man,  he  had  little  ehou^  in  this ! 

This  minor  Paganini,  grotesque,  awkward,  and 
half-idiot  as  he  seemed,  had  gotten  him  a  wife,  and 
was  the  happy  father  of  one  fair  child  ;  of  ViolOf 
the  lorely  heroine  of  thb  stoiy. 


216 


ZANONt. 


What  is  more  Btrange  yet,  his  wife  was  a  daughter  of 
quiet,  soher,  unflmtastic  England ;  she  was  much  yonnger 
than  himself;  she  was  fkir  and  gentle,  with  a  sweet 
English  face;  she  had  married  Mm  from  choice,  and 
(will  you  helieve  itl)  she  yet  loved  him. 

The  marriage  was  not,  after  all,  so  wonderful. 
The  girl  was  the  natural  child  "  of  parents  too 
noble  (?)  ever  to  own  her,"  and  she  had  been  sent 
to  Italy  to  learn  the  art  by  which  she  was  to  live. 
She  was  harshly  treated  ;  "  and  poor  Pisani  was 
her  master,  and  his  voice  the  only  one  she  had 
heard  from  her  cradle  that  seemed  without  one 
tone  that  could  scorn  or  chide." 

And  so— well,  is  the  rest  natural !  Natural  or  not^- 
they  married.  This  young  wife  loved  her  husband ;  and, 
young  and  gentle  as  she  was,  she  might  almost  be  said 
to  be  tiie  protector  of  the  two.  From  how  many  dis- 
graces with  the  despots  of  San  Carlo  and  the  Conserva- 
torio  had  her  unknown  officious  mediUion  saved  him ! 
In  how  many  ailments — for  his  frame  was  weak — ^had 
she  nursed  and  tended  him !  Often,  in  the  dark  nights, 
she  would  wait  at  the  theatre,  with  her  lanthom  to  light 
him,  and  her  steady  arm  to  lean  on ; — otherwise,  in  his 
abstract  reveries,  who  knows  but  the  musician  would 
have  walked,  alter  his  ^  Siren,'*  into  the  sea ! 

The  Siren  was  an  opera  upon  which  the  despised 
violinist  had  laboured  for  years ;  and  when  his 
beautiful  daughter,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  her  musi- 
cal education  having  been  completed,  under  the  pa- 
tronage of  a  Cardinal-Virtuoso,  who  had  discovered 
her  talent,  appeared  in  this  piece,  and  with  the 
most  brilliant  success,  the  poor  musician  was  nearly 
crazed.  The  affair  had  been  charmingly  contrived 
by  the  affectionate  Viola,  and  Pisani  was  not 
aware  of  his  triumph  until  it  wad  complete. 

He  feels  that  by  the  breathless  stillness  of  that  mul- 
titude— he  feels  it  even  by  the  lifted  finger  of  the  Car- 
dinal. He  sees  his  Viola  on  the  stage,  radiant  in  her 
robes  and  gems — he  hears  her  voice  thrilling  through  the 
single  heart  of  the  thousands  !  But  the  scene — ^the  part 
— the  music  !  It  is  his  other  child — his  immortal  child 
—the  spirit-infant  of  his  soul— hfs  darling  of  many  years 
of  patient  obscurity  and  pining  genius — ^his  masterpiece 
— ^his  opera  of  the  Siren ! 

At  one  time  during  the  representation,  the  suc- 
cess of  the  opera  had  appeared  more  than  doubtful. 
There  are  always,  in  every  theatre,  rivals  to  a  new 
author,  or  a  new  performer. 

A  hiss  arose  ;  it  was  partial,  it  is  true,  but  the  signi- 
ficant silence  of  all  applause  seemed  to  forebode  the 
coming  moment  when  the  displeasure  would  grow  con- 
tagious. It  was  the  breath  that  stirred  the  impending 
avalanche.  At  that  critical  moment — ^Viola,  the  Siren 
queen,  emerged  for  the  first  time  from  her  ocean  cave. 
As  she  came  forward  to  the  lamps,  the  novelty  of  her 
situation,  the  chilling  apathy  of  the  audience — ^which 
even  the  sight  of  so  singular  a  beauty,  did  not  at  the 
first  arouse — the  whispers  of  the  malignant  singers  on 
the  stage,  the  glare  of  the  lights,  and  more — far  more 
than  the  rest — that  recent  hiss,  which  had  reached  her 
in  her  concealment^  all  froze  up  her  faculties  and  sus- 
pended her  voice.  And  instead  of  the  grand  invocation 
into  which  she  ought  rapidly  to  have  burst,  the  regal 
Siren,  retransformed  into  the  trembling  girl,  stood  pale 
and  mute  before  ,the  stem  oold  array  of  those  countless 
eyes. 

At  that  instant,  and  when  consciousness  itself  seemed 
about  to  fail  her — ^as  she  turned  a  timid  beseeching 
glance  around  the  still  multitude-^he  perceived,  in  a 
box  near  the  stage,  a  countenance  which  at  once,  and 
like  magic,  produced  on  her  mind  an  effect  never  to  be 
analyzed  or  forgotten.  It  was  one  that  awakened  an 
indistinct  haunting  reminiscence,  as  if  she  had  seen  it  in 
those  day  dreams  she  \^d  been  so  wont  from  infancy  to 


indulge.  She  could  not  withdraw  her  gaze  from  that 
face;  and  as  she  gazed,  the  awe  and  coldness  that  had 
before  seized  her,  vanished,  like  a  mist  from  before  the 
sun. 

In  the  dark  splendour  of  the  eyes  that  met  her  own 
there  was  indeed  so  much  of  gentle  encouragement,  of 
benign  and  compassionate  admiration ;  so  much  that 
warmed,  and  animated,  and  nerved ;  that  any  one- 
actor  or  orator — who  has  ever  observed  the  effect  that 
a  single,  earnest,  and  kindly  look,  in  the  crowd  that  is 
to  be  addressed  and  won,  will  produce  upon  his  mind, 
may  readily  account  for  the  sudden  and  inspiriting  in- 
fluence the  eye  and  smile  of  the  stranger  exercised  on 
the  debutante. 

And  while  yet  she  gazed,  and  the  glow  returned  to 
her  heart,  the  stranger  half  rose,  as  if  to  recall  the 
audience  to  a  sense  of  the  courtesy  due  to  one  so  (air  and 
young  ;  and  the  instant  his  voice  gave  the  signal,  the 
audience  followed  it  by  a  burst  of  generous  applause. 

This  was  the  hour  of  fate  to  Viola,  as  surely  as 
to  the  Siren,     The  stranger  was  the  mysteri- 
ous, the  princely  Zanoniy  whose  appearance  in 
different  parts  of  Italy,  and  in  Naples,  and  singnkr 
manner  of  life,  had  excited  the  curiosity  of  the 
gossips  of  the  city ;  dividing  their  thoughts  with 
that  national  concern,  the  new  Opera.    Zanooi's 
wealth  was  imagined  to  be  vast  and  boundless ;  and 
his  occult  powers  were  more  astonishing  than  his 
wealth.     The  passion  with  which  this  godlike 
being  had  inspired  the  musician's  daughter,  was 
not  the  human  love  of  ordinary  romance,  hat  that 
exalted  sentiment  with  which,  in  the  primeval 
times,  the  gods  inspired  the  beautiful  daughters  of 
men.    Yet  many  said  Zanoni  was  a  sorcerer,  a 
necromancer  ;  and  that  he  possessed  the  Eril-Eye 
— the  baleful  glance,  which  carries  death  and  woe 
wherever  it  is  directed. — It  is  impossible,  in  a  few 
words,  to  convey  any  conception  of  this  demi-god, 
or  incarnation  of  superhuman  powers  in  alliance 
with  the  passions  and  tenderness  of  humanity.  Yet 
though  thousands  of  years  had  rolled  by  since  his 
birth,  the  Chaldsan  was  bom  of  woman.  He  was  a 
being  raised  above  Death  and  human  destiny  by 
those  mystic  sciences  whose  birthplace  was  the 
East,  and  which  were  afterwards  but  faintly  dis- 
cerned by  the  disciples  of  the  Rosy  Cross.    Zanoni, 
who  will  probably  be  a  much  greater  favourite  in 
Germany  than  in  England,  must  be  taken  as  he  is 
presented,  as  the  being  of  poetry  and  of  the  transcen- 
dentalism of  antiquity.     As  a  work  of  Art,  we 
should  say  the  romance  is  overdone  by  the  excesArt 
use  made  of  the  supernatural ;  and  that  the  acca< 
mulation  of  wonder  upon  wonder  impairs  its  ef 
Looking  below  the  surface,  it  may  be  fancied 
the  author,  under  the  different  characters, 
in  Zanoni  embodied  humanity  perfiected,  snblim( 
and  in    Mejnour — ^for  there   are  two   ChaldcU 
immortals— cold,  passionless,  self-sufficing  Intel 
lect ;  in  the  Frenchman  of  the  Reign  of  Terror,  th( 
remorseless  and  profligate  Nicot,  cold,  dead  Ath» 
ism,  believing  nothing,  hoping  nothing,  lo  ' 
nothing  ;  in  Glyndon,  the  young  Englidunan, 
mingled  strength  and  weakness  of  man's  natuT«j 
while  Viola  typifies  the  purest  elements  of  tendi 
untutored  womanhood  ;  affectionate,  trustful, 
verential.    There  is  no  thread  of  story  to  follow 
the  romance;   so  that  it  is  but  by  detached 
that  we  are  able  to  give  any  idea  of  this  pi 
imaginative  work. 


ZANOM. 


211 


WhftieTer  of  ordinary  interest  belongs  to  the 
story,  hangs  upon  the  passion  of  Viola  and  her 
mjsterioDB  lover,  the  blissful  and  the  terrible  scenes 
thfoogh  which  they  pass,  and  their  final  destiny, — 
when,  after  undergoing  the  discipline  of  love  and 
sorrow,  the  Immortal  finds  the  only  true  immor- 
Ulitjr  through  Death.  These  trial  scenes  are  cast 
amid  the  wildest  excess  of  the  French  Revolution, 
during  the  Reign  of  Terror.  The  scenes  of  that  terri- 
ble epoch  arc  forcibly  portrayed,  though  the  agency 
of  Zanoni,  in  producing  the  actual  historical  events 
of  the  period,  does  not  contribute  to  their  strength. 
He  might  have  kept  to  his  master}^  of  other  spirits 
tiun  Tallien  and  Robespierre. 

The  musician  and  his  wife  are  dead ;  and  Viola, 
disdiioing  the  insulting  addresses  of  the  young 
Englishman,  who  was  too  proud  and  prejudiced  to 
taanj  the  singer,  and  having,  by  the  supernatural 
intenrention  of  Zanoni,  escaped  from  the  toils  of  a 
licentioQs  prince,  fulfils  her  mysterious  destiny.  She 
becomes  the  bride  of  the  superhuman  Chaldeean  ; 
nperhuman  in  personal  beauty  as  in  wondrous 
powers,  and  they  find  a  paradise  in  one  of  the 
Greek  Isles,  where  they  live  for  some  years :  the 
only  drawback  upon  their  pure  felicity  being  in  the 
Bind  of  Zanoni.  The  Immortal  is  linked  to  the 
Nottal,  and  his  love  urges  him  to  raise  her  that 
ie  loTCf  to  his  own  condition  of  being.  He  thus 
inrokes  his  guardian  genius : — 

'^AdoD-Ai !  Adon-Ai ! — appear,  appear  !'* 

And  m  the  lonely  cave,  whence  once  had  gone  forth 
tbe  oncles  of  a  heathen  god,  there  emerged  fVom  the 
i^ws  of  fontastic  rocks  a  luminons  and  gigantic  co- 
Ivan,  glittering  and  shifting.  It  resembled  the  shining 
Ut  nuity  spray,  which,  seen  afar  off,  a  fountain  seems 
to  lend  ip  on  a  starry  night.  The  radiance  lit  the  sta- 
lactites, the  crags,  the  arches  of  the  cave,  and  shed  a 
f^  aad  tremulous  splendour  on  the  features  of  Zanoni. 

*  Son  of  Eternal  Light,"  said  the  invoker,  *^  thou  to 
*boie  knowledge,  grade  after  grade,  race  a^r  race,  I 
vtained  at  last,  on  the  broad  Chaldican  plains — thou 
fr«i  whom  I  have  drawn  so  largely  of  the  unutterable 
^>ovWdge,  that  yet  eternity  alone  can  suffice  to  drain — 
^  who,  congenial  with  myself,  so  far  as  our  various 
^singi  will  permit,  hast  been  for  centuries  my  familiar 
**1  ay  friend — answer  me  and  counsel ! " 

FroB  the  column  there  emerged  a  shape  of  unimagin- 
f^k  glory.  Its  face  was  that  of  man  in  his  first  youth  ; 
l^at  wlemn,  as  with  the  consciousness  of  eternity  and  the 
tTwqaillHy  of  wisdom;  light,  like  starbeams,  flowed 
^ogh  its  transparent  veins;  light  made  its  limbs  them- 
lelvei,  tad  undulated,  in  restless  sparkles,  through  the 
^ves  of  its  dazzling  hair.  With  its  arms  folded  on  its 
^rout,  it  stood  distant  a  few  feet  from  Zanoni,  and  its 
»w  Toke  murmured  gently — *'  My  counsels  were  sweet 
^  thee  once;  and  once,  night  after  night,  thy  soul  could 
^>^  my  wings  through  the  untroubled  splendours  of 
the  Infinite.  Now  thou  hast  bound  thyself  back  to  the 
'^  by  its  strongest  chains,  and  the  attraction  to  the 
^y  14  more  potent  than  the  sympathies  that  drew  to 
thj  darms  the  Dweller  of  the  Starbeam  and  the  Air  ! 
'^^  last  thy  soul  hearkened  to  me,  the  senses  already 
trrabled  thine  intellect  and  obscured  thy  vision.  Once 
*pi^  1  come  to  thee;  but  thy  power  even  to  summon 
B^totby  aide  is  fading  from  thy  spirit,  as  sunshine 
^de«  from  the  wave,  when  the  winds  drive  the  cloud 
betwten  the  ocean  and  the  sky." 
^    v^"*!  Adon-Ai  !**  answered  the  seer,  mournfully — 

I  KMm  tso  well  the  conditions  of  the  being  which  thy 
P***«n««  WM  wont  to  rejoice.  I  know  that  our  wisdom 
^e«  hot  from  the  indifference  to  the  things  of  the 
world  ^ddi  the  wisdom  masters.  The  mirror  of  the 
**|  ^""^  reflect  both  earth  and  heaven ;  and  the  one 
^vaum  from  the  surface  as  the  other  is  glassed  upon 


its  deeps.  But  it  is  not  to  restore  me  to  that  sublime 
abstraction  in  which  the  intellect,  fVee  and  disembodied, 
rises,  region  after  region,  to  the  spheres,  that  once  again, 
and  with  the  agony  and  travail  of  enfeebled  power,  I 
have  called  thee  to  mine  aid.  I  love ;  and  in  love  I 
begin  to  live  in  the  sweet  humanities  of  another  I  If 
wise  yet,  in  all  which  makes  danger  powerless  against 
myseU',  or  those  on  whom  I  can  gaze  fh>m  the  calm 
height  of  indifferent  science,  I  am  blind  as  the  merest 
mortal  to  the  destinies  of  the  creature  that  makes  my 
heart  beat  with  the  passions  that  obscure  my  gaze.** 

**  What  matter  !"  answered  Adon-Ai.  <*  Thy  love 
must  be  but  a  mockery  of  the  name  ;  thou  canst  not  love 
as  they  do  for  whom  there  is  death  and  the  grave.  A 
short  time  ! — ^liko  a  day  in  thy  incalculable  life,  and  the 
form  thou  detest  on  is  dust  1  Others  of  the  nether  world 
go  band  in  hand,  each  with  each,  unto  the  tomb  ;  hand 
in  hand  they  ascend  firom  the  worm  to  new  cycles  of  ex- 
istence. For  thee,  below  are  ages ;  for  her,  but  hours. 
And  for  her  and  thee — oh  poor,  but  mighty  one  ! — will 
there  be  even  a  joint  hereafter  !  Through  what  grades 
and  heavens  of  spiritualized  being  will  her  soul  have 
passed  when  thou,  the  solitary  loiterer,  comest  flrom  the 
vapours  of  the  earth  to  the  gates  of  light !" 

^^  Son  of  the  Starbeam,  thmkest  thou  that  this  thought 
is  not  with  me  ever;  and  seest  thou  not  that  I  have 
invoked  thee  to  hearken  and  minister  to  my  design ! 
Readest  thou  not  my  desire  and  dream  to  raise  the  con- 
ditions of  her  being  to  my  own !  Thou,  Adon-Ai,  bath* 
ing  the  celestial  joy  that  makes  thy  life  in  the  oceans  of 
eternal  splendour, — thou,  save  by  the  sympathies  of 
knowledge,  canst  conjecture  not  what  I,  the  offering  of 
mortals,  feel— debarred  yet  from  the  objects  of  the  tre- 
mendous and  sublime  ambition  that  &rst  winged  my 
desires  above  the  clay — when  I  see  myself  compelled  to 
stand  in  this  low  world  alone. — I  have  sought  amongst 
my  tribe  for  comrades,  and  in  vain.  At  last  I  have  found 
a  mate  !  The  wild  bird  and  the  wild  beast  have  theirs; 
and  my  mastery  over  the  malignant  tribes  of  terror  can 
banish  their  larvie  fVom  the  path  that  shall  lead  her  up- 
ward till  the  air  of  eternity  fits  the  firame  for  the  elixir 
that  baffles  death." 

"  And  thou  hast  begun  the  initiation,  and  thou  art 
foiled  t  I  know  it.  Thou  hast  conjured  to  her  sleep  the 
fairest  visions;  thou  hast  invoked  the  loveliest  children 
of  the  air  to  murmur  their  music  to  her  trance,  and  her 
soul  heeds  them  not;  and,  returning  to  the  earth, escapes 
from  their  control.  Blind  one,  wherefore  !  Canst  thou 
not  perceive  f  Because  in  her  soul  all  is  love.  There  is 
no  intermediate  passion  with  which  the  things  thou 
wouldst  charm  to  her  have  association  and  affinities. 
Their  attraction  is  but  to  the  desires  and  cravings  of  the 
intellect.  What  have  they  with  the  passion  ^t  is  of 
earth,  and  the  hope  that  goes  direct  to  heaven  1" 

"  But  can  there  be  no  medium,  no  link,  in  which  our 
souls,  as  our  hearts,  can  be  united,  and  so  mine  may  have 
influence  over  her  own  1" 

*^  Ask  me  not — thou  wilt  not  comprehend  me  1" 

"  I  abjure  thee  ! — speak  1" 

"  When  two  souls  are  divided,  knowest  thou  not  that 
a  third  in  which  both  meet  and  live  is  the  link  between 
them  !" 

'^  I  do  comprehend  thee,  Adon-Ai,"  said  Zanoni,  with 
a  light  of  more  human  joy  upon  his  face  than  it  had  ever 
before  been  seen  to  wear  ;  **  and  if  my  destiny,  which 
here  is  dark  to  mine  eyes,  vouchsafes  to  me  the  happy 
lot  of  the  humble — if  ever  there  be  a  child  that  I  may 
clasp  to  my  bosom  and  call  my  own  I " 

^  And  is  it  to  be  man  at  last,  that  thou  hast  aisplred 
to  be  more  than  man  i" 

**  But  a  child — a  second  Viola  !"  murmured  Zanoni, 
scarcely  heeding  the  Son  of  Light ;  ^  a  young  soul  fivsh 
frt>m  Heaven,  that  I  may  rear  from  the  first  moment  it 
touches  earth — whose  wings  I  may  train  to  follow  mine 
through  the  glories  of  creation ;  and  through  whom  the 
mother  herself  may  be  led  upward  over  the  realm  of 
death  I" 

*^  Beware — refiect !  Knowest  thou  not  that  thy  darkest 
enemy  dwells  in  the  Real  ?  Thy  wishes  bring  thee  near 
and  nearer  to  Humanity." 


21  d 


ZANONI. 


**  Ah,  Hnmanity  Is  sweet !''  answered  Zanoni. 
And,  as  the  seer  spoke,  on  the  glorious  face  of  Adon- 
Ai  there  broke  a  smile. 

Admirable  in  its  peculiar  style  as  this  scene 
is,  the  next  which  we  select,  the  final  subjugation 
of  the  Immortal  to  the  tenderness  of  the  husband 
and  the  father,  and  the  natural  feelings  of  huma- 
nity, is  yet  finer.  The  pestilence  had  reached  and 
desolated  the  lovely  Greek  isle^  and  the  lovers  had 
sought  an  asylum  in  Venice. 

The  stars  of  winter  shone  down  on  the  Lagnnes  of 
Venice.  The^  hum  of  the  Rialto  was  hushed — the  last 
loiterers  had  deserted  the  place  of  St.  Mark's,  and  only 
at  distant  intervals  might  be  heard  the  oars  of  the  rapid 
gondolas,  bearing  reyeller  or  Iotct  to  his  home.  But 
lights  still  flitted  to  and  fh>  across  the  windows  of  one 
of  the  Palladian  palaces,  whose  shadow  slept  in  the 
great  canal ;  and  within  the  palace  watched  the  twin 
Eumenides,  that  never  sleep  for  Man^ — Fear,  and  Pain. 
**  I  will  make  thee  the  richest  man  in  aU  Venice,  if 
thou  savest  her.** 

^  Signer,''  said  the  Leech  ;  ^  your  gold  cannot  control 
death,  and  the  will  of  Heaven — Sign^,  unless  within 
the  next  hour  there  is  some  blesMd  change,  prepare 
your  courage." 

Ho— ho,  Zanoni !  man  of  mystery  and  might,  who 
hast  walked  amidst  the  passions  of  the  world,  with  no 
changes  on  thy  brow,  art  thou  tossed  at  last  upon  the 
billows  of  tempestuous  fear  t — Does  thy  spirit  reel  to 
and  fro  t— knowest  thou  at  last  the  strength  and  the 
misjesty  of  Death  t 

He  fled,  trembling,  from  the  pale-faced  man  of  art — 
fled  through  stately  hall,  and  long-drawn  corridor,  and 
gained  a  remote  chamber  in  the  palace,  which  other 
step  than  his  was  not  permitted  to  profane.  Out  with 
thy  herbs  and  vessels !  Break  from  the  enchanted  ele- 
ments, 0  silvery-azure  flame !  Why  comes  he  not — the 
Son  of  the  Starbeam  1 — Why  is  Adon-Ai  deaf  to  thy 
solemn  call !  It  comes  not — the  luminous  and  delight- 
some Presence  I  Cabalist !  are  thy  charms  in  vain !  Has 
thy  throne  vanished  from  the  realms  of  space  !  Thou 
standest  pale  and  trembling.  Pale  trembler  !  not  thus 
didst  thou  look,  when  the  things  of  glory  gathered  at 
thy  spell.  Never  to  the  pale  trembler  bow  the  things 
of  glory  : — the  soul,  and  not  the  herbs,  nor  the  silvery- 
azure  flame,  nor  the  chemistry  of  the  Cabala,  commands 
the  children  of  the  air  ;  and  thy  soul,  by  Love  and 
Death,  is  made  sceptreless  and  discrowned  1 

At  length  the  flame  quivers — ^the  air  grows  cold  as 
the  wind  in  chamels.  A  thing  not  of  earth  is  present — 
a  mistlike,  formless  thing.  It  cowers  in  the  distance — a 
silent  Horror  I  it  rises — ^it  creeps — it  nears  thee — dark 
in  its  mantle  of  dusky  haze  ;  and  under  its  veil  it  looks 
on  thee  with  its  livid,  malignant  eyes — the  thing  of  ma- 
lignant eyes  ! 

''  Ha,  young  Chaldsean  !  young  in  thy  countless  ages 
— ^young  as  when,  cold  to  pleasure  and  to  beauty,  thou 
stoodest  on  the  old  Fire-tower,  and  heardest  the  starry 
silence  whisper  to  thee  the  last  mystery  that  baffles 
Death,  fearest  thou  Death  at  length  !  Is  thy  knowledge 
but  a  circle  that  brings  thee  back  whence  thy  wander- 
ings began  I  Crenerations  on  generations  have  vrithered 
since  we  two  met !    Lo  1  thou  beholdest  me  now  1" 

^  But  I  behold  thee  without  fear  !  Though  beneath 
thine  eyes  thousands  have  perished ;  though,  where 
they  bum,  spring  up  the  foul  poisons  of  the  human 
heart,  and  to  those  whom  thou  canst  subject  to  thy  will, 
thy  presence  glares  in  the  dreams  of  the  raving  maniac, 
or  blackens  the  dungeon  of  despairing  crime,  thou  art 
not  my  vanquisher,  but  my  slave  V* 

"  And  as  a  slave,  will  I  serve  thee  I  Command  thy 
slave,  O  beautiful  Chaldsan  I— Hark,  the  wail  of 
women  ! — hark,  the  sharp  shriek  of  thy  beloved  one  I 
Death  is  in  thy  Palace  !  Adon-Ai  comes  not  to  thy  call. 
Only  where  no  cloud  of  the  passion  and  the  flesh  veils 
the  eye  of  the  Serene  Intelligence  can  the  Sons  of  the 
Starbeam  glide  to  man.  But  I  can  aid  thee  !— hark  I" 
And  Zanoni  heard  distinctly  in  his  heart,  even  at  that 


distance  from  the  chamber,  the  voice  of  YioU^  oalliogin 
delirium  on  her  beloved  one. 

^  And  I  can  save  thee  not !"  exclaimed  the  Seer, 
passionately ;  **  my  love  for  thee  has  made  me  powe^ 
less  !"  ^ 

**  Not  powerless  ;  I  can  gift  thee  with  the  art  to  wre 
her— I  can  place  healing  in  thy  hand  !** 

«  For  both  t  ohUd  and  mother— for  both  T 

«Bothr 

A  convulsion  shook  the  limbs  of  the  Seer— a  mighty 
struggle  shook  him  as  a  child  :  the  Humanity  aod  the 
Hour  conquered  the  repugnant  spirit. 

« I  yield  I    Mother  and  child— save  both  I" 

In  ^e  dark  chamber  lay  Viola,  in  the  sharpest  kgomn 
of  travail ;  life  seemed  rending  itself  away  in  the  grouu 
and  cries  that  spoke  of  pain  in  the  midst  of  frenzy  ;  and 
still,  in  groan  and  cry,  she  called  on  Zanoni,  her  beloTed. 
The  physician  looked  to  the  clock ;  on  it  beat— the 
Heart  of  time,— regularly  and  slowly — Heart  tlutt  neTer 
sympathised  with  Life,  and  never  flagged  for  Death ! 
**  The  cries  are  fainter,"  said  the  leech ;  '^  in  ten  minuteii 
more  all  will  be  past." 

Fool !  the  minutes  laugh  at  thee  ;  Nature  even  now, 
like  a  blue  sky  through  a  shattered  temple,  is  smiling 
through  the  tortured  frame.  The  breathing  grows  more 
calm  and  hushed — the  voice  of  delirium  is  domb— a 
sweet  dream  has  come  to  Viola.  Is  it  a  dream,  or  is  it 
the  soul  that  sees  1  She  thinks  suddenly  that  she  is  with 
Zanoni,  that  her  burning  head  is  pillowed  on  his  bosom ; 
she  thinks,  as  he  gazes  on  her,  that  his  eyes  diipel  the 
tortures  that  prey  upon  hei^-4he  touch  of  faishaBd  oools 
Hhe  fever  on  her  brow  ;  she  hears  his  voice  in  mormnrs 
— it  is  a  music  from  which  the  fiends  fly.  Where  is  the 
mountain  that  seemed  to  press  upon  her  temples  1  Like 
a  vapour  it  rolls  away.  In  the  ftt>sts  of  the  winter 
night,  she  sees  the  sun  laughing  in  luxurious  heaven- 
she  hears  the  whisper  of  green  leaves  ;  the  beantiftil 
world,  valley  and  stream,  and  woodland,  lie  beibre,  and 
with  a  common  voice  speak  to  her — ^  We  are  not  yet  past 
for  thee  I"  Fool  of  drugs  and  formala,  look  to  thy  dial- 
plate  I — the  hand  has  moved  on  ;  the  minutes  are  with 
Eternity  ;  the  soul  thy  sentence  would  have  disnussed 
still  dwells  on  the  shores  of  Time.  She  sleeps ;  the 
ftver  abates  ;  the  convulsions  are  gone  ;  the  living  rose 
blooms  upon  her  cheek  ;  the  crisis  is  past !  Husband, 
thy  wife  lives  !  lover,  thy  universe  is  no  solitude. 

One  more  passage,  and  we  have  done  :  it  is  from 
an  epistle  of  Zanoni  to  his  fellow-immortal,  Mej- 
nour ;  written  when  Viola,  filled  with  superstitious 
terror  of  her  husband's  supernatural  character, 
and  unhallowed  practices,  and  for  the  eternal  sal- 
vation of  her  infant,  had  fled,  and  whither,  it  is 
now  beyond  the  reach  of  his  impaired  supernatural 
faculties  to  discover,  as  their  souls  are  no  longer 
in  harmony.  Her  own  soul  she  could  have 
perilled  for  Zanoni. 

Pari*. 

Dost  thou  remember  !n  the  old  time,  when  the  Bean- 
tiftal  yet  dwelt  in  Greece,  how  we  two,  in  the  vast  Athe- 
nian Theatre,  witnessed  the  birth  of  Divine  Words  as 
undying  as  ourselves  f  Dost  thou  remember  the  thrill 
of  terror  that  ran  through  that  mighty  audience,  when 
the  wild  Cassandra  burst  from  her  awful  silence  to  shriek 
to  her  relentless  god !  How  ghastly,  at  the  entrance  of 
the  House  of  Atreus,  about  to  become  her  tomb — rang 
out  her  exclamations  of  foreboding  woe — **  Dwellmg 
abhorred  of  Heaven  ! — ^human  shamDle-honse,  and  floor 
blood-bespattered  I  '*  •  Dost  thou  remember  how,  amidst 
the  breathless  awe  of  those  assembled  thousands,  I  drew 
close  to  thee,  and  whispered,  •*  Verily,  no  prophet  like 
the  Poet !  This  scene  of  fkbled  horror  comes  to  me  as  s 
dream,  shadowing  forth  some  likeness  in  my  own  remoter 
future  !"  f  As  I  enter  this  slaughter-house,  that  scene 
returns  to  me,  and  I  hearken  to  the  voice  of  Cassandra 
ringing  in  my  ears.  A  solemn  and  warning  dread  gathers 


JEach,  Agam.,  1098. 


ZANONI. 


219 


rooDd  me,  u  if  I  too  were  oome  to  find  a  grare,  and 
'tbe  Net  of  Hades"  had  already  entangled  me  in  its 
w«b!  What  dark  treasure-houses  of  Ticissitnde  and 
woe  are  onr  memories  become  !  What  our  liveSy  but 
tbe  elironjcles  of  unrelenting  Death  !  It  seems  to  me  as 
jesteidajr  when  I  stood  in  Sie  streets  of  this  city  of  the 
6m],  18  tbey  shone  with  plumed  chivalry,  and  the  air 
nstted  with  silken  braveries.  Young  Louis,  the  monarch 
and  the  lorer,  was  victor  of  the  Tournament  at  the  Ok* 
raostl ;  tnd  all  France  felt  herself  splendid  in  the  splen- 
dosr  of  ber  gorgeous  chief  I  Now  there  is  neither  throne 
DOT  altar ;  and  what  is  in  their  stead !  I  see  it  yonder 
-TBS  onLLOTiNK  I  It  is  dismal  to  stand  amidst  the 
njosofmoaldering  cities,  to  startle  the  serpent  and  the 
lizud  amidst  the  wrecks  of  Persepolis  and  Thebes  ;  but 
mat  dismal  still  to  stand  as  I — the  stranger  from  empires 
tbt  have  ceased  to  be — stand  now  amidst  the  yet  ghast- 
lier rains  of  Law  and  Order,  the  shattering  of  mankind 
ihcBselves !  Yet  here,  even  hfere.  Love,  the  Beautifier, 
tbi  hath  led  my  steps,  can  walk  with  unshrinking  hope 
tboogb  the  wilderness  of  Death  !  Strange  is  the  passion 
ibt  makes  a  world  in  itself,  that  individaalizes  the  One 
uidst  the  Multitude  ;  that,  through  all  the  changes  of 
Bj  solemn  life,  yet  survives,  though  ambition,  and  hate, 
ttd  soger  are  dead ;  the  one  solitary  angel,  hovering 
orer  an  oniverse  of  tombs  on  its  two  tremulous  and 
banan  wings — Hope  and  Fear  1 

How  is  it,  MejnouT,  that,  as  my  diviner  art  abandoned 
Be— as,  m  my  search  for  Viola,  I  was  aided  but  by  the 
irdinary  instincts  of  the  merest  mortal — how  is  it  that 
I  hare  never  desponded,  that  I  have  felt  in  every  diffi- 
olty  the  prevailing  prescience  that  we  should  meet  at 
list! 

There  is  great  extravagance,  great  inoongmity, 
bat,  as  will  be  seen,  much  beautiful  thought  and 
&Dey,  m  thb  freak  of  imagination  run  riot ;  and 
many  fragments  of  true  practical  wisdom.  In 
tiu8  style  we  can  give  but  one  or  two  specimens. 
The  profligate  course  adopted  during  the  Reign  of 
Terror  by  the  unprincipled  and  remorseless  Nicot, 
tl»  infidel  painter,  leads  to  the  following  reflections 
on  revolutionary  periods  : — 

In  an  men  who  have  devoted  themselves  to  any  study, 
•r  uy  art,  with  sufficient  pains  to  attain  a  certain  degree 
•fexoeUence,  there  must  be  a  fUnd  of  energy  immeasur- 
%  above  that  of  the  ordinary  herd.  Usually,  this 
^ofj  is  concentred  on  the  objects  of  their  professional 
ubition,  and  leaves  them,  therefore,  apathetic  to  the 
^her  pnrsuite  of  men.  But  where  those  objects  are  de- 
uod,  where  the  stream  has  not  its  legitimate  vent,  the 
ftcigy,  farritated  and  aroused,  possesses  the  whole  being, 
ad  if  not  wasted  on  desultory  schemes,  or  if  not  purified 
^  ceiiicience  and  principle,  becomes  a  dangerous  and 
^cstnctive  clement  in  the  social  system,  through  which 
it  wanders  in  riot  and  disorder.  Hence  in  all  wise  mo- 
fiarthiM— nay,  in  all  well-constituted  states,  the  peculiar 
care  with  which  channels  are  opened  for  every  art  and 
^ery  science ;  hence  the  honour  paid  to  their  cultivators 
hy  subtile  and  thonghtfhl  statesmen,  who,  perhaps,  for 
^bemaelves^eee  nothing  in  a  picture  but  coloured  canvass 
— lotldngin  a  problem  but  an  ingenious  puzzle.  No 
ttate  ii  ever  more  in  danger  than  when  the  talent,  that 
^ald  be  consecrated  to  peace,  has  no  occupation  but 
Kiitical  intrigue  or  personal  advancement.  Talent  un- 
^^Mored  is  talent  at  war  with  men.  And  here  it  is 
><>tKeable,  that  the  class  of  Actors  having  been  the  most 
^fMled  by  the  public  opinion  of  the  old  rigime,  their 
^  dust  deprived  of  Christian  burial,  no  men  (with 
<<Ttamezeeption8  in  the  company  especially  favoured  by 
the  Ooirt)  were  more  relentless  and  revengefVil  among 
the  scourges  of  the  revolution.  In  the  savage  CoUot 
d*Heiboia,na»Qat«  comedUn,vreTe  embodied  the  wrongs 
and  the  vengeance  of  a  class. 

Now  the  energy  of  Jean  Nicot  had  never  been  suffi- 
aently  directed  to  the  Art  he  professed.  Even  in  his 
^riicst  yonth,  the  political  disquisitions  of  his  master, 
^nd,  had  distracted  him  fh>m  the  more  tedious  labours 
flf  the  easel    The  defects  of  his  person  had  embittered 


his  mind ;  the  Atheism  of  his  benefactor  had  deadened 
his  conscience.  For  one  great  excellence  of  Religion — 
above  all,  the  Religion  of  tiie  Cross,— is,  that  it  raises 
Patience  first  into  a  Virtue,  and  next  into  a  Hope.  Take 
away  the  doctrine  of  another  life,  of  requital  hereafter, 
of  the  smile  of  a  Father  upon  our  sufferings  and  trials  in 
our  ordeal  here,  and  what  becomes  of  Patience !  Bui 
without  patience^  what  is  man  ! — and  what  a  people ! 
Without  patience.  Art  never  can  be  high ;  without  pa- 
tience. Liberty  never  can  be  perfected.  By  wild  throes, 
and  impetuous,  aimless  struggles,  Intellect  seeks  to  soar 
from  Penury,  and  a  Nation  to  struggle  into  Freedom. 
And  woe — thus  unfortified,  guideless,  and  unenduring — 
woe  to  both ! 

It  must  not,  however,  be  forgotten,  that  if  Pa- 
tience be  a  passive  grace.  Endeavour  is  an  active 
virtue — a  noble  energy.  The  French  Revolution, 
even  the  Reign  of  Terror,  was  not  all  evil ;  but  here 
only  its  most  hideous  aspects  are  represented  ;  the 
bloody  the  perfidy,  the  cruelty.  The  overcharged 
picture  is  all  shadows. 

It  was  at  the  very  close  of  the  Reign  of  Terror 
that  Zanoni  discovered  that  his  wife  and  his  ^hild 
were  in  one  of  the  prisons  then  gorged  with  the 
victims  of  the  Guillotine.  With  the  price  of  his 
own  life  he  had  obtained  for  her  a  reprieve  of  one 
day  ;  for  he  knew  that  this  one  day  passed,  and 
the  downfall  of  Robespierre  was  accomplished, 
and  his  victims  rescued;  Nicot,  the  creature  of 
the  cold-blooded  and  treacherous  monster,  was 
Viola's  fellow-captive. 

"  And  wherefore,  my  child,  do  thev  bring  thee  hither  V* 
asked  an  old  grey-haired  priest. — ^  I  cannot  guess.**— ^ 
**  Ah  !  if  you  know  not  your  offence,  fear  the  worst.'* — 
**  And,  my  child  1*'  Tfor  the  infant  was  still  suffered  to 
rest  upon  her  bosom.) — "  Alas,  young  mother  !  they  vnll 
suffer  thy  child  to  live.** — ^  And  for  this — an  orphan  in 
the  dungeon  !**  murmured  the  accusing  heart  of  Viola, 
^  have  I  reserved  his  offspring !  Zanoni,  even  in 
thought,  ask  not — ask  not,  what  I  have  done  with  the 
child  I  bore  thee  !*' 

Night  came  ;  the  crowd  rushed  to  the  grate,  to  hear 
the  muster-roll.  Her  name  wa«  with  the  doomed.  And 
the  old  priest,  better  prepared  to  die,  but  reserved  ft^m 
the  death-list,  laid  his  hands  on  her  head,  and  blessed 
her,  while  he  wept.  She  heard,  and  wondered  ;  but 
she  did  not  weep.  With  downcast  eyes,  with  arms 
folded  on  her  bosom,  she  bent  submissively  to  the  call. 
But  now  another  name  was  uttered  ;  and  a  man,  who 
had  pushed  rudely  past  her,  to  gaze  or  to  listen,  shriek- 
ed out  a  howl  of  despair  and  rage.  She  turned,  and 
their  eyes  met.  Through  the  distance  of  time,  she  re- 
cognised that  hideous  aspect.  Nicot*s  face  settled  back 
into  its  devilish  sneer. — "  At  least,  gentle  Neapolitan 
the  Guillotine  vrill  unite  us.  Oh,  we  shall  sleep  well 
our  wedding  night  I**  And,  with  a  laugh,  he  strode 
away  through  the  crowd,  and  vanished  into  his  lair.    . 

.     .    She  was  placed  in  her 

gloomy  cell,  to  await  the  morrow.  But  the  child  was 
still  spared  her  ;  and  she  thought  it  seemed  as  if  con- 
scious of  the  av^l  Present.  In  their  way  to  the  prison, 
it  had  not  moaned  or  wept ;  it  had  looked  vrith  its  clear 
eyes,  unshrinking,  on  the  ffleaming  pikes  and  savage 
brows  of  the  huissiers.  Ana  now,  alon^  in  the  dungeon, 
it  put  its  arms  round  her  neck,  and  murmared  its  indis- 
tinct sounds,  low  and  sweet  as  some  unknown  language 
of  consolation  and  of  heaven.  And  of  Heaven  it  was  ! 
For,  at  the  murmur,  the  terror  melted  from  her  soul  : 
upward,  from  the  dungeon  and  the  death — upward, 
where  the  happy  cherubim  chant  the  mercy  of  the 
All-loving,  whispered  that  cherub's  voice.  She  fell  upon 
her  knees  and  prayed 

Viola  was  in  prayer.  She  heard  not  the  opening  door ; 
she  saw  not  the  dark  shadow  that  fell  along  the  floor. 
His  power,  his  arts  were  gone  ;  but  the  mystery  and 


220 


ZANONI. 


the  spoil  known  io  htr  aimiflc  heart,  did  not  desert  her 
in  the  hours  of  trial  and  despair.    When  Scienoe  fidls  as 
a  firework  from  the  sky  it  would  innbde,  when  Genius 
withers  as  a  flower  in  the  hreath  of  the  iey  clukmel,  the 
Hope  of  a  childlike  soul  wraps  the  air  in  u|^t,  and  the 
innocence  of  unquestioning  Belief  corers  the  grare  with 
blossoms. 

In  the  fiffthest  comer  of  the  cell  she  knelt ;  and  the 
infknt,  as  if  to  imitate  what  it  could  not  comprehend, 
bent  its  little  limbs,  and  bowed  its  smiling  face,  and 
knelt  with  her  also,  by  her  side. 

He  stood,  and  gazed  upon  them,  as  the  light  of  the 
lamp  fell  calmly  on  their  forms.    It  fell  over  those 
clouds  of  golden  hair,  dishcTelled,  parted,  thrown  back 
from  the  rapt,  candid  brow ;  the  dark  eyes  raised  on 
high,  where,  through  the  human  tears,  a  light  as  from 
aboTe  was  mirrored  ;  the  hands  clasped — the  lips  apart 
— the  form  all  animate  and  holy  with  the  sad  serenity  of 
innocence  and  the  touching  humility  of  woman.  And  he 
heard  her  voice,  though  it  scarcely  left  her  lips — the  low 
Toice  that  the  heart  speaks — ^loud  enough  for  God  to 
hear! 

^  And  if  nerer  more  to  see  him,  O  Father  1  canst 
thou  not  make  the  Iotc  that  will  not  die,  minister,  even 
beyond  the  grave,  to  his  earthly  fate  t    CBUksi  thou  not 
yet  ipermit  it,  as  a  living  spirit,  to  hover  over  him — a 
spirit  fairer  than  all  his  science  can  conjure  !  Oh,  what- 
ever lot  be  ordained  to  either,  grant — even  though  a 
thousand  ages  may  roll  between  us — grant,  when  at  last 
purified  and  regenerate,  and  fitted  for  the  transport  of 
such  reunion—grant  that  we  may  meet  once  more  !  And 
for  his  child — ^it  kneels  to*  thee  from  the  dungeon  floor  ! 
To-morrow,  and  whose  breast  shall  cradle  it ! — ^whose 
hand  shall  feed  ! — whose  lips  shall  pray  for  its  weal  be- 
low and  its  soul  hereafter  P     She  paused — ^her  voice 
choked  with  sobs. 

^  Thou  Viola  I— thou,  thyself.     He  whom  thou  hast 
deserted,  is  here  to  preserve  the  mother  to  the  child  I " 
She  started ! — ^those  accents,  tremulous  as  her  own  I 
She  started  to  her  feet ! — He  was  there, — in  all  the  pride 
of  his  unwaning  youth  and  superhuman  beauty  I — there, 
in  the  house  of  dread,  and  in  the  hour  of  travail ! — there, 
image  and  personation  of  the  love  that  can  pierce  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow,  and  can  glide  the  unscathed  wan- 
derer from  the  heaven,  through  the  roaring  abyss  of  hell. 
With  a  cry,  never,  perhaps,  heard  before  in  that 
gloomy  vault — a  cry  of  delight  and  rapture,  she  sprang 
forward,  and  fell  at  his  feet. 

He  bent  down  to  raise  her,  but  she  slid  ftt>m  his  arms. 
He  called  her  by  the  familiar  epithets  of  the  old  endear- 
ment, and  she  only  answered  him  by  sobs.    Wildly, 
passionately,  she  kissed  his  hands,  the  hem  of  his  gar- 
ment :  but  voice  was  gone.         ..... 

"  Pray  for  my  child  !"  said  Zanoni,  moumfhlly.  **  The 
thoughts  of  souls  that  would  aspire  as  mine,  are  aU 
prayer  /"  And  seating  himself  by  her  side,  he  began  to 
reveal  to  her  some  of  the  holier  secrets  of  his  lofty  being. 
He  spoke  of  the  sublime  and  intense  faith  from  which 
alone  the  diviner  knowledge  can  arise — the  faith  which, 
seeing  the  immortal  everywhere,  purifies  and  exalts  the 
mortal  that  beholds — ^the  glorious  ambition  that  dwells 
not  in  the  cabals  and  crimes  of  earth,  but  amidst  those 
solemn  wonders  that  speak  not  of  men,  but  of  God — of 
that  power  to  abstract  the  soul  ftt>m  the  clay  which  gives 
to  the  eye  of  the  soul  its  subtle  vision,  and  to  the  soul's 
wing  the  unlimited  realm.  ..... 

But  now,  as  he  closed,  and,  leaning  on  his  breast,  she 
felt  the  clasp  of  his  protecting  arms, — when,  in  one  holy 
kiss,  the  past  was  forgiven  and  the  present  lost, — then 
there  returned  to  her  the  sweet  and  warm  hopes  of  the 
natural  life — of  the  loving  wt>man.  He  was  come  to 
save  her  !  She  asked  not  now — she  believed  it  without 
a  question.    They  should  be  at  last  again  united.    They 


would  fly  far  from  those  scenes  of  violence  and  blood. 
Their  happy  Ionian  isle,  their  fearless  solitudes,  would 
once  more  receive  them.  She  laughed,  with  a  child's 
joy,  as  this  picture  rose  up  amidst  the  ^oom  of  the 
dungeon  I  Her  mind,  faithful  to  its  sweet,  simple  in- 
stincts, refused  to  receive  the  lofty  images  that  flitted 
confhsedly  by  it,  and  settled  back  to  its  human  Tiaous, 
yet  more  baseless,  of  the  earthly  happiness  and  the  tnn- 
quil  home. 

And  she  slept  so  sweetly.  Wearied  ont  with  joy, 
secure  in  the  presence  of  the  eyes  regained,  she  had 
laughed  and  wept  herself  to  sleep ;  and  stiU,  in  that 
unmber,  there  seemed  a  happy  consciousness  that  the 
Loved  was  by — the  Lost  was  found.  For  she  smiled 
and  murmured  to  herself,  and  breathed  his  name  often, 
and  stretched  out  her  arms,  and  sighed  if  they  tonchcd 
him  not.  He  gazed  upon  her  as  he  stood  apart— with 
what  emotions  it  were  vain  to  say.  She  would  wake  no 
more  to  him — she  could  not  know  how  dearly  the  safety 
of  that  sleep  was  purchased.  That  morrow  she  had  so 
yearned  for,~it  had  come  at  last,  ifw  woM  Ae  grdd 
theeve? 

And  while  she  still  dept,  he  was  led  forth  a 
captive  to  meet  death. 

She  woke  at  last — she  gazed  round.  "  Zanoni,  it  is 
day  !"  No  answer  but  the  low  wail  of  her  child.  Mcr- 
ciful  heaven  !  was  it  then  all  a  dream  t  ^le  tossed 
back  the  long  tresses  that  must  veil  her  dght--she  felt 
the  amulet  on  her  bosom— it  was  no  dream !  *0h,  God, 
and  he  is  gone  !"  She  sprang  to  the  door-— she  shrieked 
aloud.  The  gaoler  comes  !  '^  My  husband,  my  child's 
father!" 

"  He  is  gone  before  thee,  woman  I" 

« Whither!    Speak— speak  !" 

''To  the  guillotine  !"  and  the  black  door  closed  again. 

It  closed  upon  the  Senseless  ! ,  As  a  lightning  flash, 
Zanoni*s  words,  his  sadness,  the  true  meaning  of  his 
mystic  gift,  the  very  sacrifice  he  made  for  her,  all  he- 
came  distinct  for  a  moment  to  her  mind — ^andtiien  dark- 
ness swept  on  it  like  a  storm, — ^yet  darkness  which  had 
its  light. 

Robespierre  has  fallen — ^the  master-butcher  has 
fallen.  The  Reign  of  Terror  is  ended.  It  is  day- 
light in  the  prison. 

From  cell  to  cell  they  hurry  with  the  news  ;  crowd 
upon  crowd — the  joyous  captives  mingled  with  the  very 
gaolers,  who,  for  fear,  would  &in  seem  joyous  too— they 
stream  through  the  dens  and  alleys  of  the  grim  house 
they  will  shortly  leave.  They  burst  into  a  cell,  forgot- 
ten since  the  previous  morning.  They  found  there  a 
young  female,  sitting  upon  her  wretched  bed  ;  her  arms 
crossed  upon  her  bosom,  her  face  raised  upward  ;  the 
eyes  unclosed,  and  a  smile,  of  more  than  serenity,— of 
bliss  upon  her  lips.  Even  in  the  riot  of  their  joy,  they 
drew  back  in  astonishment  and  awe.  Never  had  they 
seen  life  so  beautiful ;  and  as  they  crept  nearer,  and 
with  noiseless  feet,  they  saw  that  the  lips  breathed  not, 
that  the  repose  was  of  marble,  that  the  beauty,  and  the 
ecstasy  were  of  death.  They  gathered  round  in  silence : 
and,  lo,  at  her  feet  there  was  a  young  infant,  who, 
wakened  by  their  tread,  looked  at  them  steadfastly,  and 
with  its  rosy  fingers  played  with  its  dead  mother's  robe. 
An  orphan  there  in  the  dungeon  vault ! 

"  Poor  one  I"  said  a  female,  (herself  a  parent,)—"  vA 
they  say  the  father  fell  yesterday ;  and  now,  tiie  mother ! 
Alone  in  the  world,  what  can  be  its  fate  !*'    ^ 

The  infknt  smiled  fearlessly  on  the  crowd,  as  the 
woman  spoke  thus.  And  the  old  Priest,  who  stood 
amoiigst  them,  said,  gently,  **  Woman,  see  I  the  orphan 
smiles  I  The  Fathb&lbsb  are  the  care  of  God  !** 


m 


A  LECrUBE  ON  THE  POETS  WHO  SUCCEEDED  MILTON,  AND 
PRECEDED  COWPER  AND  BURNS. 

WBITTEN  FOB  THS  SHEFFUCLD  MfiCHANICfl'  INSTITtJTIOlf. 


YotrmMnr!— WlMn  I  last  addreaeed  you  here 
-•hiKNigh  mjr  fiibject  was  a  somewhat  animating 
loe— teFen  ladies  honoured  my  narcotic  powers  by 
tdling  asleep;  and  if  those  ladies,   when  they 
awaked,  had  rewarded  me  with  a  hearty  laugh,  I 
ihrald  have  thought  that  a  compliment  had  been 
piid  me,  of  which  a  dull  lecturer  might  be  reason- 
tUypnmd.  But  whaterer  maybe  the  qualifications 
rfi  koturer,  if  the  materials  of  his  lecture  are  dull, 
how  can  the  lecture  itself  be  otherwise  1    I  think, 
then,  I  may  safely  promise  you  a  comfortable  social 
Bsp  on  this  occasion  *  for  the  poets  who  succeeded 
Miitoii,  and  preceded  Cowper  and  Bums,  Dved  in  a 
M  and  happy  age— an  age  which  was  dull, 
becit»e  it  was  happy.    In  thope  days,  the  ratio  of 
profit  and  wages  on  capital,  skill,  and  labour,  was 
Mt  ienening,  but  increasing ;  men  had  not  begun 
to  bid  against  each  other  in  desperate  competition 
ftr  le»  and  less ;  the  battle  of  fifty  dogs  for  one 
bone,  and  that  bone  a  picked  one,  had  not  com- 
iDenced ;  nor  had  it  entered  into  the  mind  of  any 
i*ttegman  to  conceive,  that  such  a  battle  would 
fver  be  fought  here  by  act  of  parliament ;  nor  had 
Time,  the  disturber,  awaking  France  from  the  long 
ilamber  of  despotism,  and^  startling  Tictims  into 
i^engers,  as  with  the  touch  of  Ithuriers  spear, 
Aaken  the  mind  from  the  depths  of  its  stagnation, 
•nd  become  to  Pope  and  his  imitators,  what  the 
fiworery  of  America  was  to  Shakspeare  and  Bacon. 
The  results  were  correspondent ;  and  I  shall  not 
wnclttde  this  lecture  without  attempting  to  show, 
^  Pope  and  his  followers  are  essentially  man- 
wrists,  undramatic   and  unideal.      They  chose 
Wli,  for  the  sake  of  bondage.     And  I  do  not 
a»etn  to  say,  that  the  self-will  of  poets,  in  their 
cmnpositions,  ought  to  be  unrestrained  by  rules, 
^t  is  there  no  difference  between  the  earnestness 
rf  fools  and  wise  men  ?    He  whose  brains  set  his 
«n  on  fire,  is  no  more  a  poet  than  he  is  Jeremy 
Bentbam.    But  passion  u  to  wisdom  a  higher 
*WonL    For  reason,  without  emotion,  is  only  the 
wU  two^ioot  rule,  which,  measuring  the  feet  of 
*onbcr  m  a  cedar,  feels  not  the  mighty  and  majesty, 
«nd  goodness  of  Him,  who  over^adows  Lebanon 
with  his  delegated  beauty. 

The  two  great  founders  of  what  is  called  the 
•'•nch  school  of  English  poetry,  give  us,  in  their 
««criptions  of  character,  processes  rather  than 
JfJ^tions ;  while  the  bright  impassioned  reason 
^  imaginative  poets,  like  the  sun  shining  on 
y^y  Tocks  and  dewy  forests,  invests  their  sub- 
J^cU  in  beauty,  which,  though  magical  in  its  effects, 
'"JJ^^'nsion,  but  truth.  The  history,  then,  of 
ftodwnEnglish  poetry— I  mean  the  poetry  of  the 
Uit  fifty  years— b  the  history  of  the  revival  of 
poetry  in  England ;  the  histonr  of  the  return  of 
^JSu^  ^  Batuie-io  the  ideal,  the  dramatic,  the 
""iv*!  *^  twe-^o  what  poetzy  was  in  its  origin, 
^  ttn  rmrntu. 


From  the  death  of  Milton,  '^tha  poet  of  our 
republic,"  to  the  appearance  of  Cowper  and  Bums, 
English  poetry  declined  as  an  art ;  but  its  fiame 
was  kept  from  extinction  by  a  few  writers  of  whom 
I  am  now  to  speak.  Of  Milton,— one  of  the  most 
gentle,  most  beautiful,  most  manly,  most  accom- 
plished, most  severely  tried  of  men — ^whose  life  was 
a  long  poem  of  misery — ^who  dwelt  with  a  congenial 
spirit  but  for  one  short  year  of  his  life — ^who  died 
without  receiving  his  fame— and  of  whom  it  is  said 
by  a  great  living  writer,  "  that  he  was  the  poet  of 
disappointment,"— of  Milton  I  shall  say  little. 
But  never,  perhaps,  was  man  so  slandered  as  he  has 
been,  and  is.  Before  he  died,  '<  his  life's  lifs  was 
lied  away  ;"  and  still  the  pure  spirit  that  conceived 
Gomus,  is  painted  as  a  demon  ;  still  the  *^  homagers 
of  tyrants"  write  his  spotless  name  in  gall.  Though, 
perhaps,  the  world  has  never  yet  seen  one  man 
worthy  to  criticise  his  Paradise  Lost,  the  apes  and 
the  monkeys  of  criticism  flippantly  condemn  its 
author;  though  absolutely  nothing  but  good  is 
known  of  Aim,  still  they  speak  of  his  lipht  with 
tongues  of  darkness, — following  the  example  of 
that  egregious  genius  who  is  said  to  have  described 
a  door,  with  its  bell  and  knocker,  as  ^  a  ligneous 
barricade,  with  its  tintinnabulary  appendages." 
Milton  has  been  called  the  last  of  the  Elizabethan 
poets ;  but  neither  is  he  connected  with,  nor  does 
he  in  the  least  resemble,  any  of  the  poets  who 
preceded  or  followed  him  :  he  is  of  no  school,  and 
of  no  age.  **  His  soul,"  says  Wordsworth,  "  was 
like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart."  But  this  also  is  a 
mistake.  His  soul  was  a  patriot's,  and  dwelt  with 
the  great  men  of  his  time,— with  Cromwell  and 
Pym,  Hampden  and  Vane ;  names  which  have  been 
familiar  to  me  as  household  words  from  my  child- 
hood ;  for  my  father's  little  preaching-parlour  was 
hung  round  with  the  portraits  of  those  men,  and 
men  like  them  ;  and  when  in  alter  years  I  read  an 
account  of  the  heroes  and  sages  whom  Charles  the 
First  stopped  in  the  Thames,  on  their  way  to 
America,  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  Milton  (then 
in  his  thirtieth  year)  was  not  one  of  them.  You 
may  read  the  account  (and  all  tyrants  should  read 
it)  in  Holme's  American  Annals.  **  An  order," 
he  says,  **  was  given  by  the  privy-council  in  May, 
1638,  to  take  speedy  and  effectual  course  for  the 
stay  of  eight  ships,  then  in  the  Thames,  prepared 
to  sail  for  New  England.  By  this  order,  Oliver 
Cromwell,  Arthur  Hazlerig,  John  Hampden,  and 
other  patriots,  were  prevented  from  coming  to 
America.  How  limited  is  the  foi-esight  of  man  ! 
how  inscrutable  are  the  councils  of  God  !  By  this 
arbitrary  measure,  Charles  forcibly  detained  the 
men  destined  to  overturn  his  throne,  and  terminate 
hb  days  by  a  violent  death."  Milton  ought  to 
have  been*-perhaps  he  was— one  of  those  detained 
patriots ;  for  he  was  a  younger  brother  of  those 
enlightened  and  intrepid  Calvinista^-the  fathers  of 


222 


A  LECTURE  ON  ENGLISH  POETS,  BY  EBENEZER  ELLIOTT* 


modem  liberty — but  for  whom  she  would  not  now 
have  been  found  on  earth.  Having  given  his 
patrimony  to  the  commonwealth,  he  proudly  earned 
his  bread  as  a  schoolmaster !  Yes,  for  he  was  a 
patriot  from  a  high  sense  of  religious  duty  ;  and 
what  is  the  Paradise  Lost  but  a  political  treatise, 
depicting  the  Almighty  as  the  arbiter  of  his  com- 
munity of  good,  and  Satan  as  a  tyrant  from  the 
beginning  ?  Yet,  strange  to  say,  he  makes  €rod  a 
Tory,  ruling  under  oligarchical  ^rms — "  Thrones, 
Dominations,  Princedoms !" 

From  the  death  of  the  "  Bard  of  our  Republic," 
to  the  commencement  of  the  first  French  Revolu- 
tion, Great  Britain  and  Ireland  produced  six  poets 
— Pope,  Young,  Thomson,  Goldsmith,  Gray,  and 
Collins.  Do  I,  then,  forget  Otway,  Congreve, 
Akenside  ?  Was  not  Otway  a  genuine  poet  ?  Yes, 
and  had  he  lived,  (he  died  in  his  thirtieth  year,)  we 
should,  perhaps,  have  had  another  Shakspeare. 
Congreve's  Mourning  Bride,  in  its  characters  of 
Osmyn  and  Zara,  gave  Byron  the  germ  of  his 
Corsair ;  but  I  do  not  now  intend  to  speak  of  the 
drama,  except  incidentally,  in  contrasting  Pope 
with  Shakspeare.  But  was  not  Akenside  a  poet  ? 
Yes,  the  poet  of  a  trustful  philosophy.  But  he  did 
not  iorite  poetry.  No  ?  No.  Perhaps  he  felt  it ; 
and  he  is  the  author  of  the  noblest  metrical  oration 
in  the  world :  but  eloquence  is  not  poetry.  Some- 
times, indeed,  as  I  have  shown,  orators  uncon- 
sciously become  poets ;  but  this  happened  seldom 
to  the  author  of  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination. 
His  versification  is  the  most  elaborate  in  our  lan- 
guage. With  a  Roman's  heart  he  had  the  mind 
and  tongue  of  a  Greek ;  and  his  music  is  not,  like 
Pope's,  mere  melody ;  in  every  page  of  his  great 
work  there  are  passages  so  exquisitely  harmonized, 
that,  in  reading  them,  we  are  compelled  to  say,  in 
spite  of  our  hearts,  '*  Yes,  Mark  Akenside  was  a 
poet."  "  There  is  no  art  or  mystery  that  requires 
Bo.long  an  apprenticeship  as  this  of  verse-making," 
says  Robert  Southey,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  me : 
S^ !  how  beautifully  (in  the  only  passage  which  I 
can  afford  to  quote  from  the  blank  verse  of  the 
Bard  of  the  Tyne)  his  repetitions  of  phrase  balance 
each  other,  like  corresponding  sounds  in  rh3rme  I 

1$  augkt  to  fair 
In  all  the  dewy  landscapes  of  the  spring, 
In  the  bright  eye  of  Hesper  or  the  mom, 
In  Nature's  fairest  forms,  it  augkt  to  fair 
As  virtuous  friendship  I  as  the  o&ndid  blush 
Of  him  who  strives  with  fortune  to  be  just  I 

Pope  was  a  weakling  and  a  cripple.  He  could 
not  leap  over  five-barred  gates — consequently,  he 
could  not  excell  in  fox-hunting :  so,  to  distinguish 
himself,  he  wrote  an  epic  poem  on  a  lady's  curl.  He 
was  conversing  with  his  heart,  (such  as  it  was,) 
when  he  wrote  his  Eloisa  to  Abelard,  and  his  sofa- 
and-lap-dog  poetry — ^for  instance,  his  unique  Rape 
of  the  Lock ;  masterpieces  which,  for  that  reason, 
because  his  heart  wrote  them^  will  never  be  ex- 
celled. Pope,  writing  rhymed  epistles  to  his  titled 
acquaintance,  was  not  the  genuine  poet,  the  man  of 
genius  conversing  with  his  hearty  but  a  man  frozen, 
as  it  were,  in  a  room  full  of  strangers,  with  whom 
he  could  not  sympathize ;  he  was  no  longer  the 
pellucid  fountain,  nor  even  the  dew-drop  frozen  on 


the  winter  rose,  but  the  stagnant  fluid  in  the  china 
vase,  or  the  dull  icicle  of  the  town  palace, 

I  have  alluded  to  Milton,  not  vdthout  purpose; 
for  if  he  had  not  been  one  of  the  greatest  of  poets,  he 
would  still  have  been  one  of  the  greatest  of  versi- 
fiers. The  melody  of  Pope  differa  as  much  from 
the  harmony  of  Milton,  as  a  flute  differs  from  an 
organ,  or  a  gilt  pin  from  the  steam-engine.  Pope 
was  the  greatest  of  melodists,  however,  and  only 
not  a  harmonist,  because  there  are  in  his  versifica- 
tion no  differences  to  reconcile.  He  is  also  the 
most  condensed  of  poets ;  and  his  English  is  un- 
rivalled in  purity  even  by  the  prefaces  of  Dryden, 
of  whom  he  has  been  falsely  called  an  imitator. 
He  wrote,  indeed,  in  the  heroic  couplet,  the  easiest 
of  our  measures,  as  Diyden  did  before  him,  and  as 
Chaucer  and  others  did  before  Dryden ;  and  when 
he  wrote  from  his  heart,  he  was  a  true  poet ;  but 
Dryden  had  no  heart— he  was  like  Washington 
Irvine's  cabbage,  all  head.  He  was  a  rhyming 
polemic,  mighty  "  in  the  war  of  verse,"  but  not  a 
poet.  Contrary  to  the  general  opinion,  howercr,  I 
venture  to  assert,  that  although  he  was  not^  lil^e 
Pope,  a  poet,  he  was,  as  a  versifier,  (not  in  correct- 
ness, but  in  higher  essentials,)  immeasurably  su- 
perior to  Pope ;  as  you  may  convince  youiselvei 
by  comparing  his  version  of  the  Knight's  Tale,  with 
Pope's  of  the  Wife  of  Bath,  which,  though  fine,  is 
not  finest.  But  I  like  neither  of  these  authors.  li 
Dryden's  flight  is  strong,  he  flies  on  wings  of  wire, 
and  there  is  no  beauty  on  his  plumage :  it  is  not 
wet  with  the  dews  of  morning — no,  for  he  docs  not 
rise  "  from  the  daisy's  side."  Pope,  in  his  versi- 
fication, closed  his  eyes  against  the  awful  fact,  (^ 
evil  is  a  ^reat  principle  of  nature;  so,  he  made  hii 
lines  faultless — and  that  is  a  fault,  which  we  Wwwn 
cannot  forgive, 

Poeto,  it  is  said,  are  all  mady  more  or  less ;  but 
if  so,  it  seems  strange  that  the  least  poetical  of  then 
are  the  maddest  of  all.  One  would  like  to  be  mad 
after  the  manner  of  Shakspeare,  and,  perhaps,  aftei 
the  manner  of  Pope ;  for  how  great  must  have  beei 
the  power  of  the  latter,  if,  by  the  mere  force  of  style 
he  has  compelled  mankind  to  receive  illogical  con 
elusions  as  proverbial  truths. 

That  he  has  done  so  is  proved  by  many  a  notoriou 

passage  in  his  works,  and  by  a  couplet  which,  oddl] 

enough,  might  be  said  to  parody  and  refute  its^< 

Obscene  discourse  admits  of  no  defence, 

For  want  of  decency  is  want  of  sense. 

But— 

If  want  of  decency  is  want  of  sense. 
Obscene  disconrse  admits  of  that  defence.  - 
"One  truth  is  clear,"  said  he:  "whatever  is,  i 
right."  Now,  it  may  be  very  true,  that  whatever  i 
"  is  right,"  but  it  is  not  dear.  It  is  quite  deal 
that  whatever  is,  "m/"  the  other  aasertion  admit 
of  argument. 

The  five  remaining  poets  named,  though  the; 
were  surrounded  by  innumerable  imitators  of  Pop 
have  not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  that  grei 
writer.  Blank  verse,  the  most  diffuse  of  our  met 
sures,  comes  from  the  pen  of  Young,  as  condense 
almost  as  Pope's  rhyme.  But  no  two  things  ca 
be  more  unlike  each  other  than  the  epigrammati 
blank  verse  of  Young,  and  the  epigrammatic  couplet 


A  LECTURE  ON  ENGLISH  POETS,  BY  EBENEZER  ELLIOTT, 


523 


of  Pope— except  the  minds  of  the  two  authors ;  and 
that  cdf  Young  must  have  been  a  great  mind,  or  liow 
eodd  he  be,  at  once,  abstracted  and  popular  ?  God 
made  him  a  poet ;  and  in  spite  of  his  determination 
to  be  a  metrical  sophist,  he  if  a  poet — in  sub- 
limit/ second  only  to  Milton. 

Thomson,  too,  had  a  style,  that  is,  a  mind  of  his 
own.  He  did  not  worship  the  musical  snuff-box, 
though  it  has  a  diamonded  lid.  Ife  determined  to  be 
kimself;  and  the  determination  was  a  patent  of 
immortality.  Thomson  is  the  most  popular  of  Eng- 
lish poets, — ^the  po^t  of  young  affections  ;  and  will 
erer  be  so,  because  he  had  a  heart  which  could  not 
grow  old.  To  quote  from  a  writer  so  well  known, 
might  seem  a  waste  of  time :  I  cannot,  however, 
lesist  the  temptation  of  reciting  a  few  lines  from 
hisdescriptionof  the  storm  in  Winter ;  the  grandeur 
of  which,  I  believe,  is  unsurpassed  by  any  descrip- 
tive poetry  in  the  world. 

Ah»g  the  woods,  along  (he  moorish  fens, 

Stgbs  the  sad  genius  of  the  coming  storm. 
The  cormorant  on  high 

Wheels /roM  the  deep,  and  screams  along  the  land. 

Load  shrieks  the  soaring  heron  ;  and  with  wild  wing 

The  eiieling  sea-fowl  eleave  the  flaky  clouds. 

Then  comes  the  Father  of  the  Tempest  forth. 
Wrapt  in  black  gloom. 

At  krt,  the  rotued  np  riter  pours  along  ; 

From  the  rude  mountain,  and  the  mossy  wild, 

Tumbhog  through  rooks  abrupt,  and  soAnding  far, 

Kesiitleis,  roaring,  dreadfkil,  d<>wn  it  comes  ; 

While  from  its  bottom  tum'd,  the  passive  main 

Bvntt  into  ehaot, 

I  need  not  point  out  to  you  the  power  of  the  word 
**  along,"  in  the  first  line  of  thb  passage  ;  the 
sablime  circumstance  of  the  "  Genius  of  the  coming 
rtorm*'  preceding  tlie  Almighty  Father  of  the 
Tempest,  in  this  awful  manifestation  of  his  great- 
ness ;  the  ideality,  force,  and  truth  of  the  epithet 
in  the  **roused-tip  river;*'  and  the  almost  Miltonic 
imagination  displayed  in  the  description  of  the  sea 
*"  bursting  into  chaos." 

All  the  genuine  English  j>oetry  written  in  the 
period  which  elapsed  from  the  death  of  Milton  to 
the  appearance  of  Cowper  and  Burns — I  mean,  all 
the  poetry  worthy  of  the  Elizabethan  era  of  our 
literature,  and  e^ccepting,  of  course,  the  poetry  of 
Otway,  Young,  and  Thomson,  already  alluded  to— 
is  comprised  in,  perhaps,  fewer  than  one  thousand 
lines,  which  are  to  be  found  in  the  masterpieces  of 
Goldsmith,  Gray,  and  Collins.  Of  the  innumerable 
faultless  couplets,  written  by  the  imitators  of  Pope 
in  any  year  of  the  period  in  which  these  three 
gtnaine  poets  wrote,  perhaps  not  fifty  deserved  to 
be  called  poetry.  Why,  then,  should  they  have 
beea  written,  if  mere  verse,  though  excellent  as 
wch,  cannot  live  ;  and  if  the  rule  for  writing  good 
verse  is,  that  with  all  the  qualities  of  verse,  it  shall 
be  equal  as  language  to  the  best  prose  ?  The  fact 
of  their  having  been  written,  (by  commonplace 
pcnons,  too,)  proves  that  there  are  harder  tasks 
than  ibe  stringing  of  abstract  terms  in  heroic 
'Jiyme.  Any  well-read  lad  of  good  sense  may,  in 
»ix  months,  kam  to  write  as  good  epigrammatic 
couplets  as  any  in  Pope.  Let  me  not  be  misunder- 
itood :  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  not  difficult  to  write 
good  epigrammatic  couplets,  but  that  it  is  still  more 
difficult  to  foi^e  penknife  blades,  or,  perhaps,  to 


cut  sparables.  I  know  I  am  heretical  in  this 
opinion  ;  but  why  should  we  quarrel  about  rhymes 
and  rhymesters?  They  certainly  are  not  of  the 
most'  important  things  in  this  world,  whether 
poetry  be  so  or  not.  What  is  verse  itself,  but  an 
artifice  %  I  write  in  rh}nne,  because  my  thoughts 
are  not  good  enough  for .  prose.  He  who  writes 
prose  must  write  sense ;  but  half-thoughts  mAy  pass 
for  poetry.  I  do  not  say  that  half-thoughts  are 
poetry  ;  for  Itiilton's  thoughts  are  often  aggregates 
of  thoughts  ;  and  Shakspeare's  thoughts  are  often 
aggregates  of  thoughts  and  feelings — ^that  is,  they 
are  more  than  thoughts.  I  will  endeavour  to  make 
this  plain,  by  repeating  a  couplet  from  Mr.  Lane*s 
poem  on  the  statue  of  his  dead  child : 

I  see  thee  in  thy  beauty,  with  thy  scaring  hair  at  rest — 

And  thy  busy  little  fingers,  folded  lightly  on  thy  breast. 
In  this  passage,  the  words  ^^busy  little  fingers," 
express  an  aggregate  of  thoughts  and  feelings ; 
though  referring  directly  to  the  lifeless  statue,  they 
bring  before  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  reader  the 
living  child,  and  its  brief,  sad,  beautiful  history. 
The  thoughts  they  express  are  more  than  thoughts. 

I  have  said,  that  there  is  as  much  difference 
between  the  melody  of  Pope,  and  the  oi;gan-music 
of  Milton,  as  there  is  between  a  pin  and  a  steam- 
engine  ;  and  I  will  now  say,  that  there  is  as  much 
difference  between  the  couplets  of  Pope  and  of 
Goldsmith,  as  between  pins  and  primroses.  There 
are  single  lines  in  Gray  and  Collins — ^true  and 
simple  as  the  truth  of  ideal  beauty,  and  the  seeming 
results  of  a  happy  instinct — which  have  each  cost 
more  labour,  probably,  than  any  fifty  in  Pope  ; 
not  that  fine  lines  are  not  to  be  found  in  him — for 
we  all  remember  the  sigh  "  wafted"  (in  a  letter) 
''  from  Indus  to  the  pole,"  and  the  death  by  a  rose, 
"  in  aromatic  pain  ;"  but  the  "  faultless  couplets," 
and  '*  divine  compliments  of  the  English  BoUeau," 
remind  one  of  the  posy  of  a  ring,  and  might  be 
slung  round  the  neck,  on  a  locket,  whereas,  such 
lines  are  the  staple  of  his  less  voluminous  succes- 
sors. Doubtless,  there  is  in  Pope  as  fine  composi- 
tion, of  some  sorty  as  any  in  Gray  ;  but  there  are 
passages  in  the  latter,  to  which,  as  poetry^  there  is 
nothing  in  Pope  that  will  bear  the  least  comparison. 
I  will  not  quote  them,  for  they  are  familiar  to  most 
of  you,  as  the  faces  of  your  mothers. 

In  the  outset  of  this  lecture,  I  stated  my  intention 
of  showing,  that  our  poets  of  the  French  school, 
compared  with  our  Elizabethan  poets,  and  those  of 
the  present  day,  are  essentially  unideal  and  un- 
dramatic  ;  and  this,  I  think,  I  shall  do,  if  I  show 
that  the  great  head  of  that  school  here,  is  deficient 
in  the  two  highest  constituents  of  the  highest 
poetry.  But  Young,  Thomson,  Goldsmith,  Gray, 
and  Collins — I  must  request  you  to  observe — are 
not  poets  of  the  French  school ;  they  are  English 
through  bone  and  marrow. 

I  scarcely  need  tell  you,  that  poetry  may  be 
ideal  without  being  indistinct.  Wordsworth, 
literal  as  Crabbe,  is  ideal  as  Shakspeare,  who  never 
wrote  with  more  of  imaginative  truth  and  beauty 
than  Wordsworth  does,  when  he  says  of  his  homeless 
wanderer,  that  ^*  she  was  known  to  every  star  and 
every  blast  that  blows."  And  I  scarcely  need  tell 
you,  that  poetry  may  be  drdmatic  without  being 


£24 


A  LECTURE  ON  ENGLISH  POETS,  BY  EBENEZEtl  ELLIOTT. 


"wrkteii  in  dialogae,  MOton,  who  wrote  two 
dramas,  in  utterly  undramatic,  but  not  tinideal ; 
Cowper,  one  of  the  moit  original  of  poets,  b 
dramatic,  though  he  never  wrote  a  play.  Milton 
says  of  the  fallen  angel,  Moloch—'*  He  trusted  with 
th  Eternal  to  be  deemed  equal  in  strength,  and 
rather  than  be  less  cared  not  to  be  at  alL"  No 
language  can  be  stronger  than  this ;  it  is  condensed 
as  Byron's  description  of  the  destroying  wind, 
which  is  where  nothing  else  is,  **the  most  kme 
Simoom  ;"  but  it  is  quite  undramatic.  If  Cowper 
had  described  Moloch,  he  would  probably  have 
placed  him  in  action  before  us;* he  wouM  have 
represented  him  stretching  forth  his  arm  in 
defiance  towards  the  throne  of  the  Most  High,  and 
impiously  vociferating,  *^  Pull  him  do¥m !" 

I  shall  be  sorry  to  do  injustice  to  Pope  in  my 
quotations ;  I  confess,  I  am  prejudiced  against  him, 
and  against  the  school  of  which  he  is  the  head  ; 
but  "  he  was  a  great  writer  of  some  sort,"  and  his 
Rape  of  the  Lock  shows  that  he  was  a  man  of 
genius  and  a  poet  As,  however,  he  was  himself 
of  opinion  that  his  highest  excellences  are  to  be 
found  in  his  delineations  of  character,  I  shall  not, 
I  think,  be  unjust  to  him,  if  I  quote  some  of  the 
best  of  them. 

How  much  easier  is  it  to  say  what  a  man  is, 
than  to  put  words  into  his  mouth  which  shall  not 
only  show  what  he  is,  but  place  him,  living,  before 
our  eyes !  Pope  describes — Scott  narrates — Cowper 
impersonates.  Shakspeare  has  drawn  the  character 
of  King  Henry  the  Eighth  to  the  life,  in  seven 
syllables.  He  represents  that  monarch  as  having 
discovered  a  conspiracy  of  Gardiner  and  others 
against  Cranmer.  One  of  the  conspirators,  ap- 
proaching him  with  bow  and  cringe,  says,  "  May 
it  please  yo\i>  Sire  !"  "  No,  Sir !  it  does  not  please 
me,"  replies  the  hard-ruled  king.  Is  this  a  descrip- 
tion of  bluflF  Henry  ?  No ;  it  is  Henry  himself. 
Pope  seldom  puts  words  into  the  moaths  of  his 
characters,  which  bring  them,  as  it  were,  into  our 
presence.  In  his  character  of  Atossa,  however,  he 
attempts  this,  and  with  some  success  : 

Wha  breaks  with  her,  provokes  revenge  from  hell| 
But  he'8  a  bolder  man  who  dares  be  well. 
Superiors !  death  1  and  equals  t  what  a  curse  I 
But  an  inferior  not  dependent !  worse. 
Oflfend  her,  and  she  knows  not  to  forgive ; 
Oblige  her,  and  shell  hate  yon  while  yon  live  ; 
But  die,  and  she'll  adore  you. — Then  the  bust 
And  temple  rise — and  fall  again  to  dust. 
Last  night  her  lord  was  all  that's  good  and  great ; 
A  knave  this  monung,  and  his  will  a  cheat 

His  description  of  the  profligate  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham, dying,  impoverished  and  deserted,  at  a 
miserable  inn,  is  a  favourite  with  his  admirers; 
and  as  it  is,  at  least,  an  average  specimen  of  his 
mastery  in  the  portraiture  of  men  and  manners,  I 
shall  recite  it.  It  does  not,  indeed,  record  one  of 
those  terrible  catastrophes,  those  fated  changes  of 
fortune,  which  teach  the  proud  that  they  are  men, 
and  which  the  Muse  has  deplored  **  in  the  devoted 
races  of  Pelops  and  of  Cadmus :"  but  whether  she 
speak  of  kings,  or  lords  or  beggars,  it  is  of  man 
that  she  speaks ;  and  the  deserved  ruin  of  the 
^lord  of  useless  thousands,"  though  it  possesses 
either  tragic  nor  epic  dignity^  is  possibly  more  in* 


stmctive,  if  less  affecting,  than  the  death  of  Redor, 
the  foreshown  doom  of  his  august  Andromache,  and 
the  fall  of  Priam's  great  city,  which  cmistitttte  thi 
interest  of  Homer's  mightiest  work. 

In  the  worst  inn's  worst  room,  with  mat  half  huQg^ 
The^floor  of  plaster,  and  the  walls  of  dung, 
On  onoe  a  flock-bed,  but  repaired  with  straw, 
With  tape-tied  onrtains,  never  meaat  to  draw, 
The  Geoi^  and  Garter  dangling  from  that  bedj 
Where  tawdry  yellow  strove  with  dirty  red, 
Great  Villiers  lies — Alas  ! — how  changed  from  hiiOi 
The  life  of  pleasure,  and  the  soul  of  whim ! 
Gallant  and  gay,  in  Cliveden's  proud  alcove, 
The  bower  of  wanton  Shrewsbory  and  Iots  ; 
Or  just  as  gay  at  council,  in  a  ring 
Of  mimic  statesmen,  and  their  merry  king. 
No  wit  to  flatter,  left  of  all  his  store  ! 
No  fool  to  laugh  at — ^which  he  valued  more. 
There,  victor  of  his  health,  of  fortune,  friends, 
Aad  &me— this  lord  of  useless  tbonsaads  en^ 

Certainly  this  is  a  fine  and  instructive  picture 
of  dying  profligacy.  But  it  turns  over  for  our  in- 
struction no  new  page  in  the  history  of  the  heart 
It  is  destitute  of  the  ideality  which  exalts  the  de-  ' 
lineations  of  Shakspeare,  Bums,  and  others.  To 
be  convinced  of  this,  you  have  only  to  compare  it 
at  random,  with  almost  any  page  of  their  writings ; 
for  instance,  with  that  passage  in  the  world's  poet, 
where  Ophdla,  driven  to  madness  by  sudden,  un- 
expected, and,  to  her,  inexplicable  misfortunes, 
tries  to  account  for  tiiem,  by  reasoning  on  the 
chorus  of  an  old  nursery  song,  which  asserts,  "that 
the  owl  was  once  a  baker's  daughter."  Ought  she  to 
wonder  that  the  noble  mind  of  her  princely  lover 
has  lost  its  balance  ?  that  the  high-hearted  Hamlet 
is  false  to  her  ?  that  the  brave  Hamlet  has  assassi- 
nated her  helpless  and  unoffending  father?  and 
that  suspicions,  incredible  yet  true,  have  fallen 
upon  the  queen,  whom  she  had  almost  worshipped 
as  a  model  of  all  excellence  on  this  side  Heaven  t 
Ought  she  to  wonder  at  these  things—can  anything 
on  earth  be  wonderful — if  the  owl  was  once  a 
baker*s  daughter  ?  Her  poor  brain — like  Othello's 
heart,  "perplexed  in  the  extreme," — believes  the 
strange  assertion,  and  reasons  on  it  as  a  fact. 
**  They  say  the  owl  was  a  baker's  daughter.  Lord ! 
we  know  what  we  are,  but  know  not  what  we 
may  be."  These  simple  words  lay  bare  the  depths 
of  the  soul,  and  are  worth  any  ten  pages  in  Dryden 
or  Pope.  They  remind  us,  by  their  profundity,  of 
the  "sulky  sullen  dame,"  in  Tam  o'  Shanter. 
The  laugh,  you  know,  is  all  against  the  poor  wo- 
man ;  but  she  is  not  one  of  those  wives  who  quarrel 
with  good  husbands  because  they  are  not  bad  ones, 
and  whom  none  but  bad  ones  can  cure ;  she  has 
ample  cause  for  sullenness ;  yet  so  attached  is  she 
to  that  strange  compound  of  whimsicality,  comic- 
ality, and  animality,  drawn  to  the  very  life  by 
Robin  in  his  glory,  that  she  is  forced  to  keep  her 
wrath  warm  by  nursing  it.  While  she  is  **  gather- 
ing her  brows  like  jgathering  storm,"  we  see 
that  her  heart  is  overflowing  with  tenderness  to- 
wards the  profligate  scape-grace  who  sins  "  from 
November  till  October" — ^that  is,  all  the  year  round 
— and  whose  whole  life  is  one  great  wrong  done  U> 
her ;  and  though  she  afterwards  tells  him  "  weel," 
that  "he  b  a  blethering,  blustering  drunk^/' 
she  has  also  her  miserable  fozebodings^  **thiltlMs 


A  LECTURE  ON  ENGLISH  POETS,  BY  EBENEZER  ELLIOTT. 


225 


or  won  he  will  be  found  deep  drowned  in  Doon." 
Thtfle  are  touches  of  nature,  such  as  we  shall  vainly 
feek  in  any  writer  of  the  French  school.  But  as  it 
is,  perhaps,  unfair  to  contrast  Pope  with  Shak- 
speare  and  Bums,  writers  of  a  totally  different 
character,  I  will  now  compare  him  with  Cowper, 
a  dramatist  who  never  wrote  a  play,  a  didactic  poet 
wboee  words  are  action. 

Adieo,  Yinosa  cries — ere  yet  he  sips 
The  purple  bumper,  trembling  at  his  lips — 
Adieii  to  all  morality,  if  grace 
Make  weriu  a  Toim  ingredient  in  the  case. 
tki  QinsUan  hope  is — Waiter,  draw  the  cork — 
If  I  mistake  not — Blockhead  !  with  a  fork  ! — 
Wilhoat  good  works,  whatever  some  may  boast. 
Mere  My  and  delusion. — Sir,  yonr  toast ! 
My  inn  perauaaion  is,  at  least  sometimes, 
Tlttt  besTen  will  wei^  man's  virtues  and  his  crimes. 
I  plaot  my  foot  upon  this  ground  of  trust. 
And  sUenoe  every  fear,  with,  God  is  just. 
But  if  perchance,  on  some  dull  drizzling  day, 
A  thoBght  intrude  that  says,  or  seems  to  say. 
If  tiw  th'  important  cause  is  to  be  tried, 
Soppose  the  beam  should  dip  on  the  wrong  side ; 
I  $oo»  recover  from  these  needless  frights. 
And,  God  is  merciful— sets  <Ul  to  rights. 
IVot,  between  justice,  as  my  prime  support. 
And  aerey,  fled  to  as  the  Ust  resort, 
I  gikfe  and  steal  along  with  heaven  in  view, 
Aad—Pardon  me — the  bottle  stands  with  you. 
I  nerer  will  believe,  the  coI*nel  cries. 
The  saognmary  schemes  that  some  derise. 
Mj  creed  is — ^he  is  safe  that  does  his  best ; 
And  death's  a  doom  sufficient  for  the  rest. 

Ki^  aays  an  ensign  ;  and,  for  aught  I  see, 
Yonr  faith  and  mine  substantially  agree  ; 
"Hie  best  of  every  man's  performance  here 
It  to  diadiarge  the  duties  of  his  sphere. 
A  soldier's  best  is  courage  in  the  field. 
With  nothing  here  that  wants  to  be  conceal'd : 
The  nan  who  scorns  to  do  a  wrong  by  stealth 
Most  go  to  heaven — and  I  must  dirink  his  health. 
Sr  Snog,  he  cries,  (for  lowest  at  the  board, 
Jiist  made  fifth  chaplain  of  his  patron  lord. 
His  ihoolders  witnessing  by  many  a  shrug 
Hew  much  his  flselings  snffer'd — sate  Sir  Smug,) 
Year  office  is  to  winnow  fklse  firom  true  ; 
Cone,  Prophet,  drink,  and  tell  us,  what  think  you ! 

^gfamg  and  smiling  as  he  takes  his  glass, 
Whidi  they  that  woo  preferment  rarely  pass ; 
FaOible  man,  the  church-bred  youth  replies, 
U  itill  timnd/aUibU,  however  wise  ; 
And  difiBring  judgments  serve  but  to  declare 
That  tnith  lies  somewhere,  if  we  knew  but  where. 
Of  an  it  ever  was  my  lot  to  read, 
Of  eritica  now  alive,  or  long  since  dead, 
The  book  of  all  the  world  that  pleased  me  most 
Wie— well-a-day !  ^e  title-pa^  was  lost ! 
The  writer  well  remarks,  a  heurt  that  knows 
To  take  with  gratitude  what  heav'n  bestows, 
With  frudence  always  readv  at  our  call 
To  gude  our  use  of  it,  is  all  in  all. 
^wbtJeaa  it  is. — To  which,  of  my  own  store, 
l^paadd a  few  essentials  more  ; 
Bat  these    excuse  the  liberty  I  take— 
l^jve  just  now,  for  conversation  sake. 
Spoke  tike  an  oracle,  they  all  exclaim, 
^  add  Btgkt  JRev'rend  to  Smug's  hononr'd  name. 
I  shall  not  treat  Pope  fairly  if  I  do  not  quote 
"^"n  wme  one  of  the  works  which  his  heart  wrote, 
and  which  are  therefore  masterpieces.  He  is  worthy 
of  yow  attention  in  more  -ways  than  one  ;  for  not 
only  wai  he  a  poet  and  a  philosopher,  hut— which 
w  of  infinitely  more  importance — an  honest  man. 
Rot  when  we  read  hun,  we  read,  I  am  sorry  to  he- 
^»ve,  the  nest  indecent  book  in  the  world,  except 

so.  O-TOL  IX. 


one.  How  are  we  to  account  for  this  remarkable 
circumstance  ?  One  might  imagine  a  glutton  be- 
coming web-footed  witli  eating  ducks ;  but  to  sup- 
pose that  Pope  became  indecent  by  keeping  good 
company,  would  be  to  indicate  that  we  had  never 
kept  good  company  ourselves.  It  may  not  be  cer- 
tain that  clean  people  have  the  uncleanest  ideas; 
but  it  is  quite  so  that  quotations  cannot  easily  be 
made  from  Pope,  without  offending  modern  deli- 
cacy. I  ought  to  recite  a  portion,  at  least,  of  his 
Eloisa  to  Abelard ;  for  time  has  passed  judgment 
on  it ;  great  critics  declare  it  to  be  unrivalled  in 
tenderness  and  elegance,  by  any  composition,  ori- 
ginal or  translated,  in  our  language ;  and  when  the 
impugners  of  Pope  assert,  that  he  never  affects  the 
heart,  his  admirers  triumphantly  appeal  to  that 
poem.  Unfortunately,  however,  I  cannot  feel  its 
pathos,  and  therefore  cannot  make  it  felt  by  you. 
It  is  easy  to  declaim  in  rh3rme— to  string  com- 
mon-place metaphors  in  rh3rme— to  ring  changes 
in  rhyme,  on  such  cold  abstractions  as  glory, 
honour,  discord,  &c. ;  but  it  is  very  difficult  to 
write  a  letter  well  in  rhyme.  I  cannot  say  that 
Pope  has  succeeded.  Bums  has^  again  and  again ; 
his  rh3rmed  epistles  are  his  masterpieces,  and  con- 
sequently masterpieces  of  literature ;  but  in  his 
choice  of  rhyming  from  two  dialects,  he  had  a  great 
advantage.  Perhaps,  tlie  most  difficult  of  all  tasks 
is,  to  tell  a  tale  of  common  life  well  in  rhyme. 
The  English  poet  who  has  succeeded  best  in  bend- 
ing this  bow  of  Ulysses,  is  Wordsworth — ^next  to 
him  in  merit,  is  Crabbe ;  butPope  also  has  succeed- 
ed, and  as  I  am  prejudiced  against  him,  it  will  be 
only  fair  that  I  allow  you  to  judge  of  hb  power  in 
narrative.  I  will  recite,  then,  the  last  courtship  of 
the  wife  of  five  husbands,  translated  by  Pope  from 
the  Anglicised  French,  or  Frenchified  Saxon  of 
Chaucer.  It  is  very  instructive,  and  ought  to 
teach  young  men  not  to  marry  those  pious  for- 
malists— aliasy  punctual  gadders, — who  cannot  be 
happy  at  home. 

Now  for  my  fifth  loved  lord,  the  last  and  best, 
(Kind  heav*n  afford  him  everlasting  rest  I) 
Full  hearty  was  his  love,  and  I  can  show 
The  tokens  on  my  ribs,  in  black  and  blue. 
In  pure  good  vrill  I  took  this  jovial  spark. 
Of  Oxfoini  he,  a  most  egregious  clerk  ; 
He  boarded  with  a  widow  in  the  town, 
A  trusty  gossip,  one  dame  Alison ; 
Full  well  the  secrets  of  my  soul  she  knew. 
Better  than  ere  our  parish  priest  could  do. 
To  her  I  told  whatever  eovld  befall : 
Had  but  my  husband  cough'd  against  a  wall, 
Or  done  a  thing  that  mi^t  have  cost  his  life. 
She — and  my  niece — ^and  one  more  worthy  wife 
Had  known  it  all ;  what  most  he  would  conceal, 
To  these  I  made  no  scruple  to  reveal. 
Oft  has  he  blush'd  fVom  ear  to  ear  for  shame, 
That  e*er  he  told  a  secret  to  his  dame. 

It  so  befell,  in  holy  time  of  Lent, 
That  of  a  day  I  to  this  gossip  went, 
(My  husband,  thank  my  stars,  was  out  of  town,) 
From  house  to  house  we  rambled  up  and  down ; 
This  clerk,  myself,  and  my  good  neighbour  Alse, 
To  see,  be  seen,  to  tell,  and  gather  tales. 
Visits  to  every  church  we  duly  paid. 
And  marchM  in  every  holy  masqueraule  ; 
The  wasting  moth  ne'er  spoiled  my  best  array— 
The  cause  was  this,  I  wore  it  every  day. 
Twas  when  firesh  May  her  early  blossom  yields, 
This  clerk  and  I  were  walking  in  the  fields  ; 

U 


226 


A  LECTURE  ON  ENGLISH  POETS,  BY  EBENEZER  ELLIOTT, 


I  vowM,  if  e'er  my  husband  fill'd  his  urn. 

That  he,  and  only  he,  should  serve  my  turn. 

I  vow*d  I  scarce  could  sleep  since  first  I  knew  him, 

And  durst  be  sworn  he  had  hewUched  me  to  him  ; 

If  e*er  I  slept,  I  dream'd  of  him  alone, 

And  dreams  foretell,  as  learned  men  ha,ye  shown  : 

All  this  I  said,  but  dreams.  Sirs,  I  had  none ; 

I  foUow'd  but  my  crafty  crony's  lore. 

Who  bade  me  tell  this  Ue,  and  twenty  more. 

Thus,  day  by  day,  and  month  by  month  we  past ; 
It  pleased  the  Lord  to  take  my  spouse  at  last. 
/  tore  my  gown,  I  soiPd  my  looks  with  dust. 
And  beat  my  breast,  as  wretched  widows  mmt. 
Before  my  &ce  my  handkerchief  I  spread. 
To  hide  the  floods  of  tears  I  did  not  shed. 
The  good  man's  coffin  to  the  church  was  borne  ; 
Around,  the  neighbours,  and  my  clerk,  too,  mourn. 
But  as  he  march'd,  good  gods  1  he  show'd  a  pair 
Of  legs  and  feet,  so  clean,  so  strong,'  and  fair  1 
Of  twenty  winter's  age  he  seem'd  to  be  ; 
I  (to  say  truth)  was  twenty  more  than  he  : 
But  to  my  tale.    A  month  scarce  pass'd  away, 
With  dance  and  song  we  kept  the  nuptial  day. 
All  I  possessed  I  gave  to  his  command, 
My  goods  and  chattels,  money,  house,  niad  land  ; 
But  oft  repented,  and  repent  it  still ; 
He  prov'd  a  rebel  to  my  sovereign  will. 
Stubborn  as  any  lioness  was  I ; 
And  knew  ftill  well  to  raise  my  voioe  on  high : 
He  against  this  right  sagely  would  advise, 
And  old  examples  set  before  my  eyes  ; 
But  this  avail'd  not ;  for  whoe'er  he  be 
That  tells  my  fkults,  I  hate  him  mortally. 

My  spouse  (who  was,  you  know,  to  learning  bred) 
A  certain  treatise  oft  at  evening  read. 
Where  divers  authors  (whom  the  devil  confound 
For  all  their  lies)  were  in  one  volume  bound. 
It  chanced  my  husband,  on  a  winter's  night, 
Read  in  this  book  aloud,  with  strange  delight. 
How  the  first  woman,  (as  the  scriptures  show,) 
Brought  her  own  spouse  and  all  his  race  to  woe. 
How  Samson  fell ;  and  he  whom  Dejanire 
Wrapp'd  in  th'  envenom'd  shirt,  and  set  on  fire. 
How  curs'd  Efyphille  her  lord  betrayed, 
And  the  dire  ambush  Clytemnestra  laid. 

Long  time  I  heard,  and  swell'd,  and  blnsh'd,  and 
frown'd. 
But  when  no  end  of  these  vile  tales  I  found. 
Provoked  to  vengeance  three  large  leaves  I  tore. 
And  with  one  buffet  fell'd  him  on  the  floor. 
With  that  my  husband  in  a  ftiry  rose. 
And  down  he  settled  me,  with  hearty  blows. 
I  groaned — and  lay  extended  on  my  side  ; 
''  Oh,  thou  hast  slain  me  for  my  wealth,"  I  cried, 
"  Yet  I  forgive  thee — ^take  my  last  embrace" — 
He  wept,  kind  soul  I  and  stoop'd  to  kiss  my  iisoe, 
I  took  him  such  a  box  as  tum'd  him  blue. 
Then  sigh'd,  and  cried,  **  Adieu,  my  dear,  adieu  I" 

But  after  many  a  hearty  struggle  past, 
I  condescended  to  be  pleased  at  last. 
Soon  as  he  said,  **  My  migtreti  and  my  wife. 
Do  what  you  please,  the  term  of  all  your  life," 
I  took  to  heart  the  tnerka  of  the  cause. 
And  stood  content  to  rule  by  wholesome  laws. 
As  for  the  volume  that  reviled  the  dames, 
'Twas  torn  to  fragments,  and  condemned  to  flames. 

Now,  heav'n,  on  all  my  husbands  gone,  bestow 
Pleasure  above  for  tortures  felt  below  ; 
That  rest  they  wish'd  for,  grant  them  in  the  grave ; 
And  bless  the  souls  my  conduct  helped  to  save  1 

The  patience  with  which  you  have  heard  long 
extracts  from  the  sofa-and-lap-dog  poet,  indicates 
that  he  is  a  greater  poet  than  the  envy,  malice,  and 
all  uncharitablenessof  the  rhymester  of  the  rabble 
can  afford  to  allow ;  but  before  I  shall  have  in- 
flicted upon  you  a  dozen  more  lectures  on  those 


men  who,  in  our  days,  write,  or  have  written,  th&t 
something,  or  that  nothing,  which  is  called  poetry, 
you  will  feel  with  me,  that  our  country  need  not 
blush  for  her  younger  children — the  poets  of  rege- 
neration in  poetry,  and  of  improvement  in  the  mind 
and  condition  of  universal  man. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  of  the  countless  imitators 
of  the  author  of  the  Essay  on  Man— though  their 
verses,  as  mere  verses,  were,  I  doubt  not,  as  good 
as  his  own — not  one  hks  escaped  oblivion.  This,  I 
say,  is  remarkable,  but  it  is  not  at  all  surprising ; 
for  plagiarists  resemble  those  men  who  obtain 
celebrity  by  getting  their  coffins  made  before  they 
die.  Imitation  itself  might  be  figured  by  the  hone 
of  the  poet  Ariosto— (mark  the  fact !  the  poet  hid 
a  horse !)  "  My  horse,"  said  he,  "  has  all  the  good 
qualities  which  a  man  oould  wish  for  in  a  hone; 
but  he  has  one  fault — ^he  is  dead."  When  Locke 
said  of  Pope's  imitators,  "  that  their  poetry  wm 
ing^ous  nonsense,"  he  could  not  be  quite  right ; 
it  was  "  ingenious  nonsense,"  barring  the  ingenuity. 
Dismal  to  the  last,  in  the  day  of  those  mhnics,  wai 
the  cold  dead  sea  of  poetic  parrotry— colder  and 
more  dismal  even  than  prose  declamation.  But 
the  French  revolution  was  approaching.  The 
mighty  breath  and  voice  of  Tendency  startled,  at 
length,  the  barren  deep — ^upheaved  the  stagnant 
mass  of  rhymed  perfectibility,  and  foamed  the 
waves  with  living  fire.  There  were  mm  asleep  on 
the  dreary  shore,  and  to  them  that  voice  B»d, 
"Arise,  and  walk  r  They  arose,  and  stood-wid 
the  ruins  of  the  temple  of  formalities ;  from  the 
portals  of  which  the  baboons  of  worshipped  idleness 
and  mischief  had  for  ages  blasphemed  their  feeders, 
and  out  of  the  fragments  of  which  they  are  in  vain 
reconstructing  pagods  of  abomination.  The  fall  of 
that  temple  proved  its  worthlessness  ;  so  men  began 
thenceforth,  each  hi  his  own  way,  to  build  for 
themselves.  Of  two  of  these  mm,  Cowper  and 
Bums,  I  have  to  speak  in  my  next  lecture.  Either 
they  lived  and  wrote  in  vain,  or  they  were,  like 
John  in  the  wilderness,  heralds  of  redcmptioi^ 
pioneers  of  the  singers  of  glad  tidings  in  prose  wd 
verse,  who  shall  proclaun, "  That  from  the  thronged 
table,  and  out  of  the  battle  for  bready  shall  yet 
come  happiness  for  the  many,  and  plenty  for  all! 
They,  it  is  true,  who  preach  that  charity  beghtf  * 
home,  and  ought  to  end  there,  are  justly  sppw- 
hensive  that  the  difiusion  of  knowledge  would  not 
increase  the  prosperity  of  pickpockets;  but  then, 
even  they  have  no  more  desire  to  be  eaten  raw  and 
alive, "  than  any  unr^nerate  heathen  Uke  you  or 
me."  I  have  heard,  or  read,  or  written,  "that 
population  is  destined  to  become  another  Alaric ; 
— ye8,for  he  was  not  a  de8troyer,but  an  amelioittor. 
An  era  of  competitive  coSperation  in  ff^^.^, 
trust,  approaching— when  *^toil  without  h/pi  wU 
no  longer  oppress  the  soul,  like  the  solitude  of* 
place  where  the  works  of  men  are,  and  men  are 
not.  Arewmen?  What  see  we  around  us,  bot 
the  triumphs  of  skill  and  labour  rewarding  bar- 
barism? What  is  the  world  in  which  we  now  hv«, 
but  a  place  where  the  works  of  men  are,  and  ni«n. 
as  they  ought  to  be,  are  not?  The  cumdng  fox » 
here,  the  beauteous  and  venomous  serpen^  ^^ 
terrible  human  savage,  haunting  the  ruina  of  tD 


A  LECTURE  ON  ENGLISH  POETS,  BY  EBENEZER  ELLIOTT. 


227 


Kml,  and  nicknamed  esqaire,  or  lord,  or  merchant, 
—bat  where  is  the  likeness  of  God  ?  *^  Cain ! 
Cain !  where  is  thy  brother  T  We  inhabit  a  den  of 
<kgrided  and  degrading  victims  and  victimizers, 
the  ancestors  of  the  latter  of  whom  monopolized 
knowledge  and  (as  it  would  seem)  made  it  a  curse, 
that  their  descendants  might  monopolize  ignorance. 
Bat  the  new  name  of  Knowledge  will  be  Legion  I 
this  mr  poets,  from  Cowper  and  Bums,  to  Byron 
and  XicoU — and  the  subjects  which  our  times  have 
Sdaki  to  them — ^prophesy  and  prove.  The  igno- 
not  cannot  long  mi^o  vem  the  enlightened.  They 
maj  poll  down  on  their  heads  the  Corinthian 
capital  of  the  solitary  column  ;  but  they  can 
Bother  rebuild  nor  sustain  the  mouldering  edifices 
ef  despotism.  Nor  could  they,  if  it  would  console 
them,  (and  perhaps  it  would,)  destroy  the  eomt/Mh 
v^  with  themselves.  "  The  Palmyra  of  their 
Mkrule"  may  be  a  warning,  but  it  cannot  be  "  a 
Tadmor  in  the  desert"  lie  poets  of  our  times, 
then,  hare  indeed  a  prospect  of  glorious  usefulness 
Wore  them,  whether  they  write  in  prose  or  verse. 
Oh,  that  I  might  live  to  be  the  author  of  some 
greftt  prose  epic,  which,  though  unimmortal  itself, 
might  nrvive  long  enough  to  be  in  its  consequences 
I  lifer  of  fertility,  influencing  beneficially  unborn 
generations  of  men !  Who  would  not  be  one  of 
the  Leg:ion  of  Immortals,  though  frail  as  the  flower 
of  the  field,  yet  eternal  in  their  usefulness?  Shak- 
tf^tt  or  Milton  of  this  year  or  the  next !  what, 
though  it  may  be  true  that  universal  reputations 
are  no  longer  possible  ?  and  what,  though  it  may 
be  true  that  the  soldiers  of  the  Legion  of  Good 
Works  will  be  so  nomeroua  as  to  tread  down  each 
other?    Their  consequences  cannot  be  trodden 


down.  Your  writings  may  perish  with,  or  before 
you,  but  not  their  results,  if  indeed  ye  are  Shak- 
speares  or  Miltons.  Forget  not  that  the  instrument 
of  your  usefulness  is  all  but  indestructible.  Why 
do  tyrants  wage  covert  war  on  language  ?  Because 
it  is  a  barrier  on  which  cannon  balls  can  make  no 
impression.  The  Russian  autocrat,  it  has  been 
said,  is  trying  to  extinguish  the  language  of 
Poland!  From  her  exiles — ^homeless  children  of 
a  murdered  country — he  would  take  even  the 
remembrance  of  the  voice  of  their  mother !  We 
pray  not,  that  her  curse,  mingled  forever  in  his 
cup  of  blood  and  fire,  may  be  to  him  the  worm 
that  never  dies :  No !  but  we  tell  him  that  the 
affections  cannot  die,  and  that  if  truth  is  eternal, 
thought  is  so.  Even  if  he  could  succeed  in  destroy- 
ing the  Polish  language  and  Poland  itself,  and  the 
writings  of  her  poets  and  sages, — still,  some  patriot 
spirit,  winged  from  this  planet,  would  transmit 
to  the  angels  the  beautiful  thought  of  Poland's 
Copernicus,  that  the  sun  is  the  centre  of  our  system. 
I  can  imagine  Raphael,  after  the  extinction  of  suns 
and  systems,  redrawing  the  Cartoons,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  Paul  of  Tarsus.  If  the  language  of  Scott 
and  Bacon  should  be  heard  no  more  on  earth, 
PoUok  might  transcribe  for  Milton  the  Cottar's 
Saturday  Night  of  Bums,  and  Hemans  recite  to 
Sappho  the  Daisy  of  Montgomery.  If  the  country 
itself  of  Wallace  and  Shakspeare  should  perish, 
Bentham  might  record  in  a  better  world  the 
sublime  conception  of  the  mechanic,  James  Watt, 
that  the  food  of  millions  could  be  furnished  by  the 
vapour  of  a  tea-kettle,  and  the  human  race  lifted 
ultimately  out  of  ignorance  and  want  by  a  lever 
of  steam! 


BLAZONRY  AND  MOTTOES  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 


If  the  age  of  chivalry  hath  departed,  not  so  the 
age  of  heraldry.     The  hieroglyphic  literature  of 
l>*A*ri5m  spreads  itself  abroad  on  the  wings  of 
cmlisation.    The  new  invention  of  "  struck  work" 
^  iasaed  many  an  additional  blazon  from  the 
Binnmgham  brazieries.     The  last  great  act  of 
lightened  legislation — the  penny  postage — ^has 
trebled  the  circulation  of  wivems,  mermaids,  and 
"  aalrage  men."    The  scholar  and  philosopher,  who 
h«B  hdlt  himself  a  reputation  by  adding  to  the 
knowledge  or  science  of  the  world,  is  not  secure  in 
^  position  till  he  has  found  some  "gryphon 
M|«nt,  beaked,  winged,  and  armed,"  to  defend  his 
?«ntility;  and  the  retired  tradesman,  who  has 
^nade  his  fortune  by  integrity  and  plodding  indus- 
try, is  not  satisfied  that  he  has  yet  earned  the  good 
(ipiBion  of  mankind,  till  he  can  get  the  stones 
*We  his  doorway  to  tell  an  emblematic  tale  of 
bU»d  and  treachery,  which  he  fondly  hopes  a  par- 
"41  public  will  compliment  him  by  attributing  to 
some  one  of  his  lineal  ancestors.    The  world  seems 
^  to  mpport  the  view  of  old  William  Wyrley, 
who,  m  luB  «<  True  use  of  Armouries,"  says,  in  a 
"*«n«nt  of  enthusiasm,  «  Without  armorial  tokens 


there  can  be  no  martial  discipline,  no  army  ar- 
ranged, no  attempt  of  any  company  fjoint-stock?] 
achieved,  and,  by  consequence,  no  conquest  made, 
nor  so  much  as  any  commonwealth  defended."  But 
it  must  be  admitted  that  "  the  mistress  and  queen 
of  liberal  knowledge,"  as  Edward  Bolton  calls  it, 
has  in  some  sort  degenerated ;  and  that  the  deep 
mysterious  lore  which  distinguished  a  Guillim,  an 
Edmonson,  and  a  Nisbet,  would  meet  with  little 
appreciation  by  those  who  so  sacrilegiously  appro- 
priate the  fruit  of  these  men's  cabalistic  labours. 
There  be  those  with  most  gallant  achievements  on 
their  spoons  and  tea-pots,  who  cannot  distinguish 
a  blazon  potent-counter-potent  from  a  bordure  in- 
dented ;  and  to  whom  a  bar  dexter  is  no  better  than  a 
bend  sinister.  Well  might  Nisbet,  had  he  been  living, 
now  say,  as  he  did  a  century  ago,  "  I  cannot  suffi- 
ciently wonder  at  the  vanity  of  a  great  many,  who 
glory  in  their  carrying  these  marks  and  signs  of 
honour  which  they  do  not  at  all  understand  ;  and 
must  regret  it  in  the  greatest  part  of  my  countrymen, 
who,  though  otherwise  well  qualified  in  the  know- 
ledge of  other  liberal  arts  and  sciences,  yet  neglect 
to  apply  themselves  to  the  study  of  heraldry— « 


228 


BL.VZONRY  AND  MOTTOES  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 


science  so  valuable,  that  the  greatest  men  of  all 
ages  have  thought  it  worthy  of  their  study  and  ap- 
plication," 

To  say  the  truth,  there  would  be  little  to  repay 
any  one  in  the  study.  The  thing  wanted  is  got  for 
the  taking  of  it :  it  comes  liberaUy  to  hand  ;  and 
neither  garter  king-at-arms,  nor  the  arcana  of  the 
science,  are  troubled  for  assistance.  Unless  the 
name  be  of  the  Grub  or  Buggins  order,  which  it  is 
hopeless  to  aristocratize  without  the  aid  of  the 
Herald  Office,  a  peep  into  Burke  or  Playfair  will 
be  sure  to  supply  what  is  wanted;  and  where 
there  is  a  choice,  the  most  dashing  and  warlike 
achievement  belonging  to  the  name  will  of  course 
be  chosen.  We  in  Scotland  have  a  great  advan- 
tage in  this  respect  over  our  English  friends,  in 
the  system  of  clanship,  which  makes  the  most 
aristocratic  names  at  the  same  moment  the  most 
common.  An  Archibald  Douglas,  or  a  Norman 
Macleod,  befits  alike  the  whisky-shop  sign  and  the 
peerage  ;  but  we  find  no  Adolphus  Pierrepoint,  or 
Algernon  Sidney  Percy,  keeping  a  beer-shop  in 
the  Minories.  '^  Light  come,  light  gane :"  the 
honours  are  now  as  easily  dispersed  as  they  are  ac- 
quired— ^no  inverting  of  shields,  hacking  of  spurs, 
or  tearing  of  banners.  The  blazon  is  extinguished 
thus : — ^The  respectable  attorney's  clerk,  who  is  its 
proud  possessor,  has  been  charged  in  the  tax  sur- 
vey one  window  too  much.  He  writes,  accordingly, 
a  very  polite  letter  to  the  surveyor  of  taxes,  ex- 
plaining the  mistake,  and,  in  compliment  to  her 
Majesty's  officer,  seals  the  same  with  a  very  per- 
fect impression  of  the  family  coat.  The  surveyor 
finds  that  the  complaint  is  just :  deducts  78.  for  one 
window  over-charged,  and  intimates,  that  he  has 
entered  against  the  applicant  a  charge  of  £l,  4s. 
annually,  for  armorial  bearings,  with  a  penalty  of 
thrice  the  duty  for  the  first  year,  on  account  of  his 
"having  unfortunately  neglected"  to  enter  ar- 
morial bearings  in  his  schedule.  The  surveyor  is 
more  powerfid  than  the  Lion  ;  and,  by  this  simple 
act,  he  extinguishes  the  blazon  for  ever. 

The  reason  why  these  plants  of  a  barbarous 
seed  flourish  so  luxuriantly  in  the  cultivated  soil 
of  civilisation  is  not  very  difficult  to  be  found. 
They  are  rooted  in  the  natural  egotism  of  mankind. 
Talismans  and  charms,  palmistry  and  the  weapon 
salve,  passed  away  wheneverphilosophy  proved  their 
nothingness ;  but  though  a  thousand  Bacons  had  a 
thousand  times  proved  the  folly  of  heraldry,  it  would 
live  on,  rooted  in  individual  ostentation  and  family 
pride.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  be  the  descendant  of  a 
great  statesman  or  a  great  warrior;  but  it  is  better 
to  show  presumptive  evidence  of  descent  from  some 
notorious  rascal,  than  to  appear  the  descendant  of 
nobody.  We  have  seen  the  blush  of  conscious  pride 
mantle  in  the  face  of  a  Border  laird,  on  being  twitted 
with  some  diabolical  act  of  his  rieving  ancestors. 
Would  Scott  have  parted  with  the  fame  of  any  act 
of  blood  or  rapine  he  could  arrogate  to  his  ancestry? 
Not  he,  indeed :  he  would  have  sooner  sacrificed  the 
brightest  of  the  creations  of  his  own  intellect.  And 
thus  it  is,  that,  witnessing  the  pride  which  its 
legitimate  possessors  feel,  the  dumpy  citizen  be- 
comes ambitious  to  snatch  a  fragment  of  this  wild 
ancestral  fame,  and  orders  the  herald-painter  to 


prepare  a  symbolical  forgery,  calculated  to  impose 
on  mankind  the  persuasion,  that  his  ancestors  were 
far  from  being  the  worthy, honest, but  obiotremea 
that  his  own  position  in  society  seems  to  indicate, 
and  that  he  is  not  without  a  spice  of  the  devil  in 
his  blood.  The  influence  of  the  penond  on  the 
opinions  and  conduct  of  mankind,  is,  in  our  opin- 
ion, a  mine  of  intellectual  knowledge,  which  has 
nearly  all  to  be  explored.  Shafts  have  been  sunk 
in  it  here  and  there ;  but  the  more  minute,  and 
delicate,  and  valuable  veins  have  not  been  traced  out 
There  is  room  here  for  a  new  philosophy  of  the  ego 
and  the  non  ego,  which,  when  its  riches  have  been 
put  into  the  political  philosopher's  hands,  will  give 
a  new  interest  to  the  science  of  history,  now  flagg- 
ing for  want  of  novelty.  But  we  never  intended 
thb  to  be  a  philosophical  essay,  and  must  go  back 
to  our  amusement.* 

Mottoes,  perhaps,  convey  a  richer  record  of  the 
feelings  and  the  state  of  society  that  gave  birth  to 
the  diflerent  phases  of  heraldry,  than  thearms  them- 
selves. Though  not  always  very  lucid,  they  are 
certainly  more  easy  of  interpretation  than  the 
symbols  that  accompany  them ;  and  they  let  us 
farther  into  the  heart  and  philosophy  of  those 
who  bestowed  and  adopted  them.  How  singular 
it  is,  in  the  books  of  family  histoiy  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  to  see  these  memorials  of  the 
different  stages  of  barbarism,  ranged  according 
to  some  arbitrary  order,  (such  as  the  alphabeti- 
cal,) and  presented  in  all  their  rugged  variety 
and  contradictoriness,  as  if  they  challenged  criti- 
cism or  demanded  assent.  Here  is  the  clan  watch- 
word giving  tlie  world  defiance  in  some  uncouth 
tongue.  Next  to  it  stands  some  classical  sophism, 
or  moral  aphorism,  indicative  of  more  civilized 
times,  and  perhaps  intended  to  cloak  worse  mo^ 
ality.  Reprobation  of  ^var,  and  contempt  for  peace, 
stand  side  by  side  ;  and  occasionally  comes  some 
pure  relic  of  candid  times,  before  h37>ocri8y  had 
begun  her  homage  to  virtue,  containing  a  senti- 
ment of  uncontaminated  selfish  ruffianism.  There 
b  an  amazing  fund  of  conceit  in  some  of  these. 
Aquila  non  capUU  musccts — '^  The  eagle  catcheth  not 
flies  " — ^is  a  favourite  bravado  borne  by  many  Eng- 
lish families ;  one  name  it  adorned  not  unworthil}') 
Sir  Francis  Drake's,  (kve,  ctdswn^  which  may  be 
translated — "Take  care,  here  I  am" — ^belongs  to  tlie 
Jardine  family  :  it  is  a  mighty  sybilline  and  con- 


*  The  Phrenologists,  who  know  much  more  of  human 
nature  than  they  get  credit  for,  make  a  powerful  use  of 
the  egotism  of  m^ikind  in  propagating  their  doctrines. 
A  man  who  has  not  a  very  strong  judgment,  seldom 
escapes,  without  conversion,  the  ordeal  of  having  his  de- 
velopment examined  and  criticised : — the  science  becomes 
quite  a  new  thing  to  him  :  instead  of  a  vague  nomenclt- 
ture,  it  is  surrounded  by  a  dehghtfnl  personal  interest 
If  the  intellectual  and  beneficially  active  bumps  are  pro- 
minent, there  is  a  bribe  to  conversion,  which  few  can  re- 
sist. But  even  if  destructiveness  should  be  found  prodi- 
giously large,  and  both  veneration  and  oonsoientiousness 
nonentities,  the  glimpse  of  character  so  afforded  is  not 
without  its  pleasing  associations.  The  examinee  dis- 
covers that  he  has  always  had  an  impetuous  disposition 
— he  is  sorry  to  say  he  really  fears  he  is  a  very  wild 
fellow — ^he  never  could  be  kept  out  of  some  devilry  or 
another  since  his  earliest  boyhood : — ^there  really  appears 
to  be  great  truth  in  the  science. 


BLAZONRY  AND  MOTTOES  IN  TUE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 


229 


eeitcd  sayiag.  Aipera  me  juvani-^  Difficulties  de- 
light me" — accompanies  the  unostentatious  name 
of  Loir.  Ata  vimn  inomiam  aiafadam — '*  I  shall 
find  a  wajy  or  make  one" — attends  an  English  fa- 
mily of  the  name  of  Wightwick.  Dei  dono  sum 
fudsMMf  the  motto  of  the  Lumsden  family,  is  more 
doubtfiil  in  what  it  arrogates — "  By  the  gift  of  God 
I  am  what  I  am,"  is  the  literal  translation  ;  hut 
then,  what  is  he  ? — **  Thank  God,  I  am  no  worse 
than  I  am,"  is  perhaps  what  is  meant.  AtU  pax 
ad  beUitm — **  Either  peace  or  war" — is  the  self-suf- 
fident  text  of  the  Donaldson  family ;  hut  this  is 
nothing  to  the  eztinguo—**  1  extinguish" — of  the 
Dnndases.  The  Stewarts  carry,  Fianis  ac  aolidus 
—"Firm  and  substantial" — a  more  utUitarian 
cliaracteristio  than  one  would  expect  to  find  ap- 
propriated in  such  a  quarter, — ^it  would  do  very 
well  on  'Change.  Haneste  vivo  (Racket  family) 
•TouTB  of  the  same  philosophy  :  I  live  honestly, 
would  be  the  literal  translation,  but  there  is  little 
doaht  that  something  more  elevated  than  the  poor 
Tirtne  honesty  is  insinuated.  Taitch  not  the  cat  hut 
[withont]  aghve, — ^held  hy  a  host  of  Highland  fami- 
Bes,— is  of  another  complexion  in  its  conceit, — ^it 
predicates  scratches  and  blood,  Dinna  vfoJten  sleep- 
»^  dcgg, — somewhat  of  the  same  class — ^belongs,  we 
Wiere,  to  one  of  the  Robertson  families  :  we  have 
seen  it  most  appropriately  traced  in  the  moulding 
of  the  portcullis-gate  of  the  grim  old  tower  of 
Craigievar,  in  Aberdeenshire, — a  silent  monitor 
akulated  to  startle  the  stealthy  invader.  The 
Toder  of  Gait's  novels  may  recollect  his  admiration 
rf  the  mysterious  spirit  of  defiance  contained  in 
the  legend  he  picked  up  in  Aberdeen ; — Th^  have 
wd:  Quhat  said  th^  ?  Let  them  say.  The  events 
tbt  called  forth  the  three  sentences,  not  very 
lofieaDy  connected,  but  possessing  an  eloquent 
inity peculiar  to  themselves,  have  never  been  traced. 
AD  that  is  known  of  the  words,  is,  that  they  used 
to  stand  in  front  of  the  old  building  of  Marischal 
College,  carved  in  a  form  of  letter  apparently  of  a 
lirmore  ancient  date  than  that  of  the  building 
rtolf.  We  do  not  know  if  any  northern  family 
1»H«  this  legend  by  way  of  motto.  The  Hewetson 
jnotto  is  very  like  a  sententious  abbreviation  of  it ; 
it  is  simply, — Let  them  talk.  Noli  me  tangere, — 
Touch  me  not, — ^belongs  to  the  Grahams.  Noli 
vrUare  konem, — Don't  irritate  the  lion, — is  the  still 
pwre  pompous  gasconade  of  some  obscure  families 
in  the  south ;  and  the  pious  Sir  Robert  Inglis  has, 
^'ciiHt  est  ira  /«w«,— Noble  is  the  lion's  wrath. 
W  m  tangetpoenitdnty — ^Whosoevershall  touchme 
'^r^)ent^ — ^is  the  saying  of  one  of  the  great 
%hland  septs ;  and  we  daresay  there  is  much  rea- 
1^  in  it  at  the  present  day ;  the  penitence  not 
^^  in  sackcloUi  and  ashes,  but  in  chlorate  of 
Inneandsnlphur. 

"^  most  savage  mottoes  are  naturally  found 
^^  the  Irish  and  Highland  septs,  and  the  great 
"wder  families.  Those  of  the  Irish  are  generally 
wnowns  war-cries,  in  their  own  wild  tongue. 
^^  •  K  is  the  well-known  whoop  of  the  Fitz- 
S«»M«.  It  was  with  this  that  old  KOdare  burst 
on  the  dmrch  of  Cashel,  when  he  involved  it  in 
that  memwable  blaze,  which  he  palliated  to  the 
"i^y-conncil  by  saying,  he  never  would  have  set 


the  church  on  fire,  if  he  had  not  believed  that  the 
archbishop  was  inside!  Forth  fortune^  and  fill 
the  fsttersy  is  the  marauding  tocsin  of  the  Athole 
family.  Come  to  me^  and  I  will  give  thee  fleshy 
belongs  to  another  Highland  name — we  forget 
which ;  the  crest  being  an  eagle,  and  the  flesh  pre- 
pared for  him,  the  flesh  of  men.  E'en  <fo,  and 
spore  noty  is  borne  by  the  McGregors.  The  family 
of  Peter  bears  the  same  sentiment  latinised — 
Usque  fac  et  non  pareas.  Pereas  nee  parcas — 
Though  thou  shouldst  perish,  spare  not  (?) — is  the 
nobler  device  of  the  Laments.  The  Borderers  do 
not  waste  so  much  breath  in  warlike  defiance. 
There  is  a  business-like  air  about  their  maxims — 
an  eye  to  black  cattle  and  broth.  I  hope  to  share^ 
is  the  unassuming,  but  very  intelligible,  device  of 
the  Riddells.  But  this  is  not  nearly  so  full  and 
explicit  as  the  motto  of  the  great  Cranstoun  family 
— Thou  shaU  want^  ere  I  want.  There  are  other 
mottoes  besides  this,  that  seem  as  if  they  were  made 
for  men  who  now  bear  them.  If  I  can^  says 
Colquhoun  of  Killermont :  no  doubt  of  it.  Ne 
nimium — Not  too  much — ^is  Lord  Aberdeen's  motto: 
while  the  Rae  family  has  In  omnia  promptus,  which 
may  be  freely  translated.  Ready  for  anything. 
Che  sardy  sard^  is  the  well-known  motto  of  Lord 
John  Russell.  It  is  embodied  in  an  expressive 
Scottish  proverb^"  He  that  will  to  Cupar,  maun 
to  Cupar,"  VideOf  et  taeeo — I  see,  and  hold  my 
tongue — ^belongs  to  the  Fox  family.  It  is  more 
characteristic  of  the  name,  than  of  the  men  who 
have  held  it.  Aspera  virtus — a  not  very  translatable 
complaint  of  the  difficulty  of  being  virtuous,  or 
perhaps  brave — is  the  property  of  the  Sinclairs. 
Lord  Stanley  boldly  sports.  Sans  changer — ^Without 
change  !  while  Sir  James  Graham,  in  hLs  own  ver- 
nacular, mumbles.  Reason  contents  me,  Templa 
quam  dilecta — How  beloved  are  the  Temples — ^is 
the  self-eulogium  of  the  Buckingham  Temple — 
the  farmers'  friend.  When  Lord  Liverpool  got 
his  peerage,  he  assumed  the  words,  Palma^  non 
sinepulvercy  which  the  Opposition  translated,  This 
is  the  reward  of  my  dirty  work.  Swift  was  not  so 
literal  with  Queen  Anne's  Semper  eadem^  which  he 
paraphrased,  Worse  and  worset 

There  is  much  contradiction  in  the  world  of 
mottoes,  especially  on  the  subject  of  war.  Bella, 
horrida  bella — wars,  horrid  wars,  (Lisle) ;  and  beati 
pacifici — ^blessed  are  the  peacemakers,  (Stewart,) 
make  a  strange  contrast  vnthperignemyperghdium 
— ^by  fire  and  sword,  ( Welby,)  and  semper  pugnare 
paratus — always   ready    to    fight,   (Litchfield.)* 


*  We  claim  no  credit  for  original  research  for  these 
mottoes,  having  taken  many  of  them  from  a  little  work 
called,  ^  The  Book  of  Mottoes,'*  published  in  1841.  Not 
writing  history,  we  are  by  no  means  fostidions  about  ac- 
curacy ;  and  if  we  were  so,  we  should  require  to  look  to 
some  more  erudite  authority,  if  we  may  judge  from  the 
internal  evidence  of  the  translations  in  this  little  work. 
Take  as  one  instance,  ex  sudore  vultui,  which  we  should 
naturally  take  to  be  a  sUght  modification  of  the  1 9th  verse 
of  the  third  chapter  of  the  vulgate  edition  of  Genesis— 
"  By  the  sweat  of  thy  brow,  &  ;"  very  different  is  our 
author's  translation— " Beauty  is  produced  by  labour!" 
^  This,**  he  continues,  alarmed  apparently  at  the  creature 
of  his  own  imagination,  **  is  probably  but  a  lame  trans- 
lation of  the  motto  borne  by  this  old  and  respectable 
family  [the  Swettenhams]  which  being  rendered  literally 


230 


BLAZONRY  AND  MOTTOES  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 


Some  adages  have  a  touch  of  jollity  in  them. 
Oportet  vivere — Let  us  live,  b  borne  by  a  family 
called  Todd.  Still  better  is  Dum  vivimusmvamua — 
While  we  live,  let  us  live,  or  as  the  bard  hath  it, 
"As  we  journey  through  life,  let  us  live  by  the  way." 
Dr.  Doddridge,  who  held  it,  was  so  scandalized  by 
its  decidedly  jovial  tendency,  that  he  wrote  a  very 
pretty  poetical  comment  to  reverse  the  application : — 

Live  while  joa  live,  an  epicure  would  say, 
And  snatch  the  pleasures  of  the  present  day. 
Live  while  you  live,  the  sacred  preacher  cries. 
And  give  to  Grod  each  moment  while  it  flies. 
Lord  !  in  my  view  let  both  united  be. 
I  live  in  pleasure  when  I  Uve  in  Thee. 

The  position  of  the  man  who  first  said,  auxili- 
ante  resurgo, — Being  helped,  I  get  up  again, 
(Graham) — ^must  have  been  suspicious.  One  can 
imagine  the  motto — Cadenti  porrigo  dextram — I 
hold  out  my  right  hand  to  the  falling,  (Pearse) — 
to  have  been  the  self-gratulation  of  his  more  steady 
boon  companion.  Medio  tutissimus  ibis — You  will 
go  most  safely  in  the  middle,  (Senior,)  and  Gang 

is,  *  Beauty,'  or  'good  appearance  from  nceat,*  an  allusion, 
though  not  a  very  elegant  one,  to  the  family  name.'* 


loarily^  (Drummond)— seem  well-meant  advices 
for  such  occasions.  What  are  we  to  make  ofGra- 
datim  plena — ^full  (or  fou)  by  degrees,  sported  by 
one  of  the  branches  of  the  Gordon  race  ?  The  kte 
Lord  Eldin's  motto  was — Free  for  a  Uatt:  and  we 
daresay  few  who  knew  him  doubted  his  being 
quite  free  for  such  exclamations. — We  might  now 
begin  with  the  maxims  adopted  by  municipalities, 
public  companies,  &c.,  which  would  afford  ub,  in 
the  pragmatical  conceit  they  exhibit,  perhaps  a 
still  more  curious  picture  than  the  illustrations  oj 
individual  arrogance ;  but  we  must  have  done. 
One,  however,  we  cannot  entirely  pass  by;  thatoi 
the  Inn-holders'  Company  of  London,  who,  witli 
some  approach  to  desecration,  say,  "  Come,  y( 
blessed  :  when  I  was  harbourless,  ye  lodged  me/ 
This  is  a  caricature  of  the  grasping  statesman,  whc 
professes  to  dispose  of  his  services  at  their  higl 
price  solely  for  the  public  good.  By  the  way,  il 
has  always  appeared  to  us,  that  the  favourite  ad- 
vice of  the  undertakers,  memento  mori^  is  ver} 
supererogatory.  It  means,  strictly,  Don't  forget 
to  die ;  as  if  the  sable  community  were  afraid  thai 
the  negligence  of  the  human  race  on  this  poirn 
might  reduce  their  Intimate  amount  of ''  orders.' 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW. 


BT  AN  AMERICAN  ARTIST. 


BiooifS  with  antiquities !  give  ns  the  worth 

Of  all  that  at  present  is  good  upon  earth  ; 

And  of  men,  modes,  and  things  let  ns  e'en  think  the  last 

As  good,  if  not  better,  than  those  that  have  past. 

So  away  with  your  Old — give  us  everything  New, 

Except  the  strong  firiends  that  are  feeling  and  true. 

Let  them  prate  of  the  lands  that  have  for  their  creeds 
The  days  that  have  gone,  and  their  ancestors'  deeds  ; 
These  titles  oft  cover  a  century's  error. 
While  merit  lies  starving  and  truth  hides  from  terror. 
But  give  me  that  land  where  mind  is  a  thing 
That  raises  the  humble  as  high  as  a  king. 

They  may  praise  the  bleak  heath,  where  carnage  was 

done, 
Or  the  hill  where  false  glory — by  treachery  was  won. 
But  give  me  the  plains  that  are  gleaming  with  grain. 
And  have  known  only  peace  since  the  wild  deer  was  slain ; 
Where  the  song  of  the  labourer  plucking  his  store 
Is  echo'd  by  wee  things  that  sport  round  his  door. 

They  may  talk  of  theh*  streams  that  have  often  run  red 
With  the  blood  of  a  host,  when  day-light  has  fled  5 — 
But  give  me  the  rivers  whose  births  have  been  blest 
By  the  Rainbow — that  smiled  as  they  leap'd  from  their 

nest; 
And,  dashing  o'er  mountains,  they  wind  through  the  vale ; 
With  no  stain  on  the  tides  but  the  wide-spreading  saU. 


They  may  boast  of  their  towers^  where  the  gfesBiTy'i 

hung; 
But  give  me  the  regions  whose  battlements  young 
Hail  the  first  sun  of  morning  without  weed  or  moss, 
And  bid  him  depart  without  mooming  his  lotf  ;— 
Rearinghigh  their  prondheads  as  they  wend  to  theirpnae 
And  laugh  at  the  efforts  of  tarnishing  time. 
They  may  sing  of  the  palaoe  whoee  glories  are  dead,- 
Where  croaks  the  sad  raven  and  owls  make  their  bed; 
Where  the  dark  winds  of  midnight  scream  round  theii 

hearth. 
And  winter-blasts  howl  in  their  desolate  mirtL 
But  give  me  the  land,  whose  delights  still  live  on ; 
And  whose  hearts,  like  its  hearths,  are  pure,  glowin| 

and  warm. 

No  t  no  1  my  fHend>  no,  the  Old 's  not  fbr  ttie. 
I  love  the  New  land  that  is  own'd  by  the  fresr* 
Where  the  crags  burst  the  skies  with  their  wild-tow 

heights, — 
Where  the  cataracts  play  and  the  eagle  delights,— 
Where  in  grandeur  and  might  the  great  waters  meet, 
And  nature  exulting,  yet  keeps  her  firm  seat* 

Then  begone  with  antiquities  I  I'm  for  the  worth 
Of  all  that  at  present  is  good  upon  earth ; 
And  of  men  and  their  countries  I'd  e'en  think  the  lirt 
As  good,  if  not  better,  than  those  that  have  past 
So  away  with  your  Old— give  me  everything  New; 
Save  those  friends  of  my  youth,  who  have  hearts  dee) 
and  true.  ^  „ 

T.R.P. 


TO  THE  CORN  LORDS. 


0,  DBAP  to  hear,  and  dim  of  sight  to  see 
Just  wrath  approaching,  long  endurance  sthng 
By  hard  oppression  to  uplift  her  tungue, 
And  cry  for  vengeance  on  your  tyranny  ^— 
Ye  should  be  gods, — not  men,  whope  Infancy 
Upon  the  breasts  of  mortal  mothers  hung  ; — 
And  strong  as  is  your  selfishness  should  be 


The  pow'r  that  nerves  yoM  am :  elie  hate  ys  M^ 

The  gauntlet  rashly  down.    Prepare  to  stand, 

(Ye  apoplectic  grown  by  gross  excess,) 

When  General  hunger  to  sure  victory 

Leads  forth  his  miUions— grasp  with  tighter  han<» 

Your  cherish'd  right  of  spreading  wretchednesi,- 

For,  lo,  the  hour  to  test  your  strength  is  nigb* 


231 


THE  FXTRZE-CUTTERS. 

BY  THE  o'AARA  9AM1LT. 


Foi  the  following  namtite  we  aw  indebted  to  a 
fine  old  rebel — we  beg  his  pardon,— to  a  fine  old 
&ming  gentleman  we  should  have  said,  who, 
iboat  fortj  yean  ago,  tDOs  a  rebel,  but  who  now, 
bj  rirtne  of  a  royal  pardon,  safe  in  his  possession, 
is  iQowed  tedinically  to  call  himself  a  loyal  sub- 
ject, m  something  of  the  same  way  in  which,  by 
the  agency  of  a  special  license,  and  an  obliging 
priest,  ladies  of  preriously  equiTocal  claims  to 
perfection,  are  at  last  legdly  permitted  to  call 
themselves  "  honest  Women." 

Bat  no  matter.  May  God  forgive  him,  as  did 
good  GeoTge  III. — ^And  whatever  at  present  may  be 
his  political  principles,  he  is,  we  repeat,  a  fine  old 
feflow;  and  has  been  distinguished  for  Ids  bravery 
m  the  field,  as  an  insurgent  leader,  as  well  as  for 
his  hmnane  dispoBitions  towards  aU  foes  who  fell 
into  his  power,  and  therefore  stood  in  need  of  his 
protedwn.  So  let  us  tell  our  story  at  once,  or 
nther  his  story  :— 

At  the  battle  of  Ross,  hi  1796,  he  was  high  In 
command.  After  nearly  twelve  hours  hard  fight- 
ing agamst  disciplined  forces,  whom  they  scarce 
iQore  than  outnumbered,  his  peasant  army  won 
the  day— or,  at  least,  seemed  to  have  won  it ;  but, 
for  the  want  of  a  **  Father  Mathe  V*  among  them, 
W  it  again,  in  a  hand's-tum.  The  king's  troops, 
iHkhii  they  had  beaten  out  of  the  little  town,  stole 
hick  upon  them  in  the  midst  of  a  bestial  carouse, 
um!  either  butchered  them  in  heaps  in  the  streets, 
or  scattered  them  in  all  directions  over  the  adjacent 
eountiy. 

Oor  story-teller  made  many  efforts  to  rally  a 
snail  portion  of  the  fugitives,  but  in  vain ;  and  in 
the  t^rtlight  of  the  summer's  evening,  he  stood  al- 
most alone,  inside  an  arched  entrance  to  the  town 
of  Ross,  only  awaiting  his  horse  to  be  led  to  him, 
that  he  might  himself  ride  hard  for  his  life.  In  thb 
position,  and  at  this  moment,  his  observations  and 
his  feelings  were  very  painfuL  The  spot  on  which 
he  stood  had  been  the  scene,  in  the  morning,  of  a 
considerable  slaughter,  by  the  pikemen,  of  detach- 
^nents  of  the  king's  dragoons,  together  with  a  com- 
pany of  foreign  mercenaries,  belonging  to  a  regi- 
ment whose  acts,  at  that  unhappy  time  in  Ireland, 
fiagnwed  the  name  even  of  civil  warfare;  and 
their  bodies  lay  stiff  all  around,  sternly  reminding 
him  of  a  brilliant  succete  suddenly  overclouded  by 
»  miserable  infatuation. 

IHftrent  observations  tended,  however,  to  as- 
w*ge  the  keenness  of  his  emotions,  by  otherwise 
J<wipying  his  mind.  The  body  of  a  man,  which 
mW  supposed  dead,  suddenly  stirred  at  his  feet, 
*adtariied  upon  its  back ;  and  then  he  heard  a 
^  lattUng  groan,  and  looked  upon  a  corpse 
Inoeei  Stooping  down,  he  saw  the  hands  locked 
ttpon  a  erncifix ;  and  more  closely  regarding  the 
"««  Md  features  of  the  dead,  he  recognised  the 
nwrtal  reniains  of  a  poor  wandering  zealot,  who, 
for  hoars  during  the  hot  struggle  around  him,  in 


the  early  part  of  the  day,  amid  showers  of  balls, 
and  trampling  of  horses,  had  remained  unhurt, 
holding  up  his  crucifix,  as  he  knelt  almost  pros- 
trate, that  such  of  the  insurgents  as  were  as  great 
devotees  as  himself,  might,  under  its  sign,  fight 
and  conquer  unharmed. 

Here,  however,  he  was  now  stretched  at  last, 
almost  riddled,  as  our  chronicler  expressed  it,  with 
musket-bullets  and  bayonet-stabs. 

And  another  figure,  a  more  living  one  though, 
also  attracted  the  notice  of  the  observer.  It  was 
that  of  a  woman,  young  and  comely,  with  an  oval 
fiioe,  blue  eyes,  light  hair,  and  a  strange  smile 
upon  her  features  ;  and,  altogether,  appearing 
greatly  at  variance  with  her  present  situation  and 
employment.  She  sat  upon  the  trampled  sod, 
amid  a  group  of  the  slaughtered  Hessians ;  and 
she  would  turn  up  the  face  of  one,  and  then,  seem- 
ingly disappointed,  mutter  and  smile,  and  even 
laugh  ;  and  having  cut  off,  with  a  little  billhook, 
the  de^  soldier's  cartridge-box,  she  would  push 
the  body  from  her — and  so  proceed  with  another, 
and  another.  And  in  this  young  creature,  our 
friend  saw  a  rather  old  acquaintance.  From  the 
first  victory  of  the  Wexford  insurgents  at  Oulart 
Hill,  he  remembered  to  have  observed  her  actively 
engaged  in  every  successful  battle  they  had  fought ; 
and  when  it  had  been  won,  wandering  over  the 
ground  in  search  of  dead  Hessians,  and,  it  would 
seem,  of  such  only  :  and  if  she  found  any,  doing 
by  them  as  she  now  did  by  those  that  were  near 
her.  Indeed,  she  was  as  well  known  to  all  the 
rebel  force,  as  she  had  been  to  him.  She  was  very 
fantastically  attired  ;  wearing  a  soldier's  cap, 
a  green  fiannel  jacket,  or  rather  jerkin,  rudely 
faaoioned,  and  adorned  with  cross-belts,  and  two 
old  worsted  epaulettes,  one  yellow,  the  other  white. 
From  under  her  quilted  stuff-petticoat,  her  lower 
extremities  appeared  covered  with  military  leggings. 
The  jerkin  was  closely  buttoned  across  her  chest. 
She  had  no  shoes  on. 

"  We  had  been  all  as  well  acquainted  with  her 
history  as  we  had  been  with  herself,"  continued  our 
narrator ;  **  and  deeply  and  fiercely  did  we  all  sym- 
pathize with  it." 

Now  I  felt  alarmed  for  her.  Although  the 
greater  portion  of  the  royal  troops  had  passed  out 
of  the  town  by  another  route,  after  our  wretched 
runaways,  still  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  the 
survivors  of  the  foreigners  killed  in  the  morning, 
had  yet  to  quit  it  in  pursuit  of  the  flying  drunkards ; 
and  better  cutters-down  on  a  retreat  could  hardly 
have  been  chosen.  Under  these  circumstances  the 
present  was  no  place  for  her ;  therefore  I  approach- 
ed and  addressed  her. 

**  Get  up,  ma-coUem^  and  take  the  road  with 
me ;  all  is  lost,  and  we  have  not  a  moment  to 
spare.  The  friends  of  those  dead  fellows  around 
us  will  soon  be  on  our  backs :  up,  up ;  an  honest 
lad,  who  fought  well  to-day,  is  bringing  me  my 


232 


THE  FURZE  CUTTERS. 


horse  ;  and  as  I  guess  you  can  ride  pillion- ways 
without  a  pillion,  we  may  both  hare  a  good  gallop 
for  it  yet." 

She  made  no  answer,  only  glancing  upwards  for 
a  moment  into  my  face,  and  then  resuming  her 
close  scrutiny  of,  I  believe,  that  of  the  last  re- 
maining subject  of  her  strange  interest :  she  mut- 
tered, however,  these  words  to  herself : — 

"  No,  he  isn't  among  them  yet,"  and  then  smiled 
so  grimly,  that  it  was  almost  fearful  to  see  such 
an  expression  on  such  a  countenance. 

"Come,  come,"  I  continued,  **  I  hear  the  noise 
of  my  horse's  feet  trotting  up  the  hill.  Be  ready 
to  mount,  or  the  next  moment  may  be  our  last/' 

A  horse,  indeed,  appeared,  led  by  my  trusty 
orderly,  who,  after  our  triumphant  rush  into  the 
town,  had  undertaken  to  get  my  stout  plebeian 
charger  well-fed  and  well-groomed, — attentions  of 
which,  considering  his  previous  work,  I  assure  you 
he  stood  very  much  in  need.  But  at  first  view  I 
did  not  know  the  animal  to  be  my  own,  he  was  so 
bedizened  and  adorned ;  in  fact,  they  had  sent 
him  to  me  clad  in  all  the  showy  trappings  of  the 
horse  of  a  noble  militia  colonel,  who,  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  fight,  had  fallen  a  victim  to  a  pri- 
vate vengeance  on  our  part,  caused  by  what  /,  at 
least,  cannot  otherwise  name  than  as  a  murder, 
committed  upon  a  very  respectable  individual, 
whom,  before  entering  the  town,  we  had  in  too 
much  simplicity  despatched  with  a  flag  of  truce 
and  parley.  Looking  at  my  roadster,  however,  a 
second  time,  I  easily  recognised  him,  as  his  serious 
and  sad  young  groom  Andy  (I  knew  him  only  by 
that  appellation,  for,  indeed,  he  had  been  but  the 
acquaintance  of  the  day)  called  him  by  his  name. 
Snorter,  that  under  which  I  had  given  him  into 
Andy's  charge  ;  and  as  the  poor  brute,  replying  to 
it,  doubtless  in  recollection  of  services  and  kind- 
ness lately  received,  laid  his  nose  on  the  man's 
shoulder. 

I  stept  away  from  the  young  woman  to  meet 
Andy,  took  the  horse  from  him,  and  telling  him 
to  remain  for  a  moment  where  he  was,  returned 
to  her  side. 

" Now,  mofloowmdeny*  I  resumed,  "  here  is  our 
horse,  and  so  give  me  your  hand  till  I  help  you  up." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  run  away,  Greneral,  and 
the  day  U  lost?"  she  asked,  awakening  to  obser- 
vation, with  much  energy. 

**  All  too  true,"  I  answered ;  "  and  let  us  talk  no 
more  about  it,  but  be  off." 

**  And  this^"  she  cried,  suddenly  springing  up, 
and  planting  one  foot  upon  a  small  piece  of  artil- 
lery, which  that  morning  we  had  taken,  but  were 
afterwards  compelled  to  abandon;  "and  are  we 
goin'  to  lave  thb  after  us  ? — our  own  dear  darlint 
little  cannon,  that  cost  the  blood  of  many  a  good 
hoy*  this  morning." 

"  We  must  leave  it  beliind,"  I  replied  ;  "  we  have 
no  help  at  hand  to  remove  it.^— -Come,  colleen^ 
quick,  quick !" 

"  No  help  to  remove  it  V*  she  queried :  "  put 

your  horse  to  it,  and  he  will  remove  it. But  no 

— ^you  wont  do  that. — But  who  is  that  gawk  over 


Brave  boy. 


there  ?  Let  him  give  his  help  with  me,  and  Wre 
able  to  do  it  together.  Come  here,  come  here,  im- 
houchdir  she  went  on,  beckoning  to  Andy. 

The  young  man,  since  I  left  him  alone,  had  been 
standing  motionless;  his  hands  thrust  into  his 
breast,  and  his  head  hanging  down — a  very  picture 
of  woeful  abstraction.  Now,  as  the  loud  tones  of 
her  voice  reached  him,  he  started  suddenly  round, 
dropped  his  arms  by  his  side,  and  poking  out  Im 
neck,  peered  through  the  twilight  at  her. 

"  Quick,  quick  !"  she  resumed  ;  "  quick,  quick, 
you  coward — ^if  you  are  man  enough  to  come  at 
aU?" 

He  was  soon  close  before  her,  now  glaring  into 
her  face  :  and  then  he  sprang  backwards,  loudly 
smiting  his  hands  together,  as  he  cried  aloud— 

"  Virgin  o'  Heaven !  'tis  our  poor  Winnie  T 

«  Who  ?— what  ?— what  Winnie  ?  And  who  are 
you  ? — and  what  are  you  for  sayin'  at  all  T-nrnd 
in  her  turn  she  peered  into  his  face ;  and  then 
arose  to  the  skies,  like  a  rocket  of  sounds,  as  it 
were,  her  shrill  terrific  shrieks,  as  turning  her  hack 
upon  him  she  bounded  to  me,  seized  my  hand,  aud 
frantically  went  on : — 

"  Help  me  up  on  the  horse  now.  General,  dear, 
and  let  us  gallop !  Help  me  up,  I  say,  before  he 
lays  a  finger  on  me ! " — and  very  little  assistance 
did  she  require  from  me  to  spring,  sitting  side- 
ways, to  her  appointed  place. 

From  my  previous  information,  I  understood  the 
meaning  of  all  this. 

"But  I  must  interrupt  myself  here,"  continued 
the  ex-rebel  General.  "  I  see  I  am  a  bad  story- 
teller ;  for,  like  a  true  Irishman,  I  have  begun  my 
story  at  the  wrong  end.  And  the  best  remedy  I 
know  for  this  is  to  retrace  my  steps,  and  account 
for  the  closing  scene  I  have  nearly  completed  for 
you,  before  I  quite  finish  it.  The  evening  is  still 
young,  and  we  can  easily  sit  out  more  gossip." 

We  will  pursue  our  old  friend's  tale  in  our  own 
fashion. 


CHAPTER  II. 

There  was  not  in  the  county  of  Wexford,  no, 
nor  under  the  sun,  a  merrier  pair  of  animala— 
— grasshoppers,  crickets,  squirrels  not  even  ex- 
cepted—than  Andy  Doyle  and  Winnie  Murphy. 
They  were  the  children  of  faggot  or  furze-cutters, 
and  followed  themselves  the  occupation  of  their 
respective  fathers  and  mothers.  Living  near  to 
each  other,  they  often  met  abroad,  going  to  or  re- 
turning from  their  day's  work  ;  and 

We  were  about  to  explain  at  some  length,  why 
a  certain  event,  by  their  joint  cooperation  took 
place  ;  but  it  will  be  as  well  to  say  at  once,  that, 
at  a  very  early  age,  and  with  scarce  more  money 
between  them  than  paid  the  priest's  fees,  they  be- 
came man  and  wife  ;  that  in  a  few  days  after  the 
ceremony,  they  went  to  live  together,  in  quite  a 
new  house,  raised  for  them  almost  as  quickly  as 
Aladin's  lamp  could  have  done  it,  by  their  fathers, 
brothers,  uncles,  and  cousins ;  and  composed  of 
mud,  fresh-cut  sods,  and  other  very  primitive  ma- 
terials ;  and  situated  on  the  edge  of  a  little  wild 


THE  FURZE-CUTTERS. 


233 


tnet  of  fane  groimd,  upon  the  produce  of  which- 
the?  were  to  live,  and  grow  rich  ;  and  that,  lastly, 
under  its  humble  roof,  or  else  side  hy  side  out  of 
doon,  among  the  farze-bushes,  catting  and  chop- 
ping them  with  their  small  billhooks,  Andy  and 
Winnie  were  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long. 

At  the  time  of  their  marriage,  Wexford  had 
gone  for  upon  the  road  to  civil  warfare  ;  but  Andy 
remained  unconnected  with  everything  like  illegal 
combinations ;  not  indeed  from  any  want  of  cour- 
age, for  Andy  was  by  nature  a  brave,  although  a 
good-homoured  and  mild-tempered  fellow  ;  but,  in 
&ct,  he  lived  so  far  away  from  towns,  and  from  poli- 
Ikif  that  he  could  not  imderstand  matters  in  de- 
bate, and  was  tlierefore  indifferent  to  them.  And 
inhis  new  capacity  of  husband,  and  with  the  first 
&int  promise— just  hinted  to  him  by  his  shrewd 
mother-in-law — of  his  becoming,  in  the  fulness  of 
time,  a  £ikther,  the  anxious  poor  lad  saw  additional 
RtsoDs  why  be  should  keep  himself  out  of  harm's 
way.  So  on  went  Winnie  and  he,  day  after  day, 
entting  furze,  and  making  them  into  faggots,  and 
selling  them ;  and  saying  their  prayers,  morning 
and  night,  and  going  to  mass  and  to  confession, 
and  to  heaven  too  we  trust ;  and,  most  remark- 
sik  of  all,  and  notwithstanding  our  seeming  half- 
awr  just  now,  the  happy  and  sinless  young 
foople  did  absc^utely  begin  to  grow  rich — that  is, 
rich  for  them.  Andy,  for  instance,  was  now  able 
lo  buy  a  horse  and  car  to  carry  his  furze  to  the 
next  market  town,  instead  of  borrowing  or  hiring 
sne  from  a  neighbour ; — ^and  alas,  alas,  for  the 
iitDgeTB  of  wealth  !  it  was  that  very  horse  and  car 
which,  in  the  first  instance,  helped,  notwithstand- 
ii^  his  previous  precautions,  to  plunge  him  over 
tin  and  eyes  into  more  than  his  share  of  the  evils 
tnd  horrors  of  civil  contention. 

Returning  one  day  from  market,  along  the  high 
wid,  from  which  branched  a  long  and  wandering 
^oAetn  leading  to  his  cabin,  he  encountered  a 
inilitaiy  party  in  search  of  vehicles  to  convey  their 
h?gage  from  a  near  barrack  station ;  and  Andy's 
sew  horse  and  .car,  and  what  was  worse,  Andy's 
^  as  the  most  skilfal,  as  well  as  the  readiest 
artcr  they  could  find,  were  pressed  into  their 
wrice.  And  not  a  moment  was  he  allowed  to 
pause,  or  turn  back,  or  look  about  him ;  but  off  he 
nnat  go  with  tlie  soldiers  at  once. 

When  first  made  aware  of  being  thus  kid- 
Mpjwd,  Andy  looked,  as  may  well  be  sup- 
posed, very  blank  and  confounded ;  then  clutching 
iusidiip  hardy  and  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
^  fece  became  very  red ;  and  lastly,  his  lips 
twitched,  and  the  water  stood  in  his  eyes  as  he 
*SMn  appealed  for  leave  of  absence  only  for  one 
^'wncnt.    He  might  as  well  have  held  his  tongue. 

** But  Winnie,  Sir?"  he  continued,  addressing 
tbe  sergeaiit  of  the  party — "  murther-alive  !  won't 
1  get  Uve  to  go  and  bid  her  good-by,  and  tell  her 
^^Ittt'shappenin'  to  me  ?" 

"Winnie,  my  lAdl"  asked  the  sergeant.  **  Oh,  a 
sweetheart,  I  suppose;  never  mind;  she'll  wait 
tni  you  come  hack,  I  promise  you." 

"  Why,  Uien,  no.  Sir,  not  a  bit  of  a  sweetheart : 
^>  an  passed  and  gone  betwixt  us ;  no,  Sir,  but 
poor  Winnie  Murphy,  th?  little  wife  o'  me ;  and 


I  didn't  lay  my  eyes  on  her  since  sparrow-chirp 
this  morning ;  an'  now  what  will  ^e  think  hs^ 
become  of  the  horse  and  car  and  myself?" 

There  was  a  loud  laugh  among  the  soldiers,  as 
they  hurried  off  poor  Andy  towards  a  point  farther 
than  he  had  ever  yet  been  from  the  spot  where  he 
was  bom ;  and  for  the  first  mile  of  his  unwilling 
journey,  wistfully  did  he  look  along  the  road  into 
the  face  of  every  chance  passenger,  hoping  to  re- 
cognise the  features  of  some  neighbour  who  might 
undertake  to  convey  to  Winnie  tidings  of  the  mis- 
fortune that  had  overtaken  him ;  but  the  night  fell 
upon  his  useless  scrutiny,  and  on  he  plodded  at  his 
horse's  head,  every  moment  going  to  cry  like  a 
child,  and  almost  despairing  of  ever  seeing  home 
or  wife  again. 

But  Andy  was  a  bad  prophet  to  himself,  only  in 
not  anticipating  the  real  miseries  that  lay  in  store 
for  him.  Home  and  wife  he  did  again  see,  though 
they  were  no  longer  home  nor  wife  to  Andy  Doyle. 

Sooner  than  he  expected  he  was  returning  to  his 
humble  place  of  residence,  his  spirits  lighter  than 
even  himself  could  have  hoped,  at  the  near  prospect 
of  remeeting  the  being  most  dear  to  him  in  the 
world,  and  of  relapsing  into  all  his  old  ways  of 
seclusion,  industry,  and  happiness.  It  was  a  dark 
night  in  May — ^the  clouds  were  low  and  broodipg ; 
but  this  did  not  affect  him.  Sitting  upon  the  side 
of  his  curiously-constructed  car,  he  cracked  his 
whip  over  the  head  of  his  delivered  horse,  making 
him  trot  on  at  a  good  pace,  while  he  sang  or 
whistled  the  merriest  tunes  with  which  his  simple 
recollections  of  local  native  melody  supplied  him. 

He  was  now  within  a  very  short  distance  of  the 
point  where  he  had  to  turn  off  the  high  road,  up 
the  hosheen  to  hb  cabin.  The  land,  to  either  side  of 
the  road,  being  of  a  rocky,  sterile  nature,  was 
scarcely  fenced  in ;  and  almost  its  sole  vegetation 
consisted  of  furze,  furze,  fiirze,  covering  little  irre- 
gularities or  mounds,  with  corresponding  little 
valleys  running  irregularly  between  them ;  and  no 
house  was  in  view,  nor,  indeed,  habitation  of  any 
kind  ;  and  for  many  miles,  no  living  thing,  human 
or  hestial,  had  met  his  view.  The  night  was 
chilly,  too,  as  well  as  gloomy;  and  the  drear 
silence,  if  we  except  the  noise  made  by  his  own 
horse  and  car,  was  broken  only  by  the  occasional 
creak  of  the  land-rail  in  some  unseen  meadow  at  a 
distance,  and  the  melancholy  murmurings  of  a  yet 
more  distant  streamlet.  But  still  Andy's  chirping 
vivacity  remained  uninfluenced  by  the  scene.  He 
knew  he  should  soon  come  to  a  house,  ay,  and  to 
more  than  one  house — that  is,  precisely  to  two 
houses,  one  after  the  other,  which  would  fill  his 
heart  with  a  consciousness  of  human  sympathy, 
more  positive  than  he  had  experienced  in  the 
crowded  streets  of  the  town  from  which  he  was 
coming  back.  He  arrived  within  view  of  the  turn 
up  to  the  bosheen^  and  could  already  perceive  the 
first  house  of  which  he  had  been  so  fondly  thinking. 
It  was  a  cabin  almost  as  humble  as  his  own,  ex- 
cept that  time  had  allowed  to  come  to  a  half  per- 
fection of  growth  a  few  wild  bushes,  and  one  sad 
alder  tree,  planted  before  its  threshold,  when  it 
had  been  built  for  the  reception  of  his  wife's  mo- 
ther by  her  then  youthful  bridegroom.    But  that 


234 


THE  PIIRZE-CUTTERS, 


young  man,  since  become  old,  had  lately  died,  and 
his  widow  lived  quite  alone  in  the  poor  edifice ; 
and  before  proceeding  up  the  bosheen  to  his  own 
house,  Andy  had  been  arranging  to  knock  up  the 
good  dame,  and  satisfy  himself  by  one  short  ques- 
tion and  answer,  of  the  state  of  affairs  imder  his 
own  roof. 

So,  redoubling  the  threats  of  his  whip  around 
his  horse's  ears,  he  came  closer  and  closer  still  to 
the  old  alder  tree,  which  bent  so  sadly  oyer  its 
little  clear  fairy  lake  of  spring  water,  shadowing 
a  seat  of  turf  that  his  own  hand  had  assisted  in 
building  there.  Another  trot  forward,  and  his 
trusty  horse  suddenly  started,  stopped,  snorted, 
and  swerved  aside.  Ajidy  jumped  off  the  car,  held 
the  animal  by  the  head,  and  looked  forward  sharp- 
ly to  see  what  was  the  matter.  There  was  a  some- 
thing a  shade  darker  than  the  dark  night,  or  even 
than  the  treble  darkness  cast  by  the  alder  tree  upon 
the  seat,  and  the  patch  of  water  beneath  it ;  and  this 
something  had  a  wavering,  yet  monotonous  motion. 
Andy  felt  a  qualm  of  terror,  and  did  not  now  in  his 
heart  blame  his  horse  for  his  sudden  freak.  But 
he  was,  as  we  have  intimated,  courageous;  so 
leaving  the  brute  to  do  whatever  he  liked,  he 
bounced  forward,  and  stood  within  arm's  length 
of  the  alder  tree.  A  woman  sat  on  the  turf  bench 
under  it,  closely  wrapped  up  in  her  dark  blue  cloak, 
of  which  even  the  plaited  hood  was  drawn  over 
her  face. 

"  Faix,  an  no  wonther,  I  say  over  agin,"  said 
Andy,  "  for  poor  Bridge  Blackberry  (his  horse's 
name)  to  be  h'ightened  out  of  her  siven  sinses,  to 
see  such  a  fool  of  an  ould  woman  sittin'  in  such  a 
lonesome  place,  at  such  an  hour  o'  the  night.  What 
brings  her  here,  I  wonther,  the  ould  ban^ee  f  Mrs. 
Murphy,  Mam!"  he  continued  aloud, — ^he  was  be- 
ginning to  have  fears  for  home.  At  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  the  figure  ceased  its  rocking  motion,  and 
seemed  shrinking  from  him,  but  he  got  no  answer. 

"  Mrs.  Murphy,  will  it  be  pleasing  to  you.  Mam, 
to  speak  to  poor  Andy  Doyle,  that*s  come  home  to 
you  all,  this  night,  from  tiie  wars  and  the  hard- 
ships of  every  kind?"  He  laid  his  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  person  he  addressed,  who  imme- 
diately started  up,  uttering  a  low  shriek,  as  she 
ran  to  the  door  of  the  cabin,  and  knocked  furiously 
at  it. 

"  Divil*s  in  the  ould  witch,*'  resumed  Andy, 
pulling  off  his  hat^  that  he  might  scratch  his  head 
to  his  satisfaction, — "  and  what's  come  over  her 
now?" 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  careful  opening  of  the 
cabin  door,  upon  the  threshold  of  which,  to  his  in- 
creased consternation,  appeared,  not  quite  attired, 
and  her  face  fully  recognisable  by  him  even  in 
the  darkness,  his  mother-in-law,  herself.  The 
other  figure  darted  by  her  side  into  the  impenetra- 
ble gloom  of  the  interior  of  the  hut^  and  immedi* 
ately  became  invisible. 

"  It  was  her  own  ould  Fetch,"  resumed  Andy, 
<^  come  to  knock  her  up  out  of  her  sleep,  and  give 
her  her  wamin'." 

"  It  was  not,  Andy  Doyle,"  replied  the  impres*- 
sive  tones  of  the  old  woman ;  *^  but  can  you  tell 
me  what  it's  all  about?" 


"  Me !"  answered  Andy,  "  an*  I  axhi*  the  whole 
o'  ye  fbr  the  last  two  hours  the  same  question.— 
Murther  an  ouns,  colUmghf  make  answer  to  me  in 
one  word,— who  was  it  passed  you  in  the  open 
door-way?" 

"  If  you  didn't  know  before,  I  can  make  ans^rer 
to  that  at  laste, — ^it  was  your  own  wife,  Winnie ; 
she  didn't  hould  the  cloak  tight  round  her  face,— 
an*  I  had  a  good  right  to  know  her  well." 

*'  Crossa  Cristhe  be  about  us !"  the  poor  lad 
staggered  bdck,  as  he  made  on  hb  forehead  the 
sign  he  had  named,  '^  an'  wouldn't  spake  a  word 
to  me,  nor  let  me  lay  a  hand  on  her  body  \  ** 

"  And  why  wouldn't  she,  Andy  ?  And  why 
did  you  dhrive  her,  schreechin'  and  moanin'  into 
her  mother's  house,  this  blessed  night  ?"  demanded 
his  mother-in-law  sternly,  and  as  if  much  inclined 
to  scold  him. 

At  this  monstrous  insinuation,  Andy,  losing 
temper,  for  perhaps  the  first  time  in  his  life,  while 
his  vague  fears  on  his  young  wife's  account  grew 
stronger,  almost  jumped  to  the  cabin  door,  and  m 
nearly  an  authoritative  voice  cried  out, — "Winnie! 
come  out  here,  Winnie,  and  spake  to  me ! " 

"  Mother,  mother !"  Winnie  was  heard  to  ex- 
claim from  within, — *^  don't  let  Andy  Doyle  come 
next  or  nigh  me ! — it's  yourself,  mother  dear, 
I  want  to  discoorse  a  word  with,  this  black  night! 
mother,  keep  him  from  the  door !" 

"  An*  I  will,  Winnie,  I  will,"  answered  her  mo- 
ther. "  Come,  Andy  Doyle,  lave  my  place."  She 
extended  her  arms  across  the  door- way  to  keep  him 
back. 

^*  Blur-an-ages !  don't  cross  me  ould  woman !" 
roared  the  hitherto  mild  Andy,  forcing  his  way 
into  the  cabin.  "  Where  are  you  Winnie? — ^letme 
see  your  face." 

He  received  no  answer  except  a  wailing,  that 
had  the  sound  of  heart-brokenness  in  it,  reaching 
him  from  some  quarter  of  the  cabin,  of  which,  in 
the  thick  darkness,  he  could  not  ascertain  the  exact 
place ;  and  then,  as  if  by  instinct,  he  stumhled 
to  the  shelf  on  which  his  mother-in-law  kept  her 
rush-lights,  and  catching  up  from  the  hearth  a 
smouldering  sod  of  turf,  which  no  one  but  an  Irish- 
man would  have  known  to  be  useful  on  the  occa- 
sion, soon  lighted  at  the  fitful  flame,  kindled  from 
it,  by  his  puffing  breath,  one  of  the  primitive  tapers 
mentioned  ;  and  holding  this  high  above  his  head, 
he  soon  discovered,  by  its  assistance,  the  person 
he  sought.  She  had  hastily  snatched  a  low  stool 
at  the  first  faint  flicker  of  the  rush-light,  and, 
evidently  still  to  avoid  her  husband's  scrutiny,  now 
sat  upon  it  with  her  face  to  the  wall. 

"  Winnie,"  resumed  Andy,  "  turn  round  and 
spake  to  me,  I  bid  you—" 

"  I  won't  turn  round  to  you,  Andy,  but  111 
spake  to  you— that  is  a  little — ^if  you  don't  ax  me, 
nor  make  me  turn  round,— or  if  you  don't  come 
near  me,  nor  touch  me,"  was  poor  Winnie's  an- 
swer. 

"  Well,  oriiwrra^  spake  to  me,  at  all  events- 
and  let  your  own  poor  Andy  know  what'a  the 
rason  you  forbid  hhn  to  put  an  arm  round  /on, 

*  Oldwomin. 


THE  FURZE-CUTTERS. 


235 


for  the  first  time  In  your  life^— 3f««Aa,  I  wonther 
is  it  jealous  she'd  be  o'  me,"  continued  Andy,  in  a 
mutter  to  himself, — "  on  the  head  of  Red  Molly 
MiOsy  happenin'  to  meet  wid  me  by  chance  the 
other  day  in  the  town  beyant  there — an  then 
nmnin'  home  here  to  Winnie,  an*  bragging  of  it 
to  her  £ioe  ?  Winnie,  ohgrah^  he  resumed  aloud, 
**  don't  be  for  givin  ear  to  any  foolish  stories  that 
MoD  Bhu  would  be  tellin*  you  in  regard  of  me  an' 
herself  or  of  any  other  livin'  girl  or  woman." 

**  Andy  Doyle,  I  heard  no  such  stories  from 
«nj  one,  nor  would  I  giye  ear  to  'em  if  I  had,"  re- 
plkdthe  girl,  in  hoarse  and  broken  tones ;  "an' 
m  lay  no  blame  of  any  kind  upon  you,  Andy  ; 
in'  thongh  Vm  no  longer  fit  to  be  your  wife — an,' 
thongh,  Andy,  Mackreey  we  are  never  to  come  to- 
gether agin, — ^neyer  to  share  o'  the  same  bit  an' 
aip,  or  the  same  roof, — ^yet,  Andy,  I  can  lay  no 
bkme  on  myself  either." 

"What  do  you  mane  at  all,  then?"  he  de- 
muided,  as  motioning  his  mother-in-law  to  take 
the  rash-light  from  his  hand,  he  sat  down  tremb- 
%  upon  a  rude  seat  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  You'll  know  it  soon  enough,  Andy  darlin'-*- 
soon  enough  tho'  I  can  t  tell  H  to  you — soon 
eoongb,  tho'  my  woman's  tongue  can  never  bring 
itself  to  spake  of  such  sin  an  such  shame  to  the 
etrof  any  livin'  man ;  but  oh,  Andy,  ma  vaurMm! 
the  shame  an'  ihe  sorrow  has  come  upon  us  in  our 
ettly  days,  sure  enough — an' — Grod  forgive  me  for 
the  word ! — Did  we  deserve  it>  Andy  1  We  were 
•  ▼ery  young  couple,  loving  ache  other  with  an 
hoMst  love,  an'  we  war  r&red  up,  as  good  Chris- 
thbs  ought  to  be  rftred ;  an  afore  we  married 
^  went  to  our  duty.*'  An'  we  prayed  for  a  grace 
tt'  a  blessin'  on  our  life  to  come ;  an'  our  priest 
Uid  his  hands  on  our  heads  and  called  us  his  good 
children ;  an'  our  fathers  and  mothers  blessed  us ; 
in'  Qaw-.i)Qt  the  will  o'  the  Lord  be  done  I     Now, 

Andy,  wia-bouchal •"     The  unhappy  young 

creature  interrupted  herself  by  a  succession  of 
igonizing  moana^  while  she  clapped  her  hands 
Wdly. 

Thfi  old  mother,  who,  holding  the  rush'-light, 
had  been  attlng  as  near  to  Winnie  as  she  could, 
htTing  now  caught,  in  consequence  of  the  motion 
<^  her  hands  and  arms,  a  full  view  of  her  face,  here 
^rttered  a  scream,  and  cried  out — "  there's  blood  on 
^  check,  an'  on  her  hands,  Andy ! " 

Repeating  the  word  "blood,"  the  poor  young 
f^w  leaped  up,  and  was  again  about  to  approach 
Winnie,  when  she  also  suddenly  arose,  fully  con- 
^^Hited  him,  and,  flinging  back  the  hood  of  her 
^<>^  and  extending  her  hands,  in  one  of  which 
aht  da^wd  her  little  billhook,  answered,  in  a  gurg- 
ling ▼«»—«  Yea,  Andy,  blood,  blood,  blood,  but 
^  my  blood — Ais  blood — ^t#— an,'  tho'  I  wam't 
itiwig  enough  for  anything  else,  I  marked  him  for 
yw,  Andy,  wtackree^  I  marked  him  for  you — I 
nttiked  him  for  you  so  well,  that  youll  know  him 
^henercr  you  find  him  out,  among  a  thousand, 
^kee,  Andy!"  she  extended  the  billhook— "I 
?«^e  him  with  this,  one  good  gash  down  the  left 
«heek,  from  his  eyebrow  to  his  chin,  that  'ill  take 

*  Confetnon,  and  the  Sacrament  of  the  Eucharist. 


more  years  than  he  can  ever  live  in  this  world  to 
hale  up  from  your  notice."  Here  she  laughed  in 
such  a  manner  as,  for  the  first  time,  hinted  a 
wandering  of  the  mind. 

"Him?  who?  what?"  stammered  her  husband, 
his  veins  frozen  with  fear  and  horror — "go  on> 
woman — for  the  love  of  Grod  go  on !'' 

**  No,  no,  no,"  she  said  in  her  previously  wretched 
tones — ^*  I  tould  you  too  much  already,  an'  a 
word  more  you  can  never  hear  from  me;  but 
see  here — go  up  to  our  house,  an*  maybe  you'd 
find  my  sisther  Nancy  there — an'  maybe  she'd 
spake  to  you  the  words  Tm  ashamed  to  spake — ay, 
an'  on  her  own  account  as  well  as  mine — ^for  he 
had  a  commerade,  Andy — an'  then  come  back  here, 
an'  I'll  tell  everything  to  my  mother  by  the  time 
you  see  us  agin — an' ." 

Without  waiting  for  another  word,  Andy  darted 
out  of  the  cabin,  and  disappeared  up  the  bosheen. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  was  again  under  his  mother- 
in-laVs  roof.  The  old  woman  was  alone,  sitting 
on  the  ground,  and  wringing  her  hands,  and  weep- 
ing piteously. 

"  I  know  it  all  now,  mother-in-'law,"  he  said,  in 
the  highest  state  of  fierce  excitement.  "  You 
needn't  say  a  word-— but  where's  Winnie  ?"  staring 
round  the  cabin* 

"  Gone,  Andy,  my  poor  boy— gone  from  ua  both  I 
She  only  whispered  her  fbw  frightful  words  into 
my  ear — an'  then  bid  me  not  to  cry  ;  an'  then  she 
bid  you  not  to  cry — ^for  that  herself  has  never 
cried  a  tear  since  ;  nor  ever  would  cry  a  tear,  till 
she  had  found  him  for  you ! — an'  then  she  kissed 
my  lips,  an'  tould  me  to  kiss  yours  for  her^  an' 
hurried  out  of  the  house." 

Andy  asked  which  way.  The  old  woman  could 
not  tell  him ;  for  she  had  not  strength  enough 
to  foUow  Winnie  even  to  the  door.  Exclaiming 
that  he  would  soon  find  her  out,  he  again  hastily 
quitted  the  humble  abode.  He  was,  however,  un- 
able to  redeem  his  pledge.  Far  and  wide  he  wan- 
dered in  his  search  for  a  considerable  time,  but 
not  even  a  trace  of  Winnie  could  he  detect ;  nor, 
since  that  miserable  night,  did  he  ever  i^ain 
behold  her,  till  the  evening  already  mentioned, 
after  the  battle  of  Ross.  It  should  be,  indeed, 
mentioned,  that  he  had  not  at  all  sought  her  in  the 
camps  or  haunts  of  the  insurgents,  whose  presence 
he  had  rather  shunned  till  the  day  before  the 
eventful  one  alluded  to  by  our  old  ex-General;  and 
then  a  sudden  thought  of  revenging  her  in  the  field 
of  battle  came  into  his  mind,  and  he  as  suddenly 
acted  upon  it.  Once  only  he  imagined  he  might 
have  got  a  glimpse  of  her ;  though  he  hoped  in  hia 
heart  that  it  would  not  prove  to  have  been  her. 
He  was  roaming  a  good  distance  from  his  home, 
through  the  old  woods  of  Killaughrin ;  it  was  even- 
ing ;  the  twilight  had  fallen,  and  the  shades  of  the 
ancient  oaks  above  his  head  added  to  its  depth, 
whUe  they  also  threw  around  a  greenish  hue^  as  if 
imparting  to  the  air  their  own  colour.  At  the  end  of 
an  extensive  vista,  he  saw  the  figure  of  a  woman^ 
her'  back  turned  to  him,  kneeling  amid  the  tall 
spare  grass,  and  seemingly  absorbed  in  prayer ; 
for  he  could  perceive  that  she  occasionally  lifted 
up  her  clasped  hands^  or  bent  herself  prostrate  on 


230 


THE  FURZE-CUTTERS. 


the  ground.  He  ran  stealthily  towards  her,  hut 
she  must  have  heard  his  step  a  good  way  off ;  for 
she  suddenly  arose,  and,  without  once  glancing 
hehind  her,  plunged  into  the  thickest  part  of  the 
wood,  and  Andy's  pursuit  was  rain. 

And  why  did  he  hope  it  might  not  have  been 
Winnie  he  saw  1  Because,  returning  to  the  spot 
where  he  had  seen  the  kneeling  figure,  he  discover- 
ed there,  half  hid  among  the  rank  herbage,  a  little 
mound  of  almost  fresh  earth,  with  a  little  flat 
stone,  having  a  cross  rudely  scratched  on  it,  placed 
upright  at  one  of  its  ends :  and,  oh !  the  fear 
that  fell  upon  Andy's  heart  was  terrible ! — for  he 
believed  his  poor  Winnie  to  be  now  mad  ;  and,  re- 
collecting the  state  in  which  the  young  mother 
had  abandoned  her  home,  what  might  not  madness 
have  perpetrated  upon  her  prematurely-bom  in- 
fant ?  Was  it,  indeed,  a  baby's  grave  ?  Again — 
Andy's  heart  sickened,  and  he  had  not  the  courage 
to  try,  but  ran  as  fast  as  he  was  able  out  of  the  wood. 

We  conclude  in  Ihe  words  of  the  original  nar- 
rator of  this  little  tragedy  of  humble  life. 

*'  You  remember,"  he  said, "  the  incident  at  which 
I  interrupted  myself,  when  we  were  within  the  arched 
entrance  to  the  town  of  Ross.  Winnie,  with  scarce 
any  assistance  from  me,  had  vaulted  to  my  horse's 
back,  sitting  sideways  behind  the  saddle,  after  hav- 
ing fhmtically  petitioned  me  to  gallop  as  fast  as  my 
steed  could  go,  from  Andy's  presence  and  touch. 
I  was  preparing  to  comply  with  her  wishes,  when 
I  heard  the  noise  of  running  feet,  with  a  clat- 
tering of  horses'  hoofs,  yells,  and  what  I  knew  to 
be  pistol  shots,  coming  up  the  steep  ascent  of  the 
suburb  street  behind  us.  I  jumped  to  my  saddle, 
poor  Andy  remaining  paralyzed ;  but  before  I  could 
use  my  spurs,  I  caught  the  whiz  of  more  than  one 
bullet  by  my  ears,  and  saw  Winnie  fall  to  the 
ground.  I  was  on  my  feet  again  in  an  instant, 
standing  over  her.  Andy,  snatching  up  a  pike  that 
lay  near  him,  turned  his  face  to  the  approaching 
tumult.  A  few  of  our  drunkards,  now  sober 
enough,  came  racing  past  us.  I  knew  that  their 
pursuers  were  Hessians,  by  the  peculiarity  of  the 
shouts  and  cries  that  I  still  heard.  I  jumped 
once  more  into  my  saddle,  but  my  horse's  head  was 
now  turned  to  the  town ;  and  although  my  right 
arm  remained  (I  may  venture  to  say  it  without 
either  exaggeration  or  boasting)  stiff,  swollen, 
and  even  pained,  from  having  made  it  do  its 
duty  in  a  certain  way  for  many  previous  hours, 
my  sword  was  also  out  of  its  scabbard,  and 
then  spurring  between  our  fugitives  and  the 
arched  way  leading  out  of  the  town,  I  suc- 
ceeded, by  a  few  words  of  hasty  and  impassioned 
exclamation,  in  making  some  of  them  turn  and 
stand  to  me.  A  pike  was  soon  in  the  hands  of 
each  of  them.  I  had  argued  from  the  small  num- 
ber of  the  flying  Croppies,  that  the  Hessians  in 
their  rear  would  be  still  fewer  ;  and  I  was  right ; 
only  three  of  the  atrocious  scoundrels  now  appeared 
on  the  brow  of  the  ascent,  jabbering  their  horse- 
language  through  the  nasty  tufts  of  hair  on  their 


lips,  and  yelling  like  demons;  but  as  Heesian 
demons  alone  could  yell.  We  gave  them,  as  they 
approached,  a  manly,  Christian-like,  Irish  cheer 
in  return;  and  while  it  was  yet  ringing  round 
their  ears,  I  had  the  slight  gratiflcation  of  seeing 
one  of  them  tumble  head  foremost  from  his  saddle, 
in  consequence  of  a  pretty  well  directed  bullet  fired 

from  one  of  Lord ^'s  holster  pistols.  Andy  Doyle 

dragged  a  second  of  them  to  the  ground,  and  piked 
his  body  piecemeal.  The  third  was  scarce  a 
mouthful  each  for  the  pikes  of  the  fellows  I  h&d 
rallied  before  the  arch- way.  A  parcel  of  hungry 
hounds  might  as  well  be  said  to  have  had  a  meal 
on  the  carcass  of  one  vagabond  fox. 

"  Away  with  you  now,  boys,"  I  cried,  "  and  run 
for  it  as  fast  as  you  like." 

In  a  few  seconds  Andy,  Winnie,  and  I  were 
alone.  But  Winnie  did  not  appear  on  the  spot 
where  I  had  left  her  stretched.  She  had  feebly 
crawled  to  the  side  of  the  Hessian,  whom  Andy 
had  settled  accounts  with, — ^he  having  parted  from 
the  mangled  corpse,  to  help  his  friends  in  another 
quarter.  Now  he  ran  to  my  side,  staggering 
however ;  and  unfortunate  young  fellow,  he  too  was 
bleeding — ay,  and  bleeding  to  death.  Alas,  I  now 
remembered  to  •have  heard  a  shot  near  him,  when 
he  first  pulled  the  Hessian  from  his  horse. 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  he  screamed,  "  where  is  she  ?" 
Her  maniac  laughter  directed  us  where  to  find  her. 
I  was  obliged  to  assist  him  to  her.  She  was 
kneeling,  although  wavering  as  she  knelt,  over  the 
dead  and  hacked  carcass  of  that  damned  ruffian 
and  villain. — Here  our  old  croppy  ground  his 
teeth,  and  his  eyes  flashed  from  beneath  his  frown- 
ing white  eyebrows. — And  one  of  her  hands 
was  extended  over  his  left  cheek.  We  spoke 
to  her  together— poor  Andy  in  but  feeble  tones,  as 
he  dropt  at  her  side.  Mad,  exhausted,  and  dying 
as  she  was,  she  knew  her  young  husband  at  a 
glance  ; — and  laughing  again — Oh,  I  almost  hear 
that  laugh  still,  and  my  blood  runs  cold  at  it— 
"  It's  himself,  Andy  !"  she  hoarsely  whispered,  for 
she  could  do  no  more :  "  here's  the  mark  I  put  on 
him  for  you,  and  well  did  you  find  it  out ;  and 
well  did  you  reward  me  for  my  throuble  in  puttmg 
it  on  him.  And  now,  kiss  me,  Andy  :  I  give  the 
lave  for  it  now — ^kiss  me,  my  darling  of  the  heart 
— kiss  me,  my  own  grau-gal;* — and  hurry,  hunr, 
Andy,  while  I  have  the  time." 

She  did  not  know  she  was  speaking  to  hi«  coipee. 
She  threw  herself  upon  it,  embraced  it  closely, 
and  kissing  his  lips  almost  reverently, — ^thc  poor 
young  pair  lay  dead  together. 

I  was  obliged  to  leave  them  on  that  unha^y 
spot,  just  as  the  moon  began  to  gleam  over  their 
young  and  comely,  though  now  distorted  features » 
and, «  oh !"  I  cried  with  a  groan,  whUe  my  tears  feJi 
fast,  "  I  wish  that  my  countrymen,  <^^®^^^^ 
and  class,  could  be  made  acquainted  with  tni 
one  simple  illustration  of  civil  warfare  ! 


Darling  boy. 


237 


THE  POETS  OF  THE  DAY.* 


REVIEWED  BY  BON  GAULTIER. 


We  hare  been  in  Arcadia !    With  a  cup  of  coffee 
in  one  hand,  and  a  bnttered  roll  in  the  other,  we 
wandered  at  breakfast  time  into  its  smiling  val- 
leys.  Noon'day  foond  us,  reckless  of  tiffin,  saun- 
tering adown  its  sunny  slopes  in  elegant  illrtation, 
with  a  brace  of  shepherdesses.     ^*  That  tocsin  of 
the  aral,  the  dinner-bell,"  pealed  its  usually  wel- 
come chime  at  the  accustomed  hour.    To  us  it 
Nemed  bat  the  "  drowsy  tinkling"  of  the  wether's 
bell,  lolling  the  distant  folds,  for  we  were  just 
then  in  the  very  crisis  of  a  declaration  to  a  na'iad 
of  the  stream,  that  glittered  through  the  mazes  of 
I  sacred  grove ;  and  we  saw  that  the  fair  Egeria, 
like  more  mortal  maidens,  could  not  withstand  the 
irreasiible  eloquence  of  our  Irish  tongue  iive  mi- 
ootes  longer.    But  nature  will  reassert  her  legiti- 
mate rights,  despise  them  as  we  may ;  and  the 
clamorous  demands  of  an  empty  stomach  have  at 
kst  recalled  us  to  the  realities  of  life.  Why  should 
we  conceal  it?    Those  shepherdesses  we  spoke  of 
tamed  out  to  be  the  wedded  mothers  of  large  fami- 
lies; and  the  Naiad  of  the  brook,  just  as  we 
thought  she  was  about  to  sink  confidingly  into  our 
urns,  spied  a  juvenile  satyr  trotting  through  a 
<iistant  alley — a  great  blear-eyed  monster,  with  a 
ifitd  like  an  old  dothesman  s — and  in  a  moment 
she  had  bolted  from  our  embrace,  and  was  off  after 
lum.   Picture  our  disgust,  when,  a  few  Qiinutes 
afterwards,  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  pair,  reclin- 
ing, as  Maria  Darlington  says,  ^on  a  mossy  bank, 
tod  making  the  grove  reecho  with  their  kisses." 
After  such  a  discovery,  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that 
we  emancipated  ourselves  forth  witli  from  the  trance 
into  which  we  had  been  transported  ?    Our  amour 
fnpn  was  wounded.    We  uttered  a  malediction 
^wnst  the  whole  crew  of  n3rmph8,  naiads,  shep- 
'^idesscs,  and  fauns, — vowed,  that  if  we  were  to 
^  jilted,  it  should  be  by  good  substantial  flesh 
*»i  blood ;  and  ordered  up  half  a  hundred  weight 
"^mutton  chops,  and  several  bottles  of  port,  upon 
tbe strength  of  our  resolution.  But,  alas!  we  found 
*e  were  insensible  to  their  attractions.    Our  taste 
^  these  transient  and  sublunary  dainties  was  ir- 
Wrierably  spoUed ;  as  young  ladies,  to  the  dismay  of 
thai  mammas,  and  disgust  of  their  sterner  parents, 
seowl  at  the  pigeon-pie  or  saddle  of  mutton,  after 
» forenoon  debauch  on  pastry  and  ices  at  Little- 
john's.    "The  ampler  ether,  and  diviner  air"  of 
^  region  we  had  spent  the  day  in,  had  sublimated 
«ff  appetites,  and  nothing  short  of  ambrosial  fare, 
*^8hed  down  with  goblets  of  nectai',  could  have 
pleased  us; 

For  we  on  honey-dew  had  fed, 
And  drank  the  milk  of  Paradise. 

lea, like  Uie  bard  of  old,  we  have  been  in  Arcadia. 
But  much  pondering,  as  we  have  since  done,  the 
nyury  which  the  excursion  has  inflicted  upon  our 
appreciation  of  earthly  viands,  we  are  almost  in- 

.  *  Edited  by  David  TwaddeV,  Esq.,  Author  of  **  Remin-  I 
**ooe«  of  Grub  Street."    London,  royal  8  vo,  1042. 


clined  to  say  with  Touchstone,  tliat  **when  we 
we  are  at  home,  we  were  in  better  place ;  but  tra- 
vellers must  be  content." 

Mr.  David  TT\'addell,  Mr.  David  Twaddell— by 
the  by,  tliat  name  of  yours  is  not  the  most  poeti- 
cal in  the  world  :  it  is  you  upon  whom  we  must 
charge  the  sin  of  our  having,  like  Titus,  lost  a 
day,  to  say  nothing  of  our  dinner.  As  one  of  your 
own  well-beloved  poets  has  it, — "Oh  thou  hast 
been  the  cause  of  this  anguish,  my  brother !"  What 
mischievous  gnome  prompted  thee  to  amass  the 
treasures  of  "  the  poets  of  the  day," — to  pilfer  from 
magazine  and  newspaper  the  orient  pearls  of  verse 
that  irradiate  their  dingy  pages, — ^to  bring  together 
these  tiny  orbs  of  song,  and  send  them  spinning 
through  a  portly  octavo, — ^a  very  milk  and  watery 
way  in  the  firmament  of  poesy  ?  Smifzer,  Smau- 
ker,  Jones,  Timms,  Smelt,  Wiggins,  Hobbs,  Dobbs, 
Snobbs,  Smith,  Jenkins,  and  Smortolk, — ^we  could 
endure  their  individual  brightness  in  the  poet's 
comer  of  a  rankly  smelling  [Sunday  paper  ;  but 
their  concentrated  radiance  is  too  much  even  for 
our  eyes,  though,  like  the  eagle,  we  have  flashed 
them  against  the  sun  itself  in  many  a  daring  flight. 
Like  the  ecstatic  Mantalini,  we  shrink  from  the 
blaze,  exclaiming — ^^  Oh  this  is  too  beautiful — ^too 
demd  beautiful  T 

And  yet,  after  all,  it  was  a  noble  thought  to  open 
a  Foundling  Hospital  for  those  stray  bantlings  of 
the  muse,  that,  by  the  law  of  their  existence,  are 
foredoomed  to  everlasting  contempt  and  oblivion. 
Such  an  idea  could  have  been  conceived  only  by  a  na- 
ture of  the  finest  and  most  disinterested  sympathies. 
The  book  might  not  sell — nay,  it  could  not  sell — 
sure  we  are,  at  least,  that  no  reader  of  ours  will  ever 
stumble  upon  a  copy  of  it.  But  that  is  by  no  means 
an  uncommon  occurrence  with  Mr.  Twaddell's 
books;  and  in  his  enthusiasm  for  kindred  genius, 
he  was  prepared  to  for^o  all  minor  considerations, 
and  to  devote  his  great  abilities  to  the  compilation 
of  the  work,  on  the  distinct  understanding  that  he 
was  to  receive  a  handsome  douceur  from  such  of 
the  "  Poets  of  the  Day"  as  could  afford  it,  for  ad- 
mission into  his  list  of  noble  and  illustrious  au- 
thors. And  we  must  do  Mr.  Twaddell  the  credit  to 
say,  that  he  has  performed  his  task  ably.  Till  we 
had  perused  his  work,  we  had  no  idea,  albeit  on 
terms  of  great  familiarity  with  the  Annuals,  what 
an  amount  of  poetical  talent  was  afloat  around  us 
— that,  in  fact,  we  were  moving  amid  a  very  chaos 
of  breaking  and  broken  hearts,  and  that  "  deep 
thoughts,"  and  "flowery  thoughts,"  and  "an- 
guished thoughts,"  and  fairy  thought^"  and  heaven 
knows  how  many  more  kinds  of  thoughts,  were 
labouring  in  the  bosoms  of  all  the  Snookses  and 
Brookses,  whom,  in  our  benighted  ignorance,  we 
conceived,  from  our  own  daily  observation,  not  to 
have  one  idea  to  rub  against  another.  The  age  of 
chivalry  and  romance  may  be  gone ;  but  who  shall 
say  that  poetry  is  dead,  in  the  era  which  has  given 
birth  to  the  shady  grandeurs  of  "  Pandcmoniumy  fy 


J 


238 


THE  POETS  OF  THE  DAY. 


Alfred  PeUiroguSy*  or  the  Anacreontic  elegance  of 
^^ Gleams cfOlenlivayhyJaspar  JVhisiipunchotficz?" 
But  why  do  we  single  out  these^  when  Mr.  Twad- 
dell'8  entire  volume  bears  upon  its  face  the  strongest 
evidence,  that  the  poetic  voice  "that  hourly  speaks 
within  us,"  still  soars  triumphantly  above  the  clat- 
ter of  Com  Law  agitation,  steam-engines,  and  spin- 
ning-jennies? 

It  is  a  beautiful  book,  this  of  Mr.  Twaddell's,— a 
casket  worthy  to  contain  such  priceless  gems. 
The  paper  is  the  best  thick  post  wove  ;   the  print- 
hig  wonderful,  when  we  consider  the  notoriously 
bad  spelling  of  female  authoresses  and  amatory 
poets,  who  supply  the  staple  of  the  contents ;  and 
the  engravings  distinguished  by  the  same  force  and 
vigour  of  handling,  which,  in  the  Keepsake  and 
other  Annuals,  have  added  new  insipidity  to  the 
taste  of  the  drawing-room  and  boudoir.    It  is, 
perhaps,  almost  superfluous  to  add,  that  the  sub- 
jects of  the  illustrations  are  furnished  by  Royal 
academicians  of  the  most  distinguished  eminence 
and  incapacity.     But  the  charm  of  the  book  lies 
in  the  little  biographical  sketches  of  the  authors, 
with  which  the  editor  has  interspersed  it.     He 
brings  those  gifted  beings,  on  whose  rhapsodies 
we  have  hung  enraptured,  before  our  eyes,  "in 
their  habits,  as  they  lived."   Mr.  Twaddell  does  not 
fatigue  us  with  fine  psychological  speculations  on 
their  mental  phenomena,  like  your  prosy  Col- 
eridges,  Schlegels,  Hegels,  Lessings,  and  De  Qum- 
ceys.     He  paints  a  genius  by  his  small  clothes, 
and  fixes  a  characteristic  In  a  twist  of  the  cravat. 
With  a  minuteness  truly  charming,  he  details  an 
author's  annual  outlay  upon  kid  gloves  and  eau- 
de-Cologne  ;  and  If  you  do  not  know  the  height  of 
his  hero.  In  his  stocking-soles,  to  a  hair,  It  Is  not 
Mr.  Twaddell's  fault.     How  charming  It  Is  to  be 
assured,  for  mstance,  that  the  beautiful  authoress 
of  "The  Cockatoo  of  Koordlstan"  takes  her  tea 
without  sugar,  and  that  the  bard  of  the  "  Songs  of 
Fashionable  Life"— our  readers   are,  of  course, 
aware  that  we  allude  to  the  accomplished  Smug- 
gins— Is  given  to  the  elegant  mdulgence  of  picking 
his  teeth  with  a  three-pronged  fork.     It  Is  nothing 
to  tell  us  that  Sir  Sunper  WhiflSe  has  the  most 
playful  fancy,  and  the  most  pjollshed  diction  of 
any  lyrist  of  the  day :  but  It  m  a  satisfaction  to 
know,  with  the  certainty  which  Mr.  Twaddell's  un- 
questionable accuracy  warrants  us  In  entertaining, 
that  he  draws  his  Inspiration  from  devilled  biscuit, 
and  sherry  and  water.    In  such  Items  of  useful 
information  Mr.  Twaddell's  sketehes  abound ;  and, 
as  a  whole,  we  are  prepared  to  state,  with  confidence, 
that  his  share  In  the  work  before  us  fully  sup- 
porte  the  reputation  he  at  once  achieved  through- 
out Europe   and  the  minor  literary   circles  by 
his    "Reminiscences    of    Grub    Street."       But 
*'revenang  a  no  mootcng^''  as  Mr.  Yellowplush 

says. 

Mr.  Twaddell  strikes  the  key-note  of  the  volume 
In  a  dedication  to  Prince  Albert,  whose  portrait, 
by  the  way,  with  singular  appropriateness,  flourishes 
as  frontispiece  to  the  volume.  Without^  one  word 
of  preface,  we  usher  it  into  our  readers'  presence, 
in  the  perfect  assurance  that  it  cannot  fail  to  make 
the  proper^impression  on  their  mmds. 


DEDICATION  TO  PRINCE  ALBERT. 

BY  THE  EDITOR. 

Hlostrious  Bciou  of  a  noble  line. 
That  rules  o'er  realms  of  sonrest  kraut  and  wine; 
Thou,  who  hajs  felt  the  Muses'  cheerful  flame. 
And  lisp'd  in  numbers,  when — the  numbers  came; 
Sire  of  a  tome,  ne'er  criticised  but  gently, 
Pnblished,  price  one  pound  one,  by  Bichiud  Bentley; 
ThoQ  who  canst  gratify  the  Nation's  hopes. 
And  yet  find  time  for  crotchets  and  for  teopes; 
To  thee  we  bring — ^the  caudle  of  the  Blues — 
Decoctions  of  a  barley-water  Muse  : 
Accept  the  gift  presented  at  thy  throne. 
And  make  the  feeble  fluid  all  thine  own. 

Long  might  my  muse  this  volume's  worth  unfold, 
Its  silken  boards,  its  edges  bright  with  gold. 
Its  jetty  type,  its  paper's  mellow  tints. 
And  last,  not  least,  in  our  dear  lore,  the  prints; 
But  why  of  these  remind  your  Highness,  when 
Your  Highness  has  got  eyes  like  other  men  ! 
Yonr  portrait,  painted  for  this  work  expressly. 
By  that  distinguished  artist,  C.  R  Leslie, 
As  frontispiece,  Uie  rapt  attention  fetters, 
A  proof  of  loysdty  before  the  letters. 
So  thy  Mr  image  all  abroad  shall  run. 
Beloved  of  all,  yet  loving  only  one. 
That  gentle  partner  of  ^y  silent  hours. 
Who  shares  thy  fkme,  and  stimulates  thy  powers. 
To  wield  the  poet's  pen,  the  painter's  brush. 
And  wake  sweet  music's  transcendental  gush. 

Yet  is  it  not  thy  noble  Saxon  blood. 
Thy  line  of  ancestors  before  the  Flood, 
'TIS  not  thy  ermined  stole,  or  pomp  of  state. 
The  crowd  of  lackies  that  infest  thy  gate, — 
'Tis  not  for  these  we  seek  thy  presence  now. 
To  place  our  chaplet  on  thy  laurell'd  brow. 
No  I  scan  these  pages,  and  on  every  leaf. 
See  kindred  genius  claim  thee  for  its  chief. 
And,  vainly  emulous  of  thy  renown, 
Write  sometimes  up  to  thee,  and  sometimes — down. 
I  ask  not  thanks, — but,  if  your  Highness  should 
Think  this  poor  lay  deserves  tome  gratitude, 
I'd  not  refuse — so  generous  is  my  thrift — 
Any  snug  place  within  your  royal  gift. 
Where  duties  light,  and  very  ample  pay. 
Might  make  me  bless  thy  name  each  quarter-day. 
So  should  I  ne'er  your  princely  ear  abuse. 
With  Uie  dull  strains  of  a  plethoric  muse  ; 
But  pray  that  you  may  long  be  spared  to  grace 
Your  lofty  sphere,  and  found  a  royal  race. 
Filling  all  Windsor  vrith  the  noise  uproarious. 
Of  litSe  Alberts,  and  of  small  Viotorias. 
There  are  polnte  In  this  Dedication,  which  puzzle 
us.    The  allusion  to  the  Prince's  works,  which, 
however,  we  will  say  with  confidence,  as  we  have 
never  seen  them,  do  equal  credit  to  his  head  and 
heart.  Is  rather  ambiguous ;  and.  If  we  could  suspect 
Mr.  Twaddell  of  what  Lord  Brougham  calls  ^^thc 
degrading  faculty  of  sarcasm,"  we  might  have  been 
tempted  to  say  that  he  had  Indulged  It  here.     Bui 
no  I   though  "gentle  dulness  ever  loves  a  joke,"  \\ 
b  plain  that  Mr.  Twaddell  was  never  more  serious 
than  on  the  present  occasion.     What  a  fine  com- 
pllment  to  his  Royal  Highness  is  conveyed  in  th< 
idea,  that  he  stands  In  a  juste  milieu^  so  nicely  ba< 
lanced  between  the  extremes  of  poetical  fervour 
that  the  whole  tribe  of  authors,  smitten  with  emu 
lation  of  his  position. 

Write  sometimes  up  to  him,  and  sometimes — down. 
It  would  have  puzzled  Pope  to  pen  an  encomiun 
more  delicate ;  and  if  it  be  possible  to  tag  on  oxa 
other  encumbrance  to  that  glory  of  our  country,  th< 
Pension  List,  Prince  Albert  cannot,  with  thai 
liberal  nature  of  his,  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  delicat 


THE  POETS  OF  THE  DAY. 


239 


Baggestion  of  the  poet,  as  to  a  personal  provisioii, 
in  the  conoludiDg  paragraph.  We  shall  expect  to 
see  Mr.  TwaddeU  promoted  to  a  clerkship  of  the 
*"  Board  of  Sewers^"  at  leasts  in  an  early  OaJ9etU^ 
In  the  coarse  of  nature,  too,  the  Laureate's  bays 
and  butt  must  soon  be  going  a-begging.  Mr. 
Twtddell  tells  us  he  is  fond  of  sherry ;  and  we 
would  back  him  for  a  doeen  of  that  same  fluid 
ag&inst  Elkanah  Settle  himself,  at  a  Birth-day  Ode. 
When,  therefore,  the  time  comes,  her  Msjesty's 
Ministers  know  where  to  look  for  a  Laureate. 

To  pass  from  the  presence-room  at  Windsor,  to 
I  private  nursery,  is  a  transition  somewhat  abrupt ; 
bat  there  is  something  so  appropriate  in  the  lines 
we  are  about  to  quote,  that  we  are  induced  to  make 
it  And  here  we  would  remark,  that  the  loyalty 
of  oar  national  character  is  illustrated  in  no- 
thing more  strongly  than  in  the  tendency  to 
call  oar  sons  and  daughters  after  the  scions  of 
royalty.  The  number  of  Victorias  that  we  know 
iliimdible ;  and  Albert  Edwards,  will  soon,  we 
expect,  be  as  plentiful  as  blackberries.  The  Hues 
in  question  are  supposed  to  be  addressed  by  Mr. 
Albert  Sacks  of  the  Coburg,  who  does  ^^the  gene- 
ral utility  business,"  at  that  popular  place  of 
entertauunent,  and  who  baptized  his  infant  son 
**  Albert  Edward,"  the  Teiy  day  after  the  royal 
christening.  Mr.  Frederick  King,  the  well-known 
<letler  in  Prussian  blue,  stood  godfather  on  the  oc- 
caiion,and  it  is  to  him  the  public  owes  the  follow- 
ing addiess:— 

TO  THE  YOUNG  ALBERT, 

Earth  has  many  joys,  bat  none 
Like  the  fathers  in  his  son; 
Earth  has  many  a  ftury  ereatnre, 
Li^  of  limb,  and  bright  of  featore, 

LoTely  sorely  they  be  1 
But  it  holds  no  sight  so  fidr. 

To  a  father's  eyes, 
Ab  a  little  son  and  heir 
Swaddled  roond  and  roond  with  eare^ 
Winking  with  its  little  eyes,) 

A  chubby  little  baby  I 

See  it  on  its  norse's  lap 

With  its  ro^&ce 
Peeping  from  its  lacM  cap 
All  about  the  place; 
How  it  mnmbles  down  its  pap 

With  a  pretty  moe! 
How  it  rnbs  its  little  thumbs 
All  a^nst  its  little  gums. 

Throws  its  little  hands 
Bound  and  rotmd  its  littte  head. 
With  its  fingers  all  outspread. 
While  its  little  Toice  is  crowing, 
like  proud  Chanticleer's  a-going 

'Monghis  feathered  bands, 

SoUen  fit,  domestic  quarrel. 

What  are  they  to  him  t 
Be  hia  nnrses  bail  or  moral, 
LeaTe  him  but  his  bells  and  coral. 

They  may  sink  or  swim. 
He  is  erer  blithe,  and  chirrups 
0*er  his  caudle,  o'er  his  syrups, 

Erer  wild  with  frolic  ; 
SsTe,  perchance,  his  little  yriia 
Art  perplexed  with  teething  fits, 

Or  a  twinge  of  colic. 

Twinge  of  colic,  teething  fits, 

Hoch  perplex  his  little  wits. 

Mace  him  peak  and  pine. 


Teach  the  tiny  elf  to  know 
Something  of  the  pain  and  woe, 
Which,  when  that  Old  Snake  preyailed. 
Was  upon  our  race  entailed 

Through  the  female  line. 
But  thou  root  of  rhubarb  yellow. 

Fragrant  leaf  of  senna. 
Come,  like  saintly  thoughts  that  hallow. 
Gripes  and  griping  pangs  to  mellow. 
Set  at  rest  the  Uttle  feUow, 

Sare  him  from  Gehenna ! 

Dearest  love,  my  toddy's  done-* 

We  may  wander  bedward ; 
But  up  stairs  first  let  me  run 
To  embrace  our  darling  son — 

Our  little  Albert  Edward. 
Sweetest  love,  this  evening  all 
He's  done  nothing  else  but  squall : 
Let  me  try  what  I  can  do 

To  paciiy  the  little  grumbler. 
I'll  giro  him  sugar  in  his  pap, 
111  dandle  him  into  a  nap ; 
And  in  my  absence,  dearest,  you 

Can  mix  yourself  another  tumbler, 

Windtor  Cattle^  27tk  Januaryy  1842. 

One  of  the  most  charming  domestic  poems  ever 
penned — redolent  of  caudle,  steaming  with  the  frra- 
grance  of  what  that  unfortunate  cockalgner,  Johnny 
Keats,  calls  'Uucent  syrups  tinct  with  cinnamon,' 
and  all  the  other  sugary  nutriments  of  babyish  ex* 
istence.  If  the  editor  of  the  **  Infant  Annual " 
does  his  duty,  these  lines  must  lead  off  his  very 
next  volume.  Mothers  will  smile  over  them,  as 
only  mothers  can  do ;  and  fathers  will  forget  the 
anxieties  of  their  state,  to  think  that  poetry  can 
invest  it  with  such  charms.  Had  the  authorship 
of  the  lines  been  left  by  the  editor  to  surmise,  we 
should,  certainly,  from  the  internal  evidence,  have 
traced  them  to  a  high  quarter.  The  date, 
"  Windsor  Castky"  might  also  have  been  taken  as 
favouring  this  condusbn,  if  the  weU-known  letter 
of  a  gentleman,  who  is  said  to  be  member  for  Edin- 
burgh, had  not  made  it  doubtful,  whether  Windsor 
Castle  really  means  Windsor  Castle,  or  only  ^^  The 
(Jostle"  at  Windsor. 

But  we  may  not  linger  on  this  theme — ^for  be- 
hold on  the  next  page  biases,  what  for  us  has  irre- 
sistible attractions-— <^  ^n  .fiisfem /SSsrsfMkitf.''  The 
East  I  To  us,  there ismagic  in  the  word — transport- 
ing us  to  those  the  days  of  our  green  youth,  when 
Moore  and  Byron  held  the  monopoly  of  song,  and 
orientalism  raged  with  a  scimitar  in  one  hand  and 
a  b<mquet  of  acacia  blossoms  in  the  other,  through 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  demoralized  British 
islands.  Then  we  could  tell  a  Giaour  from  a 
Qhebir,  better  than  Hamlet  knew  a  hawk  from  a 
hemshaw.  The  land  of  the  cypress  andmyrtle  was 
as  familiar  to  us  as  the  coast  of  Fife.  Standing 
on  Leith  pier,  we  have  fancied  ourselves  gazing  on 
the  waters  of  the  breezy  Bosphoms.  In  short, 
our  whole  soul,  like  the  atmosphere  of  a  civic  ban- 
quet, was  redolent  of  Turkey  and  of  Greece.  And 
even  now,  though  that  delicious  diet  (for,  alas! 
life  cannot  be  one  continued  Christmas  feast ! )  hath 
somewhat  palled  upon  our  senses,  we  can  still 
yield  to  its  fascinations,  with  something  of  tiie 
passion  of  a  first  love ;  and  never  did  Ulysses* 
boatswain  listen  more  eagerly  to  the  song  of  that 


240 


TUE  POETS  OF  THE  DAY. 


Syren,  Sal  Slammock,  whose  musical  abilities  are 

80  highly  spoken  of  by  Homer,  than  do  we  to  the 

EASTERN  SERENADE. 

BY  THE  HONOURABLE  SINJIlf  MUFF. 

The  minarets  ware  on  the  plains  of  Stambool, 

And  the  breexe  of  the  eyening  blows  Areshly  and  oool ; 

The  Toice  of  the  mnsnad  is  heard  from  the  west. 

And  Kaftan  and  Kalpac  have  gone  to  their  rest. 

The  notes  of  the  Kislar  ret^cho  no  more, 

And  the  waves  of  Al  Sirat  &11  light  on  the  shore. 

Where  art  thou,  my  beauty !  where  art  thou,  my  bride ! 

Oh,  come  and  repose  by  thy  Dragoman's  side  I 

I  wait  for  thee  still  by  the  flowery  tophaik — 

I  have  broken  my  Eblis  for  Zuleima's  sake. 

But  the  heart  that  adores  thee,  is  faithftil  and  true. 

Though  it  beat  'neath  the  folds  of  a  Greek  AlUh-hu  I 

Oh  wake  thee,  my  dearest  1  the  muftis  are  still, 

And  the  Tshocadars  sleep  on  the  Franguestan  hill ; 

No  sullen  Aleikonm — no  Denreesh  is  here, 

And  the  mosques  are  all  watching  by  lonely  Kashmere ; 

Oh,  come  in  the  gush  of  thy  beauty  so  ftiU, 

I  haTe  waited  for  thee,  my  adored  Attar-gul  I 

I  see  thee — I  hear  thee — thy  antelope  foot 
Treads  lightly  and  soft  on  the  yeWet  cheroot. 
The  jeweU'd  amaun  of  thy  zemxem  is  bare. 
And  the  folds  of  thy  palampore  wave  in  the  air. 
Come,  rest  on  the  bosom  that  loves  thee  so  well, 
My  dove  !  my  Phingari  I  my  gentle  gazelle  !■ 

Nay,  tremble  not,  dearest !  I  feel  thy  heart  throb, 
'Neath  the  sheltering  shroud  of  thy  snowy  kiebaub ; 
Lo,  there  shines  Mueszin,  the  beautiful  star, 
Thy  lover  is  with  thee,  and  danger  afar — 
Say,  is  it  the  glance  of  the  haughty  Vizier, 
Or  the  bark  of  the  distant  Effendi,  you  fear ! 

Oh,  swift  fly  the  hours  in  the  garden  of  bliss, 
And  sweeter  than  balm  of  Grehenna,  thy  kiss  ! 
Wherever  I  wander — ^wherever  I  roam. 
My  spirit  flies  back  to  its  beautifbl  home. 
It  dwells  by  the  lake  of  the  limpid  Stamboul, 
With  thee,  my  adored  one  I  my  own  Attar-gul ! 

Had  Byron  been  alive,  or  Moore  not  ceased  to 
write,  we  should  have  bidden  them  look  to  their 
laurels  ;  for  every  one  must  see,  that 

Their  verse  at  best  is  but  insipid  stuff*, 
Beside  the  strong  potheen  of  Sinjin  Mufi*. 
Nonsense,  says  Dryden,  shall  be  eloquent  in  love  ; 
and  here  we  find  the  axiom  fairly  tested, — ^for  in  this 
eastern  serenade  are  comprised  nonsense  and  elo- 
quence in  perfection.  But,  apart  from  its  erotic 
and  poetical  merits,  it  is  a  great  curiosity,  as  ex- 
hibiting, in  a  very  marked  manner,  the  singular 
changes  which  the  stride  of  civilisation,  and  the 
bow-string  of  Sultan  Mahmoud,  have  made  in  the 
Turkish  language  and  customs  within  a  very  few 
years.  Thus,  we  learn,  from  the  Hon.  Sinjin 
MuflF,  that  a  **  musnud,"  which,  in  Byron's  day, 
was  a  sofa,  now  signifies  a  nightingale.  A  '^  to- 
phaik," which  once  fired  away  in  Moore's  octosylla- 
bics as  a  musket,  b  metamorphosed  into  a  bank 
of  flowers.  **Zemzem,"  the  sacred  well,  now 
makes  shift  as  a  chemise;  while  the  rallying  cry  of 
*^  AUah-hu"  closes  in  a  stanza,  as  a  military  cloak. 
Even  Grehenna,  the  place  of  torment,  is  mitigated 
into  a  valley,  rich  in  unctuous  spices.  But  the 
most  singular  of  all  these  transmutations,  in  the 
Turkish  vocabulary,  is  that  of  the  word  "  EiSendi," 
which  used  to  be  a  respectful  epithet  applied  to  a 
Christian  gentleman,  but  is  now  the  denomina- 
tion of  a  dog.    Most  of  these  changes  are  certainly 


highly  poetical ;  and  while  we  admire  their  inge- 
nuity, we  do  not  impugn  their  correctness.  Bat 
with  all  respect  for  the  Honourable  Sinjin  Muff, 
(who,  Mr.  Twaddell  tells  us,  is  a  distinguished 
oriental  scholar,  having  once  sailed  from  Malta  to 
Constantinople  in  a  steam-boat,  and  lived  upon 
figs  and  soda  water  all  the  way,)  we  think  that,  in 
one  or  two  instances,  he  has  sacrificed  propriety  at 
the  shrine  of  imagination.  We  do  not  allude  to 
such  little  incongruities  as  the  waving  of  a  mina- 
ret, or  the  watching  of  a  mosque.  These  may  be 
accounted  for ;  but  who— who,  we  ask  with  some 
earnestness,  ever  heard  of  cheroots  growing  ready- 
made  among  the  grass,  or  of  a  young  lady  keeping 
an  appointment  in  a  scarf  trimmed  with  mutton 
cutlets  ?  We  say  nothing  to  the  bold  idea  of  the 
Dragoman,  who  snaps  Eblis  in  twain,  as  a  gar- 
dener might  do  a  Ax>sted  carrot ;  but  we  will  not 
give  up  our  own  interpretation  of  ^^  Kiebaubs," 
seeing  that  we  dined  upon  them  not  two  months 
ago  at  the  best  chop-house  in  Constantinople. 

Among  the  bards  of  Eastern  song,  who  enrich 
Mr.  Twaddell's  volume  with  orient  pearls  dragged 
from  the  very  mire  of  obscurity,  none  have  signal- 
ized themselves  more  conspicuously  than  Mr. 
Abiram  Lewti,  a  young  gentleman  of  the  Hebrew 
persuasion,  who,  we  learn,  was  introduced  to  Mr. 
Twaddell's  notice  by  an  accident  strictly  personal,— 
indeed,  domestic  in  its  character.  It  appears  from 
that  gentleman's  narrative,  that  having  formed  a 
determined  resolution  to  convert  certain  portions 
of  his  wardrobe,  (of  which  he  has  favoured  us 
with  a  minute  catalogue,)  into  an  equivalent  in 
her  majesty's  currency,  he  had  been  on  the  look- 
out for  a  respectable  agent  to  whom  he  might 
intrust  the  conduct  of  so  important  and  delicate  a 
negotiation.  Passing  over  his  interesting,  but 
somewhat  prolix  narrative  of  a  series  of  visits  to 
Monmouth  and  Holywell  Streets,  we  come  at  once 
to  his  first  meeting  with  the  singular  and  ^talented" 
subject  of  the  memoir : — 

I  was  wandering,  (says  Mr.  Twaddell,)  slowly,  and  if, 
the  truth  must  be  told,  rather  pensively,  down  Holbom 
Hill.  Repeated  rejections  of  my  literary  lucubrations  by 
a  variety  of  magazines,  had  somewhat  damped  my  enthu- 
siasm, and  ruffled  my  temper.  The  reader  will,  therefore, 
hardly  be  surprised,  when  I  aver,  that  neither  the  bril- 
liant display  of  saveloys  and  rump-steaks  in  the  windows, 
nor  the  frequent  remarks  of  the  passers  by^expressed  ia 
such  terms  as  these, "  That's  Twaddell  1  There  goes  the 
Great  Metropolitan  I  Lord  bless  him  !  That's  one  of  the 
*  Popular  People  ! '  Hooroar  for  Twaddell  I  There  he 
goes  with  his  eye  out !  &c.)"  could  distract  my  attention 
from  the  all-absorbing  current  of  my  thoughts.  Sudden- 
ly, I  felt  some  one  touch  my  elbow,  and  a  low  and  musical, 
though  slightly  husky,  voice  breathed  into  my  ear  the 
following  singular  interrogatory, — 

"anFa)aieiotJ)e0,  «>ir?" 

I  started,  looked  round,  and  at  once  recognized,  in  tb^ 
individual  who  accosted  me,  the  unmistakeable  stamp  or 
genius.  He  was  a  young  man,  apparently  about  (oja- 
and-twenty,  gaudily,  rather  than  neatly,  dressed,  witl^ 
I  should  say,  a  decidedly  Jewish  cast  of  mind  and  ooontaH 
nance.  His  skin,  if  duly  purified  from  a  rough  snAj 
somewhat  scaly  epidermis,  would  have  been  of  a  delicatj 
pease-soup  tint ;  his  eyes  were  dark,  penetrating,  ani 
expressive,  with  an  inclination  towards  each  other,  i»hict 
blended  their  mutual  lustre  at  a  point,  distant,  certainly^ 
not  more  than  half  an  inch  frDm  a  nose  that  mi^t  havj 
riveted  attention  upon  the  Aquiline  Hill,  in  the  days  oC 


THE  POETS  OF  THE  DAY. 


241 


tbe  Ceaan.  On  his  head,  with  daring  originality,  he 
wore  three  hate  piled  one  iU>ove  the  other ;  and  nnder  his 
Mk  irm  he  carried  a  large,  rusty,  but  well-filled  bag,  of 
wMwhat  eztraTagant  proportions.  This  was  no  other 
tbo  Abibim  Lewti,  the  yoang  Jew  bard  of  Whitechapel 
East 

Hie  reader  must  excuse  us,  if  we  omit  Mr.  Twad- 
dell*8  conrersation  with  the  interesting  stranger, 
which  was  conducted  in  a  neighbouring  pot-house, 
and  seems  to  hare  terminated  in  a  manner  equally 
satiifaetoiy  to  both  the  contracting  parties.  Nei- 
ther, nnfortunately,  can  we  afford  space  for  the  pro- 
tracted narrative  of  a  supper,  at  which  social'  meal 
Mr.  TwaddeU  subsequently  entertained  the  tuneful 
deieendant  of  Abraham ;  nor  the  graphic  details 
(!f  his  honor  at  the  sight  and  smell  of  a  savoury 
dish  of  pork  sausages,  which  formed  the  only  dish. 
Enough  for  us  to  know,  that  Mr.  Twaddell,  with 
tbt  editorial  dexterity  in  which  he  is  unrivalled, 
succeeded  in  eliciting  from  his  friend  sundry  choice 
^lechnens  of  Israelitish  versification,  from  which 
it  gratifies  us  to  select  the  following : — 

^    LAY  OF  THE  LEVITK 

BY  ABIRAM  LEWTI. 

There  is  a  soand  that's  dear  to  me. 

It  haonts  me  in  my  sleep ; 
I  wake,  and,  if  I  hear  it  not, 

I  cannot  dioose  bat  weep. 
AboTe  the  roaring  of  the  wind. 

Above  the  river's  flow, 
Methinks  I  hear  the  mystic  cry, 

Of «  Qo  !— Old  Clo  !" 

The  exile's  song,  it  thrills  among 
'  The  dwellings  of  the  free. 

Its  SDond  is  strange  to  English  ears, 

Bot  't  is  not  strange  to  me ; 
For  it  hath  shook  the  tented  field 

In  ages  long  ago. 
And  hosts  have  quailed  before  the  cry 

Of  «  Clo  I-Old  ao  r 

Oh  lose  it  not !  forsake  it  not  I 

And  let  no  time  efface 
The  memory  of  that  solemn  sound, 

The  watchword  of  oar  race. 
For  not  by  dark  and  eagle  eye. 

The  Hebrew  shall  you  know, 
80  well  as  by  the  plaintive  ory. 

Of  "Clo!— Old  Clo!" 

Even  now,  perchance,  by  Jordan's  banks, 

On  Sidon's  sunny  walls, 
Where,  dial-like,  to  portion  time, 

Tb»  palm-tree's  shadow  falls. 
The  pilgrims,  wending  on  their  way, 

WBl  linger,  as  tiiey  go. 
And  listen  to  the  distant  ory. 

Of  «  Qo  I— Old  ao  !" 

Qnis,  talia  fiuido,  temperet  a  lachrymis  ! 
For  ourselves,  when  the  first  tearful  gush  of 
Mir  emotion  was  over,  we  searched  out  every  vener- 
^  artide  of  wearing  apparel  in  our  possession, 
*^  they  were  not  a  few,  and  sending  to  the  front 
«^  the  Roister  Office, 
^^  vdiere  many  a  saffiron  Levite  lurks, 
^  wgs  old  clothes  from  starring  writers'  clerks, 
f'^r  one  of  the  fraternity,  we  handed  over  our  de- 
^M  wits  to  him  in  the  gross  for  a  very  bagatelle, 
--«n  oU  song.    Such  b  tiie  power  of  poesy !    Our 
vbole  eymp^es  were  stirred  for  the  fallen  race, 
*^  we  Yowed  that  Judah  should  not  want  a  ban- 
w,  so  kmg  as  we  had  a  pair  of  antique  ine^pres- 


sibles  to  suspend  crosswise^  like  the  Moslem  horse- 
tail, upon  an  upreared  pole.  We  had  travelled 
with  La  Martine,  through  the  Holy  Land  ;  but  no- 
thing, in  all  his  pilgrimage,  touched  us  so  deeply 
as  that  still  recurring  burden,  of  **  Clo !— rOld 
Clo  I "  We  became  "  an  Ebrew  Jew"  for  the  time, 
and  its  plaintive  cadence  thrilled  upon  our  souls, 
like  the  piping  E€mz  des  vdches  upon  the  expatriated 
Swiss,  or  the  mellifluous  breathings  of  the  bagpipe 
upon  an  exiled  "  dhuineioasseL'* 

But  we  hasten  to  relieve  the  melanclioly  of  our 
mood,  by  lighter  strains ;  and  those  of  Mr.  Jonas 
Smifzer,  and  Mr.  Jeremiah  Smauker,  come  most 
opportunely  to  our  aid.  "  Love  and  Ltquar  ;  or. 
The  SmHmental Pot'bcy^^  by  Smauker,  is  conceived 
in  a  strain  of  finely-blended  blackguardism  and 
maudlin,  which  would  render  it  invaluable  to  cer- 
tain periodicals  that  shall  be  nameless.  But  for 
elegant  insipidity,  and  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  language  unencumbered  with  meaning,  commend 
us  to  "  The  BUnd  Old  Milkman"  in  terza  rima  by 
Smifzer.  "  Smifzer,"  as  Mr.  Twaddell  says,  with  the 
discrimination  of  a  Longinus,  ^*  has  more  smooth- 
ness,— Smauker  more  force.  Smauker  startles, 
upon  occasion,  with  an  almost  Milesian  fervour,— 
Smifzer  soothes  with  a  tenderness  that  drivels  in 
dulcet  and  well-nigh  Lesbian  measures.  When  we 
stumble  upon  such  lines  in  Smauker,  as 
No  joys  serene,  no  calm  delights  they  knew. 
But  wildly  soaked  their  clay,  till  all  was  blue, 

the  vigour  of  the  cdHception  certainly  pleases,  but  the 
rough  daring  of  the  expression  somewhat  offends  us. 
But  in  Smifzer,  the  coarsest  images  are  clothed  in 
a  graceful  pomp  of  diction,  that  divests  them  of 
half  their  grossness ;  and  we  are  told, — as  in  lus 
well-known  description  of  a  cow-house,— of 

The  pungent  odours  of  digested  hay, 
without  even  a  momentary  sensation  of  disgust." 

Much  more  of  this  sort  of  criticism  follows,  but, 
instructive  as  it  is,  we  tear  ourselves  from  i^  and 
present  our  readers  with  a  specimen  of  the  joint 
labours  of  Messieurs  Smifzer  and  Smauker,  in  a 
modem  Town  Eclogue,  which  has  been  happily 
designated, 

TIPSYCHIDION; 
OR,  THE  POT-HOUSE  PASTORAL. 

«  Sweet  Spirit."— ^Ae/^V  Efnpej/tkidwn. 
The  Argument. 
Smifzer  and  Smauker,  two  metropolitan  literati,  very 
expert  at  disposing  of  ^  brandies  and  water,  warm  with," 
enter  into  a  frien<Uy  contest  as  to  their  relative  poetical 
merits,  over  a  hot  tombler  at  the  "Blue  Posts"— the 
loser  to  pay  the  bill.  Ezskiel  Smudoe,  landlord  of  the 
establishment  is  appointed  umpire,  holds  the  stakes,  and 
keeps  them.  The  disputants  end  where  they  began,  and 
the  bar  is  dosed. 

Smifzer. 
Smauker  t  while  thus  our  hunger  we  appease 
Wlth-Hfrugal  supper  !— tripe  and  toasted  cheese; 
Ere  yet  the  alcoholic  juice  be  poured. 
And  smoking  tumblers  grace  the  genial  board. 
Let  not  the  voice  of  prudence  be  Ibrgot, 
But  let  us  settle  who's  to  pay  the  shot. 

Smauker. 
Like  Plato,  Smiftor,  hast  thou  reasonM  well, 
But  what  reply  to  give,  I  cannot  tell. 
Methinks,  unless  my  reoollection  fkil. 
Last  nigh^  I  paid  for  oysters,  and  for  ale; 


242 


THE  POETS  OF  THE  DAY. 


Not  D&ndo'fl  self  «oiild  Hettir  elear  ib«  Mores, 
ThML  you,  my  Smifeer,  bolted  ike  Pandores. 

Smtfieb. 
Yon  paid  fbr  oysters,  Smauker,  that  is  tme; 
Nor  only  paid,  for  you  deroured  tiiem  too. 
Bat  calm  obliTion  closed  your  eyes  at  leii|^, 
With  twelve  hot  tamblers,  each  of  extra  strength. 
And  broke  from  memory's  chain  one  binding  Unk; — 
Tou  stood  the  Tittles,  but  I  stood  the  drink. 

Smauker, 
Smif^r,  yoQ  did !  then  hear  what  I  propose, 
To  end  this  strife,  and  liqaidate  the  poet : — 
Let's  order  in  the  fluids,  stiff  and  strong. 
And  straight  contend  we  in  alternate  song; 
And  he  who  bears  the  palm  of  yerse  away. 
Shall  calmly  drink,  and  see  the  other  pay. 

Smifzeb. 
To  that  proposal  gladly  I  agree; 
So — waiter  !  bring  us  pipes  and  drink  for  three : 
And  our  good  landlord  here,  Ezekiel  Smudge, 
Shall  of  this  brothers'  contest  be  the  judge. 

Smubob. 
I  does  not  care,  as  how  sitch  trash  I  hear, 
If  so  be  that  yon  oovies  stands  the  beer. 

Smaukbb. 
Smifter  !  begin  the  dithyrambic  lay. 

Smudge. 
Mix  up  your  tums,  my  lads,  and  Are  away  ! 

Smifzer. 
Soft  is  the  breeze,  when  Zephyr  nightly  fans. 
With  wistful  sweep,  the  cat-frequented  cans; 
Soft  are  the  cries  that  haunt  our  early  sleep. 
When  pot-boys  wail,  and  cinder-maidens  weep; 
But  softer  stui  the  verse — so  virgins  tell — 
Which  Smifiser  writes,  and  minstrel-packmen  sell. 

SUAUKER. 

'  I  heard,  like  rain,  the  pensive  tear-drops  &11, 
In  thy  resplendent  grove,  lamp-lit  Vaukhall  t 
When  young  SqualUni,  with  her  silver  note. 
Wove  the  long  quaver  through  her  tortuous  throat. 
And  Scroggins  mattered,  as  she  trilled  the  ode, 
"<  If  that's  not  Smauker's  writing,  I'll  be  blowed !" 

Smifzer. 
This  prize  behold!  a  trophy  nobly  won. 
In  mutual  verse,  from  Alfred  Tennyson; 
A  pinchbeck  snaff-boz,  valued  one-and-six — 
I  beat  poor  **  Oriana**  all  to  sticks. 

Smauker. 
I  know  the  box — 'tis  pinchbeck,  to  be  sure; 
But  see  this  toothpick,  gained  from  Thomas  Moore  : 
Itogers  was  by,  and  laid  a  quart  of  stout. 
That  r  would  floor  the  kiddy  out  and  out. 

Smifzer. 
Me  Peltirogus  honours  with  his  praise — 
Great  Peltirogus,  whom  "  The  M<mthltf**  pays: 
He  dined  vrith  me  last  week,  and  thus  he  spake — 
*'  Another  pot  of  heavy  let  us  take; 
Smifzer  !  Uiou  art  a  brick,  and  bo  mistake  !" 

Smaukbb. 
Me  Diebabs  loves,  the  all-transcending  Jant, 
Nor  greets  her  pensive  Smauker  vnth  disdain  ; 
For,  lately  wandering  fkr  in  Lisson  Grove, 
Thus  fiuntly  did  she  own  our  mutual  love,-^ 
**  Yell,  now  !  I  never  see'd  so  mm  a  oove  ! " 

Smifzeb. 
My  lays  kind  Beniley  takes — discerning  soul  t 
And  so  might  Fra$er — if  he'd  post  the  cole ; 
For  Thackeray  whispers,  'tis  a  burning  sin 
To  leajFe  ne  out,  and  patronize  ^^g^n. 

Smaukbb. 
Far  worse,  methinks,  it  is  to  leave  me  out. 
And  vamp  the  musty  wares  of  Father  Prout; 


But  I  for  vengeance  shall  no  lenger  wait. 
Next  month  my  name,  be  sure,  appeus  in  TiMt. 

SmifzeBt 
Another  tumbler,  Smauker,  let  us  fill. 
And  quaff  the  more  than  Heliconian  rill; 
Then  tell  me  this,  and  I  the  prize  forego— 
What  daring  mortal  first  did  jump  Jim  Grow  t 
Or  say,  what  fkvoured  son  of  negro  song 
First  bade  exulting  Josey  jim  along  1 

Smaukbb. 
Nay,  rather  say,  if  ever  in  mine  eye 
The  fluntest  speck  of  green  thou  could'st  espy 
Why  honoured  Ferguson  was  forced  to  wait,  I 
And  found  no  entrance,  though  he  knocked  so  late ! 
And  why  the  hopeless  maid,  of  love  bereft. 
Should  pine  in  sUent  sorrow,  o'er  the  left  I 

Smifzer. 
Smudge — I  appeal  to  thee  !  the  contest's  done, 

Smauker. 
Justice,  good  Smudge  !  Say,  hath  not  Smauker  won  ? 

Smudge. 
Them  there's  the  stakes !    Yell,  then,  I  pockets  they. 
And  leaves  you,  as  you  likes,  the  shot  to  pay  : 
Fill  up  your.tums  once  more,  and  light  your  pipes— 
Danged,  if  I  doesn't  think  I've  got  the  gripes  ! 
Mind,  though  !  to-night  you  gets  no  more  hot  stuff; 
Jim  i  shut  the  bar — the  coves  have  lashed  enough. 

This  is  in  the  tme  Virgilian  taste.  Indeed,  that 
last  line  is  simply  an  elegant  paraphrase  of  the 
well-known 

Claudite  jam  rivos,  pueri,  sat  prata  bibemnt, 
of  the  Mantuan's  Third  Eclogue,  thus  freely  ren- 
dered by  the  late  Sir  John  Sinclair,  in  his  amnsing 
work  on  irrigation — 

The  fields  are  fuddled — lads,'shut  up  the  sluices; 
To  soak  one's  clay  too  much  a  mere  abuse  is. 

The  idea  of  substituting  pints  of  heavy,  and 
ffoes  of  brandy  for  the  kid  and  pipe,  which  form 
the  customary  guerdons  of  successfid  shepherds  in 
the  ancient  eclogue,  is  rery  original,  and  nicely 
adapted  to  the  tastes  of  modem  society.  One 
thing,  certainly,  is  not  to  be  denied,  that  Smifzer 
and  Smauker  make  as  great  asses  of  themselves, 
as  any  Msnalcas  or  Damstns  of  them  all,  from 
Bion  and  Theocritus  down  to  **  feeble  Philips." 
This  is  the  triumph  of  pastoral  poetry,  as  Warton 
has  told  us ;  and  as  every  reader  of  it  knows  by 
drowsy  experience. 

But  let  us  take  a  specimen  of  the  individual 
merits  of  this  noble  pair  of  brothen.  What  a 
delightful  mixture  of  playful  tenderness,  and 
what  the  Grermans  call  "  Welt-Ironle,"  and  we 
call  knowingness,  is  presented  in 

THE  LOVERS^  (QUARREL. 

BY  SMAUKER. 

Why  art  thou  sad,  my  love, 

Moumfhl  to-day ! 
I'm  not  to  be  had,  my  love. 

That  sort  of  way. 
Pettings  and  poutings  are  all  very  fine, 
Bat  tMnk  not  to  oatch  me  with  cha£^  iMdje 

"Why  vnlt  thou  turn  away 

Eyes  that  were  made 
IQot  sure  to  bum  away 

•Dimly  in  shade  ! 
B,\ise,  then,  these  envious  eyelids  of  thine ; 
Show  thyself  wide  awake,  sweetest  love  mine* 


THE  POETS  OF  THE  DAY. 


243 


Nay,  I  will  linger  not, 

Shoold'st  thou  command : 
Wh&t  I  may  I  finger  not 

Thy  pretty  hand ! 
Oft  have  I  played  with  it— bat  I  resign ; 
Yoo  liked  that  well  enough  oiiee,  ladye  mine. 

Spoil  not  thy  lip^  my  lore, 

Biting  it  so. 
Why  fray  its  tip,  my  loTe  ? 

lliere !  Let  it  go. 
Kay,  now,  do  let  nie  sip  its  dewy  wine, — 
ni  promise  yon  not  to  get  tipsy^  love  mine. 

Well,  I  mnet  pity  her 

Who  eonld  look  sad. 
Thafk  80  mncli  prettier, 

Smiling,  and  glad 
Henee,  olonds,  away,  let  the  son  fireely  shine  ! 
Well  kiss,  and  be  friends  again — sha'n't  we,  lore 
mine! 

What  maiden's  heart  could  resist  snch  an  ap- 
peal ?  Smauker  must  be  a  very  Giovanni  among 
the— milliner's  apprentices.  Smiiier,  however, 
flies  at  higher  game,  as  we  aee  from  the  following 
degant  lines : — 

ON  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  THE  COUNTESS 
OF  TITTERLY. 

BTSMIFZEB. 

What's  a  lip  t  A  mby  case. 

Holding  lots  of  beanteoos  pearls, 
Pouting  from  thy  high-bom  face. 

First  of  Britain's  peerless  girls  ! 
Sculptor  could  not  carve  it  neater. 
Cold  cream  never  make  it  sweeter : 

That's  a  lip ! 
What's  an  eye!   A  thing  of  fire. 

Brighter  than  the  purest  spar 
From  the  caves  of  Derbyshire, 

Or  a  coroacating  star. 
Gleaming  in  the  heavens,  when  dim  lit, 
Sharper  than  the  sharpest  gimlet : 

That's  an  eye  I 
What's  a  cheek !    A  veil  of  flame 

Drawn  above  the  mantling  blood 
Of  the  ehieffa  who  bore  thy  name, 

Long  anterior  to  the  Flood  ! 
Than  the  peach's  down,  'tis  softer, 
And  'tis  tonched  a  good  deal  ofter  : 

That's  a  eheek  ! 
What's  a  nose  1    A  peerless  nose, 

Gentle  ladye,  is  thine  own — 
Like  tiie  raoes-enveloped  rose, 

Sweetest,  when  'tis  fully  blown, 
Neither  Grecian,  nor  Roman, 
But  the  composite  for  woman  : 
Thaf  s  a  nose  ! 

Who,  that  reads  this,  can  be  surprised  at  being 
told  by  Mr.  T  waddell,  that  Smifzer  is  in  high  favour 
»Uh  the  editors  of  the  Annuals,  and  readily  ob- 
^  one  and  ninepence  the  printed  page  for  his 
Terset,  Mr.  Gnihley  of  "  The  Topaz,"  it  is  gra- 
tifying to  know,  has  retained  him  for  his  next 
publication ;  where,  as  Mr.  Twaddell  cautiously 
^JBts,  we  may  expect  to  see  his  ^^Ruminations  of  a 
^hped  Oyster;'  and  his  "  0^  ^  a  Dead  DonJtey," 
^hich,  like  Wordsworth's  unpublished  tragedy, 
^  kaown  among  the  select  cirole  of  his  friends 
«btt  finest  works. 
^  Alfred  Peltirogus — but  that  a  high  moral  sense 
^•trains  us  from  going  to  the  devil  with  anybody, 
;  we  ghottld  have  been  delighted  to  accompany  you 
■jinto  your  ""  Pandemonimnr  You  are  the  most 
*?»«ible  guida  into  that  unpleasant  district,  that 


we  have  yet  seen.  Virgil  is  gloomy  and  austere ; 
Dante  leaves  all  hope  behind  as  he  enters;  and 
Milton  offends  with  as  much  blue  flame  and  stench 
of  naphtha,  as  the  manager  of  the  Surrey  Theatre 
in  a  desperate  melodrama.  But  thou,  too  fasci- 
nating Peltirogus,  saunterest  into  the  Stygian  por- 
tals with  the  same  easy  jauntiness  that  marks  thy 
gait,  as,  pacing  Oxford  street  of  an  afternoon,  sus- 
ceptible maidens  pause  to  gaze  in  rapture  on  thy 
expanse  of  shoulders;  and  even  biscuit  bakers' 
daughters  confess  a  mortal  flame.  With  Pluto  thou 
art  **Hail  fellow,  well  met."  Proserpine  welcomes 
thy  soft  nonsense  ;  and  thou  canst  salute  even  the 
inexorable  Rhadamanthus  with  a  familiar  **  How 
do  !"  This  is  all  very  delightful ;  hut  we  have  a 
foolish  prejudice  against  low  company,  and  decid- 
edly prefer  the  upper  air,  and  its  associations. 
Therefore  do  we  select  from  thy  minor  poems  thy 
almost  Wordsworthian  lines, 

TO  A  FORGET  ME  NOT. 

V  FOUND  IN  MY  EMPORIUM  OF  LOVE  TOKENS. 

Sweet  flower,  that  with  thy  soft  blue  eye 
Didst  once  look  up  in  shady  spot, 

To  whisper  to  the  passer-by 
Those  tender  words — Forget  me  not ! 

Though  withered  now,  thou  art  to  me 
The  minister  of  gentle  thought, — 

And  I  could  weep  to  gaze  on  thee. 
Love's  fjMied  pledge — Forget  me  not ! 

Thou  speak'st  of  hpurs  when  I  was  young. 

And  happiness  arose  unsought, ' 
When,  wandering  the  woods  among. 

She  gave  me  thee — Forget  me  not ! 

That  rapturous  hour  with  that  dear  maid 
From  memory's  page  no  time  shall  blot, 

When,  yielding  to  my  kiss,  she  said, 
•*  Oh,  Theodore,  Forget  me  not  l" 

Alas,  for  love  1  alas,  for  truth  ! 

Alas,  for  man's  uncertain  lot  I 
Alas,  for  all  the  hopes  of  youth 

That  tsAe  like  thee — Forget  me  not ! 

Alas  !  for  that  one  image  fair. 

With  all  thy  brightest  dreami  unwronght. 
That  was  about  thee  everywhere. 

Still  whispering — Forget  me  not  I 

Oh  memory,  thou  art  but  a  sigh 
For  fHendships  dead  and  loves  forgot. 

And  many  a  cold  and  altered  eye. 
That  once  did  say — Forget  me  not  S 

And  I  must  bow  me  to  thy  laws. 
For — odd  although  it  may  be  thought, — 

I  can't  tell,  who  the  deuce  it  was. 
That  gave  me  this  Forget  me  not ! 

Who  would  have  believed  that  so  tender  a  vein 
of  sentiment  could  lurk  beneath  the  folds  of  the 
most  brilliant  waistcoat  that  ever  petrified  the 
park  ?  But,  let  man  drink  ever  so  deeply  of  the 
Circean  cup  of  pleasure,  he  cannot  wholly  stifle 
the  memory  of  those  pure  feelings  which,  like 
angelic  visions— We  can't  finish  that  sentence 
just  at  present,  having  pitched  it  in  rather  too  high 
a  key.  But  what  we  mean  to  say  is  this,  that 
whenever  you  meet  with  sentimental  verses,  you 
may  conclude,  with  positive  accuracy,  that  the 
writer  is  a  most  dissipated  dog.  And,  as  for 
amatory  poets,  long  experience  has  convinced  us 
that  they  are  the  most  flinty-hearted  villains 
in    existence.      Very    different  is    it    with  the 


244 


THE  POETS  OF  THE  DAY. 


softer  sex.  The  ruthless  conventionalities  of 
society  have  excluded  them  from  the  thousand 
various  resources  to  which  men  may  fly,  when 
they  want  to  kill  a  care  or  extirpate  a  sorrow. 
WomeUp  on  the  other  hand,  must  sit  pensively  at 
home,  pining  over  disappointed  love  and  intricate 
worsted-work,  while  the  tears  drop  from  their  dear 
eyes  upon  the  wreaths  of  artificial  roses,  each  with 
a  visible  canker  in  the  heart  as  big  as  a  Barcelona 
nut.  As  Washington  Irving  says — **  If  a  woman's 
thoughts  are  turned  to  ministers  of  sorrow,  where 
shall  she  look  for  consolation  ?  Her  lot  is  to  be 
wooed  and  won ;  and  if  unhappy  in  her  love,  her 
heart  is  like  some  fortress  that  has  been  cap- 
tured, and  sacked,  and  abandoned,  and  left  deso- 
late." 

This  somewhat  melancholy  turn  of  thought  has 
been  occasioned  in  us  by  the  perusal  of  "  Loves 
LtmentationSy"*  an  exquisite  Jeremiad,  couched  in 
a  series  of  graceful  little  poems,  by  the  beautiful 
and  accomplished  Jane  Diebabs.  They  are  headed 
in  a  very  impressive  way — as  thus :  *'  The  Beloved 
One;'  "  The  Abandoned  One,"  «  The  Degraded 
Oney"  «  The  Humbugged  One."  But  the  One,  that 
has  chiefly  won  our  wonder  is — 

THE  MALTREATED  ONE. 

Br  MISS  JANE  DIEBABS. 

Yes  I  they  have  broke  the  hallowed  spell, 

Have  burst  the  silken  cords  that  bound  us. 
And  dimmed  the  golden  light,  that  fell 

In  our  love's  early  dream  around  us. 
Ah  me  !  the  joy,  the  bliss  transporting. 

When  all  beneath  the  oaks  so  shady. 
We'd  pass  the  summer  hours  a-courting, 

I  and  my  own  adored  O'Grady  ! 
When  he,  with  such  a  winning  air, 

Would  tell  me  of  the  pang  that  grieved  him, — 
Would  call  me,  fairest  of  the  fair  ; 

And  I,  unhappy  maid,  believed  him  ! 

Delightful  hours !  too  swift  ye  flew. 

On  wings  of  joy  and  airy  blisses, 
Whose  every  finither  caught  the  hue, 
'    The  rosy  hue  of  love  and  kisses. 
He  was  so  young — so  fkir — so  good  ! 

All  other  youths,  he  beat  them  hollow  ; 
And  in  his  stocking-soles  he  stood 

Five  feet  eleven — a  young  Apollo  ! 
But  he  is  gone,  my  brave  hussar  ! 

And  my  heart-strings  are  almost  cracking*; 
For  my  old  brute  of  a  papar 

One  evening  caught  and  sent  him  packing. 

I  cannot  speak — I  cannot  smile — 

My  lips  unconscious  nonsense  mutter ; 
Perplex'd  with  woe,  oppress'd  with  bile, 

I've  lost  my  taste  for  bread  and  butter. 
Song  hath  no  more  its  charms  for  me  : 

No  more  my  lute — I  mean  piano — 
Can  win  me,  with  its  melody, 

To  cultivate  my  rich  soprano. 
No,  no  1  can  I  that  night  forget, 

When  he  was  vrarm,  and  fether  kicked  him ! 
It  will — ^must — shall — should  haunt  me  yet. 

And  I  be  evepnore  a  **  Wicnii  I" 

Miss  Diebabs'  muse  (says  Mr.  Twaddell)  is  of  a  purely 
pensive  cast.  The  daughter  of  a  retired  poulterer  from 
Fleet  Market,  she  grew  amid  the  romantic  groves  of 
Highgate,  insensible  to  the  poetry  of  that  umbrageous 
neighbourhood.    Like  Peter  Bell,  < 


A  cowslip  drooping  in  the  nin, 

A  yellow  oowtlip  was  to  Jane, 

And  it  vna  nothings  more. 


But  the  inspiring  breath  of  love,  incarnate  in  the 
Avatar  of  an  ensign  of  dragoons,  swept  across  her  spirit. 
In  a  moment  the  scales  fell  from  her  eyes,  and  field  and 
meadow  were  steeped  in  the  golden  light  of  poesy.  A 
neighbouring  stationer  supplied  her  with  the  neooBsary 
literary  materials  ;  and  fit>m  that  hour  the  Poet's  Corner 
in  the  HamptUad  Herald  had  its  Sappho.  But  all 
that's  bright  must  fade.  Mr.  Diebabs,  like  the  whole 
race  of  fathers,  knew  sentiment  only  as  a  thing  which 
destroyed  a  girl's  appetite  and  morals.  The  ensign, 
after  a  reasonable  amount  of  amatory  skirmishing,  did 
not  propose ;  and  finding  the  son  of  Mars  in  a  somewhat 
equivocal  position  one  evening,  Mr.  Diebabs  yielded  to 
that  violent  impulse  which  has  been  so  toudiingly 
alluded  to  in  the  poem.  A  seclusion  of  some  months  in 
the  country,  rendered  necessary  by  the  state  of  Miss 
Diebabs'  health,  followed  ;  and  on  her  return  home,  it 
was  renuurked  diat  she  had  grown  much  thinner  in  her 
person,  as  well  as  more  lugubrious  in  her  verse.  A 
series  of  similar  disappointments  deepened  the  gloom  of 
her  sensitive  nature,  and  drove  her  to  seek  a  hoUow 
gaiety  in  the  brandy  bottle.  It  was  one  of  these  moods 
that  gave  birth  to  the  following  graceful  freak  of  fkney, 
to  which,  as  it  formed  the  leading  ornament  of  the 
Keepsake  for  1842, 1  cheerfully  give  a  place  here. 

LINES 

WWTTEN  AKD  SENT  AKONYMOUSLT  TO  MISS  LUCY  BRIMSTOICK. 


The  tulip  fadeth  in  her  bower. 

The  diamond  is  a  dim  stone. 
And  every  flower's  a  faded  flower. 

Near  lovely  Lucy  Brimstone. 

The  lark,  that  soars  in  morning  clear, 
Though  sweet  his  thrilling  hymn's  tone. 

Hath  not  a  voice  so  soft,  so  dear, 
As  lovely  Lucy  Brimstone. 

Good  treacle  may  be  made  from  tar. 

And  water  sooner  swim  stone. 
The  moth  forget  the  evening  star. 

Ere  I  my  Lucy  Brimstone. 

When  in  the  grave  my  eyes  I  close, 

And  at  my  head  a  grim  stone, 
'Twere  well,  perhaps,  I  should  repose 

Far,  far  away  from  Brimstone. 

Poor  girl  I  I  know  not  whether  her  wish  has  been 
fulfilled.  The  pilgrim  to  the  Highgate  church-yard 
vrill  inquire  in  vain  at  the  sexton  for  her  resting-place. 
No  monument  or  cenotaph  marks  her  early  tomb.  But 
in  the  hearts  of  the  young  and  sensitive,  her  simple  lays 
live,  a  nobler  monument.    Peace  be  to  her  ashes  ! 

Light  be  the  turf  on  Diebabs*  bresst. 
And  green  the  sod  that  wraps  her  grave ! 

This  is  very  touching,  and  in  Mr.  Twaddell's  best 
style.  Had  we  space,  we  should  give  his  minute 
description  of  Miss  Diebabs'  person  and  wealing 
apparel,  not  omitting  the  interesting  dissertation 
on  the  utility  of  flannel  petticoats,  which  he  has  in- 
troduced episodically  into  his  narrative.  But  we 
are  bound,  before  closing  this  article,  to  do  justice 
to  the  Laureate  of  Cockaigne,  Mr.  Vincent  Stub- 
bins,  who  has  already  been  kept  too  long  waiting, 
and  we  refrain. 

Mr.  Vincent  Stubbins  (says  Mr.  Twaddell)  is  the  son  of 
a  sugar  baker,  in  Budge  Row.  He  vras  bom  of  hii  mother, 
(not  of  his  aunt,  as  some  biographers  have  alleged,)  in  the 
year  1818';  so  that,  as  I  am  now  writing  in  January, 
1842,  he  may  safely  be  said  to  be  twenty-three  years  of 
age.  Mr.  Vincent  Stubbins  received  the  elements  of  a 
good  education  at  a  respectable  seminary  in  Barbican ; 
to  which  circumstance  his  friends  have,  in  later  years, 
ascribed  the  elision  of  his  h's,  and  his  exuberant  aspira- 
tion of  initial  vowels  in  his  ordinary  conversation.  Mr. 
Stubbins  writes  a  bold  half-text  hand,  and  spells  with 
tolerable  correctness.    His  MS.  makes  good  copy  for  ttas 


THE  POETS  OP  THE  DAY. 


245 


priiter,  bat  better  wrapping  paper  for  cigars.  Mr. 
Snbbins  is  a  man  of  gar  habits,  and  adorned  with  the 
gnees  which  are  only  to  be  acqnired  by  nightly  yisits  to 
tbedfar-diTan,  billiard-room,  and  taTem.  His  height 
Mjbe  iboat  flTe  feet  eleTen  inches — some  of  his  friends, 
wlw  know  him  well,  hare  told  me  ten :  but  from  my  own 
•btemtion,  I  should  say  eleyen.  Few  men  in  the  city 
drai  better  than  Stnbbins.  He  is  known,  in  &ot,  among 
InieomptBions  by  the  distinotiTe  iobriquet  of  ^  Dondney's 
pride !"  Few  men  turn  back  their  coat  collar  fiurther 
ibu  Siobbins :  few  wear  a  more  showy  assortment  of 
wustooats.  In  the  cataract  of  satin,  which  perpetually 
ftetnis  orer  his' manly  chest,  he  wears  a  stiletto  of  the 
best  pmehbeck,  on  the  head  of  which  blazes  a  Bristol 
daaond  of  the  purest  water.  His  boots  are  glazed  ; 
ai  like  Sir  Edward  Lytton  Bulwer,  he  wears  white 
kid-gtpres  and  his  wristbands  turned  three  inches  up  his 
ost-tleeTe.  His  whiskers  are  dark,  and  curl  with  a  dash 
tf  liiy  ferocity,  that  harmonizes  finely  with  the  eheroot, 
itieh  is  almost  perpetually  projecting  from  his  lips. 
Stibbins  is  completely  a  lady's  man  ;  and  to  his  success 
m  this  department,  the  odour  of  brandy  and  water, 
Uoded  with  that  of  **  full-flavoured  Hayannahs,*'  which 
gewnlly  accompanies  him,  is  thought  to  have  contri- 
hBted  ii  no  inconsiderable  degree.  Blr.  Stubbins  is, 
Iftewiie,  a  great  fayourite  iur  the  circles  in  which  he 
■oTes;  and  he  is  the  President  of  the  Society  of 
''Hie  Snogs,'*  the  leading  members  of  which  are  lawyers' 
derki,  who  are  ignorant  of  their  business,  and  young 
ibopkeepen,  who  are  aboye  it.  He  is  the  ornament  of 
my  a  soir^  at  Camberwell,  and  is  a  sort  of  star  in 
tbe  hteraiy  circles  of  Brixton.  There  his  genius  is 
odentood,  and  the  ftill  force  of  his  poetic  diction  ade- 
lutely  appreciated. 

But  we  mast  leave  Mr.  Twaddell,  and  introduce 
our  leaders  to  his  hero.  And  with  this  view,  we 
tliink  it  impossible  to  do  both  parties  more  justice 
^  by  transferring  to  our  pages 

THE  YOUNG  STOCKBROKER'S  BRIDE. 

BT  VINCSNT  STUBBINS. 

0  swiftly  speed  the  gallant  bark  ! — 

I  say,  you  mind  my  luggage,  porter  ! 
I  do  not  heed  yon  storm-cloud  dark, 

I  go  to  wed  old  Jenkin's  daughter. 
I  go  to  claim  my  own  Mariar, 

The  fairest  flower  that  blooms  in  Harwich ; 
My  panting  bosom  is  on  fire. 

And  all  is  ready  for  the  marriage." 
Thus  spoke  young  Miyins,  as  he  stept 

On  board  the  Firefly,  Harwich  packet : 
The  bell  rung  out,  the  paddles  swept 

Plish-plashing  round  with  noisy  racket. 
The  low'ring  clouds  young  Miyins  saw. 

But  fear,  he  felt,  was  only  folly, 
And  80  he  smoked  a  fresh  cigar. 

Then  fell  to  whistling—"  Nix  my  dolly  I" 
The  wind  it  roared  ;  the  packet's  hulk 

Rocked  with  a  most  unpleasant  motion, — 
Yoing  Miyins  leant  him  o'er  a  bulk. 

And  poured  his  sorrows  to  the  ocean. 
Tmts,  blue  and  yellow — signs  of  woe — 

Flashed,  rainbow-like,  his  noble  fiice  in, 
As  suddenly  he  rushed  below, 

Crying,  **  Steward,  steward,  bring  a  basin !" 

On  sped  the  bark : — the  howling  storm 
The  ftmnel's  tapering  smoke  did  blow  far, 

UiBoved,  young  Mivins'  lifeless  form 
Was  stretched  upon  a  haircloth  sofar. 


C 


All  night  he  moaned ;  the  steamer  groaned. 
And  he  was  hourly  getting  fainter, 

When  it  came  bump  against  the  pier, 
And  there  was  fiiistened  by  the  painter. 

Young  Miyins  rose,  and  blew  his  nose, 

Caught  wildly  at  his  small  portmanteau ; 
He  was  unfit  to  lie  or  sit. 

And  found  it  difficult  to  stand  too. 
He  sought  the  deck,  he  sought  the  shore. 

He  sought  the  lady's  house  like  winking, 
And  asked,  low  tapping  at  the  door, 

•*  Is  this  the  house  of  Mr.  Jenkln !" 

A  short  man  came — ^he  told  his  name — 

Miyins  was  short — he  cut  him  shorter. 
For  in  a  ftiry  he  exclaimed, 

'^  Are  you  the  man  as  yants  my  darter ! 
Vot  kimed  on  you  last  night,  young  sqyire  f  * 

"  It  was  the  steamer,  rot  and  scuttle  her !" 
^  Mayhap  it  vos,  but  our  Mariar 

Yalked  off  last  night  with  Bill  the  butler. 

**  And  so  you'ye  kim'd  a  post  too  late." 

'^  It  was  the  packet,  sir,  miscarried !" 
"  Vy,  does  you  think  a  gal  can  vait 

As  sets  'er  'art  on  being  married ! 
Last  night  she  wowed  she'd  bo  a  bride, 

And  'aye  a  spouse  for  yuss  or  better : 
So  Bill  struck  in  ;  the  knot  vos  tied. 

And  now  I  yishes  you  may  get  her !" 

Young  Miyins  turned  him  from  the  spot. 

Bewildered  with  the  dreadftil  stroke,  her 
Perfidy  came  like  a  shot ; 

He  was  a  thunderstruck  stockbroker. 
'^  A  curse  on  steam  and  steamers  too ! 

By  their  delays  I  have  been  undone !" 
He  cried,  as  looking  very  blue. 

He  rode  a  bachelor  to  London. 

"  There  spoke  old  England's  genius !"  But  we 
would  not,  by  one  word  of  ours,  injure  the  effect 
of  so  striking  a  production  of  the  muse  of  Bowbell. 

Farewell,  then,  Mr.  Twaddell !  We  owe  you  our 
warmest  thanks  for  the  banquet  you  have  pre- 
pared for  us.  The  least  we  can  do  is  to  close  our 
paper,  as  you  have  done  your  volume,  with  your 
own  illustration  of  the  armorial  bearings  of  your 
family;  and  let  those  of  our  readers  who  are  adepts 
in  heraldry  blazon  for  themselves  a  characteristic 
coat  of  arms  from  the  following 

SONNET 

ON  THB  ABMORIAL  BBAIUNOS  OF  THE  TWADD£LLS  OP 
OLE^fSWIPES. 

'^  %om  9fiui^tiWi  SLnatt  I "  is  the  motto  set. 
Recorded  deftly  on  a  blazoned  scroll : 
Two  ganders  guardant  or,  support  the  whole. 

Each  couped  and  crowned  with  lordly  coronet ; 

And  this  achievement  of  the  shield  is  there. 
Quarterly  :  In  the  first  grand  quarter  gules 
Three  goslings  grazant,  cacklant  ^— the  same  rules 

Obtain  unto  the  third.    The  others  bear, 

Yert  and  engrailed  in  or  a  cheveron 
Parted  per  fees  between  a  cross  moline. 

Charged  with  »  shield  assumptive,  hereupon 
Purpure  two  eggs,  traasyersed  wiUi  sable  line; 

While  o'er  the  scutcheon  of  pretence  is  thrown 
Wavy  a  bend  sinister  argentine ! 


246 


MISS  BURNEY^S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS.* 

(Continued  from  our  March  No,y  p,  183.) 


Ths  continuation  of  Miss  Bnmey's  Diary  is,  in 
eyery  respect,  equal  to  its  commencement,  with 
this  inevitable  difference*  that,  in  Everything  under 
the  si;n,  first  impressions  must  needs  be  the  most 
lively.  The  volume  comprehends  the  years  from 
1781  to  1786,  and  mafty  events  that  were  memo- 
rable in  the  life  of  the  Diarist.  In  these  years  died 
Mr.  Thrale,  whom  she  esteemed  and  liked  more 
and  more  as  she  came  to  know  him  better  ;  next 
her  beloved  "  Daddy  Crisp  ;"  and,  lastly,  Dr.  John- 
son* In  these  years,  too,  took  place  the  marriage  of 
her  younger  sisters ;  that  awful  event,  the  union  of 
Mrs.  Throle  with  Signor  Piozzi ;  and,  lastly,  Miss 
Bumey's  appointment  to  a  place  in  the  Royal 
Household.  In  these  years  she  extended  her  ac- 
quaintance among  the  fashionable  literary  char- 
acters of  the  period  ;  and  among  the  blues,  and  the 
reigning  beauties  and  wits.  There  is,  accordingly, 
no  lack  of  material  for  her  facile  and  practised 
pen ;  and  the  lively  continuation  of  her  private 
record  displays  the  same  acuteness  as  its  com- 
mencement, and  even  keener  penetration  into  char- 
acters— a  more  subtile  and  delicate  analysis  of  mo- 
tives of  action.  Her  account  of  Mr.  Crutchley,  for 
example,  a  young  man  of  easy  fortune,  good  educa- 
tion, and  talents  above  mediocrity,  gradually  sink- 
ing into  a  morbid  condition  of  mind,  into  satiety 
and  half-affected  misanthrophy,  from  having  with 
a  large  endowment  of  sensitive  pride,  too  much 
money,  and  too  little  work,  is  equal  to  anything  in 
Miss  Edgeworth's  or  Miss  Austin's  novels ;  and  an 
exquisite,  whi^e  a  truthful  variety  of  the  idle  Eng- 
lishman of  fortune,  without  that  stamp  of  rank 
or  fashion,  which  afford  devouring  ennui  the  relief 
of  certain  prescribed  frivolous  occupations  and 
busy-idle  pursuits.  Mr.  Crutchley  is,  however,  far 
too  long  to  extract,  and  he  must  be  seen  at  full- 
length  to  be  perfectly  understood. 

The  volume  opens  with  a  series  of  Mrs.  Thrale's 
eloquent  and  complimentary  billets  to  her  "  sweet- 
est and  loveliest  Bumey  ;"  which,  as  the  affection 
of  this  somewhat  flighty  lady  was  already  proba- 
bly on  the  wane,  are  correspondingly  overdone  in 
professions  of  fondness.  Of  this  honey-sweet  or 
treacle^  correspondence.  Dr.  Bumey  said,  that  the 
letters  of  the  ladies  were  alike,  from  their  constantly 
writing  to  each  other ;  and  so  they  were.  Both 
ladies  warbled  in  one  key ;  and  the  epistles  of  both, 
at  this  time,  afibrd  fair  specimens  of  a  style  which 
their  friend  Johnson  would  have  nauseated  and 
denounced,  and  an  amusing  contrast  to  the  brief, 
piquant  note,  in  which  Mrs.  Piozzi  finally  dropped 
her  **  sweetest  Bumey."  Yet  the  affection  which 
Miss  Bumey  entertained  for  her  first  patroness, 
and  generous  and  fascinating  friend,  was  sin- 
cere and  warm :  and  until  she  had  the  honest 
courage  to  oppose  the  foolish  and  degrading  step, 

•  Diary  and  Letters  of  Madame  D'Arblay  Author  of 
**  Evelina,"  «  Cecilia,"  &c..  Edited  by  her  Niece,  Vol.  II., 
comprehending  the  years  1781  to  1786,  pp.  434,  with  a 
P<»trait  of  Mrs.  Thiale.    Colbam. 


as  she  considered  it,  which  Mrs.  Thrale  long  medi- 
tated, ere  she  assumed  a  desperate  oounge  and 
made  the  venture,  her  regard  was  in  some  degree 
returned.  Indeed,  no  part  of  her  Diary  does  more 
honour  to  Miss  Bumey's  heart,  and  to  her  con- 
stancy and  sincerity  in  friendship,  than  her  allu- 
sions to  the  progress  and  consummation  of  Mrs 
Thrale's  vehement  passion  for  Rozzi.  It,  be- 
sides, gives  us  a  much  better  opinion  of  Mrs 
Thrale  than  is  to  be  gathered  from  the  remains  of 
Johnson,  and  the  representations  of  Boswell,  wlio 
was  always  jealous  of  this  lady. 

We  are  not  here  going  to  inquire  why  It  should 
then,  as  it  would  now,  be  considered  an  outrage 
on  all  the  decencies,  and  all  the  virtues,  that  the 
lively  middle-aged  widow  of  a  wealthy  Loadon 
brewer,  herself  a  gentlewoman  by  birth,  slioiild 
have  condescended  to  marry  a  public  singer — that 
singer  being,  moreover,  an  Italian,  which  -was 
probably  an  immense  aggravation  of  the  crinie — 
but  merely  to  notice  the  fact,  that,  with  all  her 
then  latent  pmdery,  and  all  her  conventional  and 
proper  sense  of  propriety.  Miss  Bumey  most  ge- 
nerously construed  the  conduct  of  her  lost  friend, 
and  very  tenderly  pitied  her  in  the  long-continued 
stmggle  between  love  and  pride,  duty  and  inclina- 
tion.   And  she  appears  to  have  been,  indeed,  an 
object  of  deep  compassion.     It  was  not  until  after 
a  conflict  maintained  for  three  years,  under  which 
her  health  fairly  failed,  that  poor  Mrs.  Thrale, 
in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  and  opposition  of 
every  friend  she  had — and  what  was  more  po'wer- 
ful,  her  own  pride  or  prejudices — gave  way  to  her 
violent  attachment.      There  are  some  moralists 
who  will  less  severely  blame  her  infatuated  passion 
for  Piozzi,  whom  we  have  the  authority  <rf  Miss 
Seward,  for  believing  to  have  been  **  a  handsome 
man,  in  middle  life,  with  gentle,  pleasing,  and  un- 
affected manners,  and  with  very  eminent  skill  in 
his  profession,"  than  her  conduct  in  the  latter 
period  of  Mr  Thrale's  life,  when  her  fondness  for 
company  and  display  must  have  hastened  his  days. 
He  had  had  many  threatenings  of  apoplexy — and 
repeated  attacks  :  but  the  system  of  great  dinners, 
routs,  and  large  parties  of  all  kinds,  went  on  as 
before ;  and  he,  in  fact,  died,  we  are  told,    *«  on 
the  morning  of  a  day  when  half  the  fashion  of 
London  had  been  invited  to  an  intended  assemblv 
at  his  house  in  Grosvenor  Square."    The  grief  >>f 
his  widow  was  deep  of  course  ;  but,  in  the  ^words 
of  Johnsoij,  **  Thrale's  bridle  was  no  longer  on  lier 
neck,"    In  Johnson's  opinion,  she  never  did  -vrelL 
after  its  gentle  and  needfal  pressure  was  \^tli- 
drawn  ;  but,  with  submission  to  the  sage,  Hiose 
who  feel  the  yoke,  best  know  where  it  galls.      She 
would  not  at  first  receive  even  her  **  sweet  Bumey  -** 
and  she  flew  to  Brighton  to  find  consolation   and 
counsel  from  an  old  gentleman,  who  was  a    verv" 
sincere  friend.   When  she  came  back  to  Streatham 
she  invited  Miss  Bumey,  who  thus  reports  of  lier 
in  the  third  or  fourth  week  of  her  widowhood  :— 


MISS  BURNERS  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


247 


I  uk  mw  btra  with  ber,  and  endeayoiur,  by  eyery 
pMBblt  •xsrtion,  to  be  of  some  use  to  her.  She  looks 
wnkhedJy,  indeed.  Mid  is  far  from  well ;  but  she  bean 
ifS  tboi^  not  with  ealm  intrepidity,  yet  with  flashes  of 
spirit  that  ratber,  I  fear»  spend  than  reliere  her.  Such, 
ItfweTtr,  18  her  character,  and  were  this  exertion  re- 
pmaed,  she  would  probably  sink  quite. 

MiM  Thiale  is  steady  and  constant,  and  very  sincerely 
pitTed  fbr  her  father. 

Mn.  Thrale's  final  rupture  with  Johnson  did  not 
take  place  till  some  years  after  this  period,  though 
MtrtDgemeDt  and  gradual  alienation  were  the 
afanost  hnmediate  consequences  of  Mr.  Thrale's 
(fcith.  The  bridle  of  the  sage,  the  uncouth  and 
diflorderiy  philosopher,  seems  to  have  lain  as  heavily 
upon  the  gay,  brilliant  widow,  and  orderly  mistress 
(tfifunily,  who  was  now  disposed,  and  indeed  fully 
determuisd,  to  enjoy  her  freedom,  as  that  of  Thrale 
hid  done ;  and  Johnson's  warmest  admirers  must 
confos  that,  if  her  faults  were  the  greatest,  there 
««re  fJMilts  on  both  sides  ;  and  that  if  she  did  start 
lad  fret  at  the  bit^  she  had  endured  more  than  most 
Wiw  would  hare  as  patiently  submitted  to.  To 
het  nituial  sweetness  of  dbposition  and  generosity 
of  fedmg,  Miss  Bumey,  at  the  very  worsts  bears 
nna  and  unvarying  testimony. 

After  the  death  of  Thrale,  Dr.  Johnson  continued 
to  be  domesticated  at  Streatham  as  before  ;  and  in 
a  few  weeks  subsequent  to  that  event,  we  have  the 
Mkm'mg  scene : — 

WtDKisDAT. — We  had  a  terrible  noisy  day.  Mr.  and 
^  CstM  oame  to  dinaer,  and  brought  with  them  Miss 
CoUiBOD,  a  niece.  Mrs.  Nesbitt  was  also  here,  and  Mr. 
Pepya. 

Tkt  losg  war  which  has  beea  proclaimed  among  the 
vitSMoesning  Lord  Lyttelton's  ^  Life,''  by  Dr.  Johnson, 
lad  wkiah  a  whole  tribe  of  Uuesy  with  Mrs.  Montagu  at 
ikor  hiad,  have  vowed  to  execrate  and  revenge,  now 
^  ottt  with  all  the  fhry  of  the  first  aotual  hostilities, 
^tdated  by  long-eoncerted  schemes  and  much  spiteftd 
iiftraition.  Mr.  Pepys,  Dr.  Johnson  well  knew,  was 
w  tf  Mrs.  Montagu's  steadiest  abettors;  and,  therefore, 
M  he  had  some  time  determined  to  defend  himself  with 
^  Irst  of  them  he  met,  this  day  he  fell  the  sacrifice  to 
fcis  wrath. 

la  i  long  ta«-a-«^  which  I  accidentally  had  with  Mr. 
i^tPTa  bsibte  the  eompany  was  assembled,  he  told  me  his 
HfKbenaions  of  an  attack,  and  entreated  me  earnestly 
to  aadsavDor  to  prevent  it ;  modestly  avowing  he  was  no 
■^•^■faniat  fbr  Dr.  Johnson ;  and  yet  declaring  his  per- 
*||ial  friendship  for  Lmrd  Lyttelton  made  him  so  much 
■vt^the  <<  Life,"  that  he  ftared  he  could  not  diseuss 
j^Btttter  without  a  quarrel,  which, especially  in  the 
«an  of  Mft.  Thrale,  he  wished  to  avirfd. 

h  WIS,  however,  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  serre 
^  I  eoiM  have  stopped  Mrs.  Thrale  witii  ease,  and 
'Mtwaid  with  a  hint,  had  either  of  them  begun  the 
■••M ;  hut,  unlbriunately,  in  the  middle  of  dfamer,  it 
^  Wgui  by  Dr.  Johnson  himself,  to  oppose  whom, 
•'P'oally  as  h»  spoke  witii  great  uiger,  would  have  been 
•^aadfoUy. 

Nam  hefbre  have  I  seen  Dr.  Johnson  speak  with  so 
■^ptaalon. 

^  "Mr.  Papys,'^  be  eried,  in  a  voice  tiie  most  enraged, 
^<B4tntand  you  are  ofibnded  by  my  *Life  of  Lord 
r^UM/  What  is  it  you  have  to  say  against  it !  Come 
*™ViMii  I  Here  am  I,  ready  to  answer  any  charge  you 

kJ  ??*'»*'  cried  Mr.  Pepys,  **  not  at  present ;  I  must 
2J^  to  deeline  the  subject.  I  told  Miss  Bumey 
•^  *iier  that  I  hoped  it  would  not  be  started." 
.  ^  'J'J^*^  frightened  to  hear  my  own  name  mentioned 
**«bate  which  began  so  seriously  ;  but  Dr.  Johnson 
2«Bet  to  this  any  answer :  he  repeated  his  attack  and 
•■^••ge,  aad  a  violent  disputation  ensued,  in  which 


this  great  but  mortal  man  did,  to  own  the  truth,  appear 
unreasonably  furious  and  grossly  severe.  I  never  saw 
him  so  before,  and  I  heartily  hope  I  never  shall  again. 
When  dinner  was  quite  over, 
and  we  left  the  men  to  their  wine,  we  hoped  they  would 
finish  the  affhir ;  but  Dr.  Johnson  was  determined  to  talk 
it  through,  and  make  a  battle  of  it,  though  Mr.  Pepys 
tried  to  be  off  continually.  When  they  were  all  summoned 
to  tea,  they  entered  still  warm  and  violent.  Mr.  Cator 
had  the  book  in  his  hand,  and  was  reading  the  ^  Life  of 
Lyttelton,"  that  he  might  better,  he  said,  understand  the 
cause,  though  not  a  creature  cared  if  he  had  never  heard 
of  it. 

Mr.  Pepys  came  up  to  me  and  said, — 

^  Just  what  I  had  so  much  wished  to  avoid  !  1  have 
been  crushed  in  the  very  onset." 

I  could  make  him  no  answer,  fbr  Dr.  Johnson  immedi- 
ately called  him  off,  and  harangued  and  attacked  him 
with  a  vehemence  and  continuity  that  quite  concerned 
both  Mrs.  Thrale  and  myself,  and  that  made  Mr.  Pepys, 
at  last,  resolutely  silent,  however  called  upon. 

This  now  grew  more  unpleasant  than  ever  ;  till  Mr. 
Cator,  having  some  time  studied  his  book,  exclaimed, — 

^  What  I  am  now  going  to  say,  as  I  have  not  yet  read 
the  '  Life  of  Lord  Lyttelton'  quite  through,  must  be  con- 
sidered as  being  only  said  aside,  because  what  I  am  going 
to  say " 

**  I  wish,  Sir,"  cried  Mrs.  Thrale, « it  had  been  all  said 
aside  ;  here  is  too  much  about  it,  indeed,  and  I  should 
be  very  glad  to  hear  no  more  of  it." 

This  speech,  which  she  made  with  great  spirit  and  dig- 
nity, had  an  aldmirable  effect.  Everybody  Was  silenced. 
Mr.  Cator,  thus  interrupted  in  the  midst  of  his  proposition, 
looked  quite  amaced ;  Mr.  Pepys  was  much  gratified  by 
the  interference ;  and  Dr.  JohniBon,  after  a  pause,  said|— 

*^  Well,  Madam,  vou  ihall  hear  no  more  of  it ;  yet  t 
will  defend  myself  in  every  part  and  in  every  atom  !" 

And  from  this  time  the  subject  was  wholly  dropped. 
This  dear  violent  Doctor  was  conscious  be  had  been  wrong, 
and  therefore  he  most  candidly  bore  the  reproof.    .    . 

Thubsdat  Morning. — Dr.  Johnson  went  to  town  for 
some  days,  but  not  before  Mrs.  Thrale  read  him  a  very 
serious  lecture  upon  giving  way  to  such  violence  ;  which 
he  bore  vrith  a  patience  and  quietness  that  even  more 
than  made  his  peace  with  me  ;  for  such  a  man's  confess- 
ing himself  wrong  is  almost  more  amiable  than  anothec 
man  being  steadily  right. 

Friday,  June  14th. — We  had  my  dear  father  and 
l^phy  Streatfield,  who,  as  usual,  was  beautiful,  caressing, 
amiable,  sweet,  and — ^fatiguing. 

When  Mrs.  Thrale  had  been  some  nine  or  ten 
months  a  widow,  we  find  her  writing  thus  charac- 
teristically: — 

My  Dearest  Burnet, — May  I  venture,  do  you  thinkj 
to  call  a  little  company  about  me  on  St.  Taffy's  day  t  or, 
vnll  the  world  in  general,  and  the  Pepyses  in  particular, 
feel  shocked  at  my  "  dissipation"  and  my  ^  haste  to  be 
married !"  They  came  last  night,  and  found  me  alone 
with  Murphy.  There  was  an  epoch !  The  Bishop  of 
Peterborough  oame  in  soon  after.  Queeny  was  gone  to 
Mrs.  Davenant's,with  Miss  Owen  and  Dr.  Delap.  What 
dangers  we  do  go  through  !  But  I  have  not  gone  out  to 
meet  mine  half  way,  at  least.  .... 

I  went  to  dear  Dr.  Johnson's  rastegnarlo  la  tolUs 
9ertUik,  but  at  one  o'clock  he  was  not  up,  and  I  did  not 
like  to  disturb  him.  I  am  very  sorry  about  him — ex- 
ceeding sorry  !  When  I  pwted  firom  you  on  Monday^ 
and  found  him  with  Dr.  Lawrence,  I  put  my  noee  into 
the  old  man's  wig  and  shouted ;  but  got  none  except 
melanoholy  answers,— so  melauoholy,  that  I  was  foroe^ 
to  crack  jokes  for  faar  of  crying. 

<^  There  is  gout  at  the  bottom,  Madam,"  says  Law- 
rence. 

"  I  wish  it  were  at  the  bottom  I"  replied  saucebox,  as 
loud  as^^e  could  bawl,  and  pointing  to  the  pedatalt. 

This  morning  I  was  vnth  him  again,  and  this  evening 
Mrs.  Ord's  conversation  and  Piotsi's  cara  roee  have  kept 
away  care  pretty  well.    Mr.  Selwyn  helped  us  to  be 


248 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


comfortable.    My  Tit  went  with  her  Cos.  to  Abel's  con- 
cert. 

Good  night,  sweetest ;  I  am  tired,  and  want  to  go  to 
bed. 

The  cara  voce  had  even^  by  this  time,  stolen  from 
the  ear  into  the  heart. — Mrs.  Thrale's  vehement 
admiration  of  the  authoress  seems  to  have  increased 
in  exact  proportion  as  the  inHuence  of  the  friend 
declined.  Of  CeciliOy  a  novel  possessed  of  much 
more  merit  than  modem  critics  seem  disposed  to 
allow  it,  and  abounding  in  broad  humour  and  truth 
of  character,  Mrs.  Thrale  writes  thus  passionately, 
and  between  truth  tLnd/w^e — 

My  eyes  red  with  reading  and  crying,  I  stop  every 
moment  to  kiss  the  book  and  to  wish  it  was  my  Bumey ! 
'Tis  the  sweetest  book,  the  most  interesting,  the  most 
engaging.  Oh  I  it  beats  every  other  book,  even  your  own 
other  vols.,  for  *^  Evelina"  was  a  baby  to  it. 

Dear  channing  creature !  do  I  stop  every  six  pages 
to  exclaim  ;  and  my  Tit  is  no  less  delighted  than  I ;  she 
is  run  out  of  the  room  for  a  moment.  But  young  Del- 
ville  is  come  and  Queeny  returned,  so  I  leave  the  pen 
and  seize  the  MSS. 

Such  a  novel  1  Indeed,  I  am  seriously  and  sensibly 
touched  by  it,  and  am  proud  of  her  friendship  who  so 
knows  the  human  heart.  May  mine  long  bear  the  in- 
spection of  so  penetrating,  so  ^Uscriminating  an  eye  ! 
.  This  letter  is  written  by  scraps  and  patches,  but  every 
scrap  is  admiration,  and  every  patch  Uianks  you  for  the 
pleasure  I  have  received. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  Diary  contains  the  fol- 
lowing passage — 

A  serious  piece  of  intelligence  has  given,  does  give, 
and  long  must  give  me  the  utmost  concern  and  sorrow. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Thrale,  the  friend,  though  not  the  most 
dear  friend  of  my  heart,  is  going  abroad  for  three  years 
certain.  This  scheme  has  been  some  time  in  a  sort  of 
distant  agitation,  but  it  is  now  brought  to  a  resolution. 
Much  private  business  belongs  to  it  relative  to  her  de- 
testable lawsuit ;  but  much  private  inclination  is  also 
joined  with  it,  relative  to  her  long  wishing  to  see  Italy. 
I  have  determined,  therefore,  to  do  all  in  my  power  to 
bear  this  blow  steadily  ;  and  the  remembrance  how  very 
much  I  suffered  when  such  an  one  was  formerly  thought 
of,  makes  me  suppress  all  my  regret,  and  drive  the  sub- 
ject from  my  mind  by  every  method  in  my  power,  that 
I  may  save  myself  from  again  experiencing  such  unavail- 
ing concern.  The  thought,  indeed,  that  she  wishes  to  go, 
would  reconcile  me  to  a  yet  longer  absence,  by  making 
ine  feel  that  my  own  sorrow  is  merely  selfish. 

Streatham, — my  other  home,  and  the  place  where  I 
have  long  thought  my  residence  dependent  only  upon  my 
own  pleasure,  and  where,  indeed,  I  have  received  such 
as  my  father  and  you  alone  could  make  greater, — is  al- 
ready let,  for  three  years,  to  Lord  Shelbume. 

Johnson  and  Bumey  were  alike,  thenceforth,  to 
be  aliens  from  Streatham ;  though  the  former  only 
was  made  the  confident  of  the  contending  feelings 
of  its  distracted  mistress.  It  was  not  until  another 
year  had  passed,  that  Miss  Bumey,  in  her  joumaly 
kept  for  her  sister,  writes — 

Saturdat,  Nov.  22d, — I  passed  in  nothing  but  sorrow 
--exquisite  sorrow,  for  my  dear  unhappy  friend,  who  sent 
me  one  letter,  that  came  early  by  the  Bath  Diligence, 
and  another  by  the  poet.    But  of  these  things  no  more. 

I  am  sorry  not  to  be  more  expUcit,  but  I  should  not 
give  you  more  pleasure  if  I  were.  I  can  only  now  tell 
you  that  I  love  Mrs.  Thrale  with  a  never-to-cease  affec- 
tion, and  pity  her  more  than  ever  I  pitied  any  humaif 
being  ;  and,  if  I  did  not  blame  her,  I  could,  I  should,  I 
believe,  almost  die  for  her  ! 

I  am  extremely  sorry,  my  dearest  Susy,  that  in  the 
late  distress  of  my  mind  about  poor  Mrs.  Thrale,  I  men- 
tioned anything  that  has  so  much  interested  yon  to  know 
more.    It  is  too  true  that  many  know  all,— but  jiono 


from  me.  I  am  bound,  and  should  be  miserable  not  to 
say,  if  called  upon,  and  not  to  know,  if  not  called  npon, 
that  no  creature,  not  even  you  to  whom  I  communicate 
everything  else,  nor  to  the  trusty  Charlotte  with  whom 
I  live,  and  who  sees  my  frequent  distress  upon  the  sub- 
ject, has  tempted  me  to  an  explanation.  General  ra- 
mour  I  have  no  means  to  prevent  spreading. 

***** 

I  am  still  as  much  bent  as  ever  to  go  to  her,  if  I  can 
obtain  leave ;  but  I  will  mention  no  more  of  the  matter, 
since  the  dificulties  under  which  I  labour  not  to  oSbnd 
or  aflUct  that  beloved  friend,  and  yet  to  do  nothing 
vm>ng,  are  by  no  means  new,  thongti  of  late  they  hare 
grown  doubly  painAiL  I  vrill  only  say  fbrther,  that 
though  her  failings  are  unaccountable  and  most  unhappy, 
her  virtues  and  good  qualities,  the  generosity  and  feeling 
of  her  heart,  the  liberality  and  sweetness  of  her  disposi- 
tion, would  counterbalance  a  thousand  more. 

This  I  say,  lest  you  should  think  something  wone 
than  the  truth—something  stranger  you  cannot  I  am 
very  sorry  not  to  satisfy  you  more ;  but  when  you  wei^ 
what  I  have  said,  you  will  be  sensible  I  have  reasons  to 
preserve  silence ;  though  to  myself,  believe  me,  His  by  fer 
most  painfhl,  and  has  long  been  most  cruel.  .  .  My  Bath 
journey,  my  dear  Susy,  I  know  not  what  to  say  aboat ; 
could  I  go  for  one  fortnight,  nothing  could  so  much  re- 
joice me ;  for  I  even  languish,  I  pine  to  see  again  my 
beloved  and  very— K)h,  very  unhappy  Mrs.  Thrale !  I 
know  well  the  meeting,  as  things  are  at  present  situated, 
would  half  kill  her  vrith  joy,  and  me  with  a  thonsand 
feelings  I  keep  off  as  well  as  I  can ;  but  I  cannot  tell 
how  to  arrange  matters  for  this  purpose.  The  expense 
of  such  an  expedition^  for  so  short  a  time,  I  know  not 
how  even  to  name  to  my  father,  who  has  a  thonsand 
reasons  against  my  going,  all  founded  on  argumeniB  nn- 
answerable. 

She  did  not  go,  but  wrote  in  a  strain  which  drew 
forth  this  curious  and  enigmatical  response- 
Thanks,  thanks,  a  thonsand,  my  prettiest,  dearest 
Bumey !  This  charming  letter  makes  amends  for  all. 
And  you  remember  last  winter,  do  you  !  and  remember 
it  with  tenderness !  What  then  must  have  passed  in 
my  mind,  on  the  dreadful  anniversary  of  a  day  which, 
instead  of  killing  me  as  it  ought  to  have  done,gaTe  to 
two  innocent,  unfortunate  people,  a  cruel  and  lingeiing 
death,-— like  the  arrows  tipped  with  African  poison, 
which  slowly  and  gradually  retarding  the  vital  powen, 
at  length  (m  about  three  years  I  think)  wholly  pnt  & 

stop  to  their  exertion  ! 

Pray,  is  Baretti  sick  or  in  distress  t  The  Italians 
think  him  dead ;  but  I  suppose  all  is  well  with  him,  &Vt 
it! 

Johnson  is  in  a  sad  way,  doubtless  ;  yet  he  may  tm 
vnth  care  last  another  twelvemonth,  and  every  weers 
existence  is  gain  to  him,  who,  Uke  good  Hezekiah,  wearies 
Heaven  with  entreaties  for  life.  I  wrote  him  a  very 
serious  letter  the  other  day. 

The  Methodists  do  certainly  reconcile  one  to  dean, 
by  rendering  idl  temporal  enjoyments  obtuse,  or  repre- 
senting them  as  illicit  Whoever  considers  this  world 
as  a  place  of  constant  mortification  and  incessant  toi^ 
ment,  will  be  well  enough  contented  to  leave  it ;  bnt  I 
can  scarcely  think  our  Saviour,  who  professed  his  yoke 
to  be  easy  and  his  burden  to  be  light,  will  have  peculiar 
pleasure  in  their  manner  of  serving  him.  My  principles 
are  never  convinced  by  their  arguments,  though  my 
imagination  is  always  fluttered  by  their  vehemenw. 
We  must  do  the  best  we  can  at  last,  and,  as  King  Da^d 
says,  **  Let  us  fall  into  the  hands  of  God,  and  not  into 
the  hands  of  men  ;  for  they  are  severe  and  cruel  judges 
of  each  other." 

-4propo»— Mr.  Seward's  disi4>probation  is  merely  ex- 
ternal, and  by  no  means,  like  yours,  the  growth  of  hjj 
heart ;  but  the  coarseness  of  his  expressions  he  has  to 
himself,  and  I  cannot  guess  how  I  have  deserved  them. 
Sir  Lucas  Pepys  writes  very  tenderly  to  me.  liv*  * 
die,  he  shall  not  find  me  ungrateftiL 

Why  do  you  catch  these  horrible  fevers,  dear  Birney  i 
They  will  demolish  you  some  day  before  you  are  aware. 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


You  were  a  dear  creature  to 
write  so  soon  and  so  sweetly ;  but  we  shall  never  meet. 
I  lee  that  clearly,  and  haTe  seen  it  long.  My  going  to 
Loodmi  would  be  a  dreadful  expense,  and  bring  on  a 
tbouand  inquiries  and  inoonToniencies — visits  to  John- 
see  and  from  Cator:  Mid  where  must  I  live  for  the  time, 
too  I  Oh,  I  have  desired  nothing  else  since  you  wrote ; 
bot  all  is  impossibility;  Why  would  you  ever  flatter 
Bt  that  you  might,  maybe,  come  to  Bath!  I  saw  the 
anfikeahood  even  then,  and  my  retired  life  will  not 
mdnce  your  Meads  to  permit  your  coming  hither  now. 
Ifeocy  even  my  own  young  Udies  [her  daughters]  will 
kaie  me;  and  I  sincerely  think  they  will  be  perfectly 
right  M  to  do,  as  the  world  they  wish  to  shine  in  is  quite 
ezdvdedbymy  style  of  living.       .... 

Ah,  Barney !  yon  little  know  the  suffering,  and,  I  will 
idd,  the  patient  suffering  of  your 

H.  L.  T.» 

By  ft  sadden  flight,  Mrs.  Thrale  did,  however, 
come  to  London  in  the  summer  of  1784,  and  in- 
itantly  summoned  her  "  dearest -Bumey"  to  her ; 
CTOTOying,  in  this  postscript,  a  very  intelligible 
hint,  that  she  was  not  to  be  interfered  with  in  her 
plans. 

I  am  somewhat  shaken  bodily,  but  'tis  the  mental 
ibdu  that  have  made  me  unable  to  bear  the  corporeal 
•■eg.  Tls  past  ten  o'clock,  however,  and  I  must  lay 
lysetf  down  with  the  sweet  expectation  of  seeing  my 
cWoing  friend  in  the  morning  to  breakfast.  I  love 
Dr.  Boney  too  well  to  fear  him,  and  he  loves  me  too 
wen  to  say  a  word  which  should  make  me  love  him 
lea. 

They  met,  and  Miss  Bumey  writes — 

1  parted  most  reluctantly  with  my  dear  Mrs.  Thrale, 
J*om,  when  or  how,  I  shall  see  again.  Heaven  only 
bowa!  but  in  sorrow  we  parted— on  mv  side  in  real 
sitieUon. 

T1»  next  momiog,  while  ruminating  in  much  sadness 
ipon  my  htte  interviews  with  Mrs.  Thrale,  how  great 
*»  the  relief  of  my  mind,— the  delight,  indeed,  to  be 
snuaoned  to  my  dear  Mr.  Cambridge. 

Though  Miss  Bumey  had,  like  every  one  else, 
^  wipplanted  in  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Thrale,  by 
the  resistless  Signer,  she  had  gained  many  new  and 
wrfol  friends  ;  but,  before  coming  to  other  mat- 
ters, we  should  witness  the  denouement  of  the 
Kozzi  affair,  the  farce  after  the  tragedy.  In  two 
•little  months"  Mrs.  Thrale  married ;  and  the  fol- 
lowing sketch  of  a  letter,  and  memorandum  of  what 
pwed,  are  taken  from  the  Bumey  journal  of  the 
month  of  August,  of  the  year  1784  : — 
Min  F.  Bumey  to  Mrs.  Pio£zi» 

Norbury  Park,  Aug.  10, 1784. 

Whan  my  wondering  eyes  first  looked  over  the  letter 
1  weeiTcd  last  night,  my  mind  instantly  dictated  a  high- 
^P^  vindication  of  the  consistency,  integrity,  and 
«™mss  of  the  friendship  thus  abruptly  reproached 
«w  east  away.  But  a  sleepless  night  gave  me  leisure 
wneoUeetthat  you  were  ever  as  generous  as  precipitate, 

*  The  above  letter  is  endorsed  as  follows  in  the  hand- 
*TOiBg  of  Madame  d'Arblay  :— 
UAir^  *•**•"  ^  *  subsequent  date  to  this  letter,  of 
i4tt  March,  1784,  1  have  utterly,  for  cogent  reasons, 
W»t  aad  conscientious,)  destroyed.  FoUowmg,  with 
^jo  V»g  dearest  friend,  the  simple,  but  unrivalled, 
2j«  rrie,  I  would  only  preserve  such  as  evince  her 
•Jjnjw,  her  misery,  and  her  sufferings,  mental  and  cor- 
^JjjMo  exonerate  her  from  the  banal  (I)  reproach  of 
WBg  imreasting  to  her  passions.  Her  fault  and 
P*jw»  misfoHune  was,  not  combating  them  in  their 
r*"i  ■•*  *ying  even  from  their  menace.  How  have 
JJwjMher!  with  what  aflbction,  v 


•«™on,  and  what  affliction  I 
« 12a  liV6nMry,  1825." 


f  what  gratitude,  what 


M 

and  that  your  own  heart  would  do  justice  to  mine,  in  thd 
cooler  judgment  of  friture  reflection.  Committing  my- 
self, therefore,  to  that  period,  I  determined  simply  to 
assure  you  that,  if  my  last  letter  hurt  either  you  or  Mr. 
Piozzi^  I  am  no  less  sorry  than  surprised ;  and  that,  if  it 
offended  you,  I  sincerely  beg  your  pardon. 

Not  to  that  time,  however,  can  1  wait  to  acknowledge 
the  pain  an  accusation  so  unexpected  has  caused  me, 
nor  the  heartfelt  satisfaction  vrith  which  I  shall  receive, 
when  you  are  able  to  write  it,  a  softer  renewal  of  re- 
gard. -^    • 

May  Heaven  direct  and  bless  you ! 

F.  B. 

N.B.— This  is  the  sketch  of  the  answer  which  F.  B. 
most  painftilly  wrote  to  the  unmerited  reproach  of  not 
sending  cordial  eongrattdatums  upon  a  marriage  which 
she  had  uniformly,  openly,  and  with  deep  and  avowed 
affliction,  thought  wrong. 

Mrs.  Pioxzi  to  Mia  Bumey. 
WeUbeck  Street,  No.  33,  Cavendish  Square. 
Friday,  Aug.  13, 1784. 
Give  yourself  no  serious  concern,  sweetest  Bumey. 
All  is  well,  and  I  am  too  happy  myself  to  make  a  friend 
otherwise ;  quiet  your  kind  heart  immediately,  and  love 
my  husband,  if  you  love  his  and  your 

H.  L.  Piozzi.  * 
N.B.— To  this  kmd  note  F.  B.  wrote  the  warmest  and 
most  affectionate  and  heartfelt  reply;  but  never  received 
another  word !  And  here,  and  thus  stopped  a  corre- 
spondence of  six  years  of  almost  unequalled  partiality, 
and  fondness  on  her  side ;  and  affection,  gratitude,  ad- 
miration, and  sincerity  on  that  of  F.  B.,  who  could  only 
conjecture  the  cessation  to  be  caused  by  the  resentknent 
of  Piozzi,  when  informed  of  her  constant  opposition  to 
the  union. 

The  contemptuous  anger,  and  the  real  and  deep 
grief  of  Johnson  at  this  marriage,  are  well  known. 
He  was,  at  the  time,  in  very  bad  health,  and,  m- 
deed,  he  did  not  many  months  outlive  the  event. 
Hearing  of  his  illness.  Miss  Bumey,  to  whom  he 
continued  his  first  warm  partiality,  went  to  in- 
quire for  hun,  and  was  admitted ;  and  she  relates— 

I  had  a  longer  and  more  satisfactory  conversation  with 
him  than  I  have  had  for  many  months.  He  was  in  rather 
better  spirits,  too,  than  I  have  Utely  seen  him  5  but  he 
told  me  he  was  going  to  try  what  sleeping  out  of  town 
might  do  for  him. 

« I  remember,"  said  he, « that  my  wife,  when  she  was 
near  her  end,  poor  woman,  was  also  advised  to  sleep  out 
of  town ;  and  when  she  was  carried  to  the  lodgings  that 
had  been  prepared  for  her,  she  complained  that  the  stair- 
case was  in  very  bad  conditionr-for  the  plasterwas  beaten 
off  the  walls  in  many  places.  *  Oh,'  said  the  man  of  the 
house,  that's  nothing  but  by  the  knocks  against  it  of 
the  cofflns  of  the  poor  souls  that  have  died  in  the  lodjr- 
ings  I '"  ^ 

He  laughed,  though  not  without  apparent  secret  an- 
guish,  in  telling  me  this.  1  felt  extremely  shocked,  but, 
willing  to  confine  my  words  at  least  to  the  Hteral  story, 
I  only  exclaimed  against  the  unfeeling  absurdity  of  such 
a  confession. 

"  Such  a  confession,"  cried  he,  •«  to  a  person  then  com- 
ing to  try  his  lodgings  for  her  health,  contains,  indeed, 
more  absurdity  than  we  can  well  lay  our  account  for." 

1  had  seen  Miss  T.  the  day  before. 

« So,"  said  he," did  1." 

I  then  said,— «  Do  you  ever.  Sir,  hear  from  her  mo- 
tner  ?  '^ 

**  No,"  cried  he, «  nor  write  to  her.  I  drive  her  quite 
from  my  mind.  If  I  meet  with  one  of  her  letters,  I  bum 
itinstantiy.  I  have  burnt  aU  I  can  find.  I  never  speak 
of  her,  and  I  desire  never  to  hear  of  her  more.  I  drive 
her,  as  I  said,  wholly  ftwm  my  mind." 

But  his  indignation  was  moderation  itself  to  the 
rage  of  a  fiemale  friend,  whose  displeasure  at  the 
ill-assorted  marriage,  so  subversive  of  all  Enirlish 


24f6L 


MISS  BURNEY*S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


0  /,  becomes  almost  diyerting.    Miss 

«flis  account  of  the  scene,  in  a  letter 
^d<*ke  of  Norbury  Park,  a  lady  who  had 
^'to  her  a  second  Mrs.  Thrale. 

I  had  a  very  unpleasant  morning  after  I  left  you.  When 
the  coach  and  I  had  waited  upon  my  father,  I  made  the 
•visit  I  mentioned  to  you.  O  what  a  Tisit ! — all  that  I 
presupposed  of  attack,  inquiry,  and  aerimony,  was  no- 
thing to  what  passed.  Rage  more  intemperate  I  haye  not 
often  seen;  and  the  shrill  yoice  of  feeble  old  age,  scream- 
ing with  unayailing  passion,  is  horrible.  She  had  long 
looked  upon  Mrs.  T.  as  a  kind  of  prot^^,  whom  she 
had  fondled  when  a  child,  and  whose  fame,  as  she  grew 
into  notice,  she  was  always  proud  to  hear  of,  and  help 
to  exalt.  She  is  a  woman  (I  can  well  attest  !^  of  most 
fhrious  passions  herself,  howeyer  at  liberty  she  thinks 
she  may  be  to  show  no  sort  of  mercy  to  those  of  another. 

Once,  had  I  been  less  disturbed,  I  could  haye  laughed; 
for  she  declared  with  great  yehemence,  that  if  she  had 
suspected  ^  the  wretch  of  any  intention  to  marry  the  man, 
she  would  have  ordered  her  own  postchaise,  and  followed 
her  to  prevent  It !  **    Alas,  poor  Lady  F.  I 

She  then  called  upon  me,  to  hear  my  story ;  which, 
most  painftiUy  to  myself,  I  related.  She  expressed  her- 
self yery  sorry  for  me,  till  I  came  to  an  avowal  of  my 
letter  after  the  inarriage ;  she  then  flew  out  into  new 
choler.  '^  I  am  amazed  you  would  write  to  her.  Miss 
Barney  I  I  wonder  you  could  think  of  it  any  more  ! " 

I  told  her,  I  had  thought  myself  so  much  indebted  to 
her  patience  with  my  opposition  to  all  her  views  and 
wishes,  for  the  whole  time  of  her  long  conflict,  that,  al- 
though I  was  the  first  to  acknowledge  her  last  action 
indefensible,  I  should  be  the  last  to  forget  all  that  had 
made  me  love  her  before  it  was  committed. 

This  by  no  means  satisfied  her,  and  she  poured  forth 
again  a  torrent  of  unrelenting  abuse.  Some  company,  at 
last,  came  in,  and  I  hastily  took  my  leave.  She  cidled 
after  me  to  fix  some  day  for  a  longer  visit ;  but  1  pre- 
tended not  to  hear,  and  ran  down  stairs,  heartily  resolv- 
ing that  necessity  alone  should  ever  force  me  into  her 
presence  again. 

If  we  may  credit  her  own  testimony,  Mrs.  Piozzi 
continued  to  support  life  wonderfully  well  under 
these  inflictions :  and  she  had,  at  least,  pleased  her- 
self, if  no  one  else  was  pleased  ;  always  an  impor- 
tant consideration  in  a  widow's  condemned  mar- 
riage. 

The  next  important  onward  step  in  the  worldly 
Career  of  Miss  Bumey,  was  gaining  the  favour  of 
those  ladies  whom  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  named  the 
"Old  Wite."  These  were  the  blues  that  had  ex- 
isted before  blues  had  been  heard  of  by  name  in 
England;  and  to  Miss  Bumey  their  representa- 
tives were  Mrs.  Delany  and  the  Duchess-dowager 
of  Portland.  It  was  from  Mr.  Burke,  whom  she 
had  now  met  at  the  house  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
and  who  must  have  sincerely  admired  her  novels, 
that  she  first  learned  her  important  conquest,  and 
that  she  had  performed  "  die  most  wonderful  of 
wonders,"  in  pleasing  the  "  Old  Wits,"  to  whom  it 
was  difficult  to  give  satisfaction,  as  they  piqued 
themselves  on  being  past  receiving  it.  The  friends  or 
contemporaries  of  Swift  and  Young,  Gay  and  Pope, 
and  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley,  were  not  to  be  pleased 
with  the  little  wits  of  new,  degenerate  days.  Mrs. 
Delany  was  at  this  time  allove  eighty  years  of  age ; 
but  her  faculties  were  unimpaired,  and  her  friend- 
ship and  that  of  the  Duchess  had  now  endured 
for  half  a  century.  A  person  so  well  known 
to  English  readers  as  Mrs.  Delany  need  not  be 
described.  Her  acquaintance  was  universally 
courted,  and  her  influence  in  society  still  oonsider- 


able.  She  bad  acquired  reputation  for  her  skill  in 
painting  and  in  making  a  particular  sort  of  artifi- 
cial flowers.  To  this  venerable  lady,  who  had 
greatiy  admired  **  Cecilia,"  Miss  Bumey  anxiously 
wished  to  be  introduced  ;  and  Mrs.  Chapone  did 
her  this  kindness.  The  soene  has  interest  even 
yet : — 

And  now  for  Mrs.  Delany.  I  spent  one  hour  with 
Mrs.  Thrale,  and  then  called  for  Mrs.  QiiHP<^ne,  and  wt 
proceeded  together  to  St.  James's  Place. 

Mrs.  Delany  was  alone  in  her  drawing-room,  which 
is  entirely  hung  round  with  pictures  of  her  own  paint- 
ing, and  ornaments  of  her  own  designing.  She  came  to 
the  door  to  receive  us.  She  is  still  tidl,  though  some 
of  her  height  may  be  lost :  not  much,  however,  for  she 
is  remarkably  upright.  She  has  no  remains  of  heauty 
in  feature;  but  in  countenance  I  never  but  once  ttw 
more,  and  that  v^as  in  my  sweet  maternal  grandmother. 
Benevolence,  softness,  piety,  and  gentleness,  are  lU  r^ 
sident  in  her  &ce ;  and  the  resemblance  with  which  she 
struck  me  to  my  dear  grandmother,  in  her  first  appear- 
ance, grew  so  much  stronger  ftrom  all  that  came  from 
her  mind,  which  seems  to  contain  nothing  but  purity  and 
native  humility,  that  1  almost  longed  to  embrace  her  { 
and  I  am  sure,  if  I  had,  the  reooUectioa  of  that  saint- 
like woman  would  have  been  so  strong  that  I  should 
never  have  refrained  from  crying  over  her. 

Mrs.  Chapone  presented  me  to  her,  and,  takiag  my 
hand,  she  said, — 

^  You  must  pardon  me  if  I  give  you  an  old-AtsfaisDed 
reception,  for  I  know  nothing  new." 

And  she  saluted  me. 

In  the  evening  the  Duchess-dowager  of  Port- 
land came  t — 

She  is  not  near  so  old  as  Mfs.  Delany,  nor,  to  me,  is 
her  face  by  any  means  so  pleasing;  but  yet  there  is  sweet- 
ness, and  dignity,  and  intelligence  in  it  Mrs.  Delany 
received  her  with  the  same  respectfhl  ceremony  as  if  it 
was  her  first  visit,  though  she  regularly  goes  to  her  every 
evening.  But  what  she  at  first  took  as  an  honoor  and 
condescension,  she  has  so  much  of  true  humility  of  mind, 
that  no  use  can  make  her  see  in  any  other  light.  She 
immediately  presented  me  to  her.  Her  Grace  oourtesied 
and  smiled  with  the  most  flattering  air  of  pleasure,  and 
said  she  was  particularly  happy  in  meeting  with  me. 

We  then  took  our  places,  and  Mrs.  Delany  said,— 

"  Miss  Bumey,  Ma*am,  is  acquainted  with  Mr.  Crispy 
whom  your  Grace  knew  so  well ;  and  she  tells  me  he 
and  his  sister  have  been  so  good  as  to  remember  me,  and 
to  mention  me  to  her.'' 

The  Duchess  instantiy  asked  me  a  thousand  questions 
about  him  ; — where  he  lived,  how  he  had  his  health,  and 
whether  his  fondness  for  the  polite  arts  still  continued. 
She  said  he  was  one  of  the  most  ingenious  and  agreeable 
men  she  had  ever  known;  and  regretted  his  having  se- 
questered himself  so  much  f^m  the  society  of  his  former 
friends. 

This  conversation  lasted  a  long  while,  for  it  was  one 
upon  which  I  could  myself  be  voluble*  I  spared  not  for 
boasting  of  my  dear  daddy's  kindness  to  me ;  and  yon 
can  hardly  imagine  the  pleasure,  ease,  and  happiness  it 
was  to  me,  to  talk  of  him  to  so  elegant  a  judge,  who  so 
well  knew  I  said  nothing  that  was  not  true.  She  told 
me,  also,  the  story  of  the  poor  Birmingham  boy,  and  of 
the  sketches  which  Mr  Crisp,  she  said,  had  been  so  good 
as  to  give  her. 

In  the  course  of  this  oonversation  I  found  her  very 
charming,  high-bred,  courteous,  sensible,  and  spirited; 
not  merely  f^e  from  pride,  but  free  from  affabiUty-'its 
most  mortifying  deputy. 

After  this  she  SM^ed  me  if  I  had  seen  Mrs.  SiddonSf 
and  what  1  thought  of  her.  I  answered  that  I  admired 
her  very  much. 

"<  If  Miss  Bumey  api^oves  her,"  said  the  Daehem^ 
"  no  approbation,  I  am  sure,  oan  do  her  so  much  credit  \ 
for  no  one  can  so  perfeotiy  judge  of  ohamotexs  or  of 
human  nature." 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS- 


251 


*'Ali,  Ma'am,"  ezied  Mn.  Delany,  archly,  *'  and  does 
TOOT  Gtaoe  remfimber  proteBting  you  would  noTer  read 
•Odiiar" 

"Yes,"  nid  she,  laughing;  ^I  declared  that  fiye 
TobuDtt  eoold  neyer  be  attacked ;  bat  since  I  began  I 
kiT9  read  it  three  times.*' 

''O  terrihle !''  cried  I,  <" to  make  them  out  fifteen  ! " 

^Tbe  reason,'*  continued  she,  ^I  held  out  so  long 
ipiBit  reading  them,  was  remembering  the  cry  there 
wu  ID  fkToar  of  *  Clarissa,'  and '  Sir  Charles  Grandison,' 
wbeo  tbey  came  out ;  and  those  I  neyer  could  read.  I 
Tu  teased  into  trying  both  of  them  ( but  I  was  disgusted 
fith  their  tedioosness,  and  could  not  read  eleven  letters, 
with  all  the  effort  I  could  make :  so  much  about  my 
aiten  and  my  brothers,  and  all  my  uncles  and  my 

MBtl!" 

''Bit  if  your  Grace  had  gone  on  with  *  Clarissa, ' " 
aid  Mrs.  Chapone,  ^  the  latter  part  must  certainly  hare 
lActed  yon,  iad  charmed  you." 

"0, 1  hate  anything  so  dismal !  Ererybody  that  did 
Rid  it  had  melsmcholy  &ces  for  a  week.  *  Cecilia '  is 
li  pathetic  as  I  can  bear,  and  more  sometimes  ;  yet,  in 
tb  ntidit  of  the  sorrow,  there  is  a  spirit  in  the  writing, 
lire  in  the  whole  composition,  that  keep  off  that  heavy 
Jepressioa  given  by  Richardson.  Cry,  to  be  sure,  we  did. 
0  Un.  Delany,  shall  you  ever  forget  how  we  cried  1 
Bit  then  we  had  so  much  laughter  to  make  us  amends, 
n  were  never  left  to  sink  under  our  concern." 

So  much  for  the  prattle  of  ladies  sixty  years 
ance.  It  is  not  a  little  amusing  to  find  these  high-' 
bred  kdies  taking  to  Cecilia  and  to  Fielding,  and 
decrying  RichardBon  ;  while  Johnson,  by  some 
jwrersity,  not  only  detested  the  lax  morality  of 
Reldhig's  novels,  hut  underrated  his  genius  as 
mch  as  he  did  that  of  Goldsmith. 

From  this  period  Miss  Bumey  became  a  great 
laToorite  with  the  yenerable  Mrs.  Delany,  with 
vbom  she  frequently  spent  a  day. 

Mrs.  Delany  was  already  a  favourite  with  the 
King  and  Queen  Charlotte  :  and  when  her  friend 
tile  Duch^s  died  without  making  any  provision 
^  her,  his  Majesty  generously  gave  her  a  pension 
rf  £300  a>year,  and  a  house  at  Windsor,  which 
vu  famished  for  her.  By  this  time  Miss  Bumey, 
who  had  attended  the  venerable  lady  during  a 
^Tish  attack,  was  domesticated  with  her,  and  a 
'wy  great  stay  and  solace  to  an  aged  woman,  who 
seems  to  have  heen  lonely  enough  at  heart,  though 
imonnded  by  many  powerful  friends.  When 
Jb.  Delany  removed  to  Windsor,  her  good  royal 
|MHp8,  George  and  Charlotte,  who  often  dropped 
is  upon  her  of  an  evening  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  a 
^ieiidly  chat,  ohtained  that  knowledge  of  the  oele- 
^ted  Miss  Bumey  which  speedily  led  her  Majesty 
te  Klect  her  to  fill  the  place  of  one  of  her  atten- 
^ta  who  was  returning  to  Germany. 

But  before  getting  to  the  royal  personages,  we 
Bust  look  back  on  some  others  more  bright,  emi- 
^^t,  and  amusing,  if  less  exalted  in  rank.  And 
^  of  Burke,  at  the  house  of  Reynolds,  with  whom 
liTed  a  maiden  sister, — a  worthy  soul,  though  not 
rf  the  brightest, — and  a  niece,  Miss  Palmer. 

Sir  Jothoa's  house  is  delightfully  situated,  almost  at 
uc  top  of  Richmond  Hill.  We  walked  till  near  dinner- 
^^  <(0B  the  terrace,  and  there  met  Mr.  Richard  Burke, 
the  Wetter  of  the  orator.  Miss  Palmer,  stopping  him, 
laid^ 

**  Are  you  coming  to  dine  with  us  V* 
'M''  he  answered ;  <<  I  shall  dine  at  the  Star  and 
Garter." 
I  How  did  y«a  oome — with  Mrs.  Burke,  or  alone  V 


''What,  on  horseback  r 

^  Ay,  sure  1"  cried  he,  laughing  ;  ^  Up  and  ride! 
Now*s  the  time.*' 

And  he  made  a  fine  flourish  with  his  hand,  and  passed 
us.  He  is  just  made  under-secr'etary  at  the  Treasury. 
He  is  a  tall  and  handsome  man,  and  seems  to  have  much 
dry  drollery ;  but  we  saw  no  more  of  him. 

After  our  return  to  the  house,  and  while  Sir  Joshua 
and  I  were  tHe-d-tiU,  Lord  Corke  and  my  father  being 
still  walking,  and  Miss  Palmer  having,  I  suppose,  some 
orders  to  give  about  the  dinner,  the ''  Knight  of  Plympton" 
was  desiring  my  opinion  of  the  prospect  from  his  window, 
and  comparing  it  with  Mr.  Burke's,  as  he  told  me  after 
I  had  spoken  it, — when  the  Bishop  of  St.  Asaph  and  his 
daughter.  Miss  Georgiana  Shipley,  were  announced.  Sir 
Joshua,  to  divert  himself^  in  introducing  me  to  the  bishop, 
said, "  Miss  Bumey,  my  lord  ;  otherwise,  *  Evelina.' " 

The  bishop  is  a  well-looking  man,  and  seemed  grave, 
quiet,  and  sensible.  I  have  heard  much  more  of  him  ; 
but  nothing  more  appeared.  Miss  €reorgiana,  however, 
was  showy  enough  for  two.  She  is  a  very  tall,  and  rather 
handsome  girl ;  but  the  expression  of  her  face  is,  to  me, 
disagreeable.  She  has  almost  a  constant  smile,  not  of 
softness,  nor  of  insipidity,  but  of  self-sufficiency  and  in- 
ternal satisfiLction Miss  Palmer 

soon  joined  us  ;  and  in  a  short  time,  entered  more  oom* 
pany, — three  gentlemen  and  one  lady  ;  but  there  was  no 
more  ceremony  used  of  introductions.  The  lady,  I  oon- 
cluded,  was  Mrs.  Burke,  wife  of  the  Mr.  Buriie,  and  was 
not  mistaken.  One  of  the  gentlemen  I  recollected  to  be 
young  Burke,  her  son,  whom  I  once  met  at  Sir  Joshua's 
in  town,  and  another  of  them  I  knew  for  Mr.  Gibbon  : 
but  the  third  I  had  never  seen  before.  I  had  been  told 
that  the  Burke  was  not  expected  ;  yet  I  could  conclude 
this  gentleman  to  be  no  other  ;  he  had  just  the  air,  the 
manner,  the  appearance,  I  had  prepared  myself  to  look 
for  in  him :  and  there  was  an  evident,  a  striking  superior- 
ity in  his  demeanour,  his  eye,  his  motions,  that  announced^ 
him  no  common  man. 

I  could  not  get  at  Miss  Palmer  to  satisfy  my  doubts, 
and  we  were  soon  called  down-stairs  to  dinner.    Sir 
Joshua  and  the  unknown  stopped  to  speak  with  one 
another  upon  the  stairs ;  and,  when  they  followed  US| 
Sir  Joshua,  in  taking  his  place  at  the  tabk,  asked  me  to 
sit  next  to  him  ;  1  willingly  complied.     "  And  then," 
he  added,  ^  Mi.  Burke  shall  sit  on  iJie  other  side  of  you." 
**  Oh,  no,  indeed  !"  cried  Miss  Georgiana,  who  also  had 
placed  herself  next  Sir  Joshua;  **  I  won't  consent  to  that; 
Mr.  Burke  must  sit  next  me;  I  won't  agree  to  part  with 
him.    Pray,  come  and  sit  down  quiet,  Mr.  Burke." 
Mr.  Burke, — for  him  it  was, — smiled  and  obeyed. 
^  I  only  meant,"  said  Sir  Joshua,  '^  to  have  made  my 
peace  vrith  Mr.  Burke,  by  giving  him  that  place,  because 
he  has  been  scolding  me  for  not  introducing  him  to  Miss 
Bumey.    However,  I  must  do  it  now  ;— Mr.  Burke  I — 
Miss  Bumey  !" 
We  both  half  rose,  and  Mr.  Burke  said, — 
''  I  have  been  complaining  to  Sir  Joshua  that  he  left 
me  wholly  to  my  own  sagacity  ;  however,  it  did  not  here 
deceive  me." 

**  Oh  dear,  then,"  said  Miss  Georgiana,  looking  a  little 
consternated, ''  perhaps  you  won't  thank  me  for  calling 
you  to  this  place  I " 

Nothing  was  stAd,  and  so  we  all  began  dinner, — ^young 
Burke  making  himself  my  next  neighbour. 

Captain  Phillips  knows  Mr.  Burke.  Has  he  or  has  he 
not  told  yon  how  delightful  a  creature  he  is !  If  he  has 
not,  pray,  in  my  name,  abuse  him  without  mercy ;  if  he 
has,  pray  ask  if  he  will  subscribe  to  my  account  of  him, 
which  herewith  shall  follow. 

He  is  tall,  his  figure  is  noble,  his  air  commanding,  his 
address  graceful :  his  voice  is  clear,  penetrating,  sonorous, 
and  powerful ;  his  language  is  copious,  various  and  elo- 
quent ;  his  manners  are  attractive,  his  conversation  is 
deUghtfbl. 

What  says  Captain  Phillips  1    Have  I  chanced  to  see 

him  in  his  happiest  hour  I  or  is  he  all  this  in  common  ! 

Since  we  lost  Garrick  I  have  seen  nobody  so  enchanting. 

I  can  give  you,  however,  very  little  of  what  was  said, 

for  the  conversati^  was  not  inine,  Mr.  Burke  darting 


252 


MISS  BURNEY»S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


from  gnbject  to  subject  with  fts  much  rapidity  as  enter- 
tainment. Neither  is  the  charm  of  his  discourse  more  in 
the  matter  than  the  manner ;  all,  therefore,  that  is  related 
from  him  loses  half  its  effect  in  not  being  related  by  him. 
Such  little  sketches  as  I  can  recollect  take  however. 

From  the  window  of  the  dining-parlour,  Sir  Joshua 
directed  us  to  look  at  a  pretty  white  house  which  belonged 
to  Lady  Di.  Beauclerk. 

'^  I  am  extremely  glad/'  said  Mr.  Burke,  ^  to  see  her 
at  last  so  well  housed  ;  poor  woman  !  the  bowl  has  long 
rolled  in  misery ;  I  rejoice  that  it  has  now  found  its 
balance.  I  neyer,  myself,  so  much  enjoyed  the  sight  of 
happiness  in  another,  as  in  that  woman  when  I  first  saw 
her  after  the  death  of  her  husband.  It  was  really  en- 
livening to  behold  her  placed  in  that  sweet  house,  released 
fh>m  all  her  cares,  a  thousand  pounds  a-year  at  her  own 
disposal,  and — her  husband  was  dead  !  Oh,  it  was  plea> 
sant,  it  was  delightful  to  see  her  enjoyment  of  her  situa- 
tion!" 

**  But,  without  considering  the  circumstances,"  said 
Mr.  Gibbon,  **  this  may  appear  very  strange  ;  though, 
when  they  are  fiurly  stated,  it  is  perfectly  rational  and 
unaToidable." 

**  Very  true,"  said  Mr.  Burke,  if  the  circumstances 
are  not  considered.  Lady  Di.  may  seem  highly  reprehen- 
sible." 

He  then,  addressing  himself  particularly  to  me,  as  the 
person  least  likely  to  be  acquainted  with  the  character 
of  Mr.  Beauclerk,  drew  it  himself  in  strong  and  marked 
expressions,  describing  the  misery  he  gave  his  wife,  his 
singular  ill-treatment  of  her,  and  the  necessary  relief  the 
death  of  such  a  man  must  give. 

This  lady,  the  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough, was  the  divorced  wife  of  Lord  Boling- 
broke,  and  apparently  not  happier  when  she  had 
married  her  lover,  the  celebrated  Topham  Beau- 
clerk, than  in  her  iirst  matrimonial  connexion. 

Shortly  after  this  meeting,  Burke  sent  Miss  Bar- 
ney a  highly  complimentary  letter,  dated  Whitehall^ 
upon  her  Cecilia,  His  criticisms,  in  an  after  con- 
versation, if  not  so  eulogistic,  must  have  been  more 
grateful  to  the  author.  One  of  his  last  acts  in 
office  was  obtaining  for  Dr.  Bumey  the  place  of 
Organist  to  the  Chapel  of  Chelsea  Hospital.  This 
he  announced  in  a  courteous  letter,  and  also  per- 
sonally. But  no  one  ever  questioned  the  benevo- 
lence and  amiability  of  this  great  man  in  private 
life. 

As  a  contrast  to  Burke,  we  select  a  countryman 
of  his,  who  does  credit  to  Miss  Bumey's  pencil. 
He  appears  to  have  been  on  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Thrale 
after  tlie  death  of  Thrale  : — 

We  have  now  a  new  character  added  to  our  set,  and 
one  of  no  small  diversion, — Mr.  Musgrave,  an  Irish  gen- 
tleman of  fortune,  and  member  of  the  Irish  Parliament. 
He  is  tall,  thin,  and  agreeable  in  his  face  and  figure  ;  is 
reckoned  a  good  scholar,  has  travelled,  and  been  very 
well  educated.  His  manners  are  impetuous  and  abrupt; 
his  language  is  higH-flown  and  hyperbolical ;  his  senti- 
ments are  romantic  and  tender  ;  hiis  heart  is  warm  and 
generous  ;  his  head  hot  and  wrong  !  And  the  whole  of 
his  conversation  is  a  mixture  the  most  uncommon,  of 
knowledge  and  triteness,  simplicity  and  fury,  literature 
and  foUy ! 

Keep  this  character  m  your  mind,  and,  contradictory 
as  it  seems,  I  will  give  you,  from  time  to  time,  such 
specimens  as  shall  remind  you  of  each  of  these  six  epi- 
thets. 

He  was  introduced  into  this  house  by  Mr.  Seward, 
with  whom,  and  Mr.  Graves  of  Worcester,  he  travelled 
into  Italy:  and  some  years  ago  he  was  extremely  intimate 
here.  But,  before  mv  acquaintance  was  made  at  Streat- 
ham,  he  had  returned  to  Ireland  ;  where,  about  a  year 
since,  he  married  Miss  Cayeudish.  They  are  now,  by 
mutual  consent,  parted.   She  is  goue  to  a  sister  in  France, 


and  he  is  come  to  spend  some  time  in  England  by  way 
of  diverting  his  chagrin. 

Mrs.  Thrale  who,  though  open-eyed  enough  to  his  ab- 
surdities, thinks  well  of  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  has  a 
real  regard  for  him  ;  and  he  quite  adores  her,  and  quite 
worships  Dr.  Johnson — frequently  declaring  (for  what 
he  once  says,  he  says  continually)  that  he  would  ipill 
his  blood  for  him,— or  clean  his  shoes, — or  go  to  the  East 
Indies  to  do  him  any  good  !  ^  I  am  never,''  says  he, 
*^  afraid  of  him  ;  none  but  a  fool  or  a  rogue  has  any  need 
to  be  afraid  of  him.  What  a  fine  old  lion  (looking  np  at 
his  picture)  he  is !  Oh  I  I  love  him, — I  hononr  him,— 
I  reverence  him  I  I  would  black  his  shoes  for  him.  I 
wish  I  could  give  him  my  night's  sleep  !" 

These  are  exclamations  which  he  is  making  oontinoally. 
Mrs.  Thrale  has  extremely  well  said  that  he  is  a  carica- 
ture of  Mr.  Boswell,  who  is  a  caricature,  I  must  add,  of 
all  other  of  Dr.  Johnson's  admirers. 

The  next  great  favourite  he  has  in  the  world  \a  our 
Doctor,  and  the  person  whom  he  talks  iMJi  wod  of,  is  Mr. 
Jessop,  who  was  his  schoolmaster,  and  whose  praise  he 
is  never  tired  of  singing  in  terms  the  most  vehement,— 
quoting  his  authority  for  every  other  thing  he  says,  and 
lamenting  our  misfortune  in  not  knowing  him. 

His  third  favourite  topic,  at  present,  is  "  The  Life  of 
Louis  XV."  in  4  vols.  8vo,  lately  translated  from  the 
French  ;  and  of  this  he  is  so  extravagantly  fond,  that  he 
talks  of  it  as  a  man  might  talk  of  his  mistress,  provided 
he  had  so  little  vrit  as  to  talk  of  her  at  all. 

Painting,  music,  all  the  fine  arts  in  their  turn,  he  alM 
speaks  of  in  raptures.  He  is  himself  very  accomplished, 
plays  the  violin  extremely  well,  is  a  very  good  linguist, 
and  a  very  decent  painter.  But  no  subject  in  his  hands 
fails  to  be  ridiculous,  as  he  is  sure,  by  the  abmptness  of 
its  introduction,  the  strange  turn  of  his  expressions,  or 
the  Hibernian  twang  of  his  pronunciation,  to  make  every- 
thing he  says,  however  usual  or  common,  seem  peooliar 
and  absurd. 

In  the  first  year  of  her  widowhood,  and  when 
they  were  all  apparently  good  friends,  Mrs.  Thrale 
carried"  little  Bumey*  and  Dr.  Johnson  to 
Brighton  with  her.  To  the  Doctor  this  seems  to 
have  been  an  uncomfortable  residence,  for  the 
ladies  were  generally  invited  without  him.  He 
had  quarrelled  with  some  people  ;  and  others  ^  al- 
most constantly  omitted  him  either  from  too 
much  respect,  or  too  much  fear."  On  these  omis- 
sions the  diarist  remarks : — 

I  am  sorry  for  it,  as  he  hates  being  alone,  and  9S, 
though  he  scolds  the  others,  he  is  well  enough  satisiel 
himself ;  and,  having  given  vent  to  all  his  own  occasional 
anger  or  ill-humour,  he  is  ready  to  begin  again,  and  i^ 
never  aware  that  those  who  have  so  been  ''downed" U 
him,  never  can  much  covet  so  triumphant  a  visiter,  a 
contests  of  wit,"  the  victor  is 'as  ill  o£f  in  future  consej 
quences  as  the  vanquished  in  present  ridicule. 

Even  to  little  Bumey  ihe  philosopher  was  hi 
coming  a  bare.  He  was  de  trap  to  everybod] 
often  in  very  bad  humour,  and  had  much  betti 
have  been  at  Bolt  Court.  One  morning  they  m 
a  great  deal  of  fine  company,  at  a  breakfast  givl 
by  Mr.  Swinerton,  and  she  relates  : — 

I  happened  to  be  standing  by  Dr.  Johnson  when  i 
the  ladies  came  in ;  but,  as  I  dread  him  before  straogel 
fVom  the  staring  attention  he  attracts  both  for  himi 
and  all  with  whom  he  talks,  I  endeavoured  to  chai^ 
my  ground.  However,  he  kept  prating  a  sort  of  comic 
nonsense  that  detained  me  some  minutes  whether  I  woi 
or  not;  but  when  we  were  all  taking  places  at  the  bret 
fast-table  f  made  another  efibrt  to  escape.  It  proK 
vain ;  he  drew  his  chair  next  to  mine,  and  went  rattU 
on  in  a  humorous  sort  of  comparison  he  was  drawif 
of  himself  to  mo, — not  one  word  of  which  could  I  enji 
or  can  I  remember,  from  the  hurry  I  was  in  to  get  li 
of  his  way.  In  short,  I  felt  so  awkward  from  bein;  tb 
marked  out,  that  I  was  reduced  to  whisper  a  request 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETCERS. 


253 


Mr.  Swioerton  to  put  a  cluur  between  U8,  for  which  I 
HcseBtlj  mide  a  space:  for  I  hare  often  known  him  stop 
lU  contemtioa  with  me,  when  he  has  ceased  to  have 
Be  for  his  next  ueighboor.  Mr.  Swinerton,  who  is  an 
extrcnely  good-natnred  young  man,  and  so  intimate  here 
tbt  I  make  no  scrapie  with  him,  instantly  complied,  and 
pb«d  himself  between  us. 

But  no  Moner  was  this  done,  than  Dr.  Johnson,  half 
seriouly,  sod  rery  loudly,  took  him  to  task. 

*•  How  now,  Sir !  what  do  you  mean  by  this  I  Would 
jm  Mptnte  me  fi^m  Miss  Bumey  V 

Mr.Sirinerton,a  little  startled,  began  some  apologies, 
ttii  Mn.  Thrale  winked  at  him  to  give  up  the  place;  but 
k  wia  willing  to  oblige  me,  though  he  grew  more  and 
■OR  tightened  every  minute,  and  coloured  violently  as 
tk  Doctor  continued  his  remonstrance,  which  he  did  with 
ntber  munereiftil  raillery,  upon  his  taking  advantage  of 
Wisf  m  his  own  house  to  thus  supplant  him,  and  crow ; 
kt  vben  he  had  borne  it  for  about  ten  minutes,  his  face 
kam  so  hot  with  the  fear  of  hearing  something  worse, 
tiat  be  nn  from  the  field,  and  took  a  chair  between  Lady 
De  Femrs  and  Mrs.  Thrale.  I  think  I  shall  take  wam- 
i^bjr  this  failure,  to  trust  only  to  my  own  expedients 
k  aroiding  his  public  notice  in  future 

TirBSDiT.— Mr.  Metcalf  called  upon  Dr.  Johnson,  and 
iNt  kirn  oat  an  airing.  Mr.  Hamilton  is  gone,  and  Mr. 
Uetealf  is  now  the  only  person  out  of  this  house  that 
nlotarfly  communicates  with  the  Doctor.  He  has  been 
ii  I  terrible  severe  humour  of  bite,  and  has  really  fHght- 
Hcdall  the  people,  till  they  almost  ran  from  him.  To 
K  only  I  think  he  is  now  kind,  for  Mrs.  Thrale  fares 
WMK  thin  anybody.  'Tis  very  strange  and  very  mel- 
a^y  that  he  will  not  a  little  more  accommodate  his 
mam  snd  language  to  those  of  other  people.  He  likes 
*.  Metcalf,  however,  and  so  do  I,  for  he  is  very  clever 
tti  entertaining  when  he  pleases. 

Poor  old  Doctor ! 

It  was  at  tbi8  time  that  Misa  Bumey  first  saw 
» personage,  who,  until  the  other  day,  figured  as  a 
peat  celebrity ;  and  who,  first  flourishing  in  thb 
jwnal,  has  come  down  to  us  in  the  novels  of  Lady 
Jlwgan  and  the  younger  D'lsraeli.  This  was 
I*ly  Corke,  then  the  Hon.  Miss  Monckton,  who 
«dr  died  last  year. 

ScxDiT,Nov.  10th,  brings  in  a  new  person.  The 
B«oarable  Miss  Monckton,  who  is  hero  with  her  mother 
^  Dowager  Lady  Galway,  has  sent  various  messages 
ifber  earnest  desire  to  be  acquainted  vrith  Mrs.  Thrale 
fed  jonr  hnmble  servant  to  command.  Dr.  Johnson  she 
^^j  knew,  for  she  is  one  of  those  who  stand  foremost 
fe  collecting  all  extraordinary  or  curious  people  to  her 
i^on  conversaziones,  which,  like  those  of  Mrs.  Vesey, 
til  ibe  rank  and  the  hteraturc,  and  exclude  all  beside. 
^dl-Hifter  divers  intimations  of  this  sort,  it  was  at  last 
lettled  that  Lady  De  Ferrars  should  bring  her  here  this 

In  tlw  evenmg  came  Lady  De  Ferrars,  Miss  Monckton, 
^  Miss  Elkrker.  Miss  Monckton  is  between  thirty 
^  forty,  very  short,  rery  fat,  but  handsome ;  splendidly 
9i  fuitastically  dressed,  rouged  not  unbecomingly,  yet 
^*ik2\\j  ind  palpably  desirious  of  gaining  notice  and 
'^aozation.  She  has  an  easy  levity  in  her  air,  manner, 
***«  and  discourse,  that  speak  all  within  to  be  comfort- 
^^* ;  and  ber  rage  of  seeing  anything  curious  may  be 
■tided,  if  she  pleases,  by  looking  in  a  mirror. 

1  eaa  pve  you  no  account  of  the  conversation,  as  it  was 
^a,and  not  entertaining.  Miss  Monckton  went  early, 
ariag  toother  engagement,  but  the  other  ladies  stayed 
f^ry  late.  Sbs  told  us,  however,  one  story  extremely 
^  worth  recording.  The  Duke  of  Devonshire  was 
'^adiig  near  a  very  fine  glass  lustre  in  a  comer  of  a 
WBky  at  an  assembly,  and  in  a  house  of  people  who.  Miss 
'onctooB  said,  were  by  no  means  in  a  style  of  life  to 
'*ld  expense  as  immaterial ;  and  by  carelessly  lolling 
^k,  he  threw  the  lustre  down  and  it  was  broke.  He 
^9d  Mt,  howerer,  the  smallest  concern  or  confusion 
*  the  accident,  but  coolly  said,  **  I  wonder  how  I  did 
^  f    He  then  removed  to  the  opposite  comer,  and  to 


show,  I  suppose,  he  had  forgotten  what  he  had  done, 
leaned  his  head  in  the  same  manner,  and  down  came  the 
opposite  lustre  !  He  looked  at  it  very  calmly,  and,  with 
a  philosophical  dryness,  merely  said, "  This  is  singular 
enough  !"  and  walked  to  another  part  of  the  room,  with- 
out either  distress  or  apology. 

Nothing  can  be  more  characteristic  of  the  order; 
nor  is  it  quite  clear  that  there  might  not  haye  been 
a  little  malice  prepense  in  thus  punishing  presump- 
tuous upstarts  who  sported  lustres.  At  least  such 
things  have  been  known.  But  we  must  not  lose 
sight  of  the  future  Lady  Corke  after  her  return 
to  town.    Many  of  our  readers  can  still "  taste  her." 

Tuesday. — Pacchierotti  called  in  the  morning,  and 
vfas  very  sweet  and  amiable.  I  received,  also,  a  most 
perfumed  note,  on  French  paper,  gilt,  bordered,  glazed, 
enclosed  in  a  finely  decorated  cover,  and  sealed  with  a 
miniken  figure,  from  Miss  Monckton,  to  invite  me  for  the 
8th,  to  meet  Mrs.  Thrale.  I  accepted  the  invitation  with 
pleasure  ;  her  parties  are  the  most  brilliant  in  town,  and 
she  is  acquainted  with  many  people  I  wish  to  meet.  In 
small  parties,  or  intimate  acquaintances,  it  is  necessary 
to  like  the  mistress  of  the  house ;  but  in  large  assemblies, 
it  is  but  like  going  to  a  better  regulated  public  place. 

Wednesday. —  I  called  in  the  morning  upon  Miss 
Palmer,  with  whom  I  sat  some  time.  Her  uncle  has 
been  very  dsmgerously  ill,  but  is  now  quite  recovered.  I 
then  went  and  spent  all  the  day  with  sweet  BIrs.  Thrale, 
who  shut  out  all  company,  and  gave  me  herself  to  myself; 
and  it  was  much  the  happiest  time  I  have  spent,  away 
from  my  father,  since  I  left  Brighton.  Dr.  Johnson  was 
at  home,  and  in  most  excellent  good  humour  and  spirits. 

The  at  home  was  no  doubt  one  cause  of  the  now 
good  humour  and  good  spirits.  Pacchierotti  was  a 
celebrated  singer  of  the  day,  quite  the  idol  of  a  few 
young  ladies  and  dilettanti,  though  John  Bull  was 
deaf  and  obdurate  to  the  charmer.  He  seems, 
however,  to  have  been  an  intelligent  and  amiable 
person.  Miss  Bumey  adored  his  talent,  and  even 
gave  him  a  niche  in  her  ^^  Cecilia."  The  ladies  of 
those  days,  it  is  some  consolation  to  learn,  were 
quite  as  absurd  about  singers,  preachers,  and  all 
sorts  of  actors,  as  in  our  own  younger,  silly  times. 

Thdbsday,  July  17th.— I  went  with  my  dear  father 
to-day  to  dine  and  spend  the  evening  at  Lady  Mary 
Duncan's.  How  vexatious  never  to  have  made  this  visit 
till  it  was  necessarily  the  last  in  which  I  could  see 
Pacchierotti  there  I  He  was  in  good  humour,  and  more 
tolerable  spirits  than  I  have  lately  seen  him  in.  Lady 
Shaub,  mother  to  Mrs.  Locke,  and  Miss  Shanb  her  sister, 
and  Sir  John  Elliot,  made  all  the  diimer  party.  The 
two  Miss  Bulls  came  in  the  evening. 

Pacchierotti  did  not  sing  one  song  accompanied,  but 
he  sang  several  little  airs  and  ballads,  £ngludi,1Scotch, 
French,  and  Italian,  most  delidously.  I  had  a  very 
agreeable  day,  and  I  saw  he  was  quite  delighted  that  I 
made  one  of  the  party,  and  that  added  to  my  delist 
almost  its  sum  total, — ^though  add  is  a  little  Irfeh  there. 
C^,  how  the  Miss  Bulls  do  idolize  him  I  They  profess 
thinking  him  quite  angelic,  and  declared  they  should 
even  look  upon  it  as  a  fkvour  to  be  beat  by  him !  I 
laughed  violently  at  this  extravagance,  and  vowed  I 
would  tell  him.  They  desired  no  better.  We  called 
him  to  us ;  but  I  was  really  ashamed  myself  when  I 
found  they  were  not.  He  leaned  down  his  head  very 
patiently  for  an  explanation. 

'<  Do  tell  him !  **  cried  they,  both  together. 

^'Whatl"  cried  he;  <<what  does  the  sweet  Miss 
Bumey  say!" 

«  Oh,  oh  I  "cried  one— «  Oh  dear!"  cried  the  other; 
'^how  he  speaks  to  Miss  Bumey  1" 

**  Miss  Bumey,"  cried  he,  quite  warmly  and  midannt- 
edly, "  is  a  treasure !" 
I     <*  Oh  dear !— only  hear  bun,  Lady  Mary !"  ezdaiBed 


254 


MISS  BURITErS  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


Hiss  Catherine  BaU  ;  "  he  says  Miss  Barney  is  a  trea- 
inre!" 

**  Well,  and  is  it  not  true  V*  said  she,  graciously. 

**0h,  yes  !"  answered  she,  half  laughing,  yet  in  a  re- 
pining Yoiee ;  **  but  I  don't  like  to  hear  him  say  so.** 

This  was  our  sort  of  chat  almost  all  the  evening, 
with  various  imitations,  and  light  summer  singing,  from 
Pacchierotti. 

Tuesday,  Not.  25th, — I  went  this  morning  to  Lady 
Mary  Duncan,  whose  visit  my  ftither  grew  angry  that  I 
did  not  return.  She  admitted  me,  and  kept  me  full  two 
hours.  She  is  really  entertaining,  very  entertaining, 
though  not  very  respectably  always,  as  everything  she 
says  has  some  mixture  of  absurdity  in  the  manner,  even 
when  the  idea  is  fliultless.  She  much  invited  me  to 
frequent  visits,  and  was  excessively  civil  and  courteous. 
Our  talk  was  all  of  her  late  Sir  WilUam  and  Pacchierotti, 
She  runs  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  most  ludicrous 
flkcility,  as  if  well  content  they  should  share  her  favour, 
divide  her  thoughts,  and  keep  the  use  of  her  tongue 
wholly  to  themselves. 

Miss  Palmer  8  unde,  whose  illness  is  referred  to 
above,  was  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  had  had  a 
paralytic  attack.  He  had  long  been  talked  of  in 
relation  to  Miss  Bumey*s  matrimonial  prospects, 
but  the  wishes  of  her  friends  and  of  her  sister 
proved  of  no  effect ;  nor  does  she  seem  to  have  been 
greatly  disappointed,  wealthy  as  he  was.    And — 

Now  for  Miss  Monckton*s  assembly. 

I  had  begged  Mrs.  Thrale  to  call  for  me,  that  I  might 
have  her  countenance  and  assistance  upon  my  entrance. 
Miss  Thrale  came  also.  Everything  was  in  a  new  style. 
We  got  out  of  the  coach  into  a  hall  fall  of  servants,  not 
ene  of  which  inquired  our  names,  or  took  any  notice  of 
ns.  We  proceeded,  and  went  up  stairs,  and  when  we 
arrived  at  a  door,  stopped  and  looked  behind  us.  No 
servant  had  followed  or  preceded  us.  We  deliberated 
what  was  to  be  done.  To  announce  ourselves  was  rather 
awkward,  neither  could  we  be  sure  we  were  going  into 
the  right  apartment.  I  proposed  our  going  up  higher, 
till  we  met  with  somebody ;  Miss  Thrale  thought  we 
should  go  down  and  call  some  of  the  servants  ;  but  Mrs. 
Thrale,  after  a  ridiculous  consultation,  determined  to  try 
her  fortune  by  opening  the  door.  This  being  done,  we 
entered  a  room  fhll  of— tea-things,  and  one  maid-servant! 

«  Well,"  cried  Mrs.  Thrale,  laughing,  "what  is  to  be 
done  now !  I  suppose  we  are  come  so  early  that  nothing 
is  ready.'* 

The  maid  stared,  but  said, — ^^  There's  company  in  the 
next  room.*' 

Then  we  considered  again  how  to  make  ourselves 
known ;  and  then  Mrs.  Thrale  again  resolved  to  take 
oourage  and  enter.  She  therefore  opened  another  door, 
and  went  into  another  apartment.  I  held  back,  but 
looked  after,  and  observing  that  she  made  no  courtesy, 
concluded  she  was  gone  into  some  wrong  place.  Miss 
Thrale  fbllowed,  and  after  her  went  little  I,  wondering 
who  wks  to  receive,  or  what  was  to  become  of  us. 

Miss  Monckton  lives  with  her  mother,  the  old  Dowager 
Lady  Galway,  in  a  noble  house  in  Charles  Street,  Berkeley 
Square.  The  room  was  large  and  magnificent.  There 
was  not  much  company,  for  we  were  very  early.  Lady 
Galway  sat  at  the  side  of  the  fire,  and  received  nobody. 
She  seems  very  old,  and  was  dressed  with  a  little  round 
white  cap,  and  not  a  single  hair,  no  cushion,  roll,  nor  any- 
thing else  but  the  little  round  cap,  which  was  flat  upon 
her  ibrehead.  Such  part  of  the  company  aa  already 
knew  her  made  their  compliments  to  her  where  she  sat, 
and  the  rest  were  never  taken  up  to  her,  but  belonged 
wholly  to  Miss  Monckton. 

Miss  Monckton's  own  manner  of  receiving  her  guests 
was  scarce  more  laborious  ;  for  she  kept  her  seat  when 
they  entered,  and  only  turned  round  her  head  to  nod  it, 
and  say  **  How  do  do  !**  after  which  they  found  what 
accommodation  they  could  for  themselves. 

As  soon,  however,  as  she  perceived  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Thrale,  which  was  not  till  they  had  been  some  minutes 
in  the  room,  she  arose  to  welcome  them,  contrary  to  her 


general  custom,  and  merely  beeause  it  was  their  Ini 
visit.  Our  long  trains  making  my  entrance  some  time 
after  theirs,  gave  me  the  advantage  of  being  immediately 
seen  by  her,  and  she  advanced  to  me  with  qnieknessjand 
very  politely  thanked  me  fbr  coming,  and  said,— 

^  I  ftar  you  think  me  very  rude  for  taking  tiie  liberty 
of  sending  to  you.** 

**  No,  indeed,  you  did  me  much  honour,**  quoth  I. 

Some  new  people  now  coming  in,  and  placing  them- 
selves in  a  regular  way.  Miss  Monckton  ezel&ined)— 
"  My  whole  care  is  to  prevent  a  circle  ;**  and  hastily 
rising,  she  pulled  about  the  chairs,  and  planted  the  people 
in  groups,  with  as  dexterous  a  disorder  as  you  would 
desire  to  see. 

.  The  company  in  general  were  dressed  with  more  bril- 
liancy than  at  any  rout  I  ever  was  at,  as  most  of  them 
were  going  to  the  Duchess  of  Cumberland's  and  atUred 
for  ihkt  purpose.  Just  behind  me  sat  Mrs.  Hampden, 
still  very  beautiful,  but  insufferably  affected.  Another 
lady,  fn  ftill  dress,  and  very  pretty,  came  in  soon  after, 
and  got  herself  a  chair  just  before  me  ;  and  then  a  con- 
versation began  between  her  and  Mrs.  Hampden,  of  which 
I  will  give  you  a  specimen. 

'  How  disagreeable  these  sacques  are  !  I  am  so  in- 
commoded with  these  nasty  rufiles  !  I  am  going  to  Cam- 
berland  House — ^are  you  ?  ** — ^  To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Hampden  ;  ^  what  else,  do  you  think,  would  make  mc 
bear  this  weight  of  dress !  I  can't  bear  a  sacqne."— 
**  Why,  I  thought  you  said  you  should  always  wear 
them!** — ^"Oh,  yes,  but  I  have  changed  my  mind  smce 
then— as  many  people  do.**—"  Well,  I  think  it  vastly 
disagreeable  indeed,**  said  the  other  ;  "  you  can*t  think 
how  I*m  encumbered  with  these  ruffles  !"—** Oh, lam 
quite  oppressed  with  them,"  said  Mrs.  Hampden ;  "  I 
can  hardly  bear  myself  up."  —  ''And  I  dined  hi  this 
way ! "  cried  the  other ;  *  only  think— dining  in  a  sacque !" 
—"Oh,"  answered  Mrs.  Hampden,  "it  really  puti  me 
quite  out  of  spirits." — Well,  have  you  enough  ?--aDd  has 
my  daddy  raved  enough ! 

Mrs.  and  Miss  Thrale  had  other  engagements,  and  soon 
went  away.  Miss  Monckton  then  took  a  chair  again 
next  to  me,  which  she  kept  till  we  both  started  at  the 
same  voice,  and  she  cried  out, — ^  Oh,  it's  Mr.  Barke  1" 
and  she  ran  to  him  with  as  much  joy  as,  if  it  had  been 
our  house,  I  should.  Cause  the  second  for  liking  her 
better. 

I  grew  now  in  a  violent  fidget,  both  to  have  his  notice. 
and  for  what  his  notice  would  be  ;  but  I  sat  very  still 
and  he  was  seized  upon  by  scores,  and  taken  to  anothei 
part  of  the  room. 

Then  came  in  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  he  soon  drew 
a  chair  near  mine,  and  from  that  time  I  was  never  with- 
out some  friend  at  my  elbow. 

Miss  Burney  was  fortunate  enough  in  this  party 
to  get  her  share  of  Mr,  Burke,  who  talked  well  tM 
wisely  about  "Cecilia,"  and  finished  thus  :— 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  I  have  one  other  fault  to  find,  an^ 
a  fiir  more  material  one  than  any  I  have  mentioned." 

"  I  am  the  more  obliged  to  you.     What  is  it  1"       J 

"  The  disposal  of  this  book.  T  have  much  advice  « 
offer  to  you  upon  that  subject.  Why  did  not  yon  sew 
for  your  ovm  friend  out  of  the  city  ?  he  would  havj 
taken  care  you  should  not  part  with  it  so  much  belo^ 
par." 

He  meant  Mr.  Briggs. 

On  the  same  topic  of  "  solid  pudding,"  Daddj 
Crisp  writes  her : — 

"  Now,  Fannikin,  I  must  remind  you  of  your  promia 
which  was  to  come  to  your  loring  daddy  when  yon  com 
get  loose.  Look  ye,  Fanny,  I  don't  mean  to  cijole  yc* 
hither  with  the  expectation  of  amusement  or  entcrtaiil 
ment.  You  and  I  know  better  than  to  hum  or  be  haa 
med  in  that  manner.  If  you  come  here,  come  to  wor) 
—work  hard,— stick  to  it.  This  is  the  harvest-time « 
your  lifb  ;  your  sun  shines  hot ;  lose  not  a  moment,  thei 
but  make  your  hay  directly.  "  Touch  the  yellow  boysj 
as  Briggs  says, — ^  grow  warm ;"  make  the  booksellei 
come  down  handsomely — count  tiie  ready— 4he  chink.^ 


MISS  BURNErS  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


255 


D»  but  BMve  this  one  point  while  it  is  in  your  power, 
uA  all  thiofs  else  shAll  be  added  onto  thee. 

I  talked  to  yonr  doetor  daddy  on  the  subjeet  of  dis- 
fttSag  of  yonr  money ;  and  we  both  agreed  in  the  pro- 
ject of  a  well-eeenred  annuity ;  and  in  the  meantime, 
till  that  eonld  be  procured,  that  the  ready  should  be 
TMted  in  the  tiiree  per  cent  annnities,  that  it  might  pro- 
duce somethiiig ;  and  he  promised  to  adTance,  to  make 
cTca  money. 

Bat  we  must  go  back  to  the  rout  and  Burke : — 

Sir  Joehoa  Reynolds  now  joined  ns. 

•  Aw  yon  telling  her,"  said  he,  **  of  our  couTersation 
Tith  the  old  wits !  I  am  glad  you  hear  it  ft'om  Mr.  Burke, 
MiiB  Barney,  for  he  can  tell  it  so  much  better  than  I  can, 
lad  remember  their  very  words.** 

"  Nothing  else  would  they  talk  of  for  three  whole 
hmj*  said  he,  ^  2md  we  were  there  ^t  the  third  read- 
nioftbebiU.*' 

"  I  beliere  I  was  in  good  hands/'  said  I,  ^  if  they 
tittedofittoyoul" 

"  \Miy,  yes,**  answered  Sir  Joshua,  laughing,  "  we 
jned  in  from  time  to  time.  Gibbon  says  he  read  the 
wbole  fire  Tolumes  in  a  day.'* 

"  Hi  impossible,'*  cried  Mr.  Burke,  ^  it  cost  me  three 
(hji;  and  you  know  I  never  parted  with  it  from  the 
tiae  I  trst  opened  it.'* 

Here  are  laurels,  Sasy  !  My  dear  daddy  and  Kitty, 
SR  700  not  doubly  glad  you  so  kindly  hurried  me  up- 
ftftin  to  write  when  at  Qiesington  ! 

Ur.  Burke  ^en  went  to  some  other  party,  and  Mr. 
Swiaerton  took  his  place,  with  whom  I  had  a  dawdling 
mrersadon  upon  dawdling  subjects  ;  and  I  was  not  a 
Ittle  eoliTened,  upon  his  quitting  the  chair,  to  have  it 
SOed  by  Mr.  Metcalf,  who,  with  much  satire,  but  much 
ectertainment,  kept  chattering  with  me  till  Dr.  Johnson 
iKmd  me  out,  and  brought  a  chair  opposite  to  me. 

I^  yon  lan^,  my  Susan,  or  cry  at  your  F.  B.'s  hon- 
Hn\ 

**  So,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Metcalf,  **  it  is  you,  is  it,  that 
vt  esgroaiing  her  thus  1 " 

*  He's  jealous,"  said  Mr.  Metcalf,  drily. 

"  How  these  people  talk  of  Mrs.  Siddons  !"  said  the 
^^T.  **  I  came  hither  in  full  expectation  of  hearing 
HDUM  bnt  the  name  I  love  and  pant  to  hear, — when 
^  one  corner  to  another  they  are  talking  of  that  jade, 
^  SMdons  !  till,  at  last  wearied  out,  I  went  yonder 
>to  a  comer,  and  repeated  to  myself  Bumey  I  Bumey ! 
Bowyl  Barney  1" 

"Ay,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Metcalf,  ''you  should  have 
«»fTf d  it  upon  the  trees." 

"  Sir,  had  there  been  any  trees,  so  I  should ;  but  being 
»«,  I  was  content  to  carve  it  upon  my  heart." 

!^  after  the  parties  changed  again,  and  young  Mr. 
Buke  eame  and  sat  by  me.  He  is  a  very  civil  and 
*kii^,aad  a  sendble  and  agreeable  young  man.  I 
*«  occasionally  spoken  to  afterwards  by  strangers,  both 
an  and  women,  whom  I  could  not  find  out,  though  they 
^^  me  by  my  name  as  if  they  had  known  me  all  my 
^-  OW  Lady  Galway  trotted  from  her  comer,  in  the 
*^  of  the  evening,  and  leaning  her  hands  upon  the 
^  of  two  chairs,  put  her  little  round  head  through 
t*»  ftfie  high  dressed  ladies  on  purpose  to  peep  at  me, 
»>dthen  trotted  back  to  her  place  !    Ha,  ha  ! 

^  Monckton  now  came  to  us  again,  and  I  congra- 
feUted  her  upon  her  power  in  making  Dr.  Johnson  sit 
'^A^p;  upon  which  she  immediately  said  to  him, — 

*  Sir,  Miss  Bumey  says  you  like  best  to  sit  in  a  circle." 

*I>oe8  she  !"  said  he,  laughing;  **  Ajr,  never  mind 
Wit  ^  Bays,  Don't  you  know  she  is  a  writer  of 
Muaees!'' 

^  qoite  rejoices  to  see  the  Doctor  himself 
m^i  though  he  broke  oat  against  Mrs.  Sid- 
w^i  who  was  now  become  an  idol  of  the 
rteriei,  but  whose  merits  he  did  not  yet  under- 
|j^.  And  players  had  never  stood  high  in  his 
mt.  On  a  snbteqnent  evening  at  Miss 
wkton's,  Mrs.  Siddons  was  again  seen,  and  is 
s  gndonsly  noticed : — 


We  fbnnd  Mrs.  Siddons,  the  actress,  there.  She  is  a 
woman  of  excellent  character,  and  therefore  I  am  very 
glad  she  is  thus  patronized,  since  Mrs.  Abington,  and  so 
manv  frail  fltir  ones,  have  been  thus  noticed  by  the  great. 
She  behaved  with  great  propriety  ;  very  calm,  modest, 
quiet,  and  nnaflbcted.  She  has  a  very  fine  countenance, 
and  her  eyes  look  both  intelligent  and  soft.  She  has, 
however,  a  steadiness  in  her  manner  and  deportment  by 
no  means  engaging.  Mrs.  Thrale,  who  was  there,  said, 
— **  Why,  thk  &  a  leaden  goddess  we  are  all  worship- 
ping !  however,  we  Ahall  soon  gild  it." 

A  lady  who  sat  near  me  then  began  a  dialogue  with 
Mr.  Erskine,  who  had  placed  himself  exactly  opposite 
to  Mrs.  Siddons  ;  and  they  debated  together  upon  her 
manner  of  studying  her  parts,  disputing  upon  the  point 
with  great  warmth,  yet  not  only  forbearing  to  ask  Mrs. 
Siddons  herself  which  was  right,  but  quite  overpowering 
her  with  their  loquacity,  when  she  attempted,  unasked, 
to  explain  the  matter. 

This  also  is  characteristic.  Poor  Mrs.  Siddons 
not  understanding  the  profession  in  which  she  was 
already  allowed  to  excel,  half  so  well  as  her  patrons ! 
But  the  same  thing  happens  with  all  great  artists, 
and  at  all  times. 

Passing  Soame  Jenyns,  the  Wartons,  the  Cam- 
bridges,  and  the  whole  body  of  the  learned,  we  stick 
by  the  female  portraits  exhibited  in  this  gallery,  as 
not  only  the  most  entertaining,  but  the  best  painted. 
Here  is  Sir  Joshua  s  simple  sister. — ^What  a  de-' 
lightful  chat  she  and  Goldsmith  might  have  had 
together  on  her  genteel  perplexities  i — 

I  had  afterwards  a  whispering  conversation  with  Mm. 
Beynolds,  which  made  me  laugh,  ftt>m  her  excessive 
oddness  and  absurdity.  It  began  about  Chesington. 
She  expressed  her  wonder  how  I  could  have  passed  so 
much  time  there.  I  assured  her  that  with  my  own  will 
I  should  pass  much  more  time  there,  as  I  know  no  place 
where  I  had  had  more,  if  so  much,  happiness. 

^  Well,  bless  me!"  cried  she,  holding  up  her  hands, 
^  and  all  this  variety  comes  from  only  one  man !  That's 
strange,  indeed,  for,  by  what  I  can  make  out,  there's 
nothing  but  that  one  Mr.  Quip  there  ! " 

Mr.  Otfp,"  said  I,  **  is,  indeed,  the  only  man :  bnt 
there  are  aitio  two  ladies,  very  dear  friends  of  mine,  who 
live  there  constantly." 

**  What]!  and  they  neither  of  them  married  that  Mr.— 
that  same  gentieman ! " 

^  No,  they  never  married  anybody ;  they  are  singlej 
and  so  is  he." 

^  Well,  but  if  he  is  so  mighty  agreeable,"  said  she, 
holding  her  finger  up  to  her  nose  most  significantly, 
^  can  you  tell  me  how  it  comes  to  pass  he  should  never 
have  got  a  wife  in  all  this  time  1" 

There  was  no  answering  this  but  by  grinning ;  bnt  I 
thought  how  my  dear  Kitty  would  again  have  o^ed  her 
the  M  tifier. 

She  afterwards  told  me  of  divers  most  ridiculous  dis- 
tresses she  had  been  in  with  Mrs.  Montagu  and  Mrs. 
Ord. 

^  I  had  the  most  unfortunate  thing  in  the  world  hi^ 
pen  to  me,"  she  said,  ^  about  Mrs.  Montagu,  and  I  id- 
ways  am  in  sodm  distress  or  misfortune  with  that  lady. 
She  did  me  the  honour  to  invite  me  to  dine  with  her  last 
week, — and  I  am  sure  there  is  nobody  in  the  world  can 
be  more  obliged  to  Mrs.  Montagu  for  taking  such  notice 
of  anybody ; — ^but  just  when  the  day  came  I  was  so  un- 
lucky as  to  be  ill,  and  that,  you  know,  made  it  quite  im- 
proper to  go  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Montagu,  for  fear  of  any 
disi^reeable  consequences.  So  this  vexed  me  very  much, 
for  I  had  nobody  to  send  to  her  that  was  proper  to  ap- 
pear before  Mrs.  Montagu ;  for,  to  own  the  troth,  yon 
must  know  I  have  no  servant  but  a  maid,  and  I  could 
not  think  of  sendmg  such  a  person  to  Mrs.  Montagu. 
So  I  thought  it  best  to  send  a  chainnan,  and  to  tell  him 
only  to  ring  at  the  bell,  and  to  wait  for  no  answer; 
because  then  the  porter  might  tell  Mrs.  Montagu  my 
.  servant  brought  the  note,  for  the  porter  could  not  tell 


256 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETIERS. 


bat  he  migbl  be  my  serraut.  Bat  my  mftid  was  so  stapid, 
she  took  the  shilling  L  gare  her  for  tl^  duurman,  and 
went  to  a  green-shop,  and  bid  the  woman  send  some- 
body with  the  note,  and  she  left  the  shilling  with  her ; 
so  the  green-woman,  I  snppose,  thought  she  might  keep 
the  shilling,  and,  instead  of  sending  a  chairman,  she  sent 
her  own  errand-girl ;  and  she  was  all  dirt  and  rags.  Bat 
this  is  not  all;  for,  when  the  girl  got  to  the  house, 
nothing  would  serve  her  but  she  would  give  Uie  note  to 
Mrs.  Montagu,  and  wait  for  an  answer;  so  then,  you 
know,  Mrs^  Montagu  saw  this  ragged  green-shop  girl. 
I  was  never  so  shocked  in  my  life,  for  when  she  brought 
me  back  the  note  I  knew  at  once  how  it  all  was.  Only 
think  what  a  mortification,  to  have  Mrs.  Montagu  see 
such  a  person  as  that !  She  must  think  it  very  odd  of 
me,  indeed,  to  send  a  green-shop  girl  to  such  a  house  as 
hers!" 

Now  for  a  distress  equally  grievous  with  Mrs.  Ord : — 

**  You  must  know  Mrs.  Ord  called  on  me  the  other  day 
when  I  did  not  happen  to  be  dressed ;  so  I  had  a  very 
pretty  sort  of  a  bed-gown,  like  a  jacket,  hanging  at  the 
fire,  and  I  had  on  a  petticoat,  with  a  border  on  it  of  the 
same  pattern ;  but  the  bed-govni  I  thought  was  damp, 
and  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  go  dovni  to  Mrs.  Ord,  so  I  would 
not  stay  to  dry  it,  but  went  down  in  anoUier  bed-gown, 
and  put  my  cloak  on.  But  only  think  what  Mrs.  Ord 
must  think  of  it,  for  I  have  since  thought  she  must  sup- 
pose, I  had  no  gown  on  at  all,  for  you  must  know  my 
cloak  was  so  long  it  only  showed  the  petticoat." 

If  this  makes  you  grin  as  it  did  me,  you  will  be  glad 
of  another  specimen  of  her  sorrows : — 

**  I  am  always,'*  said  she,  ^  out  of  luck  with  ^frs.  Ord; 
for,  another  time  when  she  came,  there  happened  to  be 
a  great  slop  on  the  table ;  so,  while  the  maid  was  going 
to  the  door,  I  took  up  a  rag  that  I  had  been  wiping  my 
pencils  with,  for  I  had  been  painting,  and  I  wiped  the 
table;  but  as  she  got  up-stairs  before  I  had  put  it 
away,  I  popped  a  white  handkerchief  upon  it.  However, 
while  we  were  talking,  I  thought  my  handkerchief  looked 
like  a  litter  upon  the  table,  and,  thinks  I,  Mrs.  Ord  will 
think  it  very  untidy,  for  she  is  iJl  neatness,  so  I  whisked 
it  into  my  pocket ;  but  I  quite  forgot  the  rag  with  the 
paint  on  it.  So,  when  she  was  gone, — ^bless  me ! — there 
I  saw  it  was  stickingout  of  my  pocket,  in  ftill  sight.  Only 
think  what  a  slut  Mrs.  Ord  must  think  me,  to  put  a  dish- 
olout  in  my  pocket  I'' 

I  had  several  stories  of  the  same  sort,  and  I  fear  I 
have  lost  all  reputation  with  her  for  dignity,  as  I  laughed 
immoderately  at  her  disasters. 

Oar  next  specimen  is  equally  good  of  the  kind. 
Lady  Warren  might,  for  high-bred,  unconscious 
insolence,  have  been  linked  to  the  Duke  of  Devon- 
shire coolly  demolishing  lustre  after  lustre  : — 

Lady  Warren  is  immensely  tall,  and  extremely  beau- 
tiful :  she  is  now  but  just  nineteen,  though  she  has  been 
married  two  or  three  years.  She  is  giddy,  gay,  chatty, 
good-humoured,  and  a  little  affected;  she  hazards  all 
thatoccursto  her,seems  to  think  the  world  at  her  feet,and 
is  so  young,  and  gay,  and  handsome,  that  she  is  not  much 
mistaken.  She  is,  in  short,  an  inferior  Lady  Honoria 
Pemberton  :*  somewhat  beneath  her  in  parts  and  under- 
standing, but  strongly  in  that  class  of  character.  I  had 
no  conversation  with  her  myself;  but  her  voice  is  loud 
and  deep,  and  all  she  said  was  for  the  whole  room. 

Take  a  trait  or  two,  which  I  think  will  divert  my 
daddy  Crisp.    Marriages  being  talked  of. 

**  1*11  tell  you,"  cried  she, "  a  story ;  that  is,  it  sha'n't 
be  a  story,  but  a  fiust.  A  lady  of  my  acquaintance,  who 
had  £50,000  fortune,  ran  away  to  Scotland  vrith  a  gentle- 
man she  liked  vastly ;  so  she  was  a  little  doubtful  of  him, 
and  had  a  mind  to  try  him :  so,  when  they  stopped  to 
dine,  and  change  horses,  and  all  that,  she  said,  ^  Now, 
as  I  have  a  great  regard  for  you,  I  dare  say  you  have 
for  me ;  so  I  will  tell  you  a  secret :  I  have  got  no  fortune 
at  all,  in  reality,  but  only  ^000 ;  for  all  the  rest  is  a 
mere  pretence :  but  if  you  like  me  for  myself,  and  not 
for  my  fortune,  you  won't  mind  that.'    So  the  gentleman 

*'  A  charaoter  in  CecUia, 


said, '  Oh,  I  don't  regard  it  at  all,  and  you  are  Uie  sano 
charming  angel  that  ever  you  was,*  and  all  those  sort  of 
things  that  people  say  to  one,  and  then  went  out  to  see 
about  the  chaise.  So  he  did  not  come  back ;  but  when 
dinner  was  ready,  the  lady  said,  'Pray,  where  is  he! ' 
'  Lor,  ma'am,'  said  they, '  why,  that  gentleman  his  been 
gone  ever  so  long  !'  So  she  came  back  by  herself;  and 
now  she's  married  to  somebody  else,  and  has  her  £50,000 
fortune  all  safe. 

Lady  Warren  was  extremely  smitten  with  Mrs.  Thrale, 
and  talked  to  heralmost  incessantly,  thoogh  they  had  never 
before  met ;  but  in  the  end  of  the  evening,  when  Mrs.T. 
mentioned  that  she  was  going  the  next  morning  to  make 
a  visit  at  Lewes 

**  Oh,"  cried  her  Ladyship,  "  I  have  a  great  mmd  to 
beg  a  favour  of  you  then." 

**  Pray  do,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  «  I  shall  think 
it  an  honour  to  grant  it" 

^  Oh,  but  it's  such  an  odd  thing — its  quite  an  odd  re- 
quest ;  but  it  is  for  a  place  in  your  coach." 

"  My  coach  shall  be  very  much  at  your  ladyship's  ser- 
vice ;  I  beg  you  will  make  what  use  of  it  you  please." 

"  Why,  you  must  know  it  is  to  carry  a  little  dog  for 
me  to  Lewes.  It  belongs  to  Dr.  Poole,  and  he'll  quite 
break  his  heart  if  I  don't  send  it  him ;  so  I'll  part  with 
it  at  once  before  I  grow  too  fond  of  it." 

This  was,  indeed,  an  odd  request  to  a  new  acquain- 
tance, and  to  a  Welchwoman,  as  Mrs.  Thrale  said  after- 
wards. The  look  of  her  eye,  the  moment  she  heard  it, 
made  Lady  Warren  colour  violently;  but  she  answered 
with  great  good  humour — 

'^  Suppose  your  ladyship  was  to  do  me  the  hononr  to 
go  too,  and  so  carry  your  little  dog  yourself!" 

Lady  Warren  evidently  understood  her,  and  began 
many  apologies  ;  but  said  she  was  engaged  herself  to 
spend  the  morning  at  Lady  Dashwood's. 

'^l  had  hoped,"  said  Mrs.  Thrale,  "  your  ladyship  had 
meant  your  Uttle  boy;  for  I  should  have  been  very  prond 
to  have  been  trusted  with  him;  but  I  suppose  you  could 
not  spare  him  so  long." 

She  has  one  child,  of  ten  weeks  old,  of  which  die  i^ 
doatingly  fond. 

**  Oh,  no,"  she  answered  eagerly,  ^  not  for  half  an 
hour.  I  shall  never  trust  him  away  fh>m  me  till  he  is 
eight  years  old,  and  then  I  shall  send  him  to  sea.  He 
shall  be  true  blue.  I  bring  him  up  very  stout.  H« 
sucked  a  hare  bone  for  dinner  to-day." 

**  A  hare  bone  for  a  child  of  ten  weeks  old  !" 

^  Oh,  he  liked  it  vastly.  He  laughed  and  crowed  the 
whole  time.  I  often  have  veal  stewed  into  good  strong 
broth  for  him." 

Her  husband.  Sir  John  Borlase  Warren,  is  in  th< 
navy. 

This  is  the  half-unconscious  insolence,  either  d 
very  high  life,  or  of  persons  who  have  been  bre^ 
among  slaves. 

The  next  specimen  is  less  offensive.  Lady  SaJ 
and  Sele  is  merely  silly,  and  not  ill-bred,  unamiabk 
and  inconsiderate  of  the  feelings  of  others ;  and  he 
sister  b  equally  good  in  her  own  style.  They  wer 
met  at  a  rout,  to  ivhich  Miss  Bumey  had  beei 
attracted  because  "  The  PwT  was  to  sing,  whidi  h 
did  delightfully : — 

After  this  he  went  into  another  room,  to  try  if  i 
would  be  cooler  ;  and  Mrs.  Paradise,  leaning  over  ih 
Kirwans  and  Charlotte,  who  hardly  got  a  seat  all  nigt 
for  the  crowd,  said  she  begged  to  speak  to  me. 
squeezed  my  great  person  out,  and  she  tiien  said,— 

^  Miss  Bumey,  Lady  Say  and  Sele  desires  the  honon 
of  being  introduced  to  you." 

Her  ladyship  stood  by  her  side.  She  seems  pret^ 
near  fifty — at  least  turned  forty  ;  her  head  was  ftiU  < 
feathers,  flowers,  jewels,  and  gew-gaws,  and  as  high  a 
Lady  Archer's ;  her  dress  was  trimmed  with  beadi 
silver,  Persian  sashes,  and  all  sort  of  fine  fancies  ;  he 
&ce  is  thin  and  fiery,  and  her  whole  manner  i^ke 
lady  all  alive. 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


257 


'^Mis  Bnraey/'  cried  she,  with  great  quickness,  and 
1  look  all  curiosity,  **  I  am  Tery  happy  to  see  you  ;  I 
hare  Joined  to  see  you  a  great  while  ;  I  have  read  your 
perfonnance,  and  I  am  quite  delighted  with  it.  I  think 
n'i  the  most  elegant  novel  I  ever  read  in  my  life.  Such 
I  itjie !  I  am  quite  surprised  at  it.  I  can't  think 
wbere  you  got  so  much  invention  !" 

Yoa  may  believe  this  was  a  reception  not  to  make  me 
rery  loquacious.  I  did  not  know  which  way  to  turn 
07  bead. 

''I  most  introdoee  yon,"  continued  her  ladyship,  '^  to 
aj  aster  ;  she'll  be  quite  delighted  to  see  you.  She  has 
written  a  novel  herself;  so  you  are  sister  authoresses. 
A  most  elegant  thing  it  is,  I  assure  you  ;  almost  as 
intty  as  yours,  only  not  quite  so  elegant.  She  has 
vntlen  two  novels,  only  one  is  not  so  pretty  as  the 
etkr.  Bot  I  shall  insist  upon  your  seeing  them.  One 
u  io  letters,  like  yours,  <mly  yours  is  prettiest ;  it's 
oiled  the  *  Mausoleum  of  Julia  !' " 

niiat  nnfeeling  things,  thought  I,  are  my  sisters  !  Tm 
tsR  1  nerer  heard  them  go  about  thus  praising  me  ! 

Un.  Pftradise  then  again  came  forward,  and  taking 
ay  band,  led  me  up  to  her  ladyship's  sister.  Lady 
lUvke,  saying  aloud,  and  with  a  courteous  smirk, 
'  Mm  Bnmey,  ma'am,  authoress  of*  Evelina.'  "--*'  Yes," 
(Tii  By  friend.  Lady  Say  and  Sele,  who  followed  me 
case,  "it's  the  authoress  of  *  Evelina ;'  so  you  are  sister 
iitlwresMS !" 

Udj  Hawke  arose  and  curtsied.  She  is  much  younger 
tia  her  sister,  and  rather  pretty  ;  extremely  languish- 
iaf,  delicate,  and  pathetic  ;  apparently  accustomed  to 
^  reekoDcd  the  cenius  of  her  family,  and  well  con- 
ttited  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  creature  dropped  from  the 
cinds. 

I  was  then  seated  between  their  ladyships,  and  Lady 
^  ttd  &,  drawing  as  near  to  me  as  possible,  said, — 
"well, and  so  you  wrote  this  pretty  book  !— and  pray, 
^  y<mr  papa  know  of  it?"— «No,  ma'am  ;  not  till 
^e  DMoths  after  the  publication."—**  So  I've  heard  ; 
3'»  sBTprising !  I  can't  think  how  you  invented  it ! — 
<Jwe'8  a  vast  deal  of  invention  in  it !  And  you've  got 
«  Bich  homour,  too  I  Now  my  sister  has  no  humour 
-^'8  is  all  sentiment.  You  can't  think  how  I  was 
;««tained  with  that  old  grandmother  and  her  son  !" 
'  appose  she  meant  Tom  Branghton  for  the  son.—**  How 
^b  pleasure  you  must  have  had  in  writing  it ;  had 
w  yottT— «Y— e— s,  ma'am."— ** So  has  my  sister; 
'^s  never  without  a  pen  in  her  hand  ;  she  can't  help 
'^  for  her  life.  When  Lord  Hawke  is  travelling 
-wat  with  her,  she  keeps  writing  all  the  way."—**  Yes," 
*d  Lady  Hawke  ;  I  really  can't  help  writing.  One 
«pi»t pleasure  in  writing  the  things:  has  not  one, 
*ffl  Bnmey  T— «  Y— o— «,  ma'am."— **  But  your  no- 
*«♦  cried  Lady  Say  and  Sele,  **i8  in  such  a  style  !— 
» etegant !  I  am  vastly  glad  you  made  it  end  happily. 
; liiteaiiovel  that  don't  end  happy."—**  Yes,"  said  Lady 
'«wke,  with  a  languid  smile,  **  I  was  vastly  glad  when 
*  oanied  Lord  Orville.  I  was  sadly  afraid  it  would 
^tarebeen."— **My  sister  intends,"  said  Lady  Say 
J*i  Sele,  **to  print  her  *  Mausoleum,'  just  for  her  own 
.wad«  and  acquaintances."—**  Yes,"  said  Lady  Hawke ; 
A  baje  never  printed  yet."—**  I  saw  Lady  Hawke's 
s«ie,  qnoth  I  to  my  first  friend,  **  ascribed  to  the 
?»7«f  *  Variety.'"—**  Did  you  indeed  I"  cried  Lady 
^y>m  an  ecstasy.  **  Sister  !  do  you  know  Miss  Bumey 
.'*!./^  M»c  in  the  newspapers,  about  the  play  I"— 
''aUt  ,""^  Lady  Hawke,  smiling  complacently, 
nuti  really  did  not  write  it ;  I  never  wrote  a  play  in 
BJ  life.''~«Well,"  cried  Lady  Say,  **but  do  repeat 
|o«  iwert  part  that  I  am  so  fond  of— you  know  what  I 
t^  ^  Bnmey  mud,  hear  it,— out  of  your  novel, 
i!L  Q  l^v  ^^^  jy—No,  I  can't ;  I  have  forgot  it. 
x"^  r^^  no !  I  am  sure  you  have  not ;  I  insist 
Z^\i  ^^^  ^.— But  I  know  you  can  repeat  it 
jvunetf;  you  have  so  fine  a  memory  ;  I  am  sure  you 
|^.«)P«t  it.    Ladtf  S.—Oh,  but  I  should  not  do  it 

rirZ.  ^  *^^  **®"*  forward,  and  repeated—**  *  If, 
i-»±  I?  "t*  *•  <*ecUration  of  his  love,  the  sensibility 
«  Deaiaed  m  his  eyes  was  felt  in  his  heart,  what 


pleasing  sensations  and  soft  alarms  might  not  thai  ten- 
der avowal  awaken  I' " 

**And  from  what,  ma'am,"  cried  I,  astonished,  and 
imagining  I  had  mistaken  them,  **  is  this  taken  V* 
**  From  my  sister's  novel !"  answered  the  delighted  Lady 
Say  and  Sele,  expecting  my  raptures  to  be  equal  to  her 
own;  **it's  in  the  *  Mausoleum,'— did  not  you  know 
that!  Well,  I  can't  think  how  you  can  write  these 
sweet  novels  I  And  it's  all  just  like  that  part.  Lord 
Hawke  himself  says  it's  all  poetry.  For  my  part,  I'm 
sure  I  never  could  write  so.  I  suppose.  Miss  Bumey, 
you  are  producing  another, — a'n't  you  !" — ^  No,  ma'am." 
— ^**  Oh,  I  dare  say  you  are.  I  dare  say  you  are  writing 
one  at  this  very  minute  !" 

Mrs.  Paradise  now  came  up  to  me  again,  followed  by 
a  square  man,  middle-aged,  and  hum-dram,  who,  I 
found,  was  Lord  Say  and  Sele,  afterwards  from  the 
Kirwans  ;  for  though  they  introduced  him  to  me,  I  was 
so  confounded  by  their  vehemence  and  their  manners, 
that  I  did  not  hear  his  name. 

**  Miss  Bumey,"  said  Mrs.  P.,  presenting  me  to  him, 
**  authoress  of  *  Evelina.' " — *'  Yes,"  cried  l^dy  Say  and 
Sele,  starting  up,  **  'tis  the  authoress  of  *  EveUna  !' " — 
**0f  what!"  cried  he.— **0f  *  Evelina.'  You'd  never 
think  it, — she  looks  so  young,  to  have  so  much  invention, 
and  such  an  elegant  style  !  Well,  I  could  write  a  play, 
I  think,  but  I'm  sure  I  could  never  write  a  novel." — 
**  Oh,  yes  you  could,  if  you  would  try,"  said  Lady  Hawke. 
— ^**  Oh,  no,  I  could  not,"  answered  she  ;  **  I  could  not 
get  a  style — ^that's  the  thing — I  could  not  tell  how  to  get 
a  style !  and  a  novel's  nothiDg  without  a  style,  you 
know  !"— «  Why  no,"  said  Lady  Hawke;  **  that's  tme. 
But  then  you  write  such  charming  letters,  you  know  ! " 
— **  Letters  I"  repeated  Lady  S.  and  S.  simpering;  **  do 
you  think  so !  Do  you  know  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to 
Mrs.  Ray  just  before  I  came  here,  this  very  afternoon — 
quite  a  long  letter  !    I  did,  I  assure  you  1 " 

Here  Mrs.  Paradise  came  forward  with  another  gen- 
tleman, younger,  slimmer,  and  smarter,  and  saying  to 
me,  **  Sir  Gregory  Page  Turner,"  said  to  him,  **  Miss 
Bumey,  authoress  of  *  Evelina.' " — At  which  Lady  Say 
and  Sele,  in  fr^sh  transport,  again  rose,  and  rapturously 
again  repeated,  **  Yes,  she's  authoress  of  *  Evelina  1 '. 
Have  you  read  it!"— **No;  is  it  to  be  had!"- **0h 
dear,  yes  !  it's  been  printed  these  two  years  I  You'd 
never  think  it !  But  it's  the  most  elegant  novel  I  ever 
read  in  my  life.  Writ  in  such  a  style  !" — ^*^  Certainly," 
said  he,  very  civilly;  **  I  have  every  inducement  to  get 
it.  Pray  where  is  it  to  be  had  !  everywhere,  I  suppose  I" 
— **  Oh,  nowhere,  I  hope  I"  cried  I,  wishing  at  that  mo- 
ment it  had  been  never  in  human  ken. 

My  square  friend.  Lord  Say  and  Sele,  then  putting 
his  head  forward,  said,  very  solemnly—**  PU  purchase 
it!" 

This  is  the  climax.  We  stop  here ;  and  have 
left  ourselves  very  little  room  for  the  royalties. 
Mrs.  Delany,  whose  opinion  and  judgment  deserved 
to  have  weight  with  the  queen,  must,  no  douht, 
have  spoken  many  good  words  for  her  young  and 
celehrated  friend.  Miss  Bumey ;  and  their  majesties 
had  learned  the  whole  romantic  history  of  the 
publication  of  her  first  novel  from  Dr.  Bum^. 
The  story  had  tickled  the  king.  The  author,  Qpw 
rendered  doubly  famous  by  the  publication  of 
**  Cecilia,"  was  living  at  Windsor,  with  Mrs. 
Delany,  and  in  daily  perturbation  at  the  idea  of 
being  surprised  some  evening  by  the  king  or  queen, 
who  often  called  unceremoniously  to  have  a  gossip 
with  their  ancient  protegS,  Several  times  had 
she  escaped,  but  she  was  caught  at  length,  and  in 
this  awfol  wise  : —  «• 

After  dinner,  while  Mrs.  Delany  was  left  alone,  as 
usual,  to  take  a  little  rest,— for  sleep  it  but  seldom 
proves, — Mr.  B.  Dewes,  his  little  daughter.  Miss  Port, 
and  myself,  went  into  the  drawing-room.  And  here, 
while,  to  pass  the  time,  I  was  amusing  the  little  girl  with 


258 


MISS  BURNET'S  DURY  AND  LETTERS. 


teaching  her  some  Christmas  games,  in  which  her  father 
and  cousin  joined,  Mrs.  Delany  came  in.  We  were  all 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  in  some  confusion ; — but 
she  had  but  just  come  up  to  us  to  inquire  what  was 

foing  forwards,  and  I  was  disentangling  myself  from 
f  iss  Dewes,  to  be  ready  to  fly  off  if  any  one  knocked  at 
the  street-door,  when  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  was 
again  opened,  and  a  large  man,  in  deep  mourning,  ap- 
peared at  it,  entering  and  shutting  it  himself  without 
speaking. 

A  ghost  could  not  more  have  scared  me,  when  I  dis- 
coYered,  by  its  glitter  on  the  black,  a  star !  The  general 
disorder  had  prevented  his  being  seen,  except  by  myself, 

who  was  always  on  the  watch,  till  Miss  P ,  turning 

round,  exclaimed,  **  The  King ! — Aunt,  the  King ! " 

0  mercy !  thought  I,  that  I  were  but  out  of  the  room  I 
which  way  shall  I  escape !  and  how  pass  him  unnoticed ! 
There  is  but  the  single  door,  at  which  he  entered,  in  the 
room!     Every  one  scampered  out  of  the  way:  Miss 

P ,  to  stand  next  the  door ;  Mr.  Bernard  Dewes  to 

a  comer  opposite  it;  his  little  girl  clung  to  me;  and  Mrs. 
Delany  adyanced  to  meet  his  M!ge8ty,who,  after  quietly 
looking  on  till  she  saw  him,  approached,  and  inquired 
how  she  did. 

He  then  spoke  to  Mr.  Bernard,  whom  he  had  already 
met  two  or  three  times  here. 

1  had  now  retreated  to  the  wall,  and  purposed  gliding 
softly,  though  speedily,  out  of  the  room;  but  before  I  had 
taken  a  single  step,  the  King,  in  a  loud  whisper  to  Mrs. 
Delany,  said,  "Is  that  Miss  Bumey!"— and  on  her 
answering  ^  Yes,  Sir,"  he  bowed,  and  with  a  countenance 
9f  the  most  perfiect  good  humour,  came  dose  up  to  me. 

A  most  profound  reverence  on  my  part  arrested  the 
progress  of  my  intended  retreat. 

**  How  long  have  you  been  come  back.  Miss  Burney!" 

**  Two  days.  Sir," 

Unluckily  he  did  not  hear  me,  and  repeated  his  ques- 
tion ;  and  whether  the  second  time  he  heard  me  or  not, 
I  don't  know,  but  he  made  a  little  civil  inclination  of  his 
head,  and  went  back  to  Mrs.  DeUny. 

After  liis  Majesty  h^d  giyen  the  old  lady  an 
account  of  the  illnesses  of  all  the  ohUdren,  and 
the  hooping-cough  of  the  babies, — the  other  persons 
still  remaining  stuck  up  "respectful"  in  their 
several  comers, — ^he  relieved  the  general  distress  by 
going  up  to  the  table  and  looking  at  a  book  of 
prints : — 

He  turned  over  a  leaf  or  two,  and  then  said — 

**  Pray,  does  Miss  Bumey  draw,  too  t" 

The  too  was  pronounced  very  civilly. 

"  I  believe  not,  Sir,"  answered  Mrs.  Delany ;"  at  least 
she  does  not  tell." — '*  Oh ! "  cried  he  laughing,  **  that's 
nothing !  she  is  not  apt  to  tell ;  she  never  does  tell,  yon 
know ! — Her  father  told  me  that  himself.  He  told  me 
the  whole  history  of  her  Evelina.  And  I  shall  never 
forget  his  face  when  he  spoke  of  his  feelings  at  first  tak- 
ing np  the  book !— he  looked  quite  ftightened,  just  as  if 
he  vfas  doing  it  that  moment  1  I  never  can  forget  his 
face  while  I  live!" 

Then  coming  up  close  to  me  he  said — 

«  But  what  ?— what  ?—how  vras  it !  "—**  Sir,"  cried  I, 
not  well  understanding  him. — ^**How  came  you — how 
happened  it — what  ?—what  ? "—"  I— I  only  wrote.  Sir,— 
for  my  own  amusement,— only  in  some  odd,  idle  hours.'* 
''But  your  publishiog — your  printing — how  was  that  I" 
—^  That  was  puly.  Sir,— only  because—" 

I  hesitated  most  abominably,  not  knowing  how  to  tell 
him  a  long  story,  and  grovnng  terribly  confused  at  these 
questions ;— besides,- to  say  the  truth,  his  own  *^ what! 
what  1"  80  reminded  me  of  tiiose  vile  Probationary  Odes, 
that,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  flutter,  I  was  really  hardly 
able  to  keep  my  countenance. 

The  What!  vras  then  repeated,  with  so  earnest  a  look, 
that,  forced  to  say  something,  I  stammeringly  answered — 

"  I  thought — Sii^— it  would  look  very  well  in  print ! " 

I  do  really  flatter  myself  this  is  the  silliest  speech  I 
ever  made !  I  am  qnite  provoked  with  myself  for  it ; 
but  a  fear  of  laughing  made  me  eager  to  utter  anything. 


and  by  no  means  conscious,  till  I  had  spoken,  of  what  I 
was  saying. 

He  laughed  very  heartily  himself, — ^well  he  might— 
and  walked  away  to  enjoy  it,  crying  out, 

"  Very  fair,  indeed  I  that's  being  veiy  fair  and  honest ! " 

Then,  returning  to  me  again,  he  said, 

**  But  your  father — ^how  came  you  not  to  show  him 
what  yon  wrote ! " — **  I  was  too  much  ashamed  of  it,  Sir, 
seriously." 

Literal  truth  that,  1  am  sure. 

"  And  how  did  he  find  it  out !"— ^  I  don't  know  my. 
self,  Sir.    He  never  would  tell  me." 

Literal  truth  again,  my  dear  father,  as  you  can  testify. 

**  But  how  did  you  get  it  printed  !"—**  I  sent  it,  Sir, 
to  a  bookseller  my  fkther  never  employed,  and  that  1 
never  had  seen  myself,  Mr.  Lowndes,  in  full  hope  bj 
that  means  he  never  would  hear  of  it."— ^  But  how  could 
you  manage  that!"— ** By  means  of  a  brother,  Sir."— 
«0!— you  confided  in  a  brother,  then!"— "Yet,  Sir- 
that  is  for  the  publication."—"  What  entertainment  yoa 
must  have  had  from  hearing  people's  conjectures,  before 
you  were  known !  Do  you  remember  any  of  them  T— 
"  Yes,  Sir,  many."—**  And  what !"— «  1  heard  that  Mr. 
Baretti  laid  a  wager  it  was  written  by  a  man;  for  no 
woman,  he  said,  could  have  kept  her  own  counsel." 

This  diverted  him  extremely. 

This  is  quite  enough  of  it.  The  conversation, 
however,  passed  off  extremely  well,  and  before  it 
was  ended, — 

A  violent  thunder  was  made  at  the  door.  I  wis  al- 
most certain  it  was  the  queen.  Once  more  I  would  have 
given  anything  to  escape;  but  in  vain.  I  had  been  in- 
formed that  nobody  ever  quitted  the  royal  presence, 
after  having  been  conversed  with,  till  motioned  to  with- 
draw. 

Miss  P ,   according  to  established  etiquette  on 

these  occasions,  opened  the  door,  which  she  stood  next 
by  putting  her  hand  behind  her,  and  slid  out,  backwards 
into  the  hall,  to  light  the  queen  in.  The  door  soon  opened 
again,  and  her  majesty  entered. 

Immediately  seeing  the  king,  she  made  him  a  Ion 
oourtsey,  and  cried — 

**  Oh,  your  majesty  is  here  ! " 

**  Yea,"  he  cried,  **  I  ran  here,  without  speaking  to  any 
body." 

She  then  hastened  up  to  Mrs.  Delany,  with  both  hei 
hands  held  out,  saying — 

**  My  dear  Mrs.  Delany,  how  are  you  1" 

Instantly  after,  I  felt  her  eye  on  my  face.  I  bcliert 
too,  she  curtsied  to  me  ;  but  though  I  saw  the  bend, 
was  too  near-sighted  to  be  sure  it  vras  intended  for  m( 
I  was  hardly  ever  in  a  situation  more  embarrassing; 
dared  not  return  what  1  was  not  certain  1  had  receiw 
yet  considered  myself  as  appearing  quite  a  monster,  t 
stand  stiff-necked,  if  really  meant. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment,  she  qK>ke  **>  ^'  5S 
nard  Dewes,  and  then  nodded  to  my  little  clinging  girl 

1  was  now  really  ready  to  sink,  with  horrid  un^ 
tainty  of  what  I  was  doing,  or  what  I  should  do^whe 
his  majesty,  who  I  fancy  saw  my  distress,  most  f oo< 
humouredly  said  to  the  queen  something,  but  I  was  U 
much  flurried  to  remember  what,  except  these  words- 
**  I  have  been  telling  Miss  Bumey — " 

Relieved  from  so  painftil  a  dUemma,  I  immediate] 
dropped  a  curtsey.  She  made  one  to  me  in  the  saffl 
moment,  and,  with  a  very  smiling  countenance,  came  c 
tome;  but  she  conld  not  speak,  for  the  king  went  o 
talking,  eagerly  and  very  gaily,  repeating  to  her  evei 
word  I  had  said  during  our  conversation  upon  **  Evelina 
its  publication,  &c.  &o. 

Then  he  told  her  of  Baretti's  wager,  saying— **Bi 
she  heard  of  a  great  many  conjectures  abont  the  autw 
before  it  was  known,  and  of  Baretti,  an  admirabl 
thing !— he  laid  a  bet  it  must  be  a  man,  as  no  woman,  I 
said,  conld  have  kept  her  own  counsel." 

The  queen,  laughing  a  little,  exclaimed — 

"  Oh,  that  is  quite  too  bad  an  aflfront  to  us  .i— Don 
you  think  so  1"  addressing  herself  to  me,  with  grei 
gentleness  of  voice  and  maimer. 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


259 


Their  majesties  had  both  intended  to  scrutinize 
Miss  Burnej  well,  and  to  ascertain  the  extent  of 
her  accomplishments.  She  did  not  draw.  She 
did  not  pla/  : — 

*  Aw  you  sure  you  never  play  ! — ^never  touch  the  keys 
tt  »U  r— «  Never  to  acknowledge  it.  Sir." 

*  Oh !  that's  it  1'*  cried  he  ;  and  flying  to  the  queen, 
cried,*  She  does  play — but  not  to  acknowledge  it  I'* 

I  wif  now  in  a  most  horrible  panic  once  more ;  pushed 
n  very  home,  I  could  answer  no  other  than  I  did,  for 
tbeM  eategorioal  questions  almost  constrain  categorical 
iBfwen;  and  here,  at  Windsor,  it  seems  an  absolute 
pMot  that  whatever  they  ask  must  be  told,  and  whatever 
Ikj  desire  must  be  done.  Think  but,  then,  of  my  oon- 
itenation,  in  expecting  their  commands  to  perform  !  My 
dnr  ikther,  pity  me  ! 

The  eager  air  with  which  he  returned  to  me  fully  ex- 
pbiBtd  what  was  to  follow.  I  hastily,  therefore,  spoke 
Irst,  in  order  to  stop  him,  crying,  **  I  never.  Sir,  played 
temybody   but  myself— never  I"—** No!"    cried   he, 

Iwkinj incredulous;  *<what,  not  to !"— •*  Not  even 

»  ne,  Sir !"  cried  my  kind  Mrs.  Delany,  who  saw  what 
na  threatening  me.    **  No  ?— are  you  sure  V*  cried  he, 

fiappointed  ;  **  but— but  youll **— **  1  have  never. 

Sir,"  cried,  I  very  earnestly,  *  played  in  my  life,  but 
Then  I  could  hear  nobody  else — quite  alone,  and  from  a 
■ere  lore  of  any  musical  sounds." 

He  repeated  all  this  to  the  queen,  whose  answers  I 
ffiver  h^rd ;  but  when  he  once  more  came  back,  with  a 
ace  that  looked  unwilling  to  give  it  up,  in  my  fright  I 
W  recourse  to  dumb  show,  and  raised  my  hands  in  a 
rappbcating  fold,  with  a  most  begging  countenance,  to 
be  ezeosed.  This,  luckily,  succeeded ;  he  understood 
9imj  readUy,  and  laughed  a  little,  but  made  a  sort  of 
<i«istiof,  or  rather  complying,  little  bow,  and  said  no 
ane  about  it. 

I  felt  very  much  obliged  to  him,  for  I  saw  his  curio- 
sty  was  all  alive. 

The  qneen  makes  a  much  better  figure  in  these 
wnverations  than  the  king.  Of  her  majesty,  at 
this  first  interview,  it  is  reported  : — 

"n^e  Qneen,  indeed,  is  a  most  charming  woman.  She 
IJpeaw  to  me  ftiU  of  sense  and  graciousness,  mingled 
»i4  dehcaoy  of  mind  and  liveliness  of  temper.  She 
tfHMb  English  almost  perfectly  well,  with  great  choice 
JM  oopionsness  of  language,  though  now  and  then  with 
"feign  idiom,  and  frequently  with  a  foreign  accent.  Her 
MnncTB  have  an  easy  dignity,with  a  most  engaging  sim- 
ptKity;  and  she  has  all  that  fine  high  breeding  which  the 
■>ad,not  the  station,  gives,  of  careftilly  avoiding  to  dis- 
^  those  who  oonverse  with  her,  or  studiously  removing 
«e  embarrassment  she  cannot  prevent. 

The  King,  however  he  may  have  power,  in  the  cabi- 
Mt,  to  eommand  himself,  has,  in  private,  the  appearance 
«f  a  chvacter  the  most  open  and  sincere.  He  speaks 
«8  opinions  without  reserve,  and  seems  to  trust  them 
ffltwUvely  to  his  hearers,  from  a  belief  they  will  make 
20  111  Me  of  them.  His  countenance  is  jfhU  of  inquiry, 
»^«am  information  without  asking  it,  probably  from 
"^henng  that  to  be  the  nearest  road  to  truth.  All  I 
«»  of  both  was  the  most  perfect  good  hnmonr,  good 
*P*^ti,  ease,  and  pleasantness. 

These  nnceremonions  calls,  to  tell  Mrs.  Delany 
wiw  the  children  were,  had,  however,  their  own 
P'^'cnbod  ceremonial : — 

In  fte  evening,  whUe  Mrs.  Delany,  Miss  P ,  and 

llf  41.*'^  »nd  working  together  in  the  drawing- 
"^  we  door  was  opened,  and  the  King  entered. 

i««L*SS  '*'^*^  ^^  '  ^"  ^ ^®^  ^  ^^^  modest 

mSu  ♦!?*  ^^^*  ^^^  I  to  my  morrf  comfortable  one  op- 
P^we  fire,  which  caused  me  but  a  slight  and  gentle 

ffeatjtnd  Mrs.  Delany  he  immediately  commanded  to 

On     o'ni  place  again. 

""  .P^  l>«i«g  so  small,  he  made  all  that  passed 
Mni  rLi  ^^^°«^  he  principally  addressed  himself  to 
f™- ijelany,  he  always  looked  round  to  see  that  we 
«iw  tarn,  and  frequently  referred  to  us. 


I  should  mention,  though,  the  etiquette  always  ob- 
served upon  his  entrance,  which,  first  of  all,  is  to  fly  off 

to  distant  quarters ;  and  next,  Miss  P goes  out, 

walking  backwards,  for  more  candles,  wbich  she  brings 
in,  two  at  a  time,  and  places  upon  the  tables  and  piano- 
forte. Next  she  goes  out  for  tea,  which  she  then  carries 
to  his  Majesty,  upon  a  large  salver,  containing  sugar, 
cream,  and  bread  and  butter,  and  cake,  while  she  hangs 
a  napkin  over  her  arm  for  his  fingers. 

When  he  has  taken  his  tea,  she  returns  to  her  station, 
where  she  waits  till  he  has  done,  and  then  takes  away 
his  cup,  and  fetches  more. 

This,  it  seems,  is  a  ceremony  performed,  in  other 
plaees,  always  by  the  mistress  of  the  house  ;  but  here, 
neither  of  their  Majesties  will  permit  Mrs.  Delany  to 
attempt  it. 

The  conversation  turned  on  literature,  and  Vol- 
taire. The  king  condemned  hira  strongly,  and 
Miss  Bumey,  as  in  duty  bound,  thought  him  a 
'^  monster ;"  and  then  they  turned  to  Rousseau, 
who  fared  not  quite  so  badly.  Miss  Bumey  was 
here  able  to  say  : — 

"  Some  gratitude.  Sir,"  said  I,  "  he  was  not  without. 
When  my  fkther  was  in  Paris,  which  was  after  Rousseau 
had  been  in  England,  he  visited  him,  in  his  earret,  and 
the  first  thing  he  showed  him  was  your  Majesty's  por- 
trait over  his  chimney." 

The  King  paused  a  little  while  upon  this ;  bnt  nothing 
more  was  said  of  Rousseau. 

His  Majesty  declared  himself  an  enthusiast  for 
Mrs.  Siddons  ;  but  as  for  Shakspeare  I 

"  Was  there  ever,"  cried  he, "  such  stuff  as  mat  part 
of  Shakspeare  1  only  one  must  not  say  so  !  But  what 
think  you !— What  ?— Is  there  not  sad  stuff !  What  t— 
what!" 

^  Yes,  indeed,  I  think  so.  Sir,  though  mixed  with  snch 
excellencies,  that — " 

"  0  ! "  cried  he,  laughing  good-humouredly,  **  I  know 
it  is  not  to  be  said  !  but  it's  true.  Only  it's  Shakspeare, 
and  nobody  dare  abuse  him." 

Then  he  enumerated  many  of  the  charaoters  and  parts 
of  plays  that  he  objected  to ;  and  when  he  had  run  them 
over,  finished  with  again  laughing, and  exclaiming,  ''But 
one  should  be  stoned  for  saying  so  !" 

His  majesty  stayed  near  two  hours,  and  then  wished 
Mrs.  Delany  good  night,  and  having  given  me  a  bow,  shut 
the  door  himself,  to  prevent  Mrs.  Delany,  or  even  me, 

from  attending  him  out,  and,  with  only  Miss  P to 

wait  upon  him,  put  on  his  own  great  coat  in  the  passage, 
and  walked  away  to  the  lower  lodge,  to  see  the  Princess 
Elizabeth,  without  carriage  or  attendant.  He  is  a  pat- 
tern of  modest,  but  manly  superiority  to  rank. 

So  much  for  a  king  putting  on  his  own  great* 
coat.  Next  day  the  Queen  talked  of  Madame  de 
Genlis,  whohad  not  yet  lost  caste ;  and  who  was  then 
and  long  afterwards  a  great  authority  in  education. 
She  sent  the  Queen  of  England  all  her  books  as 
they  appeared.  Her  Majesty  inquired  if  Madame 
de  Grenlis  was  about  any  new  work. 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  one  which  she  intends  *  pour  le peupU.*^* 
— **  Ah,  that  will  be  a  good  work.  Have  you  heard  of—  1" 
(mentioning  some  German  book,  of  which  I  forget  the 
name.)—"  No,  ma'am."—"  0,  it  will  be  soon  translated ; 
very  fine  language,— very  bad  book.  They  translate  all  our 
worst  I  And  they  are  so  improved  in  language  ;  they 
write  so  finely  now,  even  for  the  most  silly  books,  that 
it  makes  one  read  on,  and  one  cannot  help  it.  O,  I  am 
very  angry  sometimes  at  that !  Do  you  like  the '  Sorrows 
of  Werter? "— "  I— I  have  not  read  it,  ma'am,  only  in 
part."—"  No  !  Well,  I  don't  know  how  it  is  transited, 
but  it  is  very  finely  writ  in  German,  and  I  can't  bear  it." 
— "  I  am  very  happy  to  hear  that,  for  what  I  did  look 
over  made  me  determine  never  to  read  it.  It  seemed 
only  writ  as  a  deliberate  defence  of  suicide." — "  Yes  ; 
and  what  is  worse,  it  is  done  by  a  bad  man  for  revenge." 

She  then  mentioned,  with  praise,  another  book,  saying, 


260 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


— "  I  wish  I  knew  the  translator."—"  I  wish  the  tran- 
slator knew  that !"— "  0 — it  ia  not— I  should  not  like 
to  give  my  name,  for  fear  I  have  judged  ill ;  I  picked  it 
up  on  a  stall.  O,  it  is  amazing  what  good  books  there 
are  on  stalls."-**  It  is  amazing  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Delany, 
**  to  hear  that."—"  Why,  I  don't  pick  them  up  myself ; 
but  I  have  a  servant  very  clever  ;  and  if  they  are  not  to 
be  had  at  the  booksellers',  they  are  not  for  me  any  more 
than  for  another." 

She  then  spoke  of  Klopstock's  "  Messiah,"  saying  it 
contained  four  lines  most  perfect  on  religion. 

**How  I  should  like  to  see  it.  Is  it  translated!" 
asked  Mrs.  Delany,  turning  to  me.  **  111 :"  said  her 
Majesty  :  **  there  is  a  story  of  Lazarus  and  the  Centu- 
rion's daughter ;  and  another  young  lady,  Asyddel,  he 
calls  her ;  and  Lazarus  is  in  love ;  a  very  pretty  scene — 
no  stopping ;  but  it  is  out  of  phice ;— I  was  quite  angry 
to  read  it.  And  a  long  conversation  between  Christ  and 
Lazarus— very  strange  !" — "  Yet  Milton  does  that."— 
**Yes." 

And  then  she  went  on  discussing  Milton :  this  led  to 
Wiokliffe,  and  Cranmer ;  and  she  spoke  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  superstitions. 

"  0,  so  odd  !  Can  it  signify  to  God  Almighty  if  I  eat 
a  piece  of  fish  or  a  piece  of  meat  I  And,  one  of  the 
Queen  of  France's  sisters  wears  the  heel  of  her  shoe  be- 
fore, for  a  penance ;  as  if  God  Almighty  could  care  for 
that !" — **  It  is  supposing  in  Him  the  caprice  of  a  fine 
lady." — ^"  Yes,  just  so.  Yet  it  is  amusing,  and  pretty  too, 
how  sincere  the  lower  people  are,  of  the  Catholics." 

And  her  Majesty  told  some  anecdotes  of  the 
kindly  superstitions  of  the  Catholics.  Would  that 
ladies,  as  Protestant  and  as  pious  as  Queen  Char- 
lotte, could  be  made  to  extend  this  "  What  can  it 
signify,"  to  other  points  in  the  creed  of  their  neigh- 
bours and  themselves,  certainly  not  much  more 
important,  though  they  keep  society  in  hot  water. 

In  a  few  weeks  Miss  Bumey  received  her  flat- 
tering appointment,  to  the  great  delight  of  her  fa- 
ther. Her  own  joy  was  cliastened  with  fear,  and  a 
just  apprehension  of  the  nature  of  the  splendid 
slavery  upon  which  she  was  entering.  Yet  a  salary 
of  £200  a-year,  a  footman  kept  for  her,  apartments 
in  the  palace,  a  coach  between  her  and  her  colleague, 
and  "  many,  comforts,"  were  some  compensation  for 
the  loss  of  liberty.  The  volume  closes  with  her  re- 
ceiving the  congratulation  of  the  ladies  of  the 
household,  on  her  appointment^  so  that  the  whole 
of  her  Court  life  is  yet  to  come.  Her  idea  of  this 
enviable  condition  may  be  gathered  from  a  letter 
to  her  sister : — 

You  would  never  believe — ^yon,  who,  distant  from 
courts  and  courtiers,  know  nothing  of  their  ways, — tho 
many  tilings  to  be  studied,  for  appearing  with  a  proper 
propriety  before  crowned  heads.  Heads  without  crowns 
are  quite  other  sort  of  rotundas. 

Now,  then,  to  the  etiquette.  I  inquired  into  every 
particular,  that  no  error  might  be  committed.  And  a« 
there  is  no  saying  what  may  happen  in  this  mortal  life, 
I  shall  give  you  those  instructions  I  have  received  my- 
self, that,  should  you  find  yourself  in  the  royal  presence, 
you  may  know  how  to  comport  yourself. 

Directions  for  eougkinff,  ineezing,  or  moving,  before 
the  King  and  Queen. 

In  the  first  place,  you  must  not  cough.  If  you  find  a 
cough  tickling  in  your  throat,  you  must  arrest  it  from 
making  any  sound ;  if  you  find  yourself  choking  with 
the  forbearance,  you  must  choke — ^but  not  cough. 


In  the  second  place,  yon  muct  not  sneeze.  If  yon 
have  a  vehement  cold,  you  must  take  no  notice  of  it;  if 
your  nose-membranes  feel  a  great  irritation,  you  mast 
hold  your  breath ;  if  a  sneeze  still  insists  upon  making 
its  way,  you  must  oppose  it,  by  keeping  yoor  teeth 
grinding  together ;  if  the  violence  of  the  repulse  brealu 
some  blood-vessel,  you  must  break  the  blood-ve8fiel--bBt 
not  sneeze. 

In  the  third  place,  you  must  not,  upon  any  aoconnt, 
stir  either  hand  or  foot.  If,  by  chance,  a  black  pin  rans 
into  your  head,  you  must  not  take  it  out  If  the  pain  ia 
very  great,  you  mnst  be  sure  to  bear  it  without  windog; 
if  it  brings  the  tears  into  your  eyes,  yon  mnst  not  wipe 
them  off ;  if  they  give  you  a  tingling  by  mnning  down 
your  cheeks,  you  must  look  as  if  notUng  was  the  matter. 
If  the  blood  should  gnsh  flrom  your  head  by  means  of 
the  black  pin,  you  must  let  it  gush ;  if  you  are  uneaij 
to  think  of  making  such  a  blurred  appearance,  yon  most 
be  uneasy,  but  you  must  say  nothing  about  it.  If,  how- 
ever, the  agony  is  very  great,  yon  may,  privately,  late 
the  inside  of  your  cheek,  or  of  your  lips,  for  a  little  relief; 
taking  care,  meanwhile,  to  do  it  so  cautiously  as  to  make 
no  apparent  dent  outwardly.  And,  with  that  precantion, 
if  you  even  gnaw  a  piece  out,  it  will  not  be  minded,  only 
be  sure  either  to  swallow  it,  or  commit  it  to  a  corner  <^ 
the  inside  of  your  mouth  till  they  are  gone— (br  yon 
must  not  spit. 

I  have  many  other  directions,  but  no  more  paper;  I 
will  endeavour,  however,  to  have  tibem  ready  for  yon  in 
time. 

We  are  relieved  of  our  fears  of  Madame  D*Ar- 
blay's  editor  suppressing  too  much  of  her  aunt's 
Court  Journal.  The  truth  seems,  that  there  is  little 
in  her  discreet  records  that  reqiiires  either  pruning 
or  suppression.  There  is  no  scandal ;  and  the  gene- 
ral tone  becomes  even  more  honeyed  than  her  early 
jottings. 

Yet,  from  her  Court  Journal,  discreet  though 
it  may  be,  we  still  anticipate  great  pleasure.  One 
of  the  most  amusing  books  in  the  French  lan- 
guage was  written  by  a  lively  woman  in  nearly 
the  same  position  at  VersaiUes,  as  that  in  which 
Miss  Bumey,  with  equal  abilities  and  wit,  was 
placed  at  the  English  Court.  The  book  to  which 
we  refer,  the  Memoirs  of  Madame  de  Stael,  is  as 
instructive  as  it  is  witty.  She  was  the  very  Gil 
Bias  of  waiting-gentlewomen. 

We  had  marked  out  a  great  many  little  detached 
sketches  and  mots  in  the  volume,  but  our  space  is 
already  gone,  and  we  must  be  content  with  the 
first  that  occurs.    This  is  by  Mrs.  Thrale : — 

Somebody  told  me  (but  not  your  fiither)  that  the  open 
singers  would  not  be  likely  to  get  any  money  oat  ol 
Sheridan  this  year.  **  Why,  that  fellow  grows  fat,' 
says  I,  ^  like  Hcliogabalns,  upon  the  tongues  of  nightii 
gales."  Did  I  tell  you  that  bright  thing  before  !  Ah 
Bumey  !  if  I  was  well  I  would  make  a  little  ftin  yet 
but  I  cannot  get  well. 

This  glance  at  past  celebrities,  is  by  Miss  Bar 
ney: — 

^  I  went  afterwards,  by  long  appointment,  to  }b 
Burrows's  to  meet  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barbaold.  Mrs.  Chi^ 
pone  carried  me. 

Mrs.  Chapone  herself  is  the  most  superiorly  nnaffectai 
creature  yon  can  conceive,  and  ftill  of  agrSmens  from  m 
sense,  talents,  and  conversation^  powers,  in  defiance  fl 
age,  infirmities,  and  \incommon  ngUness.  I  really  lof^ 
as  well  as  admire  and  esteem  her. 


201 


SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS. 


NO.  IV. THK  SONG  OF  APRIL. 


1. 

I5  my  harleqain  jacket  I  come, 

I  come ! 
To  the  worid's  dance  of  folly  I  come. 
Sraidne  to  the  ardent,  and  snow  to  the  cold, 
Hail-ileet  to  the  heartless,  and  warmth  to  the  old  ; 
To  the  famocent,  blooming  in  manhood  and  youth, 
A  Uendmg  of  beauties,  a  yision  of  truth. 
A  ikip-jadk  withal ;  a  sage,  and  a  seer  ; 
Of  ipdng-flowers  the  cradle,  of  winter  the  bier. 
Do  you  shake  your  bells  at  me !    Be  mum. 

Be  mum  ! 
Lord  !  Lord  1  what  a  poor  addled  cerebellum  I 
2. 
Fran  feeble  old  age,  to  the  tyro  at  school. 
My  natals  are  bruited  the  birth  of  a  fool ; 
Bot  111  hold  you  my  motley,  and  dagger, — a  new  one — 
Tbt  I  un  but  the  sham  fool,  and  you  are  the  true  one. 
Now  cherish  that  wisdom,  'tis  better  than  pelf, 
The  pollen  of  knowledge,  thou  knowest  thyself. 
So  oar  mummings  must  cease,  for  though  fools  can  be 

meny, 
Asd  witty,  and  pointed,  and  politic,  very  ! 
I  will  doff  my  devices, — ^your  fooling's  so  real, 
Us  bootless  to  beat  you  with  bladders  ideal  1 
3. 
A  sage  am  I,  sometimes  severe, 
dddhig  with  storms,  like  Autumn  sere  ; 
But  whoso  fbels  my  task  of  sorrow, 

His  my  sonny  balm  shall  be, 
To-morrow — and  again  to-morrow, 
In  Love's  fond  continuity 
Yei,  tn  adrent  shall  come  when  my  anger  is  past, 
Where  the  clouds  shall  be  folded,  and  hushed  be  the  blast ; 
Ftrthe  moments  are  mine,  when  enraptured  you  trace 
The  cloud-islands  float  through  the  azure  of  space; 
^"^  Titans  that  people  the  shadowy  clime 
Pile  Boontain  on  mountain — ^the  vast  and  sublime. 
There,  the  Daughter  of  April  shall  summons  her  fkys. 
To  baild  her  an  aroh  of  SoPs  delicate  rays  ; 
Aid  her  triumph  shall  be — while  the  Titans  must  weep, 
M  their  castles  are  hurled  firom  their  crags  to  the  deep. 
4. 
A  change  in  my  bearing — ^a  change 
From  daggled  November  to  fervid  Joly  J 

The  swallow  shall  twitter,  the  butterfly  range, 
And  the  cuckoo  enliven  the  woods  with  his  cry: 


And  pbkcid,  serene, 
As  a  midsummer  e'en, 
I  will  call  you  abroad  my  sweet  mood  to  e^joy. 
Apparel  you  lightly 

When  day  has  arisen, 
And  leave  that  unsightly. 
Parched  hearth  of  your  prison. 
I  will  smile  like  an  angel  as  forward  you  roam. 
And  howl  like  a  devil  to  hurry  you  home. 
The  keen  North-east  shall  level 
Your  pride  with  his  flail, 
(How  to  thrash  and  to  winnow,  what  peasant  so  well 
knows  t) 

In  your  joints  he  shall  revel, 
And  pelt  you  with  hail. 
Till  your  carcass  is  sore  from  the  heels  to  the  elbows ; 
Pills,  powders,  and  potions — ^phials,  labels  and  physio. 
Shall  be  your  rewani— with  the  ague  or  phthysick. 


Glen,  garden,  and  wild  wood 

Shall  smile  as  I  tread. 
And  the  light  feet  of  childhood 

Go  weary  to  bed ; 
For  no  irksome  dwelling 

Their  souls  shall  confine. 
While  I  am  compelling. 
Sweet  flowers,  they  are  mine. 
They  are  mine  I  for  fair  April  hath  o'er  them  a  spell, 
They  love  me  !  they  love  me  !  for  me  shall  rebel : 
They  shall  slink  from  your  homesteads,  and,  truants 

for  hours. 
Return  with  my  birds'  nests,  and  baskets  of  flowers. 
And  those  who  are  sinking 

In  haste  to  the  grave, 
Whose  young  hearts  are  drinking 

The  draught  all  must  have  : 
When  my  breath  is  the  blandest] 

That  ushers  the  eve  ; 
And  my  banners  the  grandest 

That  spring-tide  can  weave  ; 
They  shall  ask  for  my  blossoms 

(hice  more,  with  a  sigh. 
And,  while  prest  to  their  bosoms. 
Shall  kiss  them,  and  die. 
So  April  shall  teach  you  that  holiness  blends 
With  the  fool  that  you  twit,  and  the  truth  that  offends. 

J.  A.  0. 


LITERARY  REGISTER, 


^  Congregational  Lecture.  Eighth  Series.  The 
Theology  of  the  Earfy  Christian  Church.  By 
James  Bennett^  D.D.    Jackson  and  Walford. 

Tflg  institution  of  this  Lecture  was  a  notable  step 
aadTuce  taken  by  the  Congregationalists.  The  seve- 
^  Tohmes  of  the  printed  Lectures  have  shown  the 
world  that  the  ministers  of  this  denomination,  who  have 
kog  obtained  all  credit  for  piety  and  sincerity,  have 
e^  claims  to  sound  theological  and  biblical  learning. 
Frea  the  nature  of  the  subject,  The  Theology  of  the 
M^Afaofthe  Ckrittian  Churdi,  this  series  of  Lectures 
*1^<"B^  m  rare  and  curious  matter ;  the  fruit  of  the 
■«*  daborate  research.  The  selected  opinions  of  the 
eirij  Christian  authorities  on  the  various  doctrines  and 
Fouiti  of  theology  and  discipline  are  translated   al- 

*«t  hterally  from  the  originals.    In  turning  over  the 


recorded  authorities  during  the  first  three  centuries 
of  the  Christian  era,  the  first  thing  with  which  the  reader 
is  struck,  is  to  find  how  soon  those  corruptions  crept  into 
the  Christian  system,  both  in  doctrines  and  morals,  from 
which  it  is  yet  far  from  being  purified. 

We  should  like  much  to  give  a  few  instructive  speci- 
mens of  this  learned,  and  not  abstruse,  book;  though  we 
are,  in  a  manner,  limited  to  what  is  curious  or  entertain- 
ing in  it,  and  not  at  liberty  to  select  what  might  be  more 
edifying.  First,  we  shall  cite  the  wild  opinions  held  by 
the  early  Christian  Fathers  about  the  nature  and  condi- 
tion of  Angels. 

These  were  supposed  by  some  to  be,  like  the  forms 
presented  to  the  patriarchs,  produced  for  the  occasion 
and  then  destroyed,  which  Justin,  however,  reftites. 
But  he  argues  in  a  way  that  Trypho,  if  a  real  Jew,  and 
acquainted  with  Hebrew,  must  have  known  to  be  very 
foolish.    For  Isaiah,  xxx.  4,  which  we  properly  render 


262 


LITERACY  REGISTER. 


according  to  the  original — ^  His  princes  were  at  2iOan, 
and  liis  ambassadors  came  to  Hanes  f*  Justin  quotes  ac- 
cording to  the  Septuagint : — ^'*  For  there  are  in  Tanes 
princes,  evil  angels  f  which  is  made  a  proof  that  Egypt 
was  inhabited  by  evil  spirits.  Justin,  indeed,  opens  to 
us  a  mystery  which,  perhaps,  he  learned  from  Josephus 
and  others,  and  in  which  not  a  few  agreed  with  him, 
that  the  fall  of  angels  was  the  effect  of  the  beauty  of 
women. 

"  The  fruits  of  the  earth  are  under  the  power  of  man  ; 
but  man  himself  was  placed  under  the  providence 
of  the  angels,  who,  having  fallen  in  love  with  women, 
begat  from  them  children,  who  are  called  demons,  who 
have  enslaved  the  human  race  by  magic  writings,  by 
terrors,  and  by  doctrines  concerning  sacrifices,  and  in- 
cense, and  libations;  of  which  they  have  become  greedy 
since  their  subjection  to  lust."  Hence  he  accounts  for 
the  doctrine  of  the  poets  concerning  the  births  and 
amours  of  the  gods  ;  as  Luoian  ludicrously  exhibits  the 
gods  gaping  to  swallow  the  smoke  from  tiie  altars,  and 
like  flies  licking  up  the  blood  of  the  victims. 

To  this,  which  was  no  private  opinion  of  Justin,  but 
the  Catholic  doctrine  of  the  day,  Clement  of  Alexandria 
adds  a  very  natural  thought : — ^'  That  these  seduced 
angels  set  Samson  an  example,  by  letting  out  their  se- 
crets to  their  mistresses  ;  so  that  what  the  chaste  angels 
wished  to  reserve  to  the  coming  of  the  Lord — i.  «.,  the 
doctrine  of  Providence,  and  the  revelation  of  sublime 
things — ^had  been  already  blabbed  by  the  philosophers." 

.    The  same  vile  theology  is 

found  in  Tertullian,  and  also  in  Lactantius,  the  Chris- 
tian Cicero,  and  tutor  to  the  sons  of  Constautine.  Tille- 
mont  traces  this  to  Josephus  ;  but  whether  the  fathers 
derived  it  from  him,  or  the  apocryphal  book  of  Enoch, 
or  Arom  a  misconception  of  Genesis,  vi.  2,  it  was  never 
questioned,  and  seems  to  have  been  the  piUar,  if  not  the 
basis,  of  their  false  doctrine  of  chastity.  The  saints,  who 
were  to  be  angels  upon  earth,  were  to  guard  against 
imitating  the  angels  from  heaven,  who,  seduced  by  wo- 
men, let  out  their  secrets  to  the  uninitiated. 

The  Alexandrian,  in  his  Psedagogue,  tells  the  disciples, 
.  that  '^  angels  are  an  example  of  the  consequences  of  lust; 
for,  leaving  the  divine  beauty  for  the  sake  of  that  which 
fadeth,  they  have  been  so  long  fallen  from  heaven  to 
earth."  We  omit  Origen's  doctrine  of  angels,  because 
it  forms  a  part  of  the  heresy  with  which  he  is  charged  ; 
and  as  we  have  already  observed  that  Athenagoras 
adopted  Justin's  theory,  the  words  of  the  Athenian  have 
not  been  transcribed.  Tertullian,  however,  may  be 
allowed  to  say, "  I  propose  one  thing — that  they  were 
angels  which  were  those  deserters  of  God,  lovers  of  wo- 
men, betrayers  of  this  curiosity  ;  therefore  also  con- 
demned by  God."  Another  occasion  of  introducing  this 
doctrine  will  occur. 

But  the  notion  of  a  twofold  fall  of  angels,  though  im- 
plied, is  not  clearly  announced.  As  Justin  understands 
the  Apostle  Paul  to  mean  by  "  the  prince  of  the  power 
of  the  air"  the  angel  to  whom  that  element  was  com- 
mitted ;  so  Clement  of  Alexandria  seems  to  think  that 
the  angel  of  gross  matter  was  the  author  of  the  second 
taXi  ;  and  in  this  Athenagoras  agrees. 

The  demons  that  sprang  from  angels  and  women  are 
supposed,  of  course,  to  be  hybrid  ;  so  that  it  is  difficult 
to  describe  their  properties.  They,  however,  inhabit 
heathen  temples,  animating  the  idols,  dictating  oracles, 
and  feasting  on  the  nidor  of  the  sacrifices.  This  gave  a 
double  horror  to  idolatry  ;  for,  beside  being  an  offence 
to  God,  it  was  almost  a  direct  adoration  of  devils. 

Origen,  who  seems  mortified  by  his  adversary's  appeal 
to  the  fictions  of  the  book  of  Enoch,  is  not  satisfied  with 
his  own  remark,  that  the  book  was  not  understood  ; 
for  he  also  mentions  some  one  who  thought  the  text, 
**  The  sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of  men,"  referred 
to  souls,  metaphorically  called  the  sons  of  God,  desiring 
to  have  a  bodUy  life  ;  which  bodily  life  again  must  be 
metaphorically  meant  by  the  phrase,  ''daughters  of  men." 
But  Origen  dismisses  this  also,  as  a  solution  that  he 
could  not  strongly  recommend  ;  a  specimen  of  the  un- 
certainty of  the  fathers,  who  are  obtruded  as  the  only 
expositiNn  who  can  make  us  certain.j 


The  character  and  functions  of  bishops  in  the  early 
ages  of  Christianity — the  true  successors  of  the  Apostles, 
if  any  class  of  men  may  be  so  called — ^are  thus  described : 

As  there  was  originally  but  pne  church  formed  in  e&eh 
place,  whether  city,  or  village  ;  when  they  became  too 
numerous  for  one  congregation,  they  were  naturally  re- 
luctant to  separate  into  more,  and  the  bishop,  as  nata- 
rally,  wishing  to  keep  the  whole  charge  to  himself,  gave 
to  separation  the  name  of  schism.  Augustine  was  dis- 
tinguished by  his  readiness  to  form  new  churches  under 
their  own  bishops.  But  as  in  small  villages  there  were 
bishops,  they  assembled  by  hundreds,  as  the  list  of  the 
councils  show.  These  chorepiscopi,  or  country  biihope, 
were  afterwards  suppressed  ;  for  the  avowed  purpose  of 
maintaining  the  honour  of  the  episcopal  title,  by  confin- 
ing it  to  those  who  had  the  care  of  churches  in  Urge 
places,  where  population,  with  its  wealth,  could  gire 
dignity  and  importance  to  the  bishop.  The  Conncil  of 
Sardica  thus  decreed  ''  that  the  name  and  authority  of 
bishops  should  not  be  brought  into  contempt.** 

"  Let  him  that  readeth  understand.'*  Wherever  there 
was  a  church,  there  was  a  bishop  $  and  wherever  there 
wafi  a  congregation,  there  was  a  church.  There  were 
as  many  bishops,  therefore,  as  Christian  congregations, 
and,  consequently,  many  poor  bishops ;  because  paston 
of  village  churches.  Though  this  raised  no  blush  on  Uie 
cheeks  of  those  who  remembered  that  €rod  had  chosen 
the  poor  of  this  world  ;  when,  as  religion  declined,  epis- 
copal pride  increased,  the  bishops  of  the  cities,  by  their 
own  decree,  without  any  pretence  to  scriptural  right, 
laid  violent  hands  on  hundreds  or  thousands  of  churches, 
and  killed  them  outright.  They  were  no  longer  inde- 
pendent churches  with  their  own  bishops,  for  these  were 
unbishoped,  pronounced  in  the  ninth  century  no  bishops 
at  all ;  and  their  charges,  or  flocks,  unchurched,  become 
nondescript  things,  for  which  neither  the  Scriptures  nor 
the  earliest  fathers  furnish  a  name.  From  primaries, 
shining  by  their  own  light,  they  were  made  secondaries, 
reflecting  the  glory  of  some  civic  luminary,  who  boastid 
of  being  called  of  God  as  was  Aaron,  and,  like  him,  pos- 
sessing a  rod  that  swallowed  up  all  competitors.  This 
aggrandizement  of  the  episcopal  rank  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  overrate  ;  but  with  what  face  could  the  diocetsn 
bishops  afterwards  complain  of  a  patriarchy  or  pope,  for 
attempting  to  swallow  them  up  in  their  turn  1  Modern 
days  have  heard  loud  complaints  of  the  presumption  of 
parliaments  in  cutting  up  bishoprics,  annihilating  the 
old,  and  fabricating  new  ones  ;  and  on  the  right,  or  jos- 
tice,  we  give  no  opinion  ;  but  ministers  of  state  may  say 
to  bishops, "  Who  set  us  the  example  T*  If  these  reply, 
"  But  we  complain  of  it  as  an  act  of  the  state  ;"  secular 
men  may  ask,  "  In  what  text  of  Scripture,  or  sentence 
from  an  early  father,  can  you  prove  even  the  right  of 
bishops  to  annihilate  others !"  Let  both  church  and  state 
remember  that  the  power  which  can  do  this  to  one,  can 
do  it  to  all. 

There  is,  however,  one  bright  spot  in  this  wholesale 
extinction  of  bishops  and  churches.  It  was  honest.  For 
this  thing  was  not  done  in  a  comer.  No  hypocritical 
mask  was  worn  by  the  actors  ;  for  they  tell  us  plainly 
how  and  why  they  did  the  deed.  By  a  synodical  de- 
cree, to  enhance  the  honour  of  the  bishops,  the  poor  ones 
were  put  out  of  the  way.  Here  let  ttie  reader  pause 
and  meditate  ;  for  volumes  of  instruction  lie  open  to  his 
view.  If  a  church  and  a  bishop  may  be  annihilated  be- 
cause they  belong  to  a  village,  has  not  Rome  advanced 
far  towards  the  day  when  her  church  and  bishop  may 
cease  to  be  t  She  is  even  now  a  village  compared  to  her 
former  self ;  and  if  Protestants,  chiefly  £Inglish,  should 
cease  to  spend  in  her  their  gold,  another  council  may 
decide  that  a  chorepiscous  ought  no  longer  to  exist. 

The  Elements  of  ▲  Chbistum  Chubch. 

The  materials  of  which  the  church  is  oomposed,  or  the 
qualities  that  constitute  a  genuine  member,  are  thus  ex- 
pressed :  "  But  the  virtue  which  embraces  the  church, 
as  the  Shepherd  (of  Hennas)  speaks,  is  fkith,  by  which 
the  elect  of  Qod  are  saved."  Here  is  a  reference  to  one 
f«;]>poi«<itobe8oearlyMtheHerBiatof  Paul.  Qnua^ 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


263 


of  BMif  tddreases  the  dinreh  of  the  Corinthians  as 
*'flMt,  nsetified  by  the  will  of  God."  Polycarp,  too, 
aanmei  that  the  ehiutth  of  Philippi  was  oomposed  of  such 
penou.  Ignatios  writes  to  the  Trallians  as  '^  elect, 
ktTing  peace  through  the  flesh  and  blood  of  Christ  f 
to  the  Romans  as  **  illuminated  through  the  will  of  Qod;" 
10  the  Phikdelphians  as  <*  rejoicing  in  the  sufferings  of 
oar  Lord  f  and  to  the  SmTmseans  as  ^  filled  with  faith 
ud  loTe." 

Jsitin  Martyr  describes  a  Christian  society  as  consist- 
iag  of  holy  men«  Irensus  says,  ^  Where  the  church  is, 
tbert  ii  also  the  Spirit  of  God  ;  and  where  the  Spirit  of 
God,  there  is  the  church  and  all  grace,  but  the  g^irit  is 
tTitk**  Origen  tells  Celsus,  "There  are  everywhere 
iaititaled  (arrange<fin  polities)  churches,  (assemblies,  or 
oaogragations,)  opposite  to  the  churches,  or  congrega- 
tuos,  of  the  superstitions  and -wicked/'  "  Many  such 
III  snanged  oTerywhere  in  the  churches  of  the  cities. 
They  are  as  lights  in  the  world.  Who  would  not  confess 
thai  eren  the  worst  of  those  that  are  of  the  church  are 
Wtter  than  those  assemblies  among  the  people  I" 

A  ehureh,  consisting  of  the  indiscriminate  mass  of  a 
ution,  whm  the  great  majority  haye  no  semblance  of 
Chmtbn  charaeter,  would  have  astounded  the  early 
&theii ;  though  their  successors  were  by  degrees  fami- 
iiansed,  but  not  always  reconciled,  to  tiie  mischierous 
pmerrion  of  terms.  If  we  adopt  the  most  moderate 
bjpotiwsis,  and  gire  the  name  of  a  church  to  a  society 
tbthas  a  majority  of  its  members  risibly  answering  to 
tfce  Kriptuial  description  of  a  Christian,  eren  though 
Asj  should  not  exoommunicate  the  wicked,  which,  how- 
im,  would  anciently  hare  unchurched  them  ;  still  we 
Mild  not  make  the  best  nation  upon  earth  and  a  Chris- 
titt  drareh  eommensurate  ;  for  no  country  has  erer  yet 
ktt  able  to  show  that  a  majority  of  its  inhabitants  were 
ml  Christians. 

Thb  MiLLEmtm. 
The  notion  of  a  millenium  sprung  up  early  among  the 
udent  Christian  Fathers,  though  there  is  no  identity  nor 
•Ten  coherence  in  their  extraragant  notions  of  its  nature. 
%  idsa  appears  to  have  been  originally  borrowed  ftrom 
the  Jewish  Rabble*,  The  theories  of  Jnstin,  Papias,  Ter- 
talliin,  and  Irenaeus,]  differed  firom'each  other.  The  no- 
tHos  of  Irenaus,  on  a  single  point,  may  serve  for  a  sample 
•f  these  extravagancies : — 

Irenaus,  after  some  puerile  comments,  derived  fttim  a 
Use  translation,  proceeds  thus :  "  These  are  in  the  times 
rfthe  khigdom,on  the  seventh  day,  which  is  sanctified," 
a«aniiig  the  seventh  thousandth  year.  "  Therefore,  the 
^nedietion  predicted,  without  contradiction,  pertains  to 
4e  times  of  the  kingdom,  when  the  just,  rising  from  the 
4ttd,  shall  reign ;  when  also,  the  creature,  renovated 
«»d  liberated,  shall  fructify  abundance  of  f^od,  by  the 
dew  of  heaven  and  the  fertility  of  the  earth.  The  days 
Aall  oome  in  which  rines  shall  grow,  each  having  ten 
t^Mttand  branches,  and  in  one  branch,  ten  thousand 
*»t8 ;  iad  in  every  shoot,  ten  thousand  bunches ;  and 
faiwy  bunch,  ten  thousand  grapes ;  and  every  grape, 
txpiOBsed,  will  yield  twenty-five  metretas,  or  flrldns  i:^ 
^  And  when  any  of  the  saints  shall  lay  hold  of  a 
wseh,  another  will  cry  out,  M  am  a  better  bunch ; 
^  Be,  and,  by  me,  bless  the  Lord.**'  Of  the  grain, 
*ho,  a  rimilar  story  is  told,  which  it  would  be  a  waste 
^f  tins  to  repeat. 

*Thess  tUngs,  Papias,  an  old  man,  a  eompanion  of 
Jjjy««rp,  testifies,  by  the  Scripture,  in  the  fourth  of  his 
■•*«.  These  thbigs  are  credible  to  believers.*'  Ire- 
Wm  attempts  to  prove  thefli  by  the  prophecy  of  Isaiah 
•"■J^rthig  "  the  lion  lying  down  with  the  lamb.** 
Jw  htemes  those  who  attempt  to  allegorise  this ;  fat 
fthnsMst  be  taken  literally  \  facts  only  are  to  be  turned 
y  sfiegories.  He  qootes  the  apocryphal  Baruch  in 
*W>H  of  his  theory.  **  A  new  Jerusalem  shall  oome 
dowBottt  of  heaven,  of  which  that  in  Palestine  was  an 
™H«.  Then,  all  the  renovated  shall  dwell  in  the  city 
^m,Bot  allegorieaUy,  as  we  have  shown." 
JS^  ^'^  "**  givsB  the  whole  of  this  long  and  prosing 
^*^wy«liwaa  BOi  the  •ftpriag  of  the  asthor*!  ewn 


imagination,  but  came  to  him  by  tradition,  not  from  the 
apostles,  but  fh>m  apocryphal  writers,  chiefiy  the  ficti- 
tious Barnabas.  But  when  Irenseus  contended  for  the 
literal  meaning  of  his  millennial  vine,  did  he  include  the 
speaking  bunches  of  grapes  that  yield  a  firkin  each ! 
They  were  not  water  drinkers  who  revelled  in  these 
bacdianalian  fancies ;  but  were  certainly  open  to  the 
censure  that  Middleton  is  blamed  for  fiinging  upon  Justin, 
as  teaching  a  Millennium  of  sensual  delights.  It  is  un- 
questionable, that,  with  all  the  ultra-angelic  spirituality  of 
these  fathers,  and  all  their  compulsory  fksting,  they  hoped 
to  make  up  for  it  in  the  New  Jerusalem,  as  ail  pretences 
to  soar  above  the  divine  rule,  end  in  sinking  far  below. 

The  AuTHORmr  op  the  Fathers. 

It  will  be  observed  that  Dr.  Bennett  has  no  overween- 
ing or  superstitious  reverence  for  these  primitive  Fa- 
thers. Passing  even  much  higher  authorities,  from  Au- 
gustine down  to  Owen  and  Edwards,  he  looks  admiringly 
to  the  period  when  **  the  children  of  Time's  old  age  will 
be  the  Fathers." 

The  following  passage  on  the  so-called  authority  of  the 
Fathers  is  peculiarly  apt  at  the  present  moment : — 

What  is  now  Called  the  authority  of  the  Fathers  was, 
to  the  earliest  of  them,  nnknovm,  and  is  a  modem  doc- 
trine palmed  upon  the  world  under  a  fidse  name.  Not 
oiie  of  them,  whether  early  or  late,  ever  mentions  his 
own  authority,  which,  if  true,  they  should  have  taught, 
as  the  apostles  asserted  theirs;  because  it  is  due  to 
Christ  and  to  his  church,  to  inform  us  who  are  the  autho- 
ritative expositors  of  his  will.  The  mere  silence  of  the 
fathers  on  this  point  would  be  enough  to  degrade  them 
from  the  throne ;  but  they  speak,  and  tell  aloud  their 
own  want  of  authority,  appealing  to  the  Scriptures  as 
the  word  of  the  Lord,  which  demands  the  study  and  obe- 
dience of  the  whole  church.  Here,  with  the  two  Cle- 
ments, Polycarp,  Ignatius,  Justin,  Irenffius,  Origen,  Ter- 
tullian,  Cyprian,  we  take  our  stand,  leaving  to  innova- 
tors the  melancholy  glory  of  venturing  to  abandon  the 
ancient  faith  in  the  sole  authority  of  the  Word  of  Ood. 

The  earliest  fathers  attached  the  true  idea  to  the 
Greek  word  UxXuriut,  and  always  considered  a  church 
to  be  a  cx>ngregation,  or  assembly,  convoked  or  evoked 
out  of  a  promiscuous  mass.  Those  who  belonged  to  this 
assembly  were  called  by  its  name,  even  after  its  session 
had  broken  up,  and  its  members  were  dispersed ;  and  all 
tuck  assemblies  scattered  over  the  whole  world,  were 
called  the  catholic  churches,  when  their  distinct  localities 
were  in  view,  but  the  church,  when  the  identity  of  their 
faith  was  considered,  and  their  relation  to  Christ,  as  one 
body,  of  which  he  was  the  sole  head. 

The  phrase  congregational  church,  then,  is  pleonastic, 
being  little  else  than  a  church  church ;  but  such  pleo- 
nasms become  necessary,  when  time  and  events  have  de- 
prived a  noun  of  its  radical  signification,  which  mnst 
then  be  conveyed  by  an  adjective,  that  originally,  being 
unnecessary,  would  have  appeared  absurd.  That  the 
earliest  fathers  meant,  by  a  church,  a  single  worshipping 
assembly,  and,  by  the  church,  the  aggregate  of  a  number 
of  complete  churches,  alike  independent  of  each  other's 
authority,  and  dependent  upon  Christ  alone,  can  be  demon- 
strated, if  that  word  may  ever  be  employed  beyond  the 
bounds  of  mathematics. 

Having  seen  that  what  are  now  called  congregational 
are  the  <^ginal  churches,  not  only  of  the  Scriptures,  but 
of  the  first  three  hundred  years,  we  may  proceed  to  ob- 
serve that  even  the  most  strenuous  opponents  of  this 
truth,  have  not  been  able  entirely  to  banish  or  abandon 
the  idea  of  an  independent  church. 

But  this  reasoning  we  cannot  follow.  Instead  of  it 
we  copy  out  another  isolated,  but  apt  passage — apt  to 
the  present  times  of  delusion.  The  lecturer  has  been  de- 
scribing the  heresies  of  Tertullian,  who  vras  cast  out  of 
the  Church,  and  comes  to  what  he  designates  modem 
Tertullianism : — 

There  is  a  fkr  better  apology  to  be  made  for  the  Mon- 
tanist^  thaty  with  all  his  fiuatioismy  he  stiU  regards  the 


264 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


Scriptures  as  the  standard  of  faith  and  practice;  for 
^  this  is  the  work  of  the  Paraclete,  that  the  Scriptures  maj 
be  revealed.'*  He  supposed  that  they  were  imperfectly  un- 
derstood, which  was,  alas,  too  true.  Yet  the  man  who 
had  the  most  extraYagant  notions  of  the  inspiration  of 
his  new  sect  still  considers  that  it  was  not  to  give  addi- 
tions to  revelation,  or  make  us  independent  of  it ;  but  was 
to  reveal  what  was  contained  in  Scripture,  though  not 
known  to  the  church.  This  is  less  fanatical  than  the 
theory  of  unwritten  traditions,  which,  by  sharing,  would 
supersede  the  authority  of  the  word  of  God. 

But  they  who  set  up  a  later  age  as  the  standard,  the 
maturity  of  Christianity,  share  the  common  &te  of  error, 
to  promote,  in  spite  of  themselves,  the  cause  of  truth. 
They  declare  that  theirs  is  not  the  apostolic  church,  for 
they  abandon  this  as  too  rude  and  simple ;  and  when 
they  talk  of  the  fathers,  they  mean  not  those  who  are  so 
by  eminence,  but  such  as  are  not  even  good  sons ;  for 
they  belonged  to  an  age  which  they  themselves  pro- 
nounced so  corrupt,  that  Antichrist  might  be  immediately 
expected ;  and  if  we  believe  them,  we  should  bless  him 
who  ''determined  the  times  before  appointed,  and  fixed 
the  bounds  of  our  habitations,*'  that  he  has  not  cast  our 
lot  on  such  days. 

But  we  are  witnessing  the  downward  course  of  error. 
The  Scriptures  are  first  forsaken,  as  the  records  of  an  age 
too  simple,  the  history  of  churches  too  pure  and  too  in- 
dependent to  please  a  hierarchy ;  the  apostolical  fathers 
next  are  chosen,  instead  of  the  apostles ;  but  it  is  soon 
found  that  the  same  objections  again  occur,  and  there- 
fore the  ground  is  changed  again;  the  sons  of  those 
fathers  are  made  the  standard,  but  only  to  be  abandoned 
for  their  sons  again,  till  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  is 
meant  by  the  church  of  the  fathers. 

Let  not  the  student  of  the  Scriptures,  then,  shrink  from 
the  contest  concerning  the  opinions  of  the  ancients.  An- 
tiquity is  most  to  be  dreaded  by  those  who  vaunt  it  most, 
for  they  would  be  the  last  to  restore  the  primitive  times. 
The  sanctuary  in  which  the  fathers  are  enthroned  is  a 
crypt,  for,  like  other  antique  idols,  they  cannot  bear  the 
light.  Their  theology  is  often  so  heterodox,  their  exposi- 
tions of  Scripture  so  absurd  and  contradictory,  and  their 
chastity  so  obscene,  that  he  who  would  dethrone  them 
has  but  to  bring  a  blazing  torch  into  their  shiines,  and 
show  to  the  crouching  multitude  what  it  is  they  have 
adored.  Their  high  priests,  like  the  Chinese,  offer  scravi 
of  gilded  paper,  but  would  not  dare  to  publish  in  the 
vernacular  tongue  all  that  the  fathers  have  written,  nor 
consent  to  be  bound  by  all  that  they  have  prescribed. 

Mortality  is  never  more  cruelly  mocked  than  when 
exalted  to  the  throne  of  Deity.  The  attributes  of 
humanity  that  might  have  been  esteemed,  or  at  least 
tolerated,  among  other  men,  are  then  contrasted  with 
the  perfections  of  the  divinity  assumed,  and  for  a  respect- 
able man  we  have  a  ridiculous  God.  The  misfortunesjof  the 
fathers  demand  our  candour  and  our  pity,  but  most  un- 
fortunate have  they  been  in  the  worship  they  have  re- 
ceived ;  for  it  has  placed  them  on  an  elevation  which 
they  cannot  bear,  and  has  compelled  those  who  would 
have  apologized  for  their  simple  opinions  to  despise  their 
pretended  oracles. 

At  the  modem  attempts  to  bring  back  the  church  to 
that  period  of  her  history  when  corruptions  had  become 
rampant,  we  may  fh>wn,  because  it  is  guilty ;  but  we 
may  smile,  too,  for  it  is  futile.  The  conspirators  may  not 
choose  to  go  higher  than  to  Cyprian,  or  even  Uie  Nicene 
fathers,  or  may  appeal  to  earlier  writers,  only  to  praise 
their  blots ;  but  who  would  let  the  foe  dictate  the  tactics 
of  both  armies  ?  Have  they  appealed  to  the  fathera  1 
To  the  fathers  they  shall  go ;  to  the  fiithers  of  those 
whom  some  delight  to  call  the  fathers.  **  He  that  taketh 
the  wise  in  their  own  craftiness"  will  thus  ''teach  them 
by  the  briars  of  the  wilderness"  that  they  have  raised 
spirits  which  they  cannot  lay.  "  Truth,"  says  Tertullian, 
"  dreads  nothing  but  concealment ;"  and  we  have  only  to 
tell  the  whole  truth,  in  order  to  put  down  the  attempt  to 
bring  us  again  into  bondage  to  crafty  priests.  Let  the 
fathers  by  eminence  speak,  and  let  the  world,  as  well  as 
the  church,  hear,  if  patience  will  hold  out  to  the  end. 
Translate ;  print ;  publish ;  explain ;  tell  all. 


It  will  then  be  seen  that  the  world  has  been  .imposed 
upon  by  those  who  appealed  to  the  fathers,  to  avoid  the 
Scriptures,  aware  that  the  people  could  more  eisily 
study  for  themselves  a  single  book  translated  into  most 
tongues,  than  procure  or  read  a  library  in  the  dead  Un- 
guages.  But  it  must  be  shown  that  corruption  can  no 
more  claim  the  fathers  than  the  Scriptures.  How  the 
advocates  for  error  shun  the  testimony  of  the  dirine 
Word  is  not  sufficiently  known. 

What,  then,  can  we  think  of  those  who  .  ^  seeking  to 
bring  back  our  countrymen,  not  as  they  prt  '  ^^  the 
state  of  the  primitive  church,  but  to  the  days  o. 
bewailed  a  degeneracy  whidi  is  now,  in  spite « 
own  counter  testimony,  set  up  as  the  standard  of  pu 
To  the  fanaticism  of  another  Shilo,  and  a  preteno. 
miraculous  gift  of  tongues,  has  at  length  succeeded,  not 
a  new  delusion,  but  a  revival  of  the  old,  which,  under 
the  patronage  of  moderate  learning  and  semi-ascetici8m,is 
making  its  boast  of  the  fathers.  Some,  it  is  to  be  feared, 
know  whither  they  are  tending,  and  keep  the  dome  of  St. 
Peter's  steadily  in  view ;  but  others,  hoodwinked,  are 
pursuing  the  same  course,  without  seeing  their  road,  or 
their  end.  Have  the  fires  of  Smithfield  burned  in  vam! 
Was  not  the  horror  of  Popery  which  they  created  jurt 
and  salutary,  a  merciful  reaction  produced  by  him  who 
confounds  Uie  counsels  of  the  ungoidly  1  Can  the  systea 
which  introduced  that  blot  on  the  Christian  name,  the 
burning  of  men  for  heretics,  which  Rome  has  never  dis- 
avowed,any  longer  pretend  to  be  the  religion  of themerrifol 
Saviour,  who  told  those  that  would  call  fire  f^m  hearen, 
that  they  knew  not  what  spirit  they  were  of  1  Can  these 
be  sincere  men,  who,  eating  the  bread  of  a  Protestant 
church,  labour  to  undo  the  work  of  the  Reformation,  and, 
by  Jesuitical  expositions,  supplant  the  articles  they  hare 
subscribed  1  Would  they,  if  successful  in  establishing 
their  priestly  domination,  use  it  less  cruelly  than  their 
predecessors  f  Would  it  not  again  be  said,  that  "he 
who  crept  in  like  a  fox  ruled  like  a  lion,  till  he  was  hated 
like  a  dog " !  *  Shall  our  countrymen  be  left  to  rush  back 
to  E^i^ypt,  unobstructed,  unwarned  1  Our  protest  may  be 
unheeded,  perhaps  unheard ;  but,  at  least,  we  should  be 
able  to  say,  "  We  have  delivered  our  souls ;  their  blood 
is  on  their  own  heads." 

To  those  who  are  not  deceivers,  but  deceived,  espedally 
the  professors  of  evangelical  truth,  who  have  attempted 
to  amalgamate  it  with  the  prevailing  semi-popery,  it  is 
but  a  Christian  duty  to  address  a  wonl  of  expostdatory 
warning.  Your  sincere  concern  for  the  salvation  of  the 
soul,  and  your  reverence  for  the  will  of  God,  is  abused  by 
men  who  hate  the  doctrines  you  (once,  at  least)  held  dear. 
You  know  not  whither  you  are  tending ;  for  the  tmths 
which  awakened  you  fVom  carelessness,  or  inspired  yon 
with  peace,  will  be  swallowed  up  in  that  false  confidence 
in  rites  and  fon|is  from  which  you  erst  deemed  it  a  mercy 
to  have  escaped.  The  regenerating  grace  of  the  Spirit, 
which  made  "the  preaching  of  the  cross  the  power  of 
Qod  to  salvation,"  you  are  now  learning  to  identify  with 
baptism,  which,  yon  know,  leaves  millions  to  '^live  with- 
out God  in  the  world."  For  justification  by  fiuth,  which 
formerly  was  to  you  glad  tidings,  the  leaders  of  your 
new  party  are  openly  substituting  justification  by  the  sacra- 
ments, never  avowed  till  Trent  employed  it  to  oounter- 
mine  Luther.  Once  you  saw  Christ  in  heaven,  as  yonr 
only  sacrifice,  priest,  and  altar ;  and  can  you  now  bow 
down  to  an  altar  of  stone,  or  wood ;  call  ministers  by  the 
name  of  priests,  which  Christ  never  gave  to  them ;  and 
talk  of  o£fering  again  that  sacrifice  which  "he  offered 
once  for  all  t"  "  Are  ye  so  foolish  1  having  begun  in 
the  spirit,  are  ye  now  nutde  perfect  by  the  flesh )"  Are 
ye  aware  of  the  "  beggarly  elements  to  which'you  desire 
to  be  in  bondage  I"  Are  you  ready  to  go  aU  the  way 
back  to  Rome,  that  you  are  adopting,  one  after  another, 
her  essential  principles,  till  a  crafty  Jesuit,  meeting  yoa 
on  your  own  ground,  would  draw  you  over  the  frontier, 
ere  ever  you  were  aware  f    And  all  this,  under  the  frlit 


*  Laud,  who  hesitated  whether  he  should  not  receive 
from  the  pope  a  cardinal's  hat,  and  who  devoutly  gave 
thanks  for  the  slitting  of  the  nose  and  cutting  off  the  eaii 
of  Leighton,  is  very  significantly  sainted  by  this  school. 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


265 


eolosn  of  the  church  of  the  fibtheTs !  Have  you  oyer 
retd  the  ftthen !  Are  you  so  well  acquainted  with  their 
Toluminous  writings  as  to  secure  yourselves  from  be- 
ing impoied  upon,  by  extracts  obtruded  upon  you,  in  the 
hope  tibat  you  will  not  be  able  to  judge  of  them  for  your- 
lelres  I  Can  you  suppose  that,  if  this  were  the  road  to 
tnth,  the  apostles  would  not  have  referred  us  to  the 
fitlien !  Has  not  Christ  charged  you  to  *^  Search  the 
^ptores;  for  in  them  you  have  eternal  life  V* 

Oar  readers  must  pardon  this  long,  serious  extract  in 
•  popular  magazine ;  but  its  tdtra-Protettttntitm  was 
to  as  irresistible.  They  must  have  perceived  that  this  is 
BO  common-place  theological  work,  as  well  as  that  it  is 
«ie  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  times.  As  such,  we  recom- 
Mod  it  to  all  who  like  to  investigate  for  themselves. 

TkDougkUrs  of  England.  By  Mrs.  Ellis.  Fisher 
&  Co.     12ino,  cloth,  pp.  896. 

Those  who  are  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Ellis's  popular 
vttk,  The  Women  of  England,  will  be  at  no  loss  to 
lodentand  the  plan,  object,and  tendencies  of  this  volume. 
The  books  are  in  character  the  same,  save  that  the  new 
treatise  is  limited  to  unmarried  women  of  the  middle 
elasi.  Mrs.  Ellis  sermonizes  fluently  and  sensibly ; 
ieiliof  in  safe  common-places,  and  undeniable  truisms  : 
aad  while  she  teaches  the  women  their  duties,  she  also 
giios  the  sufiiage  of  the  men ;  for  in  this  age  of  innovation, 
sk  ihows  the  ladies  what  is  their  true  place.  *^  As  wo- 
BO,"  they  are  told,  ^the  first  thing  of  importance  is  to  be 
cotent  to  be  inferior  to  men — ^inferior  in  mental  power 
io  the  same  proportion  as  in  bodily  strength.'*  ¥  Woman's 
!treogth  is  in  her  influence."  This  being  the  key  to  the 
»cal  position  of  tho  sex,  its  duties  may  be  the  more 
nalj  understood.  Yet  Mrs.  Ellis  gives  more  scope  to  fe- 
ule  dcolties,  and  &  vnder  range  to  the  duties  of  women, 
tbfi  Fordyce,  Gregory,  or  even  Hannah  More  would 
hve  done.  She  permits  them  even  some  right  to  inter- 
est themselves  in  a  certain  kind  of  public  affairs.  She 
is  "perfectly  aware  that  there  are  intricate  questions 
inoght  before  our  Senate  which  may  require  a  mascu- 
^  order  of  intellect  fully  to  understand,''  and  which 
■ut  therefore  be  left  to  the  Colonel  Sibthorpes  and  Mr. 
Fenanda ;  **  but  there  are  others  which  may,  and  ought 
tdeofage  the  attention  of  every  female  mind  ;  such  as 
t^  extinction  of  slavery,  the  abolition  of  war  in  gene- 
^  eroelty  to  animals,  temperance,  the  punishment  of 
^ath,  and  many  more,  on  which  neither  to  know  nor 
to  feel  is  almost  equally  disgraceful."  The  **  many 
■ore"  may,  perhaps,  include  the  taxes  on  food,  in 
vhieh  the  women,  and  particularly  the  ladies  of  Lan- 
<vhire,  have  lately  taken  the  liberty  not  merely  ^  to 
^Mw  and  to  feel,"  but  to  act  pretty  decidedly.  But 
^  Ems  would  keep  all  woman's  knowledge  in  subser- 
^w&ee  to  her  moral  excellence  ;  and  on  this  there  can 
be  M  diflerence  of  opinion : — The  rule,  moreover,  is  quite 
»  ipplieable  to  man.  And  if  the  Daughters  of  England 
^1  her  precepts,  and  follow  her  counsels,  they  will  be  in 
^  &ir  way  to  attain  high  moral  excellence,  and  many 
'^*ftilseqairements  and  amiable  qualities.  Her  discourse 
«  Oattmtm — ^meaning  by  cleverness,  domestic  inven- 
tt^eaesi,  handineas,  and  neat-handedness — on  Tempery 
^  on  Foifciaii,  are  worthy  of  particular  commendation. 
^7  wise  things  are  said  about  flirtation,  too  :  or  those 
uttle  irtB  of  attraction  which  are  so  unconscious,  that 
^7  ihaost  appear  natural  instincts.  But  young 
l*dw  will  be  young  ladies ;  and  Mrs.  Ellis's  test  of 
^«t  is  flirtation^  namely,  whether,  in  mixed  society,  the 
<i»a8el  if  "the  same  to  women  as  to  men,"  is,  we  fear, 


an  impracticable,  if  not  an  unsound  one.  What  would 
be  the  use  of  mixed  society  at  all,  why  might  not  wo- 
men associate  only  with  women,  men  with  men,  if 
the  refining  influences  of  sex  were  to  have  no  place  in 
their  intercourse  !  But  the  topic  is  intricate  and  deli- 
cate. We  give  Mrs.  Ellis's  deduction.  '^  It  is  good  for 
a  woman  to  bear  about  with  her  even  in  early  life,  the 
conviction  that  her  only  businea  vith  men  in  society  is  to 
learn  of  them,  and  not  to  captivate  or  dazzle  them."  We 
hope  the  young  ladies,  when  meditatingmischief,  will  keep 
this  in  mind.  One  sentence  we  copy  out,  as  it  comes  with 
especial  propriety  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Ellis,  herself 
a  minister's  wife.  It  refers  to  the  co  nduct  of  young  wo- 
men vnth  regard  to  **  eloquent  ministers  of  religion  ;"  or 
such,  it  might  have  been  added,  as  for  the  day  and  the 
hour  are  imagined  to  be  so.  Of  ^  this  extravagant  and 
enthusiastic  attachment,"  to  popular  ministers,  she  re- 
marks :  **  There  are  others,  [young  women,]  chiefly  of 
enthusiastic  temperament,  who,  under  the  impression 
that  it  is  right  to  love  and  admire  to  the  utmost  of  their 
power,  whoever  is  worthy  of  admiration,  give  way  to  a 
style  of  expression  when  speaking  of  their  favourite 
ministers,  and  a  mode  of  behaviour  towards  them,  which 
is  not  only  peculiarly  adapted  to  expose  them  as  reli- 
gious professors  to  the  ridicule  of  the  world,  but  which 
of  itself  too  plainly  betrays  their  want  of  reverence  and 
right  feeling  on  the  subject  of  religion  in  general." 

Time  and  Time-Keepers.     By  Adam  Thomson. 
T.  &  W.  Boone. 

This  is  the  production  of  a  practical  man,  a  London 
watchmaker.  It  treats  of  all  sorts  and  sizes  of  time- 
keepers, whether  clocks,  watches*  or  chronometers;  and 
of  their  several  parts;  and  generally  gives  the  history 
of  their  invention,  with  many  other  relative  matters.  As 
a  specimen  of  the  work,  and  a  thing  of  general  concern- 
ment, we  copy  out  some  of  the  precautions  necessary  to 
the  care  and  safety  of  a  watch. — Premising  that  the  watch 
should  be  bought  from  a  maker  of  character,  and  at  a 
fair  price,  cheap  watches  being  seldom  good  time-keepers, 
— ^we  are  told  that  ^the  watch  should  be  regularly  wound, 
as  nearly  at  the  same  hour  as  possible;  since  few  springs 
are  so  equably  adjusted  as  to  pull  with  the  same  force 
during  the  whole  time  of  going.  While  being  wound, 
the  watch  should  be  steadily  held  in  one  hand,  so  as  to 
have  no  circular  motion,  which  always  produces  varia- 
tion in  the  vibration  of  the  balance,  and  sometimes  con- 
siderable derangement.  For  the  same  reason,  also,  when 
a  watch  is  hung  up,  it  should  be  perfectly  at  rest.  If 
hung  upon  a  round  hook,  without  farther  support, 
the  motion  of  the  balance  will  generate  a  pendulous  mo- 
tion in  the  watch,  which  will  cause  much  variation  in 
the  time.  Powerful  "^ratches  ought  not  even  to  be  laid 
horizontally,  unless  placed  on  a  soft  substance;  for  if  put 
on  a  smooth  flat  sur&ce,  from  the  convexity  of  the  glass 
and  case,  the  watch  can  only  rest  on  a  point,  and  the  vi- 
bration of  the  balance  alone  is  frequently  sufficient  to 
produce  motion  in  the  watch."  But  the  directions  are 
too  fhll  and  minute  for  our  space.  Watches,  when  ex- 
posed to  variations  of  temperature,  may  have  the  hands 
set  to  time,  but  the  regulator  should  not  be  touched;  as 
we  presume  the  watch  will  come  right  of  itself  in  an 
equal  temperature. 

A  watch  regulated  to  keep  time  in  the  pocket,  will, 
when  not  worn,  gain  a  minute  or  two  per  day;  the  re- 
gulator must  not,  in  this  case,  be  altered,  or  the  watch, 
when  again  worn,  will  loso  as  much  as  it  had  previously 
gained  1 Particular  care  ought  to  bt 


260 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


taken  to  keep  the  works  o^  a  watch  clean;  even  though 
perfectly  free  from  dost,  it  ought  to  be  taken  to  pieces 
and  cleared  of  the  dried  oil,  when  required;  as  without 
this  precaution  the  best  watch  would  be  spoiled;  and  as 
good  watches  will  continue  to  go  well,  until  fHction  and 
wear  prevent  their  going  longer^  they  are  the  most  liable 
to  be  neglected. 

Speeches  of  Lord  Campbell^  aC  the  Bar,  and  in  the 

House  of  Commons.    8vo,  pp.  520.     Adam  & 

Charles  Black,  Edinburgh. 

Lord  Campbell  has  employed  the  earUest  leisure  afford- 
ed by  temporary  retirement  from  professional  bnsines%  in 
the  laudable,  or,  at  all  events,  inolTensiTe  task  of  arrang- 
ing the  best  of  his  speeches  for  the  press.  They  are  not 
numerous,  nor  as  pieces  of  forensio  or  parliamentary 
eloquence  of  any  remarkable  note,  perhaps ;  yet  they 
must  rank  respectably  in  the  eyes  of  tiie  legal  profession ; 
nor,  as  times  go  with  crown  lawyers^  will  any  one  dispute 
his  Lordship's  claim,  ^  ne^ver  to  have  abandoned  his 
principles'*  or  '^his  party:*  The  first  speech  in  the 
volume  is  that  made  for  Lord  Melbourne,  in  tiie  fitmous, 
or  infamous  action  of  the  Hon.  Oeoige  Norton  ;  a  ease 
on  which  Lord  Campbell  says,  ''the  eyes  of  all  Europe 
were  fixed.  Couriers  were  ready  to  start  to  the  princi- 
pal courts  on  the  continent  with  the  nevrs  of  the  verdict." 
One  would  like  to  learn  what  effbct  the  verdict  pro- 
nounced has  had  upon  the  social  position  of  tiie  plaintiff 
and  his  brother,  in  the  circles  in  which  they  move  ;  if 
they  occupy  the  selfsame  place  in  high-minded  aristo- 
cratic society  as  before  that  strange  trial.  The  volume 
also  contains  the  speech  in  the  case  of  Medhurst,  for 
stabbing  his  fellow-pupil ;  the  elaborate  speech  on  Par- 
liamentary Privilege,  in  the  case  Stockdale  versus  Han- 
saH ;  and  several  more  speeches  on  public  questions  of 
moment. 
The  Great  Commission.    By  the  Rev.  John  Harris, 

D.  D.,  Author  of  "  Mammon,"  &G.    Cloth,  pp. 

638.    Ward  &  Co. 

The  Great  Commission  was  that  given  by  our  Saviour 
to  his  apostles,  ''  Go  ye  into  all  nations,  preaching  the 
Gospel  to  every  creature."  Some  time  since  a  few 
friends  to  missionary  enterprise,  residing  in  Scotland, 
offered  a  prize  of  two  hundred  guineas  for  an  Essay  on 
Missions,  which  should  be  of  more  extensive  design,  and 
less  ephemeral  than  the  sermons,  tracts,  and  pamphlets, 
-vi^ch  for  forty  years  have  appeared  on  the  subject  of 
missions  to  the  heathen.  Forty-two  Essays  were  sent 
in  to  the  five  appointed  judges,  who  were  chosen  from 
among  the  most  numerous  of  all  denominations  of  Pro- 
testants. They  were  the  Rev.  Dr.  David  Welsh  of  Edin- 
burgh, the  Rev.  Dr.  Wardlaw  of  Glasgow,  Mr.  Melville 
of  London,  Jabez  Bunting,  and  Thotnas  Crisp.  Their 
verdict,  by  four  out  of  five  voices,  was  in  fsvour  of  Dr. 
Harris ;  and  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  it  vras 
come  to  after  due  deliberation,  and  upon  the  purest 
grounds.  Who  was  the  solitary  exception  to  unanimity 
we  are  not  informed. 

State  of  Education^  Crime^  S^c.  S^c.y  and  Proposed 
National  Training  Schools  for  all  England  and 
Wales^  S^c  S^.  By  Joseph  Bentley^  Longman 
&Co. 

This  work  is  respectable  for  its  object,  and  wonderfhl 

for  the  perseverance  and  industry  which  it  displays,  and 

for  what  its  author  has  accomplished,  vnthout,  apparently, 

^y  adventitious  aid.  Whenvery  yoaDg,he  set  out  as  a  Sas* 


day-school  teacher  in  his  oWn  neighbourhood,near01dhaB. 
He  afterwards  established  several  more  Sunday  sdiools, 
and  a  Mechanics*  Institution.  Gradually  the  field  of  nsefhl- 
ness  widened  before  him;  and  he  at  length  seems  to  hire 
devoted  himself  to  the  task  of,  in  the  first  place,  becom- 
ing '^  intimately  conversant  with  the  wants,  wishes,  tastes, 
and  viees  of  the  people,"  in  a  district  where  he  imagined 
that  his  labours  might  be  productive  of  good.    Hie  me- 
thod was,  selling  little  tracts  and  cheap  periodicals  among 
the  decent  poor,  or  giving  them  away.    This  wss  mainly 
done  on  the  Saturday  afternoons,  when  he  found  Uk 
work-people  at  home,  and  at  leisure,  to  chat  with  him 
about  their  circumstances  and  modes  of  living.    He 
afterwards  became  a  traveller  for  a  Manchester  hoa«, 
which  greatly  enlarged  his  sphere  of  inquiry ;  and,  finally, 
he  formed  the  idea  of  the  present  work.    It  is  one  which 
all  must  consider  valuable,  at  least,  as  an  attempt  to 
promote  the  science  of  statistics ;  and  as  containing  many 
curious  facts  and  details,  illustrating  the  connexion  be- 
tween early  education  and  good  conduct. 
Oreecef  as  a  Kingdom  :  or^  A  Statistical  Dsscnp- 
tion  of  that  Country^  from  the  arrival  of  King 
OthOf  in  1833,  to  the  present  time.    By  Frederick 
Strong,  Esq.,  Consul  at  Athens,  from  Bavaria. 
12ino,  doth,  pp.  404.     Longman  &  Co. 
Thiswork  is  unique  of  itskind.  Wehavehad  athonsud 
and  one  descriptions  of  Modem  Greece  by  travellers  and 
letter-writers,  but  not  one  systematic  account  of  that 
kingdom,  its  productions,  resources,  and  institutionB,  bj 
an  intelligent  resident.    The  work  is  ample  and  complete 
in  matters  of  detail,  and  in  tabular  statements.  Its  author 
may  have  imagined  that  previous  writers  had  said  enough 
about  the  people,  and  their  manners  auid  customs  ;  for 
that  is  the  only  thing  he  has  omitted,  save  politics,  sad 
his  ovm  opinion  of  the  interests  and  prospects  of  the 
country.    These  are  blanks ;  but  everything  is  net  to  be 
expected  trom  a  work  professedly  statisticaL 
Memoirs  of  the  Rev.    William  Davidson,  late  </ 
Bambow,  near  Leeds.  By  James  Everett.  12mo, 
pp.  525,  cloth.     Hamilton  &  Adams. 
The  Memoirs  of  this  worthy  man,  which  are  chiefly 
compiled  firom  a  diary,  that  he  kept  from  an  early  age, 
will,  no  doubt,  be  interesting  to  his  congregation  and 
immediate  friends.    To  the  rest  of  the  world  the  volume 
will  be  less  attractive^  though  it  contains  some  homely 
wisdom,  and  original  traits  of  manners,  with  abundant 
evidence  of  the  piety  of  its  subject. 
A  Treatise  on  the  Application  of  Marine  Surveying 
and  Hydrometry  to  the  Practice  of  Civil  Bnginefr- 
ing.      By    David    Stevensoli,    Civil-Engineer; 
author  of  the  "  Civil  Engineering  of  North 
America;  with  Charts,  Plans,  Diagrams,  &c** 
8vo,  pp.  173.    Adam  &  Charles  Black. 
This  work  is  written  for  a  particular  class.    It«  po'* 
pose  is  expressed  in  the  title. 
Moral  Agency  ;  and  Man  as  a  Moral  Agent.    By 
William  M^Combie.    Seely^  London. 
This  vmter  takes  the  orthodox  and  Protestant  sids  ^ 
the  question ;  and  claims  to  range  with  those  who  reeeirt 
their  faith  trom  the  Bible  and  net  fh>m  the  Chureh. 

Six  SsaiioNs  on  Intbrbbtino  Svmbcis,  indudisf  the 
CoNvaasioH  of  the  Jews.  By  the  Rev.  John  BobertMOy 
Dense.    M.  PatersoD,  Edinburgh. 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


m 


NEW  NOVELS. 

KoUdn;  his  lately  fidlen  ander  oar  observation  in  this 
depirtment  which  we  consider  worthy  of  a  particular 
mtrodtetjon  to  our  readers,  sare  Mrs.  TroUope's  ^  Blue 
BcLLBop  EifOLAitDf  and  it, from  having  appeared  piece- 
neal  in  a  magazine,  must  be  pretty  well  known.  It  dis- 
pbyiall  its  anther's  shrewdness  and  talent;  and  makes 
Bi  acquainted  with  some  characters  and  groups  that 
vf  really  worth  knowing.  The  entanglement  of  the 
beroine,  a  charming  and  true-hearted  girl,  with  a  young 
jwetof  Ihe  fastidious,  exquisitely-selfish,  sickly-sentiment 
ehsB,  is  delicately  traced.  The  **pink  and  white  poet," 
ud  his  dainty  super-refined  patroness  and  friend,  are 
Meed  exquisitely  touched.  Such  fkmily  groups,  as  that 
of  tbe  Markhams,  living  in  respectable  and  respected 
poTerty,and  yet  richer  in  honour  and  content,  and  the  ge- 
mil  esteem,  than  their  ambitious  and  fashionable  neigh- 
boon,  cannot  be  made  too  fkmiliar  to  readers  of  fiction. 
MiB.  Trollope,  like  her  contemporaries  Mrs.  Grore  and 
Sir  E.  Bolwer,  is,  by  the  way,  a  sad  libeller  of  the  gay 
viitoeratie  worid,  if  truth  be  libel.  The  veriest  scold 
ttdebeat  in  Billingsgate  Market  is  a  respectable  and 
boKst  woman,  compared  with  her  manoeuvring  mother 
vA  daughter  in  this  novel. 

The  Traovced.  By  N.  Michell,  author  of  *  The 
FiUtist ;  or,  The  Fortunes  of  Godolphin."  3  volumes. 
T.  and  W.  Boone. — This  romance  is  founded  upon  the 
lysterious  or  questionable  story  of  Joanna  queen  of 
Sdly,  whose  fbrtnnes  have  been  as  tempting  to  imagi- 
atlTe  writers  as  those  of  Mary  queen  of  Scots.  From 
tbe  title,  it  may  be  inferred  that  the  author  adopts  the 
Ut  of  the  question  favourable  to  Joanna,  and  which 
istotic  history  bears  out,  to  the  satlsfiiction  of  the 
cbritable  m  Judgment.  The  period  chosen  enables  the 
nztbor  to  enrich  his  pages  by  the  introduction  of  several 
<f  those  eminent  characters  of  whom  Joanna  was  the 
friend  or  patroness ;  and  he  has  given  it  a  home  interest, 
^  the  introduction  of  gallant  English  soldiers.  The  ro- 
■aoee,  taken  a«  a  whole,  is  extremely  pleasing. 

PAMPHLETS. 

The  Prbbbttbrian  Empire,  its  Origin,  Decline,  and 
Fail.  By  John  Macfarlan,  Esq. — To  such  of  our  South- 
m  readers  as  wish  to  know  the  merits  of  that  virulent 
<£&&en8ion  which  is  at  present  rending  the  Kirk  of  Scot- 
^1  and  threatening  its  destruction,  we  recommend 
^  able  and  temperate  exposition  of  the  causes  of  con- 
troversy. 

Observations  on  the  Laws  which  Prohibit  the  Free 
IiFORiATioK  of  Human  Food, in  a  Letter  to  the  Constitu- 
'^  of  the  House  of  Commons.    By  a  Fellow-Elector. 

PuzE-EssAT  of  the  Highland  Society  ;  with  an  Ap- 
'^wxjonthe  Condition  of  Farm-Servants  in  Certain 
Pa«8  of  Scotland.  By  James  Cowie. — This  pamphlet 
^*^frr»  praise,  so  far  as  its  object  is  to  expose  some  of 
the  evils  of  the  Bothy-system,  which,  as  our  readers  may 
'^■^^■ber,were  noticed  in  the  articles  on  the  Poor-Laws 
if  SeoUiiid  thai  have  appeared  in  this  Magazine.  Has 
^  Scottish  Poor-Law  agitation  fkllen  asleep  f  Have 
^  land-ownere  and  the  wrong-headed  among  the  clergy 
V^l  earned  their  point ! 

"^le  Government  of  the  Metropolitan  Police  of 
Ci^TiMt  By  James  Henry,  Esq.,  M.  D.— This  seems  a 
•tne  OB  the  Dublin  police  ;  and  is  probably  a  well- 
rented  chastisement  of  the  organixation  and  party-uses 


Not  OVER-PRODUOnON,  but  DETtClENT  CONSUMPTION, 

the  Source  of  our  Suffbrinos.  By  W.  R.  Greg,  Esq. 
— The  name  of  the  writer  is  a  guarantee  for  this  being 
a  clear  and  a  moderate  statement ;  and  a  satisfactory 
reply  to  the  fallacies  by  which  a  half-clad  and  half-starv- 
ed population  are  attempted  to  be  humbugged.  Re- 
commending the  pamphlet,  we  quote  one  or  two  sentenoes 
to  show  the  nature  of  it : — 

DEFICIENT  CONSUMPTION. 

While  the  production  of  the  manufactured  article  has 
increased  pretty  steadily  through  all  vicissitudes,  the 
propofiUm  of  our  manufacture  comumed  at  kotM^  kaiy  of 
late,  rapidly  dimiHtehed.  While  for  the  fifteen  years 
from  1824  to  1838,  the  home  demand  absorbed  regularly 
from  40  to  50  per  cent,  (average  44)  of  the  whole  pro- 
duction, during  the  last  three  years  it  has  only  averaged 
36  per  cent.,  and  in  the  last  disastrous  year  only  28  per 
cent.  Nay,  more,  in  spite  of  a  large  increase  in  our 
population,  the  actual  guantUu  of  Cotton  manufactures 
consumed  at  home,  is  less  in  the  kut  three  years  than  in 
the  preceding  three,  by  144  P^^  ^^^^'  >  ^>^^  ^^^  quantity 
consumed  in  1841,  less  than  at  any  period  since  1830, 
notwithstanding  an  augmented  population  of  more  than 
two  millions. 

It  will  be  objected  that,  during  the  whole  of  this 
period  our  exports  have  increased.  True,  thev  have  ; — 
but  these  goods  have,  to  a  great  extent,  been  sent 
abroad,  because  it  was  impossible  to  dispose  of  them  at 
home  ;  they  have  not  been  shipped  in  regular  execution 
of  orders  received,  but  have  been  oomigned  for  the 
chance  of  forcing  a  sale,  by  excessive  lowneas  of  prioe. 

FALLACY  OF  WAGES  RISING,  AS  FOOD  RISES  IN  PRICE. 

The  total  weekly  income  of  seven  families  in  Duk- 
infield,  was,  in  1886,  £8,  Os.  Od.  llieir  household 
expenditure  was  £5,  12s.  3d. ;  leaving  a  surplus  of 
£2,  7s.  9d.  for  education,  saving,  and  clothing.  In  1841, 
their  aggregate  income .  was  reduced  to  £5,  6s.  8d., 
while  their  necessary  expenditure  increased  to  £6, 8s.  Id. ; 
leaving  not  only  no  surplus  for  clothing,  but  a  heavy 
debt  instead.  In  the  former  year,  food  formed  46  per 
cent,  of  their  expenditure  ;  in  the  latter  year,  89  per  cent. 

THE  REMEDY. 

Perfect  f^edom  of  interchange,  therefore^— willing 
and  unburdened  admission  of  the  products  of  other 
countries, — must  form  the  sole  basis  of  our  future  pro- 
sperity, beeauee  it  iethe  sole  condition  on  which  we  can 
obtain  extended  marketefor  our  goodt,  and  increa$ed  em- 
plojfmentfor  our  people. 

The  same  measures — complete  commercial  freedom — 
will,  by  reducing  the  price  of  the  necessaries  of  life  in 
England,  (and  still  more  by  preventing  those  extreme 
fluctuations  which  have  been  so  ruinous  to  all,)  enable  the 
mass  of  our  citizens  again  to  become  extensive  pur- 
chasers of  articles  of  clothing,  and  thus  restore  the  hom# 
demand  to  its  natural  and  healthy  state,  and  give  us  a 
right  to  anticipate  its  steady  annual  increase. 

The  same  measures  will,  by  raising  the  price  of  food 
abroad,  tend  to  assimilate  the  wages  of  the  continent  to 
those  of  England.  They  will  diminish  the  cost  of  manu- 
facturing production  at  home,  and  augment  it  abroad  ; 
— and  by  lowering  the  rate  of  profit  in  continental 
manufactures,  will  lessen  the  inducement  to  invest  capi- 
tal therein  ; — while,  by  creating  a  demand  for  agricul- 
tural produce,  they  will  divert  capital,  enterprise,  and 
labour  into  that  channel ;  and  thut  employ  in  feeding  u$y 
those  who  are  now  busily  occupied  in  ruining  us. 

Weal  not  Peel.    Letters  by  Richard  CrutwelL 

Sabbatarianism  no  Part  of  Christianity.  A  dis^ 
course  lately  preached  in  the  Union  Chapel,  Glasgow. 
By  John  Taylor. 

Reasons  why  /,  a  Jew,  have  bbcoiu  a  Catholic, 
and  not  a  Boman  Catholic.  A  letter  in  reply  to  the 
Rev.  R.  W.  Sibthorpe.    By  Ridley  H.  Herschell. 

Union,  the  Patriot's  Watchword  at  the  prisxnt 
Cmisis.    By  the  Rrr .  Henry  Edwards. 


2G8 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


SERIAL  WORKS. 

EoiiiBVBOH  Cabiket  Librart,  Vol.  XXXI I.  Meso- 
potamia, and  AssTBiA,  from  the  earliest  ages  to  the  pre- 
sent time.  By  J.  Baillie  Vrtaer,  Esq^  author  of  A 
Descriptire  account  of  Persia,"  &c.,  &c.  Pp.  383,  with 
map  and  engravings  by  Jackson.  OliTer  and  Boyd. — 
In  composing  this  historical  and  descriptive  account  of 
these  seats  of  ancient  empire,  and  of  some  of  the  most 
momentous  events  in  the  annals  of  the  human  race,  the 
author  has  had  the  great  advantage  of  personal  travel, 
and  long  fitmiliarity  with  the  manners  of  the  East.  In 
addition  to  this,  he  has  consulted  a  host  of  old  authorities 
and  of  modem  travellers  and  geographers.  The  use  Mr. 
Eraser  has  made  of  these,  leaves  nothing  to  regret  save 
the  narrowness  of  his  limits,  though  he  has  managed  to 
condense  all  that  can  interest  the  general  reader,  whether 
in  the  past  history  or  modem  aspects  of  the  regions  de- 
scribed. He  has  found  some  valuable  original  materials 
in  the  MS.  journals  of  the  late  Mr.  Elliot,  with  the 
perusal  of  which  he  vras  favoured  by  the  intelligent  and 
hospitable  British  Political  Resident  at  Bagdad,  Ck>lonel 
Taylor,  who  had  also  the  power  of  communicating  much 
statistical  and  other  information  collected  by  himself. 
Yet  no  part  of  the  work  is  of  so  much  interest  as  the 
sketches  of  the  author's  own  adventures  among  the 
Kurdish  and  Arab  tribes  ;  or  rather  the  results  of  his  own 
and  Mr.  Elliot's  observation  on  their  manners  and  usages, 
while  traveUing  among  them.  One,  in  reading  these 
adventures,  may  fkncy  himself  among  the  Highland  clans 
a  hundred  years  since.  As  is  the  praiseworthy  custom 
of  all  the  volumes  of  the  Cabinet  Library,  a  part  of  the 
work  is  devoted  to  the  Natural  History  of  the  countries 
described.  On  the  whole,  Mesopotamia  and  Assyria  will 
form  a  valuable  and  attractive  addition  to  this  popular 
Library. 

Enoland  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. — Southern 
Division.  Part  II.  op  Cornwall.  :  and  Part  II.  op 
Northern  Division  :  Lancashire. — This  gives  fair  pro- 
mise of  turning  out  a  beautiful  and  an  useful  work,  well 
deserving  public  fovour.  It  amply  Ailfils  all  that  we 
said  and  predicted  on  its  first  appearance.  From  some 
instinct  or  other,  we  involuntarily  turned  first  to  Corn- 
wall ;  but  Lancashire,  the  Utilitarian  division,  will  have 
numerous  admirers.  And  even  from  the  manufacturing 
districts,  ancient  legends  and  ballads,  and  romantic  tra- 
ditions are  by  no  means  excluded.  In  both  Parts,  the 
wood-engravings  are  numerous ;  and  as  beautiful  and 
light  as  if  traced  by  fairy  artists. 

The  Local  Historian's  Table-Book.  By  M.  A. 
Richardson.  Parts  I.  to  Y .  A  work  devoted  to  the  Bor- 
der Land  of  England,  and  its  northern  towns ;  combin- 
ing, in  chronological  order,  remarkable  occurrences, 
historical  facts,  ancient  traditions,  and  legendary  and 
descriptive  ballads  ;  in  short,  snatches  of  everything 
nhich  may  amuse  and  interest  the  Northumbrians,  the 
good  folks  of  Newcastle,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  city 
and  county  of  Durham.  The  numerous  works  of  the 
local  antiquaries,  the  Border  county  histories  and  me- 
moirs, afford  a  rich  field  ;  and  Mr.  Richardson  has  been 
a  diligent  gleaner.  Along  with  a  good  deal  of  curious 
antiquated  matter,  there  is,  no  doubt,  much  that  is  trivial, 
or  of  merely  local  interest.  The  work  is  illustrated 
with  good,  if  rough  wood-cats. 

The  London  Saturday  Journal.  New  and  Pictorial 
Series— volumes  I.  and  II. — This  is  a  work  of  about  the 
size  and  of  the  class  of  Chamben^t  Journal^  and  of  other 
Periodical  Works  of  entertainment ;  but  it  is  adorned 


with  really  clever  wood-cuts.  Whether  we  regard  ' 
designs  or  execution,  they  are  capital ;  and,  unlike 
absurd  caricatures  and  grotesque  embellishments  of  i 
general  run  of  such  works,  give  faithAil  representatii 
of  London  society  in  all  its  lower  phases.  Chelsea  ?< 
sioners,  Hackney-coachmen,  Draymen,  Livery-stablenn 
Porters,  Jew  Old-Clothesmen,  Low  Gamblers,  are  all  c 
cellent,  and  evidently  from  the  life.  The  nnnamed  art 
is  equally  happy  in  his  representations  of  the  midd 
class.    The  volumes  make  an  entertaining  table-book. 

Knight's  Pictorial  Shakspbare.  Fa&is  XL.  ai 
XLI.    Titus  Andronicvs,  and  Pericles. 

The  Songs  of  Dibdin,  with  the  Music     Part  VI 

Brande's  DicnoNART  OP  Science,  Literature,  aj 
Art.    Part  X. 

Chambers's  Information  for  the  People.  Part  XF 

Tyas's  Shakspeare.    Part  XXXIV.     Coriolanu 

Facts  and  Figures.    No.  V. 

The  Gaberlunzie's  Wallet.  No.  II.  This  nei 
number  is  quite  as  genial  and  racy  as  its  predecessor. 

Winkle's  Cathedrals.  Nos.  4 1 ,  42. — Hereford  Cath( 
dral,  containing  six  plates,  and  the  customary  quantit; 
of  letterpress,  descriptive  and  historical. 

The  Christian  Diary  with  Moral  and  "Rbuqiov 
Reflections  for  every  Day  in  the  Year.  Hastings 
London. 

Le  Keux's  Memoruls  of  Cambridge.  No.  XXII.- 
King's  College;  XXIII.  Pembroke  CoUege;  XXIV 
Emmanuel  College ;  XXV.  Parish  of  St.  Botolph,  Ad 
denbrooke's  Hospital,  &c 

M*Culloch'8  Geographical,  Statistical,  and  Hisio 
rical  DicnoNARY.    Part  XIV. 

The  Castles  and  Abbeys  of  England.  By  Wm.  Beattie 
M.D.  Part  II. — This  new  embellished  work  looks  well; 
but  as  we  have  not  seen  the  first  Part,  we  can  neithei 
speak  as  to  its  plan  nor  probable  extent. 

Cumning's  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs.    Part  XI. 

NEW  POEMS  AND  DRAMAS. 
The  Pilgrim  of  Glencoe,  and  Other  Poems.  By 
Thomas  Campbell. — ^This  new  production  of  the  Bard  of 
Hope,  as  the  learned  call  Mr.  Campbell,  has,  at  the  very 
least,  the  beauty  of  unexpectedness.  Nay,  it  has  much 
more.  Are  not  the  gleaning-grapes  of  Edom  better 
than  the  vintage  of  Bozrah  \ — The  Pilgrim  of  Glencoe 
is  a  simple  and  homely  tale  of  real  life,  and  one  illiu- 
trative  of  Highland  manners,  and  of  the  graces  and 
virtues  of  the  mountaineer.  In  the  olden  time,  it  was 
often  objected  to  Campbell,  that  he  was  too  fastidiooS) 
too  finical  in  style.  Now,  we  suspect,  the  fkult  will  be 
fancied  to  lie  on  the  other  side ;  and  he  will  be  found  too 
f&miliar  and  colloquial.  The  poem  seldom  rises  abore 
the  narrative  style,  yet  we  think  that  the  hand  which 
drew  Ontalissi,  may  be  recognised  in  the  portrait  of  the 
ancient  Highlander: — 

Old  Norman's  eye 
Was  proudly  savage,  even  in  courtesy. 
His  sinewy  shoulders, — each,  though  aged  and  leao, 
Broad  as  the  curled  Herculean  head  between,—] 
His  scomflil  lip,  his  eyes  of  yellow  fire. 
And  nostrils  that  dilated  quick  with  ire, 
With  ever  downward- slanting  shaggy  brows, 
Marked  the  old  lion  yon  would  dread  to  rouse. 
Norman,  in  truth,  had  led  his  earlier  life 
In  raids  of  red  revenge,  and  fendal  strife. 
Religious  duty  ia  revenge  he  saw. 
Proud  Honour's  right,  and  Nature's  honest  law* 
First  in  the  charge,  and  foremost  in  pursuit. 
Long-breathed,  deep-chested,  and  in  speed  olM 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


261) 


mftteh  for  Btags,— ttill  fleeter  when  the  prey 

^as  man,  in  persecution's  evil  day ; 

^red  to  that  chase  by  bmtal,  bold  Dundee, 

0  Highland  hound  had  lapped  more  blood  than  he. 
ft  had  he  changed  the  Covenanter's  breath 

rom  howls  of  psalmody  to  howls  of  death. 

nd  iboni^h  long  bound  to  peace,  it  irked  him  still, 

16  dirk  had  ne'er  one  hated  foe  to  kill. 

et  Norman  had  fierce  virtues,  that  would  mock 

>ld-blooded  Tories  of  the  modem  stock, 

lio  starve  the  breadless  poor  with  Araud  and  cant, — 

e  slew,  and  saved  them  from  the  pangs  of  want. 

This  old  hero  has  a  son,  remarkable  for  good,  plain 

inse,  and  calm  blood  ;  fond  of  books  and  knowledge ; 

moos,  meditative,  and  sagacious,  however  he  had  come 

f  his  un- Celtic  character ;  and  the  very  opposite  of  the 

ery  and  irascible  Norman,  whose  anger  he  provokes  by 

bjnring  Jacobitism. 

lo  blow-pipe  ever  whitened  fbmace  fire 

(nick  as  these  words  lit  up  his  father's  ire, 

Hx)  envied  even  old  Abraham  for  his  faith, 

Irdained  to  put  his  only  son  to  death. 

le  started  up  in  such  a  mood  of  soul 

"he  white  bear  bites  his  showman's  stirring-pole ; 

le  danm'd  too,  and  brought  out  with  snarl  and  howl, 

1  Dia !  Dia  !  and  Dioul !  Dionl ! 

Several  minor  pieces,  more  elegantly  versified  than 
he  PU^m,  fill  up  the  volume ;  but  as  they  have  already 


appeared,  and  as  Campell's  poetry  never  remains  long 
under  a  bushel,  we  need  not  specify  what  must  already 
have  been  read  in  half  the  newspapers  of  the  day. 

Zaciiary  Cobble,  a  Rigmarole  in  Rhyme.  Bull : 
London. — This  is  a  rather  clever  satire,  in  Hudibrastic 
metres. 

Zaida,  a  Tale  of  Granada,  jlhd  Minor  Poems.  By 
Lewis  Evans. 

Browning's  Bells  and  Pomegranates.  No.  II. 
King  Victor  and  King  Charles  :  Moxon.— This  produc- 
tion is  rather  dramatic  dialogues  of  a  tragic  character, 
than  a  regular  tragedy.  Some  of  the  dialogues  possess 
great  poetical  and  dramatic  beauty. 

Characteristics  of  Painters,  by  Henry  Reeve,  Esq. : 
Murray.— A  series  of  elegant  and  beniutiAil  poetic 
sketches,  in  which  the  leading  characteristics  of  each  of 
the  great  masters  of  the  Italian  and  Flemish  school  are 
felicitously  and  briefiy  portrayed. 

The  Drunkard,  a  Poem,  by  John  O'Niel,  with  Illus- 
trations by  George  Cruikshank. — This  little  poem,  the 
production  of  an  intelligent  mechanic,  well  deserves  the 
patronage  of  the  friends  of  the  Temperance  cause. 

Sketches  op  Britain,  by  James  Howie,  MJ3.,  author 
of  ^  Home,"  &c. — A  descriptive  poem,  in  somewhat  halt« 
ing  blank  verse,  and  framed  on  no  definite  plan. 


POLITICAL   REGISTER. 


The  Tort  Budget  has  at  length  made  its  appearance, 
lad  among  some  fkvonrable  features,  it  contains  the  ap- 
palling announcement,  that  an  income-tax  of  7d.  per 
poDsd,  or  nearly  three  per  cent.,  is  to  bo  imposed  on  all 
Boomes,  from  whatever  source  derived,  of  above  £1 50  a- 
feir.  Nothing,  certainly,  can  be  more  unfair,  than  to  tax 
u  income  derived  from  trade  or  professional  exertions 
It  the  game  rate  as  a  similar  income  derived  from  land. 
.\n  income  arising  frt>m  a  trade  or  profession  is,  in  few  in- 
Btanees,  worth  more  than  two  or  three  years*  purchaEe ; 
while  a  land  rental  is  worth  thirty  years'  purchase.    It 
ii  qaite  pUin,  therefore,  that,  in  common  justice,  a  gra- 
duted  scale,  somewhat  in  proportion  to  the  value  of 
the  income,  ought  to  be  applied.   But  besides,  as  is  well 
I°Krwn,it  is  impossible  to  levy  a  tax  derived  from  trades 
ud  professions  fairly.    Few  persons  in  these  ranks  of 
life  know  precisely  what  their  incomes  are ;  and  sup- 
pose that,  at  the  time  the  tax  is  imposed,  and  the  first 
wtams  made,  the  tradesman  has  an  unusually  prosperous 
jetr,  and  honestly  returns  the  amount  of  his  income,  he 
Has  the  utmost  difficulty,  as  was  found  formerly,  in  get- 
tmg  an  abatement  in  Bid>sequent  years,  when  his  trade 
ii  falling  off*;  and  it  is  only  through  an  inquisitorial 
examination  of  his  books,  and   the  most  humiliating 
exposure  of  his  afikirs  to  the  myrmidons  of  the  tax- 
gatherer,  for  whose  secrecy  he  has  no  adequate  security, 
that  he  has  any  chance  of  obtaining  relief.    Besides,  an 
racome-tax  offers  a  direct  bribe  for  firaud  and  dishonesty. 
Let  a  tradesman  only  keep  his  books  in  confusion,  and  he 
^y  defy  all  the  inspectors  of  the  income-tax  to  discover 
luB  income.  An  income-tax  has  been  hitherto  considered 
welosively  a  war-tax ;  and  that  of  five  per  cent.,  imposed 
7  Pitt  in  1798,  was  repealed  immediately  on  the  ratifica- 
tion of  the  treaty  of  Amiens :  and  the  other  tax  of  ten  per 
«ent,mipo8cd  by  the  Whigs,  was,  m  spite  of  all  the  efforts 
•f  the  Biinistry  to  maintain  it  in  a  modified  degree,  repeal- 
w  in  1816.    Another  great  evil  of  an  income-tax  is  the 
•Me  with  which  it  may  be  increased,  and  the  hands  of  the 
Chsncellor  of  the  Exchequer  thrust  deeper  and  deeper 
ttto  the  pockets  of  the  subjects.    We  will  venture  to 
predict,  that  it  wont  long  remain  at  three  per  cent.;  but 
^1  soon  be  raised  to  five.    Lord  Brougham  has  moved 
w^ohtions  condemnatory  of  the  extension  of  the  tax  to 
acomes  fh>m  trades,  professions,  &c;  and  a  movement 
^  the  saaie  eflect  is  making  among  the  Liberal  mem- 


bers of  the  House  of  Commons:  but  it  is  in  vain  to  ex- 
pect that  a  Parliament  of  landowners  and  sinecurists 
will  ever  consent  to  tax  themselves  and  let  other  classes 
escape.  This  would  be  contrary  to  their  whole  policy 
throughout  all  history.  But  perhaps  those  who  have 
most  to  complain  of  the  manner  in  which  the  tax  is  to 
be  levied  are  the  farmers;  and  it  shows  how  careless  the 
landowners  are  of  their  tenants*  interest,  provided  they 
get  the  rents.  They  are  held  out  as  men  not  to  be 
trusted.  Every  other  class  is  allowed  to  make  a  return 
of  his  income,  in  order  to  taxation,  but  the  farmer.  A 
rigid  and  infiexible  rule  is  laid  down  for  him,  that  his 
profits  are  one-half  of  his  rent.  By  the  application  of  this 
rule,  during  the  last  years  of  the  late  property-tax,  far- 
mers paid  hundreds  a-year  of  tax  on  an  assumed  income, 
while  they  not  only  had  no  income  at  all,  but  were,  as 
the  sequel  proved,  losing  their  whole  capital. 

The  new  Budget  amounts,  in  Act,  to  a  complete  re- 
vision of  the  Tariff.  Among  its  favourable  features  is  the 
removal  of  a  number  of  the  prohibitions,  eq>ecially  those 
on  cattle,  sheep,  &c.  The  duty  on  asses  is  very  unneces- 
sarily reduced  from  lOs.  to  2s.  6d;  oxen,  £1 ;  cows,  15s.; 
calves,  1  Os.  The  duty  on  calves  is  not  proportioned  to  that 
on  oxen.  Sheep,  3s.;  swine,  5s.  These  are  at  present  pro- 
hibited. Bacon,  hams,  &c.,  from  28s.  to  1 4s. ;  beef,  fkesh  or 
slighty  salted,  at  present  prohibited,  8s. — all  per  cwt. 
All  these  are  the  duties  from  foreign  countries.  Tallow, 
fVom  3s.  2d.  to  6d.;  coffee,  foreign,  from  Is.  3d.  to  8d.; 
and  fVom  British  possessions,  from  7d.  to  4d. 

The  unpopular  measure  of  an  income-tax  might  have 
been  avoided  by  merely  doing  justice  to  all  classes;  by 
imposing  on  the  landed  interest  the  taxes  they  ought  to 
pay.  As  every  one  knows,  the  land-tax,  when  first  im- 
posed, was  an  assessment  of  4s.  per  pound ;  so  that,  if 
now  levied  at  that  rate,  it  would  yield  a  revenue  of 
nearly  eight  millions.  Then  a  tax  on  the  succession  of 
land  should  be  imposed,  similar  to  that  on  moveables, 
which  would  yield  three  or  four  millions  more,  so  that 
all  financial  difficulties  would  be  relieved.  But  what  has 
rendered  it  necessary  to  impose  an  income-tax  in  time 
of  peace!  Merely  the  insane  interference  with  the 
powers  of  Asia,  so  that  there  is  not  a  single  nation  be- 
tween Cabul  and  Pekin  which  is  not  ready  to  rise  upon 
us  at  a  moment's  notice. 

Peel's  Corn-Law  Bill  is  safe,  having  passed  the  second 


870 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


reading  by  284  to  176, — ^majority,  108.  Mr.  Villiers' 
motion  for  a  total  and  immediate  repeal,  was  supported 
only  by  ninety.  So  that  our  readers  may  jud>?e  what 
chance  there  is  for  a  measure  for  total  repeal  being  car- 
ried in  the  House  as  presently  constituted.  To  continue 
to  agitate  for  Corn-Law  repeal  by  itself  alone,  is  worpe 
than  useless.  It  is  only  by  an  extension  of  the  sufFHige, 
that  beneficial  reforms  will  ever  be  carried.  For  it  is 
quite  plain  that  the  aristocracy  hold,  and,  in  fact,  are 
entitled  to  hold,  the  agitation  of  the  Corn-Law  repealers, 
unsupported  as  it  is  by  the  working-classes,  in  utter  con- 
tempt. 

Emioratioit. — Among  the  proposals  for  remedying  the 
distress,  {now  admitted  to  be  general,)  believed  to  be 
entertained  by  Ministers  during  the  vacation,  was  emi 
gration  on  a  large  scale.  In  a  former  number  we  de- 
nounced the  notion  of  transporting  the  people  to  the 
food,  and  not  bringing  the  fbod  to  the  people.  We  were, 
of  course,  fiercely  attacked  by  a  set  of  periodicals  in  this 
country  in  the  interest  of  the  inhabitants  of  our  colonies, 
who  wish  to  draw  from  us  all  the  adult  men  and  women 
of  the  working  classes,  leaving  Britain,  as  a  sort  of  grand- 
mother, to  rear  up  children  to  the  transportable  age  for 
the  benefit  of  our  dependencies.  As  some  of  these 
periodicals  are  only  yet  a  few  weeks  old,  they  cannot  be 
expected  to  have  come  to  their  senses;  but  we  may 
merely  hint,  that  as  we  have  uniformly  opposed  the  Black 
Slave  Trade  in  all  its  parts,  we  are  equally  determined  to 
oppose  the  White  Slave  Trade  now  advocated  by  numer- 
ous "  phUantkropie  "  journals.  The  horrors  of  the  •*  middle 
passage,"  short  as  it  comparatively  is,  with  a  fair  wind 
and  calm  sea,  is  nothing  to  a  voyage  to  Australia,  either 
by  Cape  Horn  or  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  We  are, 
therefore,  glad  to  observe  that  the  Ministry  has  no  inten- 
tion of  recommending  any  general  system  of  emigration. 
On  the  contrary,  they  find  the  misery  of  the  existing  prac- 
tice such,  that  they  are  to  bring  in  a  Bill  to  render  Emigra- 
tion more  dificuU---&  bill  to  prevent  emigrants  from  being 
starved  or  poisoned  in  their  passage  abroad  with  rotten 
provisions,  or  by  the  still  more  ingenious  device  of  stinting 
them  in  their  supply  of  watei^— dirty  at  the  outset — so 
as  to  prevent  them  either  cooking  or  eating  the  salt  junk 
which  ha?  perhaps  twice  circumnavigated  the  globe,  and 
been  sold  by  government  as  useless  stores.  The  passen- 
gers are  also  to  have  more  room  than  at  present.  All 
this  will  raise  the  expense  of  emigrating,  and  operate  as 
a  check.  With  the  single  exception  of  a  slave  ship,  an 
emigrant  ship — and  we  have  our  information  from  living 
witnesses  in  this  city — is  the  scene  of  the  greatest  human 
misery  that  is  conceivable.  There  is  plenty  of  land  in  this 
country  yet  unoccupied.  The  late  Duke  of  Cleveland 
paid  £000  a-year  to  his  own  tenants  alone  for  fox  coverts; 
that  is  to  say,  for  places  to  breed  vermin — not  merely 
fbxes  to  destroy  the  farmers'  lambs  and  poultry,  but  rab- 
bits to  feed  the  other  vermin,  and  to  destroy  the  com 
crops  also.  The  same  system  is  now,  and  has  been  for 
years,  in  operation  in  the  Lothians.  We  know  of  two 
or  three  fox  coverts  ourselves,  whence  the  tenants  draw  a 
greater  return  in  the  way  of  abatement  of  rent,  and  even 
in  direct  payment  fVom  the  squirearchy,  than  from  the 
best  land  on  their  farms.  Perhaps  some  of  our  readers 
will  assist  us  in  making  out  '^a  B^tum  of  the  number  of 
fox  coverts  In  Scotland,  for  which  the  tenant  is  paid  not 
to  oultiTcUef  or  depasture,**  that  the  foxes  may  not  be  dis- 
turbed. It  is  plain,  we  have  not  too  little,  but  too  much 
land  in  this  country,  when  large  portions  of  it  are  unde- 
niably set  aside  fbr  the  purpose  of  rearing  vermin.  But 
to  look  to  the  moral,  and  it  may  be  the  religious  aspect 
of  emigration — what  right  have  we,  as  a  nation,  to  send 
out  a  body  of  men  to  plunder  another  body — to  dispos- 
sess them  of  their  lands,  which  the  Grod  of  nature  has 
given  them !  Is  it  anything  more  decent,  to  open  a  shop 
in  London  for  selling  the  lands  of  the  people  at  the  anti- 
podes, or  borrowing  money  on  the  security  of  them — 
rather  a  bad  security  on  this  side  of  the  Tweed,  we 
opine — than  it  would  be  fbr  Mumbo  Jumbo  to  open  a 
shop  at  Timbnctoo,  for  the  sale  of  the  lordship  of  Dal- 
keith t 

Thb  latb  Lord  President  Hope. — Lord  John  Russell 
brought  on  a  discussion  relative  to  the  late  Lord  Presi- 


dent's resignation,  by  moving  for  the  letters  of  resigns- 
tion  sent  in  by  his  lordship,  and  Chief- Justice  Bushe  of 
the  Irish  Queen's  Bench;  both  of  whom  had  long  been 
incapacitated  from  the  active  duties  of  their  offices,  and 
rather  suspiciously,  it  must  be  admitted,  retained  ofilice 
till  the  Tories  came  into  power.  The  Whigs,  how- 
ever, undoubtedly  touched  upon  rather  a  dangerous 
topic  for  them.  The  jobbing  about  Lord  Corehouse's 
resignation  is  rather  too  recent  to  be  entirely  forgotten; 
and  the  notorious  fact  that,  during  the  ten  years  they 
held  ofiice,  they  did  not  promote  a  single  Tory  to  the 
Bench,  or  to  any  other  office,  cannot  be  overlooked.  It 
is  impossible,  also,  to  keep  out  of  view  what  sort  of 
appointments  they  have  made.  We  believe  great  psrt 
of  the  profession  will  agree  with  us  when  we  state, 
that  old  and  deaf  as  the  late  Lord  President  was,  he 
was  at  least  as  efficient  as  some  of  the  younger  Whigs 
who  have  been  placed  on  the  bench,  with  whom  doing 
nothing  appears  to  be  the  rule  and  working  the  excep- 
tion. It  was  rather  an  unfortunate  period,  also,  for  the 
Whigs  to  attack  a  Tory  Judge,  from  alleged  neglect  of 
duty.  We  do  not  believe  that  the  late  President  wu, 
during  his  whole  career,  as  long  absent  from  his  dot; 
as  some  of  the  Judges  appointed  since  1832  have 
already  been.  How  any  one  can  reconcile  it  to  his  con^ 
science — not  having  even  the  plea  of  poverty  to  plead- 
to  accept  of  the  public  money,  monUi  after  month,  fbr 
doing  nothing,  while  his  table  is  filled  with  law  processes, 
and  the  litigants  in  the  suits  starving  from  the  law's 
delay,  we  know  not.  Certainly  the  eminent  Judge  we 
allude  to  would  better  consult  his  dignity,  and  his  well- 
earned  reputation,  by  an  immediate  resignation  than 
continue  to  hold  an  office,  the  duties  of  which  he  is  un- 
able to  discharge.  We  do  not  see  that  there  is  aof 
probability  of  getting  rid  of  superannuated  Judges  re- 
taining their  seat  on  the  bench,  till  an  imperative  role 
be  laid  down  for  the  resignation  of  all  Judges  at  a  cer- 
tain age.  This  would,  no  doubt,  sometimes  entail  a 
retired  allowance  or  two  more  on  the  country  than  at 
present ;  and  it  might  even  occasionally  deprive  tb« 
bench  of  an  able  Judge,  who,  though  old,  was  in  fall 
possession  of  his  faculties,  to  make  way  for  one,  who, 
though  younger,  was  of  less  capacity  ;  but  we  do  not 
think  these  evils  are  at  all  comparable  to  that  of  allowing 
a  worn-out  Judge  to  retain  his  seat,  after  his  faculties 
have  been  greatly  deteriorated  by  age.  After  all  the 
discussion,  it  appears,  that  the  Whigs  were  mistaken,  in 
asserting  that  the  late  President  had  not  done  his  dutj 
in  presiding  at  Jury  trials.  Since  1830,  he  has  onlr 
delegated  the  duty  in  three  instances  to  his  junior^. 
For  our  own  parts,  we  think  it  would  be  much  better  if 
the  Juniors  were  made  to  do  the  duty,  either  exdnsiTclj 
or  in  rotation,  with  the  Chief.  Nothing  can  be  more 
awkward  than  bringing  Bills  of  Exceptions  against 
charges  to  a  Jury,  on  account  of  misdirection  before  the 
Division  in  which  he  sits  ;  thus  making  the  juniors,  or 
■who  ought,  at  least,  to  be  juniors,  or  inferior  in  talent, 
sit  as  Judges  on  their  own  Chief.  For  these,  as  well « 
for  other  obvious  reasons,  we  think  that  not  the  Presi- 
dent of  each  Division,  bnt  the  Junior  Judge  in  the  Inner 
House,  should  preside  at  all  Jury  trials;  altiionghwe 
confess  we  never  could  see  any  good  reason  why  the 
whole  Court  should  not  be  present.  Surely  matters  ai 
important  are  tried  by  Jury  in  civil  cases,  as  by  the 
Court  of  Justiciary;  yet  three  Judges  must  be  present  in 
it,  to  make  a  quorum,  however  paltry  the  case. 

Apfgbanistan. — As  we  anticipated,  the  whole  British 
force  in  Afighanistan,  consisting  of  5400  men,  has  been 
massacred.  Of  course,  nothing  but  revenge  is  talked  of; 
and  when  Sir  Robert  Peel  announced  that  a  large  addi- 
tional force  was  to  be  sent  to  India, he  was  cheered  trom  all 
parts  of  the  House.  It  is  well  worth  consideration,  how- 
ever, whether  it  is  becoming  the  dignity  of  a  great  nation 
like  Britain  to  follow  the  example  of  barbarous  nations, 
and  take  the  savage  sort  of  revenge  which  must  be  oop- 
templated.  What  satisfaction  wm  it  be  to  the  people  in 
this  country,  in  return  for  the  income  tax,  that  Ai5^»o* 
istan  is  laid  waste  with  fire  and  sword,— that  Cv>^ 
and  other  towns  are  burned,  and  that  a  parcel  of  »i*f- 
able  old  men,  women^  and  ohildron,  have  periabad  ia  »* 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


271 


bmttf  or  htre  been  massacred  by  our  soldiers  1  It  is 
peifeelly  plain  that  we  cannot  now  occupy  the  country; 
isd  rach  revenge  as  is  talked  of  will  only  have  the 
efiect  of  rendering  the  Affghans  more  hostile,  and  more 
ntdj  to  assist  the  French  or  Russians  in  any  invasion 
of  India  they  may  attempt.  A  savage  revenge,  such  as 
is  eoDtempIated,  will  still  forther  irritate  the  neighbour- 
iif  nations,  and  tend  farther  to  facilitate  an  invasion  of 
India  at  the  proper  moment.  It  should  also  be  kept  in 
Tiew,  that  it  was  a  British  officer  who  set  the  example 
in  massacring  prisoners  in  cold  blood  ;  and  there  is  little 
doabi  that  that  atrocity  was  one  of  the  chief  incentives 
to  tlie  revolt. 

Chixa.— Sir  Henry  Pottinger  seems  to  be  sailing  back- 
wards and  forwards  along  the  coast,  without  attempting 
tnything  decisive.  He  also  requires  additional  troops 
ud  ships ;  and  much  human  blood,  and  not  a  few  mil- 
litQS  of  treasure,  will  be  expended  before  this  paltry  and 
njost  opinm  war  be  terminated. 


TRADE  AND  MANUFACTURES. 

Recent  proceedings  in  Parliament  have  had  no  effect 
in  dispelling  the  gloom  which  has  so  long  hung  over  the 
lannfMtaring  districts,  and  the  distress  and  destitution 
coitinue  generally  as  great  as  ever.  At  Paisley,  some 
ijaptems  of  amendment  are  showing  themselves.  The 
UBber  obtaining  relief  19  diminishing  weekly,  and  some 


of  the  old  branches  of  maanfiaetnres  are  beginning  to 
revive.  

AGRICULTURE. 
Owing  to  the  very  favourable  state  of  the  weather,  a 
much  larger  breadth  of  spring  wheat  has  been  sown  than 
usual,  and  in  those  districts  adapted  for  the  spring  sow- 
ing of  this  kind  of  crop,  the  deficiency  in  the  autumn  sow- 
ing has  been  nearly  supplied.  The  supplies  of  grain  in  the 
hands  of  farmers  in  this  district  (Edinburgh)  seem  fully  as 
much  as  usual  at  this  season ;  and  as  the  price  of  grain  has 
been  falling  slowly  throughout  the  month,  it  would  appear 
to  be  anticipated  that  there  is  a  sufficient  supply  in  the  coun- 
try till  harvest,without  any  foreign  importation.  We  have 
seldom  known  the  corn  speculators  more  at  fault  than 
they  have  been  within  the  late  few  months.  It  was 
confidently  expected  in  November,  that  the  whole  grain 
in  bond  would  have  been  entered  ere  now  at  the  shilling 
duty ;  whereas,  the  duty  is  now  26s.  8d.,  without  much 
probability  of  any  great  reduction  for  some  time.  As 
was  to  be  anticipated,  the  allowing  the  importation  of 
foreign  cattle  has  created  a  great  sensation  in  the  breed- 
ing districts ;  and  it  is  even  said  that  the  proposal  has 
aU«ady  had  the  effect  of  reducing  the  price  of  cattle  in 
Ireland.  We  have  no  doubt  that  in  both  Houses  of  Par- 
liament an  attempt  will  be  made  to  throw  out  this  part 
of  the  Budget, — the  only  real  good  part  of  it ;  and  the 
mannftujturing  interest  should  be  on  their  guaid  against 
such  an  attempt. 


POSTCRIPT  POLITICAI.. 

THE  CROWNINQ  MERCY  OF  THE  TORIES. 

TnPeel  policy  has  reached  the  climax !  Sir  Robert  has  taken  even  his  own  warmest  supporters  by  surprise. 
There  were  whispers  of  a  Property-tax.  To  some  that  seemed  a  necessary,  as  it  will  always  be,  a  just  tax,  if 
£uriy  levied.  But  the  whole  Income  of  the  country  suddenly  brought  within  the  sweep-net  of  the  Minister,  that 
vas  news  !  And  as  surely  as  that  the  landlord's  clutch  of  the  bread  of  the  people  will  never  be  unloosed  during 
Ibs  reign,  it  now  is  that  every  man  belonging  to  the  generally  uneasy  middle  classes,  every  man  striving  to 
■lintain  his  place  in  society,  upon  the  lessening,  or,  in  many  cases,  the  almost  extinguished  profits  of  a  trade  or 
I  profession,  must  not  only  be  taxed,  but  rendered  liable  to  the  same  ordeal,  in  the  rigid  scrutiny  of  his  most 
acred  and  private  affairs,  as  if  he  were  a  bankrupt  attempting  to  defraud  his  creditors. 

Well,  the  existing  constituencies  sent  those  Members  to  Parliament  who,  having  first  adopted  Peers  Sliding 
Seale,  which  is  to  mete  the  People*s  Food,  vnll  next  sanction  his  Fixed  Standard  for  mulcting  every  man's  Income. 
A  Sliding  Scale  for  the  purposes  of  the  Landlord ;  a  Procrustean  bed  for  those  of  the  Minister. 

The  Newspaper  press,  we  rejoice  to  see,  is  nearly  unanimous  in  denouncing  an  Income  Tax  on  trades  and  pro- 
fessions ;  the  country  is  already  ringing  f^om  side  to  side  with  indignation  ;  and  no  man  can  paint  the  gross  in- 
JMtiee  and  the  injurious  and  torturing  operation  of  such  a  tax  black  enough.  Even  Sir  Robert  Peel,  himself^ 
^Qgh  he  cares  little  about  its  unequal  pressure,  admits  its  inquisitorial  character.  That  seems,  indeed,  to  be 
^  generally  understood,  but  not  yet  to  the  ftill  extent.  The  Income  Tax,  vnth  its  Local  Boards,  Tory  Com- 
Biwoners,  Tory  understrappers,  prying,  espionage,  and  reckless  exposure*  of  private  affairs,  was,  in  its  day,  one 
of  the  most  envenomed  weapons  of  party  spite  and  political  persecution  that  ever  the  minions  of  any  Government 
^Idel  Many  men  of  liberal  sentiments  still  alive  must  remember  their  own  sufferings  and  the  tender  mercies 
«fitf  niqnisitorial  machinery.  And  what  it  was  in  the  beginning  of  the  century,  it  will  be  again;  for  Peel's 
5'Higet  will  be  carried,  in  substance,  and  in  every  important  detail ;  and,  whatever  may  be  modified,  the  tax  on 
^  preearious  incomes  of  trades  and  professions  will  assuredly  not  be  spared,  if  there  shall  be  a  tax  on  property 
o^tty  kind.  A  war  tax^ — never  resorted  to  but  in  the  last  extremity  and  the  most  grievous  and  injurious  in 
•peratjottj—will  be  imposed  upon  that  class  of  the  community,  which,  with  the  exception  of  the  actually  half- 
•tming  manufacturers,  are  the  least  able  to  bear  it.  The  country  has  been,  for  nearly  thirty  years,  comparatively 
**P«see,  though  the  great  majority  of  the  class  to  be  mulcted  have  been,  and  that  for  years,  at  war,  in  warding 
^  poverty  or  pecuniary  difficulty,  in  the  midst  of  decaying  trade,  lessening  and  precfulous  profits,  ruinous  com- 
^^^>^  m  all  professions,  and  no  foreign  outlet  for  professional  talent.  And  after  a  series  of  bad  seasons,  when 
^  niereaeed  expense  of  living,  of  buying  merely  meat  and  bread,  and  conunon  necessaries,  has  been  seriously 
"H  ^  every  family,  save  the  opulent  fbw,  it  is  proposed  to  impose  this  tax  anew :  and  that  without 
••y  eaaie  satisfactorily  shown,  save  the  mere  convenience  of  the  Minister.      Had  this  odious  measure 


ILD^riuunent,  the  secrecy,  the  delicacy,  the  honour  of  the  persons  intrusted  to  examine  schedules  and  appeals,  is 
P^wd  in  answer  to  every  objection.  Now,  in  Scotland,  it  is  well  known  that  the  statements  and  appeals  of  persons 
JJfWMg^  were  actually  sold  to  the  snuff-shops  for  waste  paper.  This  might  not  take  pUce  everywhere,  but  it^did  take 
PUM,  and  made  some  noise  at  the  time. 


272  POSTSCRIPT  POLITICAL. 

followed  the  Total  Repeal  of  the  Taxes  on  Food,  there  might  huve  been  some  reason,  or  at  least,  come  decent 
pretext  for  the  course  adopted.  But  to  afford  the  mass  of  the  community  no  redress  for  their  master-gricrance, 
— the  Bread-Tax, — to  give  the  manufactures  of  the  country  no  substantial  relief  that  can  with  certainty  be  cal- 
culated upon,  and  to  impose  iVesh  burdens,  heayiest  in  amount  to  those  least  able  to  bear  them,  and  made 
intolerable  in  the  mode  of  exaction,  is  the  Crowning  Mercy  of  Sir  Robert  Peel's  vigorous  administration. 

His  real  reason,  after  all,  may  hare  been  fear  that  the  Corn-Law  Repealers  would  put  their  threats  into 
execution,  and  force  him  to  surrender,  by  starring  themselres,  in  order  to  cut  off  his  Excise  and  Customs  re- 
sources. We  give  Sir  Robert  some  credit  for  his  sagacity.  This  must  be  the  real  reason.  ^  You,  Messrs. 
Cobden  &  Co.,*'  thinks  Sir  Robert  to  himself,  ^  threaten  me  with  using  no  wine ;  you,  ^irs.  Brookes,  and  yoor 
ladies,  with  using  no  tea,  coffee,  and  sugar :  why,  I  will  match  you  there — I  will  directly  attack  your  pockets.*' 
He  almost  admits  this  view,  when  he  says,  ''The  middle  class  may  save  as  much  through  the  reduction  of  duties  by 
the  new  Tariff,  as  they  wUl  have  to  pay  in  Income  Tax."  But,  if  so,  where  was  the  need  of  change,  or  of  baring 
recourse  to  this  new,  irritating  tax  t  And,  admitting  tluit  some  changes  for  the  better  are  made  by  his  tunid 
peddling  with  the  Tariff,  short  is  the  way  that  the  cautious,  yet  meddling  Minister  lias  ventured  iu  the  right  di- 
rection; while  with  all  his  trimming  and  dexterity,  and  his  evident  anxiety  to  please  those  of  whom  he  holds, 
while  he  attempts  some  small  good,  he  has  laid  the  foundation  of  many  future  difficulties  to  himself  and  his  suc- 
cessors. 

If  Peel  imagines  that  he  will  gain  the  working-classes  by  his  policy,  no  mistake  can  be  greater.  Many  of  them 
can  scmtinize  his  Tariff,  with  as  much  knowledge  of  its  probable  operation  as  him&clf ;  and  then  inquire  wbat 
it  promises  to  them.  Increased  employment  f  Doubtful.  Cheaper  food  t  Certainly  not.  The  single  alteration 
on  the  sugar  duties,  proposed  by  the  late  Government,  would  have  afforded  more  actual  relief  and  solace  to  the 
countless  number  of  families  in  the  Kingdom,  whose  income  is  under  15s.  a-week,  than  all  his  proposed  altera- 
tions of  the  Tariff.  Bread  and  bread-stuffs,  which  at  present  swallow  up  two-thirds,  and  as  often  three-fourths, 
of  their  incomes,  remain  precisely  as  before.  In  cheese  and  butter  we  hear  of  no  reduction  ;  and  as  to  the  redac- 
tion which  may  take  place  in  the  price  of  fresh  meat,  it  little  concerns  those  who  rarely  see  meat,  and,  while 
bread  remains  at  its  present  exorbitant  rate,  cannot  obtain  meat  in  any  form.  Instead  of  dividing  the  working 
and  the  middle  classes.  Peel's  Crowning  Mercy!  ^H  force  them  more  rapidly  into  close  alliance.  They  have  the 
selfsame  interests,  however  it  may  be  with  the  aristocratic  and  non-producing  classes.  Whatever  affects  the 
employer,  must  soon  and  certainly  affect  the  employed.  Whatever  lessens  the  means  of  the  consumer,  must  soon 
be  felt  by  the  producer.  All  burthens  ultimately  press  hardest  on  the  lowest  body.  This  has  been  very  clearly 
stated  in  Parliament  by  Lord  Brougham,  and  his  lessons  will  not  be  lost.  The  working-men  are  already  ac- 
quainted with  the  operation  of  taxation.  They  may  escape  the  fiery  ordeal  of  the  Income  Inquisition,  but  they 
must  bear  their  share  of  the  loss  of  money  going  to  the  tax-gatherer,  instead  of  being  employed  in  givmg 
impulse  to  their  industry. 

And  whither  have  vanished  all  those  visions  of  the  relief  to  trade,  of  the  influx  of  prosperity,  which  were  to 
follow  in  the  wake  of  a  Tory  Administration  ?  Are  they  to  end  in  a  new  Sliding  Scale,  and  an  Income  Tax  falling 
on  all  incomes  alike,  from  whatever  source  they  may  accrue,  whether  from  the  most  permanent  and  well-secured, 
or  the  most  uncertain  and  fluctuating  t  And  what  a  wonderful  man  he  is  who  has  accomplished  this  ! — what  a 
mighty  mind  that,  which,  after  seven  months,  devised  the  marvellous  scheme  !  Why,  Mehemct  Ali  would  have 
done  l^e  same  thing  in  seven  hours, — and  better.  He  could  not  have  done  worse.  It  is  almost  ludicrous  to  hear 
of  the  admiration  of  the  Minister  into  which  the  House  of  Conunons  was  thrown,  when  the  mighty  scheme  wis 
unfolded,  and  when  Sir  Robert  Peel  spoke  his  long-concocted  pamphlet  on  Finance.  What  was  wonderftxl  in  the 
only  important  part  of  his  scheme,  save  the  temerity  of  him  that  proposed  it ! 

But  since  Sir  Robert  has  carried  his  Landlords'  Monopoly  against  the  people,  it  is  upon  the  whole,  perhap?, 
not  to  be  regretted,  that  he  should  also  carry  his  Income  Tax.  It  will  prove  the  source  of  illumination  on  ques- 
tions of  Government  and  Finance  to  thousands  ;  and  will  speedily  recruit  the  ranks  of  the  Suffrage  Associations 
with  many  able  and  useful  soldiers.  It  will  be  the  means  of  immediate  amalgamation.  There  is,  we  fear,  a  very 
slender  chance  of  the  working-class  becoming  in  haste  so  easy  and  comfortable  in  their  circumstances,  notwith- 
standing the  penny  a  pound  reduction  on  the  price  of  macaroni  and  vermicelli,  as  to  be  indifferent  to  public 
affairs.  Sir  Robert,  by  his  vigorous  measure,  may  temporarily  galvanize  the  finances  ;  but  by  what  untried, 
nnheard-of  process  is  he  to  give  healthful  vigour  to  those  exhausted  powers  upon  which  all  permanent  national 
prosperity  must  ultimately  depend  I  Tlie  subject  remains  as  dark,  as  perplexed  as  ever ;  and  were  the 
Income  Tax  made  five  or  ten  per  cent,  instead  of  three,  without  great  retrenchment  of  the  public  expenditure, 
without  inunediate  relief  to  trade  and  manufactures,  the  same  causes  which  have  been  at  work  for  twenty 
years,  must  ultimately  undermine  the  country.  Foreign  nations  already  see  Ichabod  written  upon  our  walls  ; 
the  glory  of  rich,  proud  England  departed.  It  is  viewed  as  a  hnmbled  nation,  plunged  into  desperate  cir- 
cumstances ;  and  its  Government  compelled  to  have  recourse  to  desperate  remedies.  Thus,  the  honour  of  the 
nation  is  tarnished  abroad  ;  while  at  home,  much  causeless  suffering,  mental  and  pecuniary,  is  entailed  upon  the 
whole  middle-class,  in  addition  to  former  hardships.  There  is,  at  present,  little  consohition,  save  in  looking  to 
the  national  movement  for  Radical  Reform  ;  to  the  intelligent  men  represented  by  such  individuals  as  Lovett, 
Vincent,  and  Philips,  voluntarily  returning  to  their  original  confidence  in  their  true  and  long-tried  friends ;  in 
Brougham  and  Hume,  and  such  new  and  potent  auxiliaries  as  Joseph  Sturge.  The  means  of  national  salvation 
are  still  in  our  hands  ;  and  Sir  Robert  Peel's  policy  will  quicken  ns  to  the  use  of  them,  and  hasten  the  crisis. 


Printed  by  William  Tait,  107,  Prince's  Street,  Edinburgh. 


-Vt> 


TAIT'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


^L^^L-y*-     /vvuc^^^ 


MAY,  1843. 


ABEDNBGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


BY  MRS.  GORE. 


(Continued  from  page  215  of  our  Apt^l  No.  J 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  humblest  hovel  of  a  village  acquires  tempo- 
rary distinction  from  the  periodical  blossoming  of 
the  fine  old  honeysuckle  adorning  its  crumbling 
walls,  and  investing  the  desolate  place  v^ith  beauty 
ind  fragrance ; — and  even  into  the  miserable  lodg- 
ing of  a  gloomy  city,  momentary  brightness  may 
be  infosed  by  the  chance  introduction  of  a  sunmier 
fewer,  whose  rich  perfumes  bring  tidings  of  a 
liappier  world  elsewhere. 

So  was  it  with  the  humble  abode  of  Vcrelst  the 
punter.  Nothing  could  be  more  dull,  more  dreary, 
iBore  dispiriting,  than  the  spot.  The  house,  of 
wiudi  his  lodgings  occupied  the  first  and  second 
ioon,  was  old  and  disjointed  ;  and  though  an 
ucient  stone  mansion  becomes  picturesque  when 
filing  into  ruins,  the  slight  and  ill-conditioned 
I^wdon  houses,  run  up  by  bricklayers'  contracts, 
<iegenerate,  at  the  end  of  a  century,  into  a  collec- 
twQ  of  creftking  boards,  without  a  perpendicular 
fc«  or  right  angle  perceptible  in  the  whole  con- 
■^nietioii.  Shrunken  doors,  and  ill-fitting  window's, 
>^t  eddies  of  air  in  all  directions ;  while  the 
»Dow  paint,  dingy  floors,  smoky  ceilings,  and 
nckety  stairs,  present  a  miserable  and  dispiriting 
combination. 

In  Veielst's  lodgings,  selected  for  the  advantage 
of  the  better  light  reaching  the  artist's  chamber 
over  the  open  space  of  a  small  burying-ground 
^lung  on  North  Audley  Street,  all  was  as  clean 
« «tre  and  friction  could  make  it.  But  the  care 
ipphed  to  the  burnishing  of  shabby  furniture 
'**^*Jw8  its  inferiority  only  more  prominent ;  and 
^  pwion  accustomed  to  the  resorto  of  luxury,  or 
«*«n  to  habits  of  comfort,  could  have  entered 

''cielst's  apartmento  on  the  day  they  were  first 
*JWd  by  the  poor  painter,  without  experiencing 
^  Wvy  depression  arising  from  the  survey  of 
^rtttt  discomfort. 

He  hid  not  been  established  three  days,  how- 
f'w,  before  those  cheerless  rooms  had  assumed  the 
2^P«rtsnee  acquired  by  the  roughest  casket  en- 
*"^  some  precious  object.— Two  beings,  more 
P*c^  of  form  and  feature  than  even  the  ima- 
P*»*twn  of  the  gifted  painter  could  have  supplied, 
^  dispensing  their  charm  over  the  place ;  and, 

J?  *J^tt  to  the  gentle  presence  of  Esther  and 

^'^wm*,  the  rooms  were  brightened  by  a  variety 

so.a-Tot.ix. 


of  those  trivial  but  striking  objects  which  betoken 
the  presence  of  an  artist, — ^intrinsically  valueless, 
so  as  to  be  compatible  with  poverty, — yet  indica* 
tive  of  superior  intelligence  and  refinement. 

On  wooden  brackets  against  the  wall  were  placed 
two  of  the  finest  pictures  of  Verelst ;  which  not 
only  concealed  the  faded  paper,  but  created  an 
atmosphere  of  grace  -and  poetry,  where  all  before 
was  matter  of  fact.  Beside  the  fireplace,  in  a  recess 
formed  by  the  abutting  chimney  usual  in  old- 
fashioned  houses,  stood  a  curious  carved  cabinet ; 
common  enough  in  the  quaint  old  cities  of  Holland 
and  Grermany,  but  acquiring  a  certain  dignity 
amid  the  commonplace  vulgarity  of  a  London 
lodging-house.  On  the  top  of  this,  lay  a  thick, 
strange-looking  volume,  apparently  as  antiquated 
and  curious  as  the  cabinet  itself ;  for  its  clumsy 
silver  clasps  were  blackened  with  age,  and  the 
binding  was  of  the  dingy  and  solemn  character 
peculiar  to  monastic  libraries.  This  precious  book 
was  an  object  of  all  but  idolatry  to  the  painter. 
On  removing  to  that  wretehed  house  from  the 
abode  in  Bermondsey  in  which  he  had  installed 
himself  on  hb  first  arrival  from  Germany,  Verelst 
carried  it  devoutly  under  his  arm  ; — Cleaving  the 
care  of  his  goods  and  chattels,  and  even  of  his  in- 
firm wife,  to  the  hands  of  his  daughters.  The 
utmost  extremity  of  poverty  would  not  have  in- 
duced him  to  part  with  it ; — ^in  the  first  place, 
because  it  was  a  gift, — ^a  token  of  gratitude  from 
one  of  his  scholars,  the  young  Count  of  Ehrenstein, 
who,  on  quitting  the  University,  had  despatohed  it 
from  his  ancestral  castle  in  Uie  Odenw^d  to  his 
old  master  ; — in  the  second,  because  it  was  a 
treasure  of  no  less  magnitude  than  the  sketch-book 
of  Albert  Durerl — 

Great  must  have  been  the  importance  of  any  in- 
dividual in  the  eyes  of  Verelst  ere  he  admitted  him 
to  view  the  contente  of  that  sacred  volume  ;  and, 
during  the  three  years  of  his  residence  in  England, 
Basil  Annesley  sdone  had  beheld  those  venerable 
clasps  unlocked  in  his  honour ! — 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  favour  was  some- 
what thro^Ti  away. — ^Those  sublimer  touches 
of  art  which  it  requires  the  eye  of  an  artist  to 
detect, — ^those  curious  insighte  into  the  mysteries 
of  nature  which  demand  initiation  on  the  part  of 
the  spectator  to  whom  they  are  demonstteted, — 

2  A 


278 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


-were  as  much  lost  upon  the  young  guairdsman,  as 
the  beauties  of  a  Phidian  torso  to  the  eye  of  a 
child,  who  sees  only  a  headless  trunk,  defaced  and 
time-worn,  where  th«  virtupso  behold0  the  breath- 
ing chrfd*(euvre  of  the  first  of  sculptors.  Basil 
Annesley,  however,  though  too  frank  for  dissimu- 
lation on  ordinary  matters,  was  careful  not  to 
wound  the  pride  of  the  sensitive  artist,  by  exhibit- 
ing his  indifference.  He  had  conferred  too  many 
favours  on  Verelst,  to  mortify  him  by  disparaging 
his  only  treasure.  Even  the  weaknesses,  moreover, 
of  the  father  of  Esther  were  sacred  in  his  sight ! 

It  would  have  afforded  no  consolation  to  the 
enthusiastic  painter,  to  learn  that  any  human  being 
could  be  blind  enough  to  appreciate  what  he  esti- 
mated as  his  own  puny  efforts  of  art^  far  beyond 
the  curious  jottings  and  outlines,  by  which  the 
quaint  old  master  had  attempted  to  lay  by  stores 
^r  the  aid  of  future  invention,  in  his  mysterious 
repository ; — snatches  of  the  picturesque,— of  strik- 
ing effects,— of  graceful  combinations, — ^which 
displayed,  in  many  instances  to  eyes  pro&ne,  only 
uncouth  blottings,  and  unmeaning  devices.  For 
nothing  could  exceed  the  contempt  with  which 
Verelst  regarded  the  works  to  which  the  exigencies 
of  his  position  compelled  him  to  descend.  The 
wants  of  his  family  obliged  him  to  paint  down  to 
the  taste  of  the  most  unimaginative  nation  in 
Europe ;  and  the  two  noble  works  constantly  before 
his  eyes,  for  which  he  had  never  so  much  as  re- 
oeiv^  an  offer,  but  which,  during  their  composi- 
tion and  the  two  years  devoted  to  their  execution, 
had  appeared  to  contain  the  germs  of  fame  and 
fortune,  nay,  in  his  more  enthusiastic  moments,  to 
foreshow  glimmerings  of  immortality, — afforded  a 
perpetual  memento  that  subjects  taken  from  the 
Niehehmgen  Lied^  even  if  treated  with  the  power 
of  a  Caravaggio  and  the  grace  of  a  Corregio,  pos- 
sess not  half  the  charm  in  English  eyes  of  a  sport- 
ing scene  in  the  Highlands,  or  some  comicality  of 
cockney  life. 

The  bitter  lesson  was  now  learned.  But  it  had 
required  the  contemptuous  refusal  of  a  dozen  pic- 
ture-dealers, to  convince  Verelst  that  the  higher 
efforts  of  modem  genius  were  valueless,  unless 
when  stamped  as  saleable  by  the  prefix  of  a  well- 
known  name,  accredited  by  the  magic  letters  R.  A. ; 
—whereas  for  the  humorous  Croquis  and  sporting 
studies,  such  as  Colonel  Carrington  had  found  so 
profitable  a  possession,  a  ready  market  was  at 
command. 

By  the  sale  of  these,  the  artist  maintained  his 
family ;  and  he  might  have  maintained  them  in 
opulence,  could  he  have  brought  himself  fully  and 
entirely  to  the  level  of  his  position.  But  the  mind 
of  Verelst  was  pitched  to  a  lofty  key.  To  him  it 
was  as  much  an  efibrt  to  descend  to  these  profit- 
able puerilities,  as  for  other  men  to  attain  to  the 
higher  inspirations  of  art ;  and  often,  when  en- 
gaged to  complete  for  the  trade  some  vulgar  series 
of  military  groups  or  hunting  adventures,  he  would 
fling  away  the  pencil  with  disgust,  and  snatching 
the  palette,  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  paint  out  some 
former  picture,  in  order  to  give  existence  to  a  new 
design, — ^the  faint  shadowing  of  some  poetical  idea, 
— ^never,  :,las  I  to  be  fully  developed.     For  there 


wer^  no  Roman  princes,  no  luxurious  cardinals,  to 
give  food  to  the  family  of  the  necessitous  artist 
while  abandoning  himself  to  the  nobler  promptings 
of  his  genius.  When  mildly  ren^uftrated  |nth 
by  his  feeble  wife,  l^e  rpplied  by  citbg  the  yictory 
he  had  already  attained  over  hkaself,  byproducmg 
for  lucre'  sake  works  revolting  to  his  taste.  But 
it  was  like  converting  a  lance  of  polished  steel  into 
a  homely  instrument  of  husbandry,  to  abstract  the 
soul  of  Verelst  from  the  higher  walks  of  his  art. 

It  is  true,  that  in  his  two  girls  he  had  uncon- 
scious flatterers,  strongly  inciting  him  to  the  culti- 
vation of  his  nobl^  aspirations.  Wheneyer,  in 
irresistible  moments  of  fervour,  the  poor  artist  gave 
the  reins  to  his  imagination,  so  as  to  produce  anew 
some  wild  but  exquisite  design  illustrative  of  the 
poetry  of  his  native  country,  Salome  and  Esther, 
by  their  fond  enthusiasm,  not  only  stimulated  his 
exertions,  but  almost  repaid  them.  Neverthele^, 
their  murmured  ^plauses,  their  glistening  eyes, 
their  flushing  cheeks, — grateful  as  was  the  tribute 
to  his  hearty  not  only  as  a  token  of  affection,  but 
as  indicative  of  the  possession  of  genius  lynipa- 
thetic  with  his  own, — did  not  suffice  to  satisfy  his 
weekly  creditors,  or  defray  the  rent  of  eren  his 
incon^erable  lodging.  The  poor  paralytic  mother, 
whose  sickness  was  the  real  source  of  their  poverty, 
often  entreated  the  two  girls  to  be  more  sparing  in 
their  admiration.  With  the  wisdom  of  experience, 
the  infirm  wife  of  Verelst  recognised  the  futility 
of  struggling  against  destiny.  She  knew,  that  to 
achieve  the  laurels  of  glory  requires  more  than  the 
mere  possession  of  genius ;  that  there  must  be 
favoorahle  coincidences  of  time  and  ]dace,  and, 
above  all,  of  national  tastes  and  proqierity,  to 
create  a  field  for  the  triumph  of  art>  and  the  re- 
nown of  the  artist. 

Mrs.  Verelst  was  a  woman  of  no  common  orders 
Bom  of  an  opulent  family,  she  had  eloped  in  early 
girlhood  from  her  father's  house  with  the  enthusi^ 
astic  artist ;  and  ill-prepared  by  habits  or  education 
for  the  life  of  privation  she  had  embraced,  hei 
health  had  fallen  a  sacrifice,  and  increased  the 
evil.  From  the  period  of  her  younger  daughter's 
birth,  in  consequence  of  premature  exertion,  she 
had  become  crippled  ;  a  burthen  upon  the  familyi 
save  for  the  pains  she  was  enabled  to  bestow  upon 
the  education  of  the  girls.  Though  enfeebled  by 
infirmity,  she  was  unwearied  in  imparting  to  hei 
daughters  the  accomplishments  in  which  she  a.- 
celled ;  and  even  now,  though  confined  at  all  tim« 
to  an  easy  chair,  and  often  to  her  bed,  her  indus- 
trious hands  were  constantly  exercised  for  th< 
benefit  of  the  family. 

Sore  had  been  the  trial  to  this  patient  invalid  U 
uproot  herself  from  the  humble  but  cheerful  home 
at  Heidelberg  to  which  she  had  been  so  long  habii 
tuated ;  and  exchange  the  view  from  her  windows 
over  the  rippling  waters  of  the  Neckar,  and  the 
crowning  heights  of  the  green  forests  beyond,  fbi 
the  foggy,  smoky,  cheerless  linutation  of  a  narrow 
London  street.  Though  of  British  extraction,  sh^ 
had  never  abided  in  England;  and  became  aa 
quickly  conscious  as  any  foreign  visiter,  of  the 
oppressive  cost  of  ordinary  enjoyment  in  a  city 
which  supplies  no  gratuitous  pleasures.    It  how- 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


27d 


€va,  either  the  mother  or  daughters  pined  after 
the  pqrer  atmosphere  and  franker  sociability  of 
Heidelberg,  they  were  cautious  not  to  afflict  by 
their  lamentations  the  inconsiderate  man  by  whose 
want  of  caution  they  had  been  driven  into  exile. 

The  artist  enjoyed  in  his  family  an  impunity 
jQBWthing  between  the  reverence  accorded  to  a 
prophet,  and  the  indulgence  conceded  to  an  ailing 
chill  flis  whims  were  studied,  his  foibles  respect- 
ed. Whatever  evils  befell  them,  it  was  the  com- 
mon eare  that  they  should  fall  lightest  on  the 
fiuher.  Among  themselves,  the  didnterestednese 
of  mind  and  exaltation  of  character  which  had  re- 
doeed  them  to  min,  commanded  a  degree  of  respect 
that  did  them  honour ;  and  the  two  girls  seemed 
to  feel  that  they  could  not  better  testify  their  affec- 
tion for  their  sufiBering  mother,  than  by  duty  to- 
wards the  improvident  father  she  so  dearly  loved. 

"  How  lonesome  we  have  been,  these  four  days 
put !"  observed  Verelst,  as  he  stood  retouching  a 
picture  upon  the  easel,  the  completion  of  which  he 
had  a  thousand  times  forsworn.^ — **  Not  a  single 
Tidter  the  whole  pf  this  week  I" — 

The  two  girls,  who  sat  working  at  the  same 
cmbioidery-friime,  waiting  till  their  mother,  who 
vaa  reclining  ii^  her  ann-diair,  should  feel  disposed 
to  sesame  the  book  she  had  been  reading  aloud  to 
them  the  greater  part  of  the  morning,  looked  at 
each  other  and  smOed,r-or  rather  mutually  refrain- 
ed from  a  smile.  For  the  only  guests  who  ever 
croaeed  their  threshold  were  Basil  Annesley,  and 
three  or  four  printsellers  and  picture-dealers,  by 
whom  Verelst  was  occasionally  employed. 

^  I  want  cheering  up,  for  the  continuation  of  my 
niilituy  groupings ! "  resumed  the  artist.  **  I  have 
beea  obliged  to  take  up  the  brush  instead  of  the 
pencil  to-day,  for  want  of  some  one  to  advise  me 
icipectiiig  that  charge  of  Polish  lancers." 

^  He  is  out  of  town,  father.  He  ia  gone  into 
Hampshire,"  said  Esther,  vaguely  enough,  if  in 
reply  to  her  father  s  observation. 

**  Besides,"  added  the  feeble  voice  of  Mrs.  Verelst, 
who,  though  sitting  with  her  eyes  closed,  was  not 
toig,  as  they  had  supposed,  ^  even  if  he  were  in 
town,  Mr.  Annesley  has  sense  enough  to  know 
that  it  is  not  expedient  for  him  to  be  a  daily  visiter 
in  a  house  like  ours, — that  it  must  be  injurious  to 
*w,  and  fatal  to  «j." 

**  Why  80?"  inquired  the  painter,  without  rais- 
iag  his  eyes  from  his  work.  "  He  used  to  come 
to  QB  every  day,  at  Heidelberg  ?" 

"  He  was  your  pupil, — he  was  eagerly  studying 
^  German  language,  and  society  was  an  object  to 
him." 

^Not  more  an  object  to  h^m  there,  than  hu 
wciety  here  to  me." 

**  Besides,  Mr.  Annesley  was  then  fifteen,  and 
E«thcr  and  Salome  children  of  eleven  and  twelve." 

^  And  is  there  not  precisely  the  same  difference 
of  ige  between  them  now  ?" 

**  Certainly  I  But  there  is  a  very  great  differ- 
ence in  the  construction  others  might  place  upon 
their  intimacy!" 

*^  Their  intimacy? — My  dear  wife,  you  are 
dreaming  r  cried  the  painter,  almost  smiling  at 
»*w  iimplicity,  and  not  in  the  least  suspecting  his 


own,  "  Their  intimacy  ? — 'Surely  you  do  not  sup- 
pose that  this  excellent  young  man,  who,  though 
I  never  was  »ble  to  endue  him  with  much  artistic 
perception,  made  good  progress  under  my  hands, 
(as  his  aquarelle  yonder  of  tiie  old  Castle  of  Heidel- 
berg, pasted  into  the  lid  of  Esther  s  workbox, 
can  testify,)  this  promising  scholar  of  mine,  I  say, 
who  has  been  of  such  essential  service  to  us  during 
our  sojourn  in  this  inhospitable  country,  cannot 
come  to  visit  his  old  master,  and  advise  him  in  his 
compositions  so  as  to  adapt  them  to  the  vulgar 
appetites  of  his  customers,  without  provoking  re^ 
marks  by  his  condescension  ? — At  aU  events,  what 
have  my  daughters  to  do  with  it  ? — It  is  not  Sa- 
lome's pencils  he  sits  pointing.  It  is  not  Esther's 
drawings,  of  which  he  suggests  Uie  subjects." 

"  Mr.  Annesley  is  gone  down  to  visit  his  invalid 
mother,  papa,"  interposed  Esther,  apprehensive, 
perhaps,  that  her  father  might  take  cognizance  of 
her  tingling  cheeks,  or  his  wife  consider  it  neces- 
sary to  inspire  him  with  a  more  worldly  view  of 
their  relative  position. 

*^  Has  he  a  mother?"  inquired  the  artist, — ^who 
took  little  heed  of  the  ordinaiy  business  of  life. 
^^  I  always  fancied  from  his  independence  that  he 
was  an  orphan,  and  his  own  master." 

^^  Do  you  not  remember  our  first  interest  in  him 
at  Heidelberg  originating  in  the  letters  he  showed 
Tis  from  Lady  Annesley?" 

"  True, — ^I  remember ! — Grave,  cordial,  heart* 
stirring  letters. — But  as  he  never  mentioned  her 
here,  I  thought  she  might  have  died  in  the  interim. 
And  so  she  is  an  invalid?  the  reason,  perhaps, 
Rachael,  why  he  interests  himself  so  kindly  in 
your  illness, — ^and  is  always  suggesting  some  com- 
fort or  relief  for  you. — It  is  such  a  kind-hearted 
creature ! — ^I  miss  him,  after  a  few  days'  absence, 
as  I  should  miss  one  of  jfoti,  were  you  to  go  av^y 
from  me." 

"  Mr.  Annesley  is  very  kind, — very  affable,—* 
very  condescending,"  said  Mrs.  Verelst,  coldly,  as 
if  to  give  4  discouraging  view  of  their  terms  of 
friendship. 

"  But  surely  we  are  of  as  much  service  to 
HIM,  mother,  as  he  is  to  papa  in  the  composition 
and  sale  of  his  drawingsr— observed  Salome.  "  Mr. 
Annesley  lu^s  a  charming  voice ;  but  it  is  Esther's 
instructions  which  have  enabled  him  to  do  it 
justice." 

'^  So  long  as  he  comes  as  a  pupil,"  persisted  Mrs. 
Verelst,  "  he  comes  on  appropriate  terms.  But 
highly  bom  as  he  is,  and,  as  I  presume,  of  good 
hereditary  fortune,  there  can  be  no  equality,  and, 
consequently,  no  real  friendship  between  him  and 
us.  We  are  people  earning  our  subsistence  by  our 
exertions.  He  is  a  gentleman, — a  fine  gentleman." 

**  He  is  a  man  '"  cried  Verelst,  suddenly  throw- 
ing down  his  brush,  and  assuming  a  tone  of  eneigy 
very  unusual  to  him. — **  He  is  my  benefactor,  too : 
— ^but  I  should  hate  myself,  and  despise  ^m,  if  I 
thought  that  any  obstacle  to  his  being  my  friend." 

His  wife  remained  silent ;  aware  of  the  hazard 
of  introducing  suspicion  into  that  simplest  of  hu- 
man hearts.  A  woman's  tact  forewarned  her  that, 
if  made  to  feel  the  danger  and  delicacy  of  their 
position  as  regarded  Basil  Annesley,  he  would  feel 


280 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


it  80  acutely  as  to  render  all  further  intimacy  be- 
tween them  impossible. 

Before  Verelst  had  resumed  his  brush  or  the 
gala  recovered  their  apprehensions  that  some  un- 
pleasant explanation  was  about  to  ensue,  a  knock 
was  heard  at  the  street  door,  and  a  step  on  the 
stairs  ;  but  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  of  a  nature 
to  agitate  the  daughters  or  rejoice  the  father  by  a 
hope  of  Annesley's  arrival. 

**  So,  Sir/'  cried  an  austere-looking  man,  whose 
complexion  vied  with  that  of  one  of  the  crackled 
china  vases  forming  part  of  his  stock  in  trade  as  a 
dealer  in  objects  of  virtHf  *^  I  have  been  expecting 
to  hear  news  of  you  this  week  or  more.  How  go 
on,  pray,  the  pair  of  battle-pieces  I  ordered  in  No- 
vember, and  which  were  to  be  finished  clean  off  by 
Christmas  r 

**  I  told  you,  when  I  undertook  them,  that  the 
completion  must  be  uncertain,"  replied  Verelst, 
resuming  his  work  on  recognising  in  his  visiter 
the  proprietor  of  a  rococo  shop,  to  whom  he  occa- 
sionally furnished  cabinet  pictures  on  given  sub- 
jects, and  at  prices  which  rendered  the  connexion 
far  from  advantageous  to  himself. — "  You  may 
remember  I  informed  you  that  I  was  occupied  in 
s  series  of  military  illustrations,  which  is  about  to 
be  lithographed  for  a  periodical  work ;  and  which 
I  must  finish  before  I  commence  any  new  work." 

**  Yes !  You  said  you  had  a  job  on  hand  for 
some  printseller.  But  this  thing,  I  conclude,  does 
not  form  one  of  your  military  groups  ?"  said  the 
stranger,  pointing  to  a  design  of  the  King  of  Thule, 
from  Schiller's  ballad,  which  was  b^inning  to 
make  some  progress  on  the  canvas  of  Verelst. 

**  No, — ^this  is  a  work  of  imagination,  executed 
for  my  own  pleasure,"*  replied  the  artist,  coldly. 

''So  I  should  guess:  least  wise  it's  plaguy  unlike  to 
promote  the  pleasure  of  other  people !  *  observed  the 
facetious  Mr.  Stubbs ;  sinking  deliberately  into  the 
chair  which  had  been  courteously  placed  for  him  by 
Salome,  on  his  entrance.  "  It's  a  thousand  pities,  Mr. 
Thingumee,  that  you  keep  idling  your  time  away  in 
this  fashion,and  disapp'inting  yourempl'yers,  when 
you  might  make  a  mint  of  money  by  sticking  to 
business. — I  call  it  business  to  paint  picturs  such 
as  folks  can  understand,  and  such  as  folks  is  con- 
sequently likely  to  buy.  What  could  /  do,  I 
should  like  to  know,  wiiii  such  an  outlandish  piece 
of  goods  as  you've  afore  you  ?  Ask  any  man  as 
has  exper'ence  of  such  things,  what  modem  pic- 
turs have  foimd  the  best  market.  He'll  tell  you 
out  and  out,  those  with  good  straight  for'ard,  in- 
telligible subjects,  such  as  Gainsborough's  Pigs,  or 
Holmes's  Cut  Finger,  or  Heaphy's  Crossing  the 
Brook,  or  such  like.  The  Engli^  are  sensible  folks, 
Mr.  Thingumee,  and  don't  like  to  be  asked  to  step 
up  into  the  clouds,  so  long  as  they've  their  own 
tight  little  island  to  stand  on." 

"  I  have  always  heard,  Sir,"  replied  Verelst,  (in 
English  somewliat  better  than  his  own,  for  twenty 
years  of  wedded  life  had  familiarized  the  artist 
with  the  native  language  of  his  wife,)  "that  there 
is  no  country  where  the  higher  branches  of  art  are 
better  estimated  than  in  England  ;  or  where  higher 
prices  have  been  paid  for  the  chef  (Tceuvres  of  the 
ancient  masters." 


"  I  grant  you,  Sir, — ^I  grant  you ! — ^As  a  matter 
of  trade, — as  a  safe  investment.  John  Bull  is  a 
man  of  merchandize,  and  ready  to  buy  up  stand- 
ard picturs,  just  as  he  used  to  buy  tooUps  in  Hol- 
land, when  toolips  was  matter  of  spekilation.  Bat 
if  you  fancy,  that  'cause  he  gives  two  thousand 
guineas  for  a  Claude  which  there's  a  good  chance 
of  selling  to  the  Empei-or  of  Russia  for  three,  he 
is  like  to  give  a  long  price  for  such  a  rigmarole 
concern  as  the  one  you  are  wasting  your  time  <hi, 
instead  of  finishing  picturs  you've  contracted  for, 
I  can  tell  you  you'll  find  yourself  in  the  wrong 
box,  and  no  mistake." 

The  girls  looked  up  anxiously  from  their  work, 
dreading  lest  their  father's  reply  to  this  coar» 
apostrophe  should  be  an  angry  one.  It  was  some 
relief  to  them  to  find  that  he  was  smiling  to  him- 
self, with  the  silent  contempt  of  superiority. 

Mr.  Stubbs  was  evidently  disappointed.  Ac- 
customed to  wrangle  with  the  persons  in  his  em- 
ploy, he  had  hoped  to  raise  a  breeze. 

"  There's  one  p'int  on  which  I  beg  we  may  un- 
derstand one  another,  my  good  fidend,"  said  he, 
with  an  insulting  wag  of  the  head,  "  and  that  is, 
that  none  of  your  designs  for  the  lethography  trade 
is  to  be  reproduced  in  my  picturs.  I  bargained, 
please  to  recollect,  that  my  couple  of  battle-pieces 
was  to  be  strictly  original,  and  the  copyright  my 
own ;  and  it  won't  suit  my  purpose  to  have  'em  a 
figuring  in  black  and  white  in  every  printseller's 
window." 

"  I  understood.  Sir,  tliat  the  pictures  you  want- 
ed w^ere  to  be  skirmishes  in  the  time  and  costume 
of  the  middle  ages, — something  in  the  style  of 
Salvator's  battle-pieces.  The  drawings  I  am  sup- 
plying, are  to  illustrate  the  military  costume  of 
the  modem  nations  of  Europe." 

"  Ay,  some'hat  in  the  style  of  Salvator !"— said 
the  dealer,  catching  at  the  expression,  and  over- 
looking the  argument  of  the  painter.  Now,  I  tell 
ye  what,  Mr. What's-your-name, — If  you've  a  mind 
to  put  out  your  strength  in  them  here  two  picturs, 
why  I'm  prepared  to  do  the  thing  handsome  by 
you.  I  spoke  of  eight  pounds,  or  thereabouts,  for 
the  pair" 

"  You  offered  ten  guineas,"  said  Verelst,  firmly, 
without  removing  his  hand  or  eye  from  the  canvas. 

"  Well,  p'rhaps  it  may  have  been  guineas,— I 
can't  say,  without  casting  my  eye  over  my  mem'- 
randum-book,  which  I  don't  carry  about  me.  But, 
as  I  was  a  saying,  if  you've  a  mind  to  make  these 
picturs  what  they  ought  to  be,  I  don't  care  if  I  go 
as  far  as  fifteen  pound  for  the  pair : — ^provided  I 
secure  the  copyright,  and  the  picturs  is  high  and 
dry  in  my  house  by  the  first  of  April." 

**  You  have  fixed  upon  a  curious  epoch.  Sir,  for 
the  completion  ofsuch  a  bargain,"  observed  Vcrekt, 
with  a  quiet  smile.  "But  I  can  undertake  no 
such  limitation.  When  I  bring  you  my  pictures, 
you  shall  purchase  them  or  not,  as  you  think 
proper,  and  on  such  terms  as  we  may  then  agree 
upon." 

The  indignant  Mr.  Stubbs,  who  had  not  often 
found  the  poor  artist  so  cool  at  a  bargain,  now  began 
to  surmise  that  Verelst  had  fallen  into  the  htfids 
of  some  rival  dealer,  and  was  beginning  to  be  better 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-liENDfiR, 


281 


teqaaiDted  with  hb  own  value.  In  order  to  satisfy 
himself  on  this  point,  he  persisted  in  his  bullying 
tone. 

**  This  won  t  do  for  me,  Sir !"  said  he,  striking 
Iiis  stick  upon  the  ground,  with  a  vehemence  that 
ctosed  the  poor  invalid,  whose  nerves  were  so 
ftodioiuly  respected  in  the  family,  to  bound  in  her 
chair.  "Tve  got  my  customers  to  satisfy;  and 
when  Pre  promised  a  gentleman  to  have  some'hat 
Rsdj  for  him  by  a  certain  day,  why,  I  choose  to 
bepnnctoooL" 

"  My  pictures,  then,  have  been  ordered  of  you  T 
said  the  artist  coolly,  arranging  on  his  palette  the 
cokmr  prepared  for  the  gray  beard  of  the  king  of 
Thole. 

**  I  said  no  dch  thing,  that  I'm  aware  on !"  re- 
torted the  dealer.  ^  Gentlemen  who  is  a  furnish- 
ing their  galleries,  or  their  houses,  comes  to  me 
ind  says,  *  Stubba,  we  want  a  pair  o'  picturs,  for 
i  dining-room,  some'hat  in  the  animal  or  battle 
fine,  three  feet  by  two,  or  two-and-twenty  inches 
W  fourteen,  as  the  case  may  be, — some'hat  as  '11 
look  well  in  an  oak  frame,  or  a  Louis  XFV.  frame, 
aetording  as  it  happens.'  Well,  Sir,  I'm  bound  to 
ttswer :  *  Tve  got  nothing  of  the  size  by  me,  my 
Wd,  but  if  you'll  look  in  next  month,  maybe  I 
shall  be  able  to  satisfy  you.'  Sir,  if  his  lordship 
loob  m  and  finds  nothing,  he's  a  right  to  look 
cohere,  and  be  displeased  into  the  bargain." 

The  artist  smiled.  He  was  beginning  to  appre- 
ciate the  line  of  business  pursued  by  Mr.  Stubbs. 

"What  I  have  to  say,  therefore,"  pursued  the 
^er,  assuming  a  milder  tone,  "  is,  that  if  you've 
a  mind  to  clench  the  bargain,  I'm  willing  to 
leave  a  five-pound  note  or  so  with  you,  by  way  of 
wncst." 

Verelst  was  just  then  so  anxiously  employed 
Rtouchmg  the  mouth  of  the  kmg  of  Thule,  that 
he  paid  no  attention. 

In  another  moment,  Esther  had  stolen  towards 
W  father,  and  was  whispering  in  his  ear  the  ofier 
>^  by  his  visiter  ;  and  perhaps  suggesting  mo- 
tives for  its  acceptance.  So,  at  least,  Mr.  Stubbs 
*»nld  probably  have  inferred,  but  that  his  whole 
>^^£ntioQ  was,  at  that  moment,  engrossed  by  the 
heautiM  face  thus  suddenly  presented  to  his  ad- 
miration. 

Why,  as  sure  as  life,  that's  the  original  of  the 
wirl  and  Goat  you  sold  me  last  Spring  I"  said  he, 
nneeremoniously  contemplating  the  graceful  form 
wd  beautiful  countenance  of  the  artist's  daughter ; 
who,  unable  to  surmise  that  it  was  in  mch  terms 
J«  Other's  exquiwte  picture  of  the  Esmeralda, 
"wn  Victor  Hugo's  romance  of  "Notre  Dame," 
*w  likely  to  be  qualified,  stood  regarding  him 
J^  amazement.  "A  pretty  plague  that  pictur' 
^ght  upon  my  shoulders  !"--added  the  dealer, 
"digging  them,  as  if  still  conscious  of  the  inflic- 
tion. 

**  I  thought  you  told  me  you  had  sold  it  ?"  said 
v^erekt,  cahnly. 

"  Ay ;  but  I  didn't  tell  you  who  I'd  sold  it  to  ; 
-tad  I  know  that,  another  time,  I'd  as  lief  drive 
'J^ttgain  with  the  devil !  However,  if  ever  he 
would  come  again  for  a  companion,  (as  has  once 
or  twice  happened,  Mr.  Thingumee,  with  picturs  of 


your'n,)  Fm  glad,  at  least,  to  know  I  can  get  rid  of 
him  with  noos  of  where  the  face  is  to  be  found, 
concerning  which  he  made  such  a  deuce's  own  to 
do  in  my  shop." 

The  curiosity  of  Verelst  was,  by  this  time,  sufli- 
dently  awakened  to  induce  him  to  ask  the  ques- 
tions anticipated  by  his  visiter. 

"  Why,  you're  to  know,"  resumed  Mr.  Stubbs  in 
reply,  (and  as  he  spoke,  both  the  mother  and 
daughters  suspended  their  needles  to  listen,)  ^^  you 
are  to  know,  that,  finding  the  pictur'  hang  on 
hand,  and  nowise  taking,  for  not  a  soul  of  the 
nobs  as  deals  at  my  shop,  could  make  head  or  tail 
of  the  story  with  which  it  seemed  to  be  connected, 
— I  stuck  it  up  one  day  in  my  window,  along  with 
the  Nankin  vases,  and  shells  and  minerals,  and 
what  not;  as  I  always  does  with  picturs  I  find 
unsaleable  to  the  thorough-going  ammytoors. 
Well,  Sir !  scarce  was  it  on  show,  before  a  crowd 
was  collected  round  the  winders : — some  laughing 
at  the  ideer  of  a  goat  with  such  horns  and  feet  as 
them  in  the  pictur' ;  but  most  on  'em  attracted  by 
seeing  anything  with  fresh  bright  colours  in  a 
shop  like  mine,  which  seldom  has  anything  in  it 
but  the  meller  tones  and  rich  colouring  o'  the  old 
masters.  Well,  Sir — among  these  starers,  was  an 
old  gentleman,  in  a  decent  enough  suit  o'  clothes, 
who  stood  there  a  matter  of  an  hour  a-staring  at 
the  pictur.  Thinks  I  to  myself  ^  a  customer ! '  for 
though  there  was  nothing  about  such  a  coat  as 
his'n  as  looked  as  if  it  had  a  purse  in  its  pocket, 
I've  seen  many  a  Jew  dealer  with  thousands  and 
thousands  at  command,  go  the  length  of  a  price  in 
three  figurs  for  a  pictur, — ^yet  with  patches  at  his 
elbows.  However,  off  marched  the  old  fellow  at 
last,  without  so  much  as  a  question  asked  in  the 
shop !  Somehow  or  another,  I  guessed  I  hadn't 
seen  the  last  on  him  :  and,  next  morning,  having 
set  up  the  Gurl  and  Groat  in  the  winder,  for  a  second 
chance,  the  boy  a- watching  the  shop  soon  calls  out 
to  me,  as  I  was  a-breakfasting  in  the  back  par- 
lour, *  Master,  master,  here's  the  old  chap  again, 
watching  the  winder  as  though  he'd  have  a  snatch 
at  the  gem-box.'  Up  I  starts.  Sir, — and  seeing 
his  eyes  so  fixed  again  upon  the  pictur',  I  stepped 
out  on  the  pavement,  as  if  I  wanted  to  arrange 
the  awning.  *  A  pretty  thing  that^*  said  I — as  if 
by  way  of  axing  pardon  for  putting  him  aside  ;— 
and  if  you'll  believe  me,  when  the  old  feller  looked 
up  to  answer  me,  his  eyes  was  full  o'  tears ! — I 
was  nigh  laughing  outright,  to  think  any  one 
could  find  matter  to  cry  at  in  a  daub  of  a  Gurl 
with  a  Goat.  Upon  which,  instead  of  noticing 
my  civility,  the  whimperer  showed  his  manners 
by  marchhig  off.  A  good  riddance,  thinks  I ! — 
for  I'm  not  one  o'  those  who  considers  an  idle 
crowd  round  a  shop  any  advantage.  Customers  is 
seldom  found  in  such  assemblings." 

^^But  I  thought  you  told  us  this  person  had 
purchased  the  Eoneralda  T  said  Verelst. 

"  You'd  have  been  a  conjuror  to  have  guessed 
as  much,  I  can  tell  you,  if  you'd  seen  the  individual 
as  I  sold  it  to !" — ^rejoined  the  dealer.  "  I  thought 
no  more,  in  course,  o'  the  old  chap ;  though  my 
boy  a'ter'ards  told  me,  that  not  an  evening  passed, 
but,  as  soon  as  the  lamps  was  lighted,  he'd  pass  by 


i8i 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


the  shop,  as  if  on  his  way  elsewhere  ;  btit  never 
withoat  casting  a  longing  look  at  the  winder :  and 
ten  minutes  a'ter  ards,  back  again,  no  doubt  on  the 
same  errand ;  though  he  took  care  not  to  stand 
gaping,  as  he  had  at  first.  Well^  Sir  1  'twas 
autumn-time,  and  no  bus  ness  stirring  :  so  I  took 
the  opportoonity,  just  then,  of  my  annival  visit  to 
Margate.  When  I  came  back,  the  pictur^  was 
gone, — within  ten  shillings,  too,  of  the  price  I'd 
first  set  upon  it : — ^and  Mrs.  Btubbs,  who'd  been 
left  in  cliarge  o'  the  shop,  informed  me,  that,  one 
day  an  old  Jew,  with  whom  we'd  often  had  dealings 
in  the  lapidary  line,  after  making  a  deal  with  her 
for  some  engraved  stones,  hintalios,  and  cammyos, 
inquired,  in  a  sort  o'  careless  way,  the  price  o*  the 
6url  and  Goat.  At  first,  he  scouted  it,  at  the 
price  named  ;  but  seemed  cur'ous  to  learn  how  it 
had  come  into  our  hands.  Now,  its  a  rule  in  our 
bus'ness,  Mr.  Thingumee,  never  to  give  explana- 
tions o'  that  natur'  to  nobody,  'specially  to  dealers. 
So  my  missus  said  that  I  was  away  on  a  scur- 
sion  ;  and  that  she  knowed  no  more  than  nothin' 
at  all,  about  none  o'  the  picturs,  except  the  price 
marked  on  'em.  So,  not  to  trouble  you  with  more 
p'ticlars  than  necessaiy,  at  last  they  came  to  a 
deal :  and  a'ter  he'd  booked  up  for  the  lot,  says 
the  old  Jew,  *  I'd  give  a  trifle,*  says  he,  *  to  know 
the  artist  as  painted  that  pietur' !'  My  wife  hinted 
as  much  as  that  maybe  he  was  dead  and  gone — 
that  the  pietur  was  p'rhaps  an  old  'un.  *How 
can  that  be,'  says  the  Jew,  ^when  the  romance 
itself  is  only  of  recent  date?'  My  wife  knoWd 
nothing  about  romances — ^not  she " 

"But  I  told  you.  Sir,  that  my  picture  repre- 
sented a  scene  from  the  novel  of  Ndtre  Dame  I" — 

"  If  you  did,  I've  other  matters  to  think  of,  than 
to  stuff  toy  head  with  the  stories  of  novels !  Well, 
Sir — a'ter  the  Jew  had  fairly  made  his  bargain, 
my  missus  swears,  that  he  stood  a-looking  at  the 
pietur*  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  all  as  one  as  the 
gentleman  I  had  noticed  in  the  street :  and  she 
fiancied  she  heard  him  a-muttering  atween  his 
teeth, — *  I  never  thought  to  have  had  a  sight  & 
that  blessed  face  again  V — However,  Mrs.  Stubbs 
is  a  nervous,  fanciful,  stericky  body,  and  apt  to 
take  conundrums  into  her  head.  *  Where  shall  I 
send  the  pietur  home  tof  says  she,  by  way  o' 
putting  an  end  to  his  vagaries. — *  Send  ?'  says  he. 
*  I'll  carry  it  myself! '  *  The  boy's  got  nothing  to 
do.  Sir,'  says  Mjts.  Stubbs,  purlitely  ;  *  and  I'm  al- 
ways glad  to  obleege  a  customer.' — *  111  carry  it 
myself ! '  persisted  the  surly  old  fellow,  without  so 
much  as  a  thank-ye.  And  without  more  ado,  he 
hoisted  the  Gurl  and  Goat  on  his  arm,  and  out  he 
trudged  !  My  missus,  who  was  somewhat  thrown 
aback  by  his  p'rcmptory  air,  no  sooner  sees  him 
out  o'  the  shop,  than  she  finds  lying  on  the  compter 
the  packet  of  hintalios,  for  which  the  Jew  had  just 
paid  down  forty  pounds  odd  on  the  nail :  so,  having 
a  mind  to  know  what  became  o'  the  pietur*,  she 
bid  the  boy  hurry  a'ter  him,  and  be  sure  not  to 
give  him  Uie  packet  till  he'd  follored  him  home. 

According  to  the  lad's  account but  maybe  I'm 

a-tiringyott  ladies  T  said  Mr.  Stubbs,  interrupting 
himself,  on  perceiving  the  breathless  attention  he 
was  exciting  in  the  little  fionily. 


"  On  the  contrary.  Sir,  we  are  deeply  interested,*' 
replied  Mrs.  Yerelst,  with  her  usual  well-bred  gen- 
tleness. 

"  Well  then,  ma'am,  as  I  was  a  saying,  'cording 
to  the  lad's  account,  the  old  chap  hadn't  perceeded 
many  streets,  which  he  did  charily  and  cantiouslj, 
avoiding  jostling  with  foot-passengers,  as  if  he  was 
a  guarding  a  living  Gurl  and  Goat  he  was  foad  of, 
instead  of  a  pietur'  o'  no  p'rticlar  valooe,  he  looked 
round  cautiously,  as  though  he*d  a  guess  at  being 
watched. — Maybe  he'd  noticed  the  lad  in  the  shop ; 
for,  having  gone  the  length  o'  the  street,  And 
stopped  again,  and  still  found  the  young  feU^r  at 
his  heels,  he  asked  him  short  round  In  plain  words, 
what  was  his  bus'ness  1  The  boy  had  nothin'  for 
it,  but  to  give  up  Uie  parcel,  expecting^  maybe,  a 
trifle  for  his  pains, — the  lot  being  of  sidi  y&loee. 
But  the  old  feller  gave  nothin'  but  a  grulit, — and 
having  pocketed  his  packet,  on  agidn  with  the 
pietur'!"— 

«  And  did  he  still  follow  hhn,  Sir  ?'  interrupted 
Esther,  as  Mr.  Stubbs  paused  for  breath  ;  or  per- 
haps, like  other  orators,  to  stimulate  the  curioaitj 
of  his  hearers. 

^'He  had  his  missus's  orders,  and  that  was 
enough  !*'  said  the  dealer,  fancying  every  one  as 
well  aware  as  himself  of  the  absolute  sceptie 
wielded  by  his  helpmate.  *'  More  cautious  tiian 
at  first,  he  crept  on  at  a  distance,  till  he  watched 
the  old  man  into  a  house  in  Gr^k  Street,  Soho. 
But  lord,  what  Was  the  good  </  that  ?  When,  on 
his  return  from  this  precious  fox-chase,  Mrs.  Stubbs 
looked  in  B'yle's  Guide  and  the  D'rectory,  one 
a'ter  t  other,  the  number  pointed  out  by  the  lad 
was  missing  in  both.  The  house  was  all  as  one  as 
uninhabited.  H'wever,  on  hearing  his  story,  it 
struck  mey  maybe  the  Jew,  who  seemed  so  mightily 
taken  with  the  pietur*  might  have  a  fancy  for  a 
companion  :  so— the  first  idle  day,  off  I  set  to  the 
house.  The  shutters  was  all  shut^  l%r ;  and  the 
doorway  as  dirty  as  if  neither  broom  or  scrubbing- 
brush  had  touched  it  for  years ! — H'wever,  I 
knocked  and  rang,  and  rang  and  knocked;  and 
hollow  enough  aU  sounded  within  ! — But  th« 
hollow  sound  of  my  own  rings  and  knocks  was  all 
the  good  I  got ;  and  a'ter  half  an  hour  wasted,  I 
saw  I  might  as  well  give  up  the  bus'ness." 

"You  did  not  gain  admittance,  then?"  inquired 
the  artist,  curious  to  learn  the  mode  of  the  picture^ 
dealer*s  proceedings  in  such  crises. 

"  I  did  another  day.  Sir ; — ^but  only  by  Inanage^ 
ment, — and  plaguy  bad  management  it  was !  A 
matter  of  six  weeks  a'ter'ards,  I  was  passing  through 
Greek  Street,  on  bus'ness  of  my  own,  when  ithat 
should  I  spy  but  a  smart  cab  a- waiting  at  the  dooi 
o'  the  old  deserted  house, — though  for  the  matter 
o'  that,  it  was  just  as  much  shut  up  as  ever,  and 
just  as  grimy  and  dull !  Up  I  went,  h'wever ;  and, 
by  way  o'  not  frighting  the  spiders  if  I  turned  out 
to  be  mistaken  in  s'posing  the  owner  o'  the  cab 
admitted  within,  gave  a  very  gentle  ring.  A  dirtj 
old  'oman — a  fit  match  to  the  place— opened  it  in 
a  gtanter,  as  they  say  in  French.  *  Tve  btisitotts, 
Ma'am,  with  your  master,'  says  I, — and  immedi- 
ately walked  in  so  coolly,  that  no  oppersition  did 
she  think  of  offering.    The  old  cat  made  no  more 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


283 


to  show  me  fnrther ;  so  I  made  bold  to  open  the 
front  parlour  dool*.  All  dark  as  pitch,  and  smelling 
as  mouldj  as  A  family  vault  I  ^  Shutting  the  door 
gently,  I  thought  Td  try  my  luck  at  the  back  'un. 
Locked ! — However,  the  n'ise  I  made,  trying  to  opfen 
it,  reached  them  as  was  within,  just  as  their  v'ices 
reached  me  ; — and  in  a  trice,  the  lock  turned,  and 

the  door  was  placed  ajar. ^I  just  leave  you  to 

goeag,  Mrs.  Tliingumee,  who  was  within !  ** 

"I  fear  it  would  be  wasting  your  time.  Sir,  as 
wdl  as  my  own,"  replied  Mrs.  Verelst,  to  whom 
the  inquiry  appeared  to  be  addressed. 

"Why,  neither  more  nor  less  than,  as  large  as 
fife,  the  old  gentleman  whom  I  had  noticed  so 
often  at  my  winder,  staring  at  the  *  Gurl  and  the 
Goftt!'*'— 

"But  you  said  there  were  voices" — '— 

**Ay— and  t'other  v*ice — 'twas  my  busineteto 
ittve  known  without  knocking, — so  often  as  it  had 

wunded  in  my  shop  ! ^T'other  v*ice  was  that  of 

my  best  customer— the  Duke  of  Rochester ; — to 
whom  Fve  sold  picturs  and  statooes  to  the  amount 
of  no  matter  how  many  thousands  of  pounds.** 

"  Yon  were  admitted,  then,  into  their  presence  ?* 

"Not  I ;— nor  I  hadn't  no  wish,  when  I  sair  I 
*M  an  introoder — or  at  least  was  told  so  by  the  old 

fogTum  who  opened  the  door. 1  hadn't  a  guess, 

then,  what  sort  of  treason  they  were  locked-up  a- 
hatching  together ; — and  a'ter  being  unceremoni- 
ody  walked  out  0*  the  house  by  the  old  chap, 
»ho  wouldn't  so  much  as  listen  to  what  I  had  to 
««y  in  explanation,  I  didn't  care  to  inquire.  But 
iweek  ago,  or  so,  I  had  an  ugly  money  transac- 
tion with  a  fine  lady  customer  of  mine,  who'd 
tiren  toe  a  bill  of  her  husband's  in  payment,  as 
rwpured  for  me  to  fbllow  up  the  parties  ; — and 
»^ule  90  doing,  I  was  sent  from  pillar  to  post,  till 
*t  last  I  got  referred  to  one  A.  0.,  in  Greek  Street, 
^bo.  The  murder  was  out,  Sir !— the  old  Jew, 
*i»o  bought  the  pictur'  of  me,  was  neither  more 
Dor  leflB  than  one  o*  the  agents  employed  on  Jrtlch 
«ninds  by  the  famous  Money-lender  !'* 

*  1  am  sorry  my  picture  should  have  been  the 
•Q^ans  of  exposing  you  to  such  a  disagreeable  ad- 
^tnre,"  observed  Verelst.  **  It  seems,  however, 
^  hare  been,  in  a  great  measure,  one  of  your  own 
wking" 

**  What  do  yon  tnean  by  my  own  seeking.  Sir  ?" 
"jed  Mt.  Stubbs,  again  striking  the  point  of  his 

■^ck  against  the  floor. «  For  as  little  as  you 

**ni  to  understand,  Mr.  Thingumee,  of  the  ways 
"fcanyingonbus'ness  in  England,  I'd  have  you 
t«  bow  that ^" 

The  loud  and  angry  tones  of  the  dealer  were  at 
that  moment  interrupted  by  the  sudden  entrance 
^person  whose  ascent  of  the  creaking  stairs  had 
^  drowned  m  his  vociferation,  lie  voice  of 
*^  Stnbbs  now,  however,  became  alone  silent ; 
*hae  every  other  person  in  the  room  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  delight  to  welcome  the  arrival  of 
^Baal  Annealey ! 


CHAPTBR  Vin« 

^0  9ooner  did  the  picture-dealer  notic6  the  cour- 


accosted  the  artist,  and  the  almost  deferential  tone 
in  which  he  inquired  after  the  health  of  Mrs.  Ve- 
relst, than  he  rose  instinctively  from  his  seat.  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  fact  that  the  guest  belonged 
to  the  order  of  society  which  he  regarded  as  his 
custotners ;  or  that  the  painter's  family  lived  with 
him  on  terms  of  intimacy  amounting  to  friendship. 
Coarse  as  he  was,  Mr.  Stubbs  knew  himself  at  that 
moment  to  be  the  inferior  of  the  party. 

*'  I  will  call  about  this  little  business.  Sir,  an- 
other time,"  said  he,  addressing  Verelst,  as  he  pre- 
pared to  quit  the  room ;  iLnd  it  was  only  as  he  moved 
slowly  toivards  the  door,  that,  incited  perhaps 
by  curiosity  to  ascertain  what  could  have  brought 
so  fashionable-looking  a  young  man  to  the  fire- 
side of  fi  poor  j[)ainter,  he  recognised  the  rare  love- 
liness of  Salome  and  her  sister.  A  significant  smile 
unconsciously  overspread  his  features,  on  a  dis- 
covery he  considered  so  pregnant  with  evil-mean- 
ing. It  was  possibly  the  same  perception  that  in- 
duced him,  after  having  dosed  the  door,  and  gained 
the  staircase  for  departure,  to  return  into  the  room, 
and  by  Way  of  certifying  the  relative  position  of 
the  parties,  reapproach  poor  Verelst  with  a  whis- 
pered request,  that  he  would  keep  to  himself  the 
Greek  Street  secret. 

^^  Yonll  oblige  me,  %,''  said  he,  in  an  audible 
whisper,  very  difierent  from  that  of  his  preceding 
conversations,  **bjr  refraining  from  all  mention  of 
the  story  of  the  gurfs  picture  and  A,  0.  \ " — 

Had  Mr.  Stubbs  searched  the  world  over  for  k 
word  calculated  to  startle  the  feelings  of  the  young 
stranger,  he  could  not  have  been  more  successful ! 
The  face  of  Annealey  became  instantly  crimsoned. 
Apprehending  that  the  vulgar  feDow  who  thus 
unceremoniously  addressed  the  father  of  Esther, 
cotild  have  no  other  motive  for  his  allusion  than 
the  discovery  of  the  difficidties  from  which  he  had 
extricated  himself  by  the  aid  of  Abednego,  in  order 
to  relieve  his  htimble  friend,  Basil  almost  trembled 
lest  the  whole  afitdr  was  about  to  be  exposed  be- 
ft>re  his  face  by  the  ofiiciousnes^  of  a  stranger.  It 
was  not  till  after  Mr.  Stubbs,  after  bowing  face- 
tiously around  him,  had  again  quitted  the  room, 
that  Ailnesley  breathed  freely. 

^  That  was  orie  of  my  enlightened  patrons,  my 
dear  Mr.  Anheiley,"  said  Verelst,  resuming  his 
pencil  under  the  cheering  influence  of  BasiFs  pre- 
sence ; — "  ohe  of  those  who  treat  me  Hke  a  clod  of 
the  earth,  yet  expect  me  to  exhibit  the  instincts  and 
inspiration  of  geniiis  \  '* 
Basil  replied  by  an  ejaculation  of  disgust. 
**  But  my  good  Mr.  Annesley — ^my  dear  young 
friend,'*  resumed  the  painter,  "  these  girls  told  me 
just  now,  you  had  been  in  the  country  nursing  a 
sick  relative.  Are  yoti  quite  sure  you  have  not 
taken  her  disorder  ?  I  never  saw  you  look  so  ill, 
since  the  time  of  yout  fever  at  Heidelberg,  when 
w^  had  you  into  our  house  for  change  of  air ! " 

**  You  remind  me  of  one  of  the  happy  epochs  of 
my  life !"  cried  Basil,  suddenly  acquiring  all  the 
bloom  of  which  Verelst  was  quite  justified  in  accuse 
ing  him  of  being  deficient. 

"  Ay — iww  you  look  somewhat  more  like  your- 
self again  !"  cried  the  painter.    "  Now  you  are  a 


^Qsfandllarity  with  which  the  young  guardsman  I  fitter  object  for  an  artist's  studio ! You  cannot 


284 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


imagine,  my  dear  Sir,  how  I  have  wanted  you  !-.- 
The  sketches  cannot  get  on  without  you.  If  you 
had  remained  long  in  the  country  I  should  hare  been 
ruined  I — I  wanted  spirits  to  proceed  to  business 
during  your  absence  ;  but  since  you  are  here  again, 
I  will  push  back  the  King  of  Thule  in  disgrace  into 
his  comer. Salome !  bring  forward  the  drawing- 
table!" 

And  while  the  young  man  was  bending  over  the 
chair  of  the  invalid,  inquiring  anxiously  into  the 
events  of  the  four  or  five  last  days,  without  heed- 
ing the  garrulity  of  his  old  master,  the  change  was 
accomplished.  On  Basil's  release  from  his  almost 
filial  attentions  to  the  worn  and  wasted,  yet  still 
beautiful  invalid,  all  was  in  readiness  to  be  set  in 
movement,  by  his  advice  touching  the  helmets  of 
Prussian  lancers,  and  the  boots  of  Hungarian  pan- 
dours. 

Taking  the  chair  placed  for  him  by  Salome  close 
beside  the  artist,  he  proceeded,  with  patient  good- 
humour,  to  play  the  critic  on  the  spirited  miUtary 
groups,  in  which  it  was  indeed  difficult  to  point 
out  a  fault,  save  in  trifling  accessories  of  costume. 
So  animated  were  the  charges,  so  admirable  the 
equestrian  combinations,  that  Basil,  instead  of  en- 
larging on  a  few  errors  of  equipment,  fell,  as  usual, 
into  rhapsodies  at  the  spirit  and  originality  of  the 
whole. 

It  was  probably  the  stimulus  of  this  very  en- 
thusiasm which  had  been  wanting  to  Verelst ;  for 
in  a  moment  his  chalks  were  in  full  activity,  and 
Basil  at  leisure  to  perceive  that  the  seat  provided 
for  him  by  Salome  commanded  a  view  of  the  em- 
broidery frame  over  which  the  graceful  heads  of 
the  two  girls  were  stooping  together.  It  was  only 
natural  that  he  should  thenceforward  divide  his 
attention  between  the  withered  hand,  under  which 
was  growing  into  life  a  rude  bridge  over  a  moun- 
tain torrent,  hotly  defended  by  a  legion  of  Tyro- 
lese  peasants,  armed  with  the  picturesque  wildness 
of  irregular  warfare,  against  a  trimly  detachment 
of  French  light  infantry,  in  all  the  studied  equip- 
ment of  military  array, — ^and  the  fairy  fingers  of 
the  sisters,  as  they  flew  over  their  work.  Though 
the  hands  of  the  two  girls  were  closely  intertwined 
as  they  sat  together,  so  that  the  slight  form  of  the 
one  almost  efiBced  ihe  still  slenderer  figure  of  the 
other,  the  eyes  of  Basil  had  no  difficulty  in  de- 
tecting the  hand  so  dear  to  him,— the  hand  which 
had  trembled  on  his  sudden  entrance, — and  which 
now,  in  the  joy  of  his  presence  again  in  that  cham- 
ber, was  performing  thrice  the  work  efi^ected  by 
tlie  less-interested  Salome;  who  was  sufficiently 
at  her  ease  to  contemplate,  every  now  and  then,  at 
idle  leisure,  the  venerable  figure  of  her  father,  con- 
trasted with  that  of  the  handsome  young  visiter 
bending  over  him  while  watching  the  eflbrts  of  his 
pencil.  Placed  as  Salome  was,  die  was,  of  course, 
enabled  to  see  that,  ever  and  anon,  his  eyes  wan- 
dered furtively  towards  Esther  ;  from  the  detec- 
tion of  whose  downcast  looks  he  knew  himself  to 
be  secure. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  anything,  Mr.  Annes- 
ley,  of  a  family  named  Maitland?"  suddenly  in- 
quii-ed  Mrs.  Verelst,  after  exercising,  perhaps,  the 
same  unnoticed  scrutmy  as  Salome. 


Annesley  started,  and  looked  confused. 
"  They  live  in  Arlington  Street,"  added  Esther, 
in  a  low  voice,  taking  this  opportunity  to  lift  her 
eyes  to  his  face,  and  surprised,  in  her  turn,  to  find 
it  covered  with  conscious  blushes. 

*^  The  son  is  a  brother-officer  of  mine,"  rqtlied 
he,  gradually  recovering  his  self-possession. 

**  It  M,  then,  as  we  supposed,  to  ycu  that  Esther 
is  indebted  for  her  introduction  to  the  £unily ! " 
observed  Mrs.  Verelst. 

''  IntrodwtuM  ?"  repeated  Basil,  in  evident  sur- 
prise. 

''  I  received,  an  hour  ago,  a  note,  signed  Lacy 
Maitland,  begging  to  know  my  terms  for  tuition, 
and  requesting  me  to  be  in  Arlington  Street  at  three 
o'clock  to-morrow,"  said  Esther  in  explanation. 

The  former  ooi^sion  of  countenance  of  Basil 
Annesley  was  now  a  thousand  times  augmented. 
The  idea  of  Esther  Verelst^Ati  Esther— a  smging 
mistress  to  those  flighty  girls, — ^in  that  show}', 
heartless  house, — subjected  to  the  gaze  of  the 
"string  of  puppies"  frequenting  it,— exposed  to 
the  silly  impertinence  of  Lady  MaiUand,— con- 
demned to  all  the  ignominy  inflicted  on  a  teacher, 
by  people  of  empty  heads  and  callous  hearts ! 

"  And  has  Miss  Verelst  engaged  herself  f  said 
he,  addressing  the  mother. 

"  She  merely  wrote  acceptuig  the  appointment 
for  to-morrow,  when  there  will  probably  be  little 
difficulty  in  adjusting  the  question  of  terms  and 
hours,"  replied  the  invalid. 

*^  You  do  me  too  much  honour  in  supposing  that 
the  reconmiendation  came  from  me^  said  Annes- 
ley, after  a  pause,  in  which  he  had  been  bahmdng 
the  evils  likely  to  arise  to  the  beautifiil  Esther 
Verelst  from  such  a  connexion,  against  theadran- 
tage  to  the  necessitous  family  of  an  additional 
guinea  a-week  earned  by  their  exertions.  "I 
should  scarcely  have  suggested  a  place  likely  to 
expose  a  person  so  timid  as  Est  as  Miss  Verekt, 
to  the  constant  notice  and  molestation  of  precisely 
the  order  of  persons  whose  familiarity  drove  her 
from  the  rehearsals  at  the  opera.  The  advantage 
to  be  derived  would  be  dearly  purchased  by  ex- 
posure to  the  habits  of  a  house,  of  all  others  of  my 
acquaintance  the  one  into  which  I  should  be  least 
disposed  to  introduce  a  sister  of  my  own." 

Esther  was  satisfied.  The  pang  excited  in  her 
bosom  by  Basil's  confusion  at  the  first  mention  of 
the  name  of  Maitiand,  was  gradually  subsidmg. 

"  Surely,"  observed  Salome,  littie  suspecting  the 
new  vexation  to  which  she  was  about  to  give 
rise,  "  Maitiand  was  the  name  of  the  ladies  inith 
whom  we  saw  you  that  night  at  the  opera,  when 
Madame  Branzini  was  so  good  as  to  lend  us  her 
boxr— 

"  I  scarcely  recollect,"  stammered  Basil,  with 
some  embarrassment. 

"  Oh!  yes — ^we  met  you  on  the  stairs  with  t 
beautiful  fair  girl  on  your  arm — whom  you  hnr- 
ried  into  a  carriage,  and  returned  to  assist  vs»  ^ 
remember  hearing  it  announced  as  that  of  Wy 
Maitiand." 

"  How  can  you  recollect  such  trash,  chUd !  »n- 
terrupted  Verelst.  "  Annesley  !  what  tiiink  y<« 
of  placing  the  stout  fellow  with  the  scythe,  whoii; 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER, 


385 


itrikiAgdown  the  standard  of  France^on  the  broken 
pai^  of  the  bridge  V — 

<*  Admurable !"  cried  Basil,  glad  to  direct  his  eyes 
towudsthe  drawing  at  which  he  had  been  hitherto 
only  pfetending  to  look.  ^*  It  will  make  a  modem 
edition  of  the  famous  battle  of  the  Standard.  But 
whtt  a  pity,  Siiy  to  throw  away  this  exquisite  de- 
a|;n  on  a  series  for  which  you  are  so  miserably 
paid?  Why  not  place  it  in  the  gorge  of  a  moun- 
tain pass,  and  execute  it  in  oils  ?" 

**  Ay,  why  not  ?" — cried  the  artist,  recalling  at 
that  moment  to  mind  his  order  for  the  two  battle- 
pieoefl,  and  justly  surmising  that  Mr.  Stubbs  had 
aeitlier  art  nor  learning  enough  to  detect  the  ana- 
chronism, if  such  a  study  were  made  the  com- 
panion to  a  skirmish  of  the  condoUieri  of  Sir  John 
Hawkwood  and  the  Cardinal  de  Bourbon ;  and 
little  inspecting  the  anxiety  of  mind  which  this 
interrnption  of  their  conversation  was  causing  to 
his  iiiTonrite  daughter. 

"  Esther  has  been  setting  to  music,  since  you 
haTe  been  gone,  those  pretty  words  you  brought 
her  the  last  time  you  were  here,"  observed  Mrs. 
Veielst,  after  her  husband  and  his  guest  had  suffi- 
ciently debated  together  the  question  of  the  new 
Battle  of  the  Standard,  wliich  was  to  rival  that  of 
Leonardo. 

"1  thought  she  would  like  them !"  cried  Basil, 
again  rairing  his  eyes,  and  meeting  those  of  Esther 
with  a  degree  of  frankness  that  almost  satisfied 
her  he  was  not  actuated  by  fear  of  exposing  his 
own  flirtations  to  her  examination,  in  opposing  her 
ntrtnoe  into  the  Maitland  family. 

"And  a  fine  melancholy  ditty  she  has  made  of 
them  r  added  her  father. 

"They  were  appropriate  only  to  a  minor  key," 
observed  Esther,  in  an  apologetic  tone. 

"  Will  you  not  let  me  hear  the  ballad,  and  judge 
ior  myself  ?**  inquired  Basil. 

"  I  am  so  afraid  of  not  satisfying  your  expecta- 
tion !"  said  Esther,  rising,  however,  instantly  from 
her  work.  "  I  am  sure  they  are  favourite  verses 
of  yonrs,  or  you  would  not  have  been  at  the  trouble 
of  copying  them." 

"  Show  me  the  man  who  would  like  his  favourite 
▼tnes  the  less  from  hearing  them  sung  by  such 
a  Toiee  as  yours,  Esther ! "  said  her  father  fondly. 
And  it  was,  perhaps,  the  dread  of  further  enco- 
mimns  which  hastened  the  blushing  girl  in  her 
pKparitions  for  complying  with  Mr.  Annesley's 
leqnest,  by  throwing  open  the  door  of  her  mother  s 
foom,  in  which  (in  submission  to  the  requirements 
of  the  artist's  studio)  stood  the  piano. 

Sweet  as  it  was  expressive  was  the  ritoumelle 
^  pre&ced  Esther  Yerelst's  articulate  and  melo- 
diooB  recital  of  the  following  stanzas  : — 


Yes !  other  eyes  may  brighten,  love, 

When  gaziog  npon  thine, 
Aa  gloomiest  Ivooks  mn  glittering  where 

The  shedding  sunbeams  shine. 
Oh  I  did  I  love  thee  less,  be  sure, 

Mme  own  wonld  brighter  be  ; 
Omtent  thee,  then,  with  smiles  from  them, 

And  hear  with  tears  from  me  I 

Yes  1  other  tones  may  soften,  love, 
When  to  thine  ear  addres^ 


As  breeaes  lulled  the  barque  allure 

O'er  ocean's  treacherous  breast. 
Oh  !  did  I  love  thee  less,  be  sure, 

My  words  would  smoother  be  ; 
Content  thee,  then,  with  praise  frt>m  them. 

And  bear  with  truth  from  me  ! 

Y'es  I  other  arms  may  bear  thee,  lore, 

0*er  fortune's  flowery  way ; 
Mine,  with  unwearied  fervent  faith, 

Abide  the  darker  day. 
Oh  !  did  I  love  thee  less,  be  sure, 

My  aid  would  prompter  be  ! 
Content  thee,  then,  with  pleasing  them, 
And  keep  thy  love  for  me ! 
To  the  utter  mortification  of  poor  Esther,  not  a 
word  of  conmiendation  broke  from  Annesley  at  the 
conclusion  of  her  performance.  Her  faUier  ex- 
claimed— *'  Brava,  my  girl !  charming,  charming !" 
^but  the  voice  of  Annesley  was  mute.  The 
piano  commanded  no  view  of  the  room  in  which 
her  auditors  were  seated ;  and  she  had  consequently 
no  means  of  surmising  that  if  her  ungracious  friend 
uttered  no  common  phrase  of  compliment,  it  was 
because  his  feelings  were  far  too  deeply  excited 
for  words.  Salome,  who  had  watched  his  tearful 
eyes  during  the  exquisite  song  of  her  sister,  was 
satisfied. 

'^  After  all,  this  is  a  doleful  ditty  to  salute  a 
friend  with  on  his  return,"  observed  the  artist, 
also  noticing  the  silence  of  Basil,  and  with  a  glance 
detecting  the  cause,  which  he  justly  attributed  to 
the  sensitiveness  produced  by  a  previous  shock  on 
the  spirits.  **You  forget,  my  Esther,  that  Mr. 
Annesley  is  come  to  us  from  the  sick-room  of  one 
he  loves,  and  that  he  wants  cheering." 

*^  I  am  always  cheered  when  I  find  myself  so 
kindly  welcomed  to  this  fireside,"  said  Basil,  at- 
tempting to  rally  his  spirits ;  *^  in  the  first  place, 
by  your  cordiality ;  in  the  second,  by  the  sight  of 
your  rational  occupations.  The  do-nothing,  good- 
for-nothing  world  /live  in,  contains  few  sights  so 
pleasant." 

'^  I  fancied,"  said  Salome,  '^  that  the  ladies  of 
England  were  highly  enlightened  and  accom- 
plished?" 

''  Superficialfy  accomplished.  They  learn  as 
much  music  and  drawing  and  as  many  languages, 
as  can  be  taught  for  money ;  but  nothing  is  done 
to  cultivate  that  intellectual  sense  which  renders 
such  acquirements  available." 

**  And  these  Miss  Maitlands,  Esther's  pupils  V* 
demanded  Salome,  returning  to  the  charge. 

'^Your  sister  has  decided,  then,  on  aoo^ting 
their  tuition  T  demanded  Basil,  in  a  constrained 
tone,  as  Esther,  after  closing  her  instrument,  re- 
turned into  the  sitting-room. 

**  I  scarcely  know  what  pretext  I  oould  find  for 
refusing,"  she  observed,  in  a  timid  voice,  resuming 
her  former  place. 

'^  Would  you  favour  me  with  a  sight  of  Miss 
Maitland's  letter?"  inquired  Annesley. 

"The  letter?— Wilingly!"— said  Mrs.  Verelst, 
producing  it  from  a  paper-rack  on  the  table  beside 
her  chair. 

"  Thu  is  the  handwriting  of  the  brother,  who 
is  in  the  same  regiment  with  myself,"  observed 
Basil,  after  examining  the  letter,  having  from  the 
first  surmised  the  possibility  of  a  hoax  on  the  part 


284 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDEft. 


of  his  brother  officer.  "  If  jrou  permit  me,  I  will 
make  inquiries  of  Lady  Maitland  concerning  her 
intentions ;  and  bring  you  an  exact  account,  before 
you  give  yourself  the  trouble  and  annoyance  of  a 
long  walk  this  cold  weather,  for  the  sole  purpose, 
perhaps,  of  gratifying  unjustifiable  curiosity." 

"  But  what  curiosity  can  poor  Esther  have  ex- 
cited among  persons  to  whom  she  is  known  only 
by  name  V*  observed  Mrs.  Verelst,  mistrustfully. 

"  Pardon  me, — she  is  personally  known  to  Lady 
Maitland's  son,  who  has  probably  mentioned  her 
to  his  sisters.  Surely,"  said  he,  turning  suddenly 
to  Esther  for  oonfitmation,  *'you  remember  the 
tall,  fair,  young  man,  so  frequency  with  old  Colonel 
Carrington,  who  accosted  us  at  the  stage-door  on 
the  day  you  made  that  hasty  exit  from  rehear- 
sal f 

**  Perfectly ! "  replied  Esther,  now  Mly  enlight- 
ened as  to  the  origin  of  his  objections,  **  and  I  am 
consequently  certain  that  it  would  be  disagreeable 
to  tne  to  give  letoons  to  Lady  Maitland's  daughters." 

"  Still,  befoi^  you  give  a  decided  negative,  which 
will,  of  course,  be  ungraciously  construed,  allow 
me  to  institute  some  inquiry  into  the  object  of 
the  parties,"  resumed  Basil.  "  I  see  these  people 
daily.  I  will  even  make  a  point  of  going  there 
to-night.  Nothing  will  be  easier  than  for  tne  to 
discover,  without  compromising  you^  whether  the 
young  ladies  have  any  serious  Intention  of  im- 
proving themselves  under  your  hands,  ilid  mjuit- 
ing  your  trouble.  The  girls  are  good-natured, 
though  silly  and  trifling  ;  and  would  not,  I  should 
imagine,  lend  themselves  to  unladylike  mystifica- 
tion." 

"  Murt  you  go  there  to-night  ?'  inquired  Esther, 
blushing  crimson. 

"Is  there  any  obstacle?**  inqull^d  BasU,  sur- 
prised at  her  remonstrance. 

"Only  that  this  is  Twelfth  Night,"  observed 
Salome,  for  once  almost  as  much  embarrassed  as 
her  sister.  "  Madame  Branzini,  who  intends  to 
faire  tirer  les  rcii  at  her  house,  has  made  us  pro- 
mise to  join  her  family  party ;  and  begged  us, 
should  you  return  to  town,  to  assure  you  how  much 
honoured  she  should  feel  by  your  company." 

"I  accept  with  pleasure!"  cried  Basil.  "But 
your  friend,  Madame  Bnknzini,  wisely  adheres  in 
England  to  your  rational  hours  of  the  continent, 
ind  will  expect  her  visiters  before  nine,  and  dis- 
miss them  at  eleven ;  till  which  hour,  Lady  Mali- 
land  would  be  much  surprised  to  see  any  evening 
guest  enter  her  house.  I  shall,  therefore,  be  ftble 
to  reconcile  both  visits.  I  dine  at  the  Club,  ilnd 
will  be  with  your  fiiend  at  what  hour  did  you 
say  you  were  going?" — 

"  We  shall  be  there  soon  after  eight,"  replied 
Salome.  We  always  return  home,  you  Iniow,  to 
aasiBt  my  mo^er  at  ten." 

"  I  will  not  hear  of  belAg  ftn  obstacle  to  your 
pleasures  to-night,"  said  Mts.  Verelst,  cheerftilly. 
"  It  is  80  seldom  you  enjoy  a  pleasant  party ! — 
Twelfth  Day  comes  but  once  a-year. — Do  you  re- 
member, Mr.  Annedey,  how  merrily  we  kept  it, 
the  winter  you  were  at  Heidelberg?" 

Basil  remembered  only  too  well  the  joyous  cor- 
diality of  his  old  professor^s  family  party. 


"  Nay,  surely  you  were  U  roi  deht  five  ?— ty, 
and  Esther  yonder  was  your  queen,"  cried  the 
artist,  laughing  heartily  at  the  recollection.  *^  9ie 
was  a  mere  child,  then ;  and  y<m  little  better  than 
a  boy.  But  I  remember  what  a  fEmcifnl  little 
miljesty  we  made  of  her  in  her  mother  s  brocaded 
dress,  with  pompons  and  powder,  and  old  points, 
like  a  queen  in  one  of  Mademoiselle  de  Scuddri's 
novels!  Little  gipsy,  that  you  were,  Estiier!  you 
made  your  old  father  trick  out  your  draperies  and 
arrange  your  throne ! " 

"  Imah  we  may  amuse  ourselves  half  so  well  to- 
night, at  Madame  Bhinzini's  I "  murmured  Esther, 
with  a  sigh.  "  I  was  a  child  then^ — I  feared  no- 
thing then, — now  I  seem  to  be  afraid  of  everything 
and  everybody ! " 

"  You  were  then  in  your  own  home  and  coun- 
try, Esther,"  said  the  artist,  with  a  sigh  hr 
heavier  than  her  own : — ^"  a  comfort,  my  poor 
child,  of  which  your  father's  inconsideratlon  has 
for  ever  deprived  you  !"— - 

"  Not  for  «w,  I  trust,"  responded  Mrs.  Verelst, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"  As  we  are  to  meet  to-night,  I  will  shorten  my 
visit  now,"  said  Basil,  rising  from  his  seat,  byway 
of  interrupting  these  saddening  retrospections; 
"  but  I  must  not  go  without  accomplishing  ito 
real  object.  I  have  brought  you  a  curiosity  to  look 
at,  Sir,"  resumed  he,  addressing  Verelst,  after 
drawing  a  small  volume  from  his  pocket.  "  Some- 
thing in  your  own  way — a  little  book  which  I 
borrowed  from  my  mother." 

It  was  a  scarce  co|>y  of  Hollar's  Engravings, 
after  Holbein's  Dance  of  Death,  which  was  exa- 
mined by^  Verelst  with  deliberation  and  enthu" 
siasm. 

"  I  know  these  designs,"  said  he,  "far  better 
than  I  know  any  of  my  own !  I  spent  a  month  at 
Basle,  for  the  express  purpose  of  studying  the  char- 
acteristics of  that  quaint  old  master.  This  is  a 
curious  copy,  and  seems  enriched  with  original 
interleavings,"  he  observed,  scrutinizing  the  volume 
with  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur.  "  But  what  have 
we  here  ? — ^there  is  an  Arabic  inscription  on  the 
title-page — or  Sanscrit— or,  stay!— ^ou  Rachael, 
can  help  us  here.  Are  not  these  Hebrew  charac* 
ters?"— 

Basil  Annesley  took  the  opeh  volume  from  the 
hands  of  Verelst,  to  convey  it  to  his  wife.  On  hii 
way,  he  naturally  glanced  at  the  inscription,  which 
was  decidedly  Hebrew,  and  written  in  ink  almost 
invisible  from  age.  But  at  the  foot,  in  a  mo- 
dem handwriting,  to  his  utter  amazement,  were 
inscribed  the  memorable  initials  of — A.  O. ! — 

Before  he  had  recovered  the  shock  caused  by 
this  startling,  though  of  course  accidental  coinci- 
dence, the  whole  attention  of  Basil  was  absorbed 
by  the  effect  produced  on  Mrs.  Verelst  by  the  sight 
of  the  volume !  Pale  as  death,  with  quivering 
lips,  and  suspended  respiration,  she  sank  back  in 
her  chair  the  moment  the  inscription  was  placed 
before  her.  Esther  and  Salome,  whose  attention 
was  constantly  directed  towards  the  invalid,  weie 
by  her  side  in  a  moment. 

"  Place  a  screen  before  the  fire— I  was  afraid 
the  room  was  too  close  for  her!"  faltered  Esther, 


AiBEDNEGO  THfi  MONET-LENDER. 


287 


opening  a  large  gr«en  hn  trhich  lay  constantly  on 
her  mother's  table. 

«  The  ether,  father !— yon  will  find  it  on  the 
dressing-table  within,"  cried  Salome ;  nor  had  either 
of  them  leiflore  to  notice  that  it  was  by  Basil,  by 
whom,  as  by  a  deroted  son,  tlie  commission  was 
executed.  The  eyes  of  Mrs.  Verelst,  however,  even 
titer  the  application  of  the  ether  to  her  temples, 
mnamed  closed,  and  her  hands  cold  as  marble. 

The  book,  a  glance  at  which,  young  Annesley 
eoold  not  forbear  regarding  as  the  origin  of  her 
sudden  seizure,  had  now  faUen  on  the  floor.  The 
dieting  nature  of  the  frontispiece  (which  repre- 
cnted  the  grisly  skeleton  of  Death  beguiling  an 
old  man  into  the  grave  by  the  music  of  a  dulci- 
mer) had  probably  conveyed  an  insupportable 
duck  to  the  sensitive  mind  of  the  enfeebled  in- 
ralid. 

Some  minutes  elapsed  befbre  Mrs.  Yetelst  evinc- 
fd  the  smallest  token  of  consciousness ; — a  longer 
period  than  Basil,  who  had  often  seen  her  over- 
come by  faitttness,  had  ever  known  her  remain 
thoroughly  insensible  to  what  was  passing  around 
her.  At  length  she  slowly  unclosed  her  eyes,  and 
i  feint  murmur  broke  from  her  lips.  Esther  in- 
stantly bent  down  her  head  to  listen  ;  but  Annes- 
ley, without  any  such  eflbrt,  distinctly  heard  her 
exclaim—**  My  father — u^o  was  It  spoke  to  me  of 
my  father?"— 

"  Better  wheel  her  into  her  own  room,"  inter- 
posed the  artist,  who,  during  the  swoon  of  his 
wife,  had  stood  aloof,  distressed  and  helpless.  **  It 
is  nothmg— the  heat  of  the  fire — ^the  sulphur  of 
those  detestable  coals ! — Let  us  all  be  quiet,  and  she 
vin  be  herself  again  in  a  moment." 

Having  assisted  the  girls  to  remove  her  into  the 
adjoining  chamber,  Verelst  returned  to  receive, 
vith  an  air  of  stupefaction,  the  adieus  of  Basil ;  who, 
conscious  that  his  presence  at  such  a  moment  might 
be  importunate,  hastened  to  withdraw. 

It  was  dusk  when  Basil  emerged  from  the  house  ; 
ttd  a  desolate  winter  rain  was  falling  in  torrents, 
fpkghmg  into  the  overflowing  kennels,  and  almost 
obficuring  the  light  of  the  lamps.  As  the  young 
go&rdsman  reached  the  junction  of  the  small  street 
in  which  Verelst's  house  was  situated,  with  South 
Audley  Street,  in  attempting  to  mufile  himself  in 
ins  cloak  in  resistance  to  the  driving  rain,  he  en- 
coontered  what,  at  the  first  shock,  he  conceived  to 
he  the  lamp-post  1  But  on  recoiling,  he  found  that, 
in  addition  to  the  lamp-post,  he  had  struck  against 
BQ  mdiyidual  combating  the  gusts  of  wind  with  a 
^bled  umbrella.  Something  irresistibly  ludi- 
<^9  in  the  dilemma  of  his  brother  in  distress,  at- 
tracted his  attention  to  the  struggling  wayfarer ; 
*hen  lo !  by  the  light  of  the  lamp,  he  recognised 
tlie  marked  and  well-remembered  features  of  Abed- 
^  the  Money-lender! — 

The  encounter  was  untimely  ;  but  BasQ  would 
^  shnnk  from  recognising  the  man  by  whom  he 
^  been  so  greatly  obliged. 

**We  have  untoward  weather  for  our  walk," 
ttid  Annesley,  lending  his  assistance  to  reverse  the 
^*^*tinate  resistance  of  the  reeking  cotton  um- 
brella. 

**  Ui^leasant  enough ;  and  youy  who  walk  for 


pleasure,  might,  I  should  think,  spare  your  pains 
for  a  happier  moment,"  rejoined  the  harsh  voice  of 
Abednego.     **  With  m«,  the  case  is  different." 

**  Di&rent  Indeed !  since  you  have  the  means  of 
commanding  any  sort  of  equipage  you  please : 
while  I  have  at  my  disposal  only  that  enjoyed  by 
our  father  Adam." 

**  And  how  long  should  I  enjoy  the  means,  pray, 
— were  I  to  lavish  them  on  costly  equipages  ?" 
rejoined  the  Money-lender.  **  Not  a  year ! — not 
a  month,  perhaps,  were  I  tempted  into  such  ridicu- 
lous prodigality.  I  might  be  reduced  to  the  same 
beggarly  shifts  which  bring  so  many  fine  gentlemen 
shuflling,  nay,  all  but  begging  to  my  door !  For 
whether  people  beg  for  a  loan  or  beg  for  a  gift, 
where  lies  the  mighty  difference  ?  They  are  still 
beggars.  Are  you  bound  for  St.  James's,  young 
Sir  ?  If  so,  we  may  become  a  mutual  benefit.  Tour 
arm  is  strong  enough  to  hold  up  the  umbrella ; 
and  by  takitig  mine,  we  may  share  it  between  us. 
Don't  be  afraid ! — In  such  wither  as  this,  none 
of  your  fine  friends  will  be  astir.  No  one  will  re- 
cognise the  gallant  Mr.  Basil  Annesley  cheek-by- 
jowl  with  A.  0.  !"— 

**  It  is  no  such  consideration — **  Basil  was  be- 
ginning. 

**  Away  with  ye  then,  and  make  an  end  of  the 
discussion,"  interrupted  Abednego,  practicaDy  en- 
forcing his  advice.  **  Satisfy  your  scruples  by  the 
certainty  that  you  have  a  second  time  rendered 
service  to  a  man  who  is  more  than  ready  to  render 
service  to  you." 

Partly  carried  away  by  his  companion's  impe- 
tuosity, and  partly  curious  of  further  insight  into 
his  eccentric  character,  Basil  suffered  himself  to  be 
disposed  of.  In  another  minute,  he  found  himself 
sole  occupant  of  the  wet  flagstones  with  the  myste- 
rious Abednego. 

**  But  surely.  Sir,  at  your  age,"  said  he,  by  way 
of  renewing  the  conversation,  **  the  enjoyment  of 
personal  comfort  must  be  a  greater  object  than  the 
amassment  of  mere  wealth  ?"— 

**  Who  is  to  determine  a  man's  notions  of  per- 
sonal comfort?"  cried  the  Money-lender.  "And 
what  do  you  mean  by  mere  wealth  ?  My  notion 
of  personal  comfort  is  independence  of  hirelings — 
whether  man  or  beast ;  and  as  to  wealth,  what  is 
there  in  this  world  beyond  it? — What  else  controls 
the  march  of  empires — ^the  progress  of  civilisation 
— ^the  development  of  science — ^the  cultivation  of 
art?  What  but  money,  causes  the  crucible  to 
glow, — sinks  the  shaft, — launches  the  balloon  into 
the  sky— or  plunges  the  diving-bell  into  the  depths 
of  the  ocean  ?  Of  what  metal  is  composed  the  key 
of  the  poet's  imagination — ^tho  orator's  eloquence— 
the  physician's  skill — ^the  divine's  ceal  and  fer- 
vour ?--0f  gold.  Sir — of  current  gold! — He  who 
hath  thaty  commands  kings  on  their  thrones,  or 
philosophers  in  their  cabinets  I  Talk  not  to  me 
of  the  refinements  of  art.  If  I  want  to  enjoy 
them,  I  buy  up  both  art  and  artists — ^an  orchestra  of 
musicians  —  a  legion  of  sculptors  or  painters  ! 
Your  capitalist,  boy — ^your  capitalist  is  the  only 
solid  sovereign  of  modem  times ! — *  Mere  wealth  V 
quotha.  I  knew  that  you  were  a  boy,  Basil  An- 
nesley, but  I  held  you  not  for  a  child !"— 


288 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


The  young  man  oould  scarcely  resist  a  smile  at 
tlie  impetuosity  of  his  companion. 

"  I  perfectly  agree  with  you  Sir,"  said  he  at 
last.  **  But  it  was  hy  fully  estimating  the  value 
of  money  as  a  means  of  commanding  enjoyment, 
that  I  expressed  my  surprise  at  your  preferring  a 
wet  walk  to  a  luxurious  carriage." 

''  Does  the  sportsman  find  the  greater  pleasure 
in  the  flavour  of  his  game,  or  the  pursuit  of  the 
chase?*'  demanded  Ahednego,  in  a  sterner  voice. 
"  Have  you  not  strength  of  mind  to  figure  to  your- 
self the  intensity  of  enjoyment  which  a  man,  ap- 
preciating the  true  value  of  money,  may  find  in 
the  combinations  by  which  he  adds  thousand  to 
thousand, — ingot  to  ingot? — Even  as  the  artist 
whose  fcmiily  you  have  just  quitted"  (Basil  found 
it  impossible  to  repress  a  start !)  ''finds exquisite 
delight  in  the  progress  of  a  picture  by  whose  per- 
fectionmeht  he  hopes  to  attain  profit  and  fame, 
does  the  money-monger  glory  in  the  machinery  by 
which  his  enrichment  is  accomplished.  Even  eco- 
nomy—even privation — ^has  cjiarms,  when  tending 
towards  the  achievement  of  the  grand  object  of  his 
life  I  Ay,  stripling — abject  as  it  may  seem  to  you, 
the  Money-lender* s  is  a  glorious  calling ! — ^Every 
minute  of  my  life  swells  the  amount  of  my  posses- 
sions. Other  men's  propei*ty  diminishes  with  their 
span  of  life ; — ^mine,  like  the  evening  shadows, 
grows  as  the  sun  goes  down.  I  am  a  wretch,  eh  ? — 


a  shabby  threadbare  wretch,  with  whom  a  smart 
oflicer  like  you^  is  ashamed  to  be  seen  arm  in  arm ! 
Shabby  and  threadbare  as  I  seem,  I  tell  you  I  hold 
in  subjection  those  of  whose  acquaintance  you  are 
proud — those  to  whose  acquaintance  you  iMuely  as- 
pire !  Your  fine  ladies  come  and  beg  of  me,— cajole 
me — ^flatter  me!^-cajole  and  flatter  A.  O.inhis  cob- 
web-tapestried halls  of  State. — *  Mere  wealth!' — 
What,  but  the  wealth  I  have  amassed  by  trudging 
in  the  rain  while  others  swelter  in  carriages,  brings 
the  Duke  of  Rochester  cringing  to  my  feet,lying  and 
swindling  for  the  means  of  keeping  up  his  empty 
state !  His  covetings  of  A.  O.'s  *  mere  wealth'  have 
converted  that  man,  created  by  nature  for  honour 
and  refinement,  into  an  equivocating  pettifogger. 
Ay,  Sir,  you  are  shocked — ^you  consider  my  tongue 
coarse  and  licentious ! — You  would  plead  privilege 
of  peerage  against  the  Money-lender,  in  favour  of 
the  uncle  of  your  fribble  acquaintance,  young  Wil- 
berton."  (Again  Basil  started.)  "  But  when  you 
have  lived  longer,  you  wiU  come  to  the  same  conclu- 
sions. And  now,  good  evening  to  you,  Mr.  Basil 
Annesley !  for  here  we  are,  opposite  to  the  Glou- 
cester Cofi^ee  House,  within  hail  of  your  ont-at- 
elbows,  discreditable  friends,  the  Maitlands! — Good 
evening  ! — I  should  be  as  loth  as  yourself  to  ex- 
pose you  to  the  shame  of  being  met  skulking  in 
the  rain  under  the  same  ignominious  umbrella  with 
such  a  Barabbas  as  A.  0. ! " — 


(To  be  continued.) 


THE  SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS. 


NO.   V. — ^THB  SONO  OF  MAY. 


1. 


Where  the  snow  lies  cold 

In  his  glacier  hold, 
Will  1  unseal  the  fountain ; 

And  loosen  the  reins 

Of  his  silver  veins, 
To  prance  down  the  lichen  mountain. 
And  the  agate  oups  of  the  lilies  pale. 
With  their  golden  petals  spreading, 
Shall  pout  for  his  gush  in  the  balmy  vale, 
As  a  virgin  sigl^  for  her  wedding. 

They  shall  meet — shall  meet — 

For  his  liquid  feet 
Shall  yield  to  no  long  delay ; 

They  shall  wed  i — and  bless 

With  their  loveliness 
The  wreath  of  the  Poet  May, 


Where  the  brown  deer  slake, 

At  the  lonely  lake, 
By  a  glade  through  the  forest  peeping ; 

And  bright  with  the  dew 

Of  the  mountains  blue, 
The  weary  river  is  creeping  : 
With  an  artful  lure  shall  the  fisher  ply 

His  gentle  craft,  unheeded ; 
(A  supple  rod,  and  a  eunning  fly, 
Ana  a  musing  soul,  are  needed.) 

While  I  scatter  bloom. 

And  the  Spring's  perfume. 
From  wings  of  the  heron  gray. 

As  he  wades,  and  flies, 

Through  the  argosies 
Of  emerald-fireighted  May. 


Where  steps  but  a  span. 

Yonder  bow'd  old  man, 
On  well- worn  crutches  leaning ; 

The  oak  I  will  dress 

In  a  wilderness 
Of  foliage,  brightly  preening. 
And  deep  in  the  shade  of  his  goodly  boughs, 

With  lips  like  dew-bathed  roses, 
Sweet  maidens  shall  sigh  to  their  rustics'  vows, 
When  the  village  revel  closes ; 

While  Age  shall  relate 

How  he  danced  and  sate, 
With  those  in  the  church-yard  clay, 

Once  the  fair  and  firee, 

'Neath  that  self-same  tree, 
In  bright,  incense-breathing  May. 
4. 

Even  cities  dun 

Shall  partake  my  sun. 
Through  shattered  casements  streaming; 

Where  the  son  of  toil. 

With  a  ghastly  smile, 
Of  his  schoolboy  days  is  dreaming. 
And  when  he  awakes  to  the  conscious  world, 

The  bright  ideas  haunting. 
He  shall  think  of  the  wilds  where  the  woodbines 
curled. 
And  the  poppies  bright  were  flaunting. 

And  stricken  and  shrunk. 

Like  a  blasted  trunk 
Still  bare  in  the  woodlands  gay  ; 

Shall  forget  his  care. 

In  the  bloom-charmed  air. 
Of  the  dainty  Sylphide,  May !  J.  A  0. 


280 


IRISH  TREASON  IN  PARIS. 


MB.  RICHAJID  OHARA  TO  MR.  BARNES  O  HARA,  GRAYS  INN,  LONDON. 

Mt  obab  Babnbs,— Here  is  what  yoa  wished  me  to  do  for  jou,  after  mj  allusions  in  conversation  to  the  matter,  daring 
jw  Itit  most  welcome  visit  to  Innismore.  Make  what  use  you  like  of  it.  But,  for  Heaven'b  sake,  look  well  at  it  first,  to 
coaTiDce  jomnelf  that  there  is  no  real  treason  in  it.  I  can  only  assure  tou  I  meant  none.  And  for  your  sati^action,  as  well 
ai  for  tlyki  of  others,  I  volunteer  another  declaration.  Apart  from  all  tne  jocose  mystifying  of  authors,  I  declare  to  you,  on 
oj  mud,  that  the  character  sketched  for  you,  is  closely  drawn  from  the  life  ;  and  also,  that,  as  £ur  as  my  memory  serves  me, 
Its  dutuoe  of  seven  years,  any  remarkahle  sentiments  reported  hy  me  of  him,  were  uttered  by  him. — Ever  your  affectionate, 

E.  O'H. 


Whbn  I  was  last  in  Paris, — ^mind-stirring,  heart- 
dMeriDg  Paris! — ay,  and,  let  some  people  say 
what  they  will,  social,  and  troly  social  Paris ! — 
bat  this  is  too  vivacions  for  a  beginning ;  and, 
besidee,  it  has  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  the  matter 
in  hand. 

Wdl,  when  I  was  last  in  Paris,  in  1885,  I 
belieye  I  was  more  than  half-spoiled,  by  the 
onmerited  and  unexpected  attentions  paid  to  me. 
One  mode  in  which  these  attentions  became  mani- 
fated,  consisted  in  visits  received  from  celebrated 
penons,  with  whom  I  had  been  previously  unac- 
qoainted,  except  by  name  and  reputation.  But  of 
soeh  iadlvidiuils,  it  is  not  now  my  intention  to 
indulge  my  vanity  by  speaking.  There  were 
othen,  leas  known  to  fame,  who  did  me  a  similar 
lionoar ;  and  of  this  class,  I  shall  at  present  select 
one,  who  particularly  interested  me.  I  shall  never 
forget  even  his  very  first  appearance.  He  followed 
ius  presenting  friend  into  the  room,  holding  for- 
ward, between  hb  finger  and  thumb,  a  great, 
broad-brimmed  hat.  He  stepped  timidly,  and  yet 
almost  stridingly,  towards  me ;  his  head  and  eyes 
<irooped  sideways  to  the  floor.  There  seemed  a 
foregone  doubt,  through  his  whole  manner  and 
mien,  of  his  claims  to  self-appreciation,  though  at 
tiist  time  of  day  he  need  have  entertained  no 
sBch  sentiment.  His  attire  was  also  less  costly 
tiian  his  present  situation  in  the  world  ought  to 
1^T«  conceded, — and,  moreover,  was  worn  very 
cMdesdy.  And  now  I  must  come — ^though  I 
bow  not  how,  with  perfect  politeness  to  him,  I 
ctn  pleasantly  do  so— to  glance  at  his  head  and 
fece.  He  was  very,  very  like  Socrates ;  quite  bald, 
to  the  hack  of  his  head ;  his  forehead  high,  broad, 
^y,  knuckled,  and  shiny ;  his  brows  shaggy  and 
prodding,  and  his  eyes  placed  far  in  under  them ; 
l»i»  nose  short,  a  little  snubbed ;  and  heavily 
^ged ;  in  fact,  as  I  said  bef(Jre,  he  was  very, 
very  like  Socrates,  and  it  follows,  very,  very  ugly. 
And  yet  these  very  ugly  Socratian  head  and 
features  would  beam  with  the  expression  of  a  per- 
fectly beautifiil  mind  and  heart,  whenever — and  I 
>M}n  foond  out  that  his  habits  in  that  way  were 
not  of  rare  occurrence — ^he  spoke  of  persons  whom 
^  loved,  esteemed,  or  honoured. 

But  it  was  the  self-humiliating  manners  and 
<5pre8«ion,  which,  at  a  first  glance,  puzzled  me. 
Alas,  I  could  not  have  known,  till  he  afterwards 
n^labed, — merely,  however,  by  hinting,  in  a  dis- 
located way,  his  own  history, — I  could  not  have 
known  that  they  were  the  indelible  marks,  which, 
^  a  tender  age,  sayeighteenornineteen, persecution, 
|error,  and  wretchedness,  had  burned  and  branded 
Jnto  Ipau    When  I  saw  him,  he  was  about  sixty. 


He  sat  down  at  my  feet,  on  the  sofa  to  which 
then,  as  well  as  now,  I  was  chained,  except  when 
I  went  out  in  a  carriage,  or  was  carried  to  bed ; 
folding  his  arms  tight  across  his  breast,  and  still 
inclining  his  head  and  eyes  to  the  floor.  Although 
nearly  forty  years  out  of  Ireland,  he  had  saluted 
me  in  a  luscious  brogue,  which  it  did  one's  heart 
good  to  hear.  A  pause  ensued.  He  began  the 
conversation  by  paying  me  compliments.  They 
were  soon  acknowledged  and  passed,  for  he  by  no 
means  wanted  the  good  taste  of  good  feeling.  He 
fell  upon  another  introductory  topic, — ^for  evidently 
he  would  not  yet  approach  some  subjects,  whidi 
ho  had  come  purposely  to  enter  into.  And  a  very 
strange  introductory  topic  it  was.  He  mentioned 
the  name  of  a  mutual  acquaintance,  a  French 
gentleman :  I  admitted  that  I  knew  him. 

"Yes,  Sir;  and  you've  lent  him  money,**  he 
said,  still  keeping  his  head  and  eyes  turned  to  the 
carpet. — I  will  add  here  that  he  followed  the  ex- 
ploded fashion  of  calling  you  "  Sir,"  at  the  begin- 
ning and  end  of  almost  every  sentence — another 
mark,  I  have  since  thought,  of  the  effects  of  the 
early  times  of  persecution ;  or  else  it  might  have 
been  his  quietly  ironical  imitation  of  a  former 
necessitous  habit  and  tone. 

"  You*ve  lent  him  money.  Sir ;  and  you  want  it 
yourself  now." 

I  thought  it  incumbent  upon  me  to  get  offended ; 
but,  after  looking  at  him,  laughed  out  instead,  and 
asked — 

"  How  on  earth  could  you  guess  that?** 

"I  guessed  it.  Sir,  because  I  knew  it.  Sir;  and 
I  knew  it.  Sir,  because  I  knew  him.  Sir ;  and  I 
knew  it.  Sir,  the  very  moment  I  heard  he  knew 
you.  Sir ;  for  that  is  a  man.  Sir,  who,  if  the  angel 
Gabriel  came  down  and  stood  before  him.  Sir, 
would  think,  the  very  first  thing,  only  how  he 
could  best  contrive  to  get  his  hand  into  the  arch- 
angel's breeches  pocket.  Sir." 

I  now  laughed  heartily. 

"And  I  guess  more  than  that.  Sir,**  he  con- 
tinued, his  features,  hb  voice,  and  the  shelving 
inclination  of  his  head,  still  and  still  unaltered : 
"  you've  lent  him  a  pretty  considerable  sum." 

"  Why,"  said  I,  thrown  off  my  guard,  **  pretty 
well." 

"  And  I  can  venture  to  guess  even  more  than 
that.  Sir ;  it  continues  due  a  long  time  after  it  has 
been  promised  to  be  repaid.  Were  you  ever 
hungry.  Sir?" — and  here  he  uncrossed  his  folded 
arms,  merely,  however,  to  place  the  left  arm  over 
the  right,  in  lieu  of  their  former  positions,  of  the 
right  over  the  left :  again  hugging  them  hard-~ 
"  Were  you  ever  hungry,  Sir  ?  I  don't  mean,  havt 


290 


IRISH  TREASON  IN  PARIS. 


you  ever  been  pleasantly  piqued  with  an  appetite 
for  your  dinner ;  but  have  you  ever  felt  real 
hunger  ? — ^the  gnawing,  gnawing,  gnawing  of  the 
unfed  worm,  which  daily  demands  its  bribe,  to 
cany  on  the  business  of  human  vitality,  and  is 
daily  refused  its  claim  ? " 

"No,  thank  God  I  "said  I. 

**So  I  thought.  Sir,  or  you  would  never  have 
lent  that  man  that  money.  He  tried  me.  Sir ;  but 
I  looked  round  about  me,  at  my  wifs  and  children, 
and  I  recollected  former  times,  and  he  didn't  get  a 
single  halfpenny  from  me.  For,  Sir,  /  have  ex- 
perienced real  hunger. 

"  Sir,  I  left  thai  country  in  my  eighteenth  year. 
I  absconded  from  it,  I  mean,  in  pure  terror  of  the 
triangle  and  the  gaUows,  after  all  hope  for  it  was 
lost.  It  was  in  the  year  '98  I  left  it,  Sir.  And  I 
left  it  without  leaving  behind  me  relation  or  friend, 
— ^father,  brothers,  uncles,  or  cousins  alive, — or,  at 
all  events,  able  to  assist  me  with  a  shilling, — 
though  a  few  months  before,  they  had  all  been 
alive,  and  in  good  circumstances.  Castlereagh, 
Sir,  with  Reynolds*  help,  made  quick  work  of 
them.  Well,  Sir,  with  a  l^ue-and-cry  hot  after 
myself,  changing  my  name,  and  well  disguised,  I 
got  to  Cove,  and  there  went  on  board  an  English 
ship,  bound  for  an  English  port.  And,  Sir,  the 
baying  bloodhounds  were  dose  on  my  track ;  and 
X  myself  was  one  of  the  men  who  held  lights  for 
them,  about  the  vessel,  when  they  came  in  the 
night  time  to  search  it  for  me.  But  they  did  not 
recognise  me,  keen-scented  as  they  were ;  and  so 
abandoning  the  land  I  once  loved,  I  arrived  safely, 
a  friendless,  relationless,  portionless,  pennyless 
stranger,  in  a  land  I  hated — ay,  and  feared,  in  the 
marrow  of  my  bones.  Want  soon  came  upon 
me ;  and  as  my  father — Grod  bless  his  memory  for 
it! — ^hi^i  got  plenty  of  Greek  and  Latin  well  flogged 
into  me,  I  thought,  by  advertising,  with  my  last 
funds,  in  a  cheap  newspaper, — one  of  those  publi- 
pan's  papers,  Sir, — ^to  obtain  some  tuitions  that 
would  half  fill  my  stomach  with  the  poorest  food. 
The  first  advertisement  appeared.  Sir;  and  I 
economized  my  few  remaining  sixpences,  by  trying 
to  live  on  a  pennyworth  of  bread  per  day, — 
and  the  loaf  was  very  small  that  year.  Sir, — and 
thi^  allowance,  with  liberal  contributions  from  the 
public  pump.  Sir,  was  all  that  the  tall,  raw-boned 
boy  of  eighteen,  with  a  stomach  like  an  ostrich's, 
had  to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  while  be  wait- 
ed, day  after  day,  the  golden  results  of  his  adver- 
tisement. But,  Sir,  there  was  no  result  at  all  from 
his  advertisement ;  and  so.  Sir,  I  advertised  again, 
now  reducingmy  allowance  of  brea4  toa  halfpenny- 
worth per  day  ;  and  again  I  waited  and  waited. 
Sir,  during  tbis  second  waiting  upon  Providence, 
my  last  halfpenny  was  spent :  and.  Sir,  I  conti- 
nued for  days  without  a  crumb  of  food  of  any 
kind,  walking  about  the  streets  of  London,  and 
stamping,  and  spuming,  and  hating  their  very 
paving-stones, — ^Uie  pumps  now  my  oi^ly  resource. 
Sir,  it  happened  one  day,  somehow  or  other,  some 
one  gave  me  a  shilling — stay,  I  think  I  earned  it 
by  holdmg  a  gentleman's  horse — ^ay.  Sir,  younu^y 
start — ^but  the  Greek  and  Latin  professor,  with 
perhaps  as  much  gentleman's  blood  in  his  veins  as 


my  generous  benefactor,  was  brought  down  to  that, 
Sir.  To  that  do  I  say  ?  Sir,  I  was  brought  down 
to  anything.  Before  I  earned  the  shilling,  I  used 
to  spend  a  good  part  of  the  day,  walking  up  and 
down  the  street  that  I  lodged  in — Little  Windmill 
Street ;  and,  of  course,  you  know  the  aspect  of  that 
street,  Sir.  There  are  many  mean  houses  in  it,  with 
their  hall  doors  left  open,  and  dirty  littJe  children 
sprawling  on  the  steps  ascending  to  the  hall  doors, 
and  gnawing  buttered  crusts,  and  smearing  tiieir 
faces  still  more  with  the  crust,  which  often  slipa 
through  their  little  weak  hands,  and  is  as  often 
picked  up  out  of  the  street  dust  or  puddle,  to  be 
gnawed  again ;  and.  Sir,  I  used  to  pass  by  many 
of  these  little  creatures, — and  as  my  yearning  and 
abrading  stomach  sent  its  fumes  into  my  heed, 
and  its  raging,  wild-beast  hunger  into  my  very 
heart,  I  could  have  snatched  them  up,  and  twisted 
their  necks  round  and  round,  for  that  moisel  of 
disgusting  food.  Sir,  the  fear  of  the  hangm&n  alone 
withheld  me  &om  doing  some  such  violence  on 
somebody.  .  It  wasn't  philosophy.  Sir, — it  waso't 
morality, — ^it  wasn't  religion,  though  I  had  been 
religiously  brought  up,  i^nd  wasn't  an  irreli- 
gious, or  an  immoral  lad  ; — it  was  not  any  one 
of  these  checks  that  kept  my  hands  quiet.  No, 
Sir ;  it  was  the  mere  animal  dread  of  being  hang- 
ed, which  mastered  even  the  bmte  instinct  of 
hunger. 

''  But,  Sir,  I  got  the  shilling  ;  and  clutching  it 
hard  in  the  palm  of  my  hand,  I  ran  straight  to 
the  next  baker  s  shop,  bought  a  shilling  loaf  with 
it,  and  then  ran  to  my  lodgings^  to  deyoui  the 
bread  in  secret.  Don't  believe  any  one  wlio  tells 
you.  Sir,  that  it  is  dangerous  to  put  any  considerable 
portion  of  food,  at  a  time,  into  a  perfectly  empty 
and  starving  stomach.  I  have  read  such  aseer- 
tions,  and  I  have  heard  them  made.  Sir ;  but  my 
own  experience  proves  that  they  are  utterly  fftlse* 
'Twas  a  public-house  I  lodged  in.  Sir;  and  my 
straw  pallet  was  stretched  under  iJie  very  slates, 
at  its  tip-top — ^not  its  attic  story.  Sir,  not  in  its 
garret — that  would  have  been  a  palace,  beyond  my 
means — ^but,  as  I  have  said,  literally  under  the 
slates,  Sir ;  and,  of  course,  higher  up  even  than 
the  garret.  So  my  retreat  was  there ;  and  as  I 
wei^t  up  all  the  flights  of  stairs  to  my  chamber,  1 
tore,  with  my  skeleton  fingers — ^my  claws,  my  ta- 
lons— I  tore  out  of  the  sides  of  the  loaf,  handful  after 
handful,  all  its  soft  portions — and  I  stuffed  th^n 
so  quickly  down  my  throat.  Sir,  that  by  the  time 
I  got  up  to  my  private  apartment,  nothing  but  the 
two  crusts  were  left ;  and  then.  Sir,  after  taking  a 
long  draught  out  of  the  large  brown  pitcher  that 
stood  at  my  bedside— 'twas  a  quart  draught  at 
least.  Sir — and  after  sitting  down  on  my  pallet, 
the  crusts,  too,  soon  disappeared.  And  then.  Sir, 
nothing  injurious  happened  to  me.  On  the  con- 
trary, after  I  had  lain  some  time  on  the  broad  of 
my  back,  I  jumped  up,  like  a  young  giant,  and 
lai;ghed  out  alone,  to  the  slates  and  rafters  above 
my  head,  and  cried,  ha,  ha  I  like  the  war-horse 
in  Job.  I  might  have  been  a  little  mad,  perhaps ; 
but  not  a  bit  indisposed  or  inconvenienced  in  body 
or  in  limb. 

"  And  so.  Sir,  the  reason  you  see  why  J  didn't 


IRISH  TREASON  IN  PARIS, 


291 


lend  money  to  oar  ^mutua}  friend/  wasbeeanae, 
as  I  hAT8  told  you  before,  I  had  sofiered^  once  in 
my  life,  leal  hunger." 

Although  daring  this  recital  he  had  scarce  rMsed 
bis  eyes  from  the  groand,  strong  emotions  worked 
higooontenanoe.  Bitter  contempt  for  ^  that  land'* 
wMch  be  had  abandoned,  worked  it ;  bitter  hatred 
for  the  land  to  which  he  had  escaped,  worked  it ; 
bitter  irony,  recollected  suffering,  recollected  de- 
nudation, now  placed  under  his  feet,  and  trampled 
upon ;-— all  these,  and  more,  worked  it :  until,  as  I 
gazed  upon  him,  I  thought  his  ugly  Sooratian  face 
grew  ihnost  hideous.  But  a  litUe  incident  soon 
ebaDge4  both  my  opinion  of  that  face,  and  of  the 
heart  which  goremed  its  expression. 

We  Tvere  sitting  in  a  back  saloon,  au  prtrnWy 
which  looked  out  upon  a  garden.  The  windows  of 
the  room  were  open,  for  it  was  fine  sunny  weather. 
The  flat,  leaded  roof  of  some  small  outbuilding, 
ome  ap  nearly  to  the  level  of  the  windows, 
tod  was  enclosed  by  a  wooden  railing,  which  ren- 
dered it  a  perfectly  safe  play-ground  for  children ; 
bit  the  leaden  roof .  could  not  be  perceived  by  my 
Mw  aequaintanoB,  from  the  place  which  he  occu- 
pied in  the  room.  He  had  scarce  uttered  the  last 
words,  when  a  little  feUow,  between  four  and  five 
—ay  only  living  son — raced  into  the  saloon,  beat- 
ing a  dram,  then  on  to  one  of  the  open  windows^ 
udthen,  with  a  jump,  disappeared  from  our  sight. 
Hy  visiter  gave  a  piercing  cry,  clasped  his  hands 
together,  and  before  I  could  explain  to  him  how 
Httle  cause  for  alarm  was  really  in  the  case,  rushed 
to  the  window,  with  a  manner  and  features  ex- 
preeave,  I  thought,  of  the  keenest  sympathy  and 
uoiety  that  human  nature  could  exhibit.  But 
he  goon  saw  his  mistake. 

"(yaw»  v€fus  donc^  Momieur  ?**  cried  the  little 
^Vs  small  voice,  as  he  laughed  up  at  him,  from 
the  leads.    By  the  way,  he  spoke  no  English. 

The  old  man,  as  I  may  almost  call  him,  stepped 
Uck,  and—"  Thank  God  !"  he  said,  droppmg  hb 
hands  to  his  sides,  as  he  trembled,  and  grew  pale, 
from  hia  recent  excitement.  "  Your  child.  Sir  ?" 
he  resomed,  turning  to  me.  "  Come  up  here,  you 
Jittle  nucal,  until  I  punish  you  for  having  fright- 
^  me ;"  and,  returning  to  the  wjndow,  he 
^pedanddiucked  up,  into  the  room,  my  poor  little 
naniesake  ;  then  hu^ed  him,  and  kissed  him,  al- 
nwwt  in  tears — certainly  in  smiles  of  pure  and  fresh 
benevolence  of  feeling. 

**I  see  you  have  some  of  them  at  home  your- 
«tf,''l8aid. 

**lhave.  Sir,"  he  answered;  "four  girls,  and 
three  boys — and  all  brought  up,"  he  added,  some- 
what strangely,  "  to  hate  and  detest,  and,  if  they 
c^d,  to  injure  to  the  death,  the  land  which  de- 
^yed  their  father's  land,  and  made  it  the  by- 
*wd  it  has  become.  But  they  are  all  bigger  and 
older  than  this  little  fellow ;  and  some  of  the  girls 
^-gpown.  I  came  in  to-day  from  Passy,  to  leave 
<ffl€  of  them,  to  get  a  lesson  at  Hertz's." 

"  Bat  what  says  their  mother  to  this  bringing 
ap  of  her  daughters,  in  the  way  you  say  ?  I  sup- 
pose ahe  is  as  thorough-going  a  '98  Irishwoman, 
as  you  are  a  tiiorough-going  '98  Irishman  V 

**  Indeed,  and  she  is  not.  Sir,"  he  replied,  laughing 


a  low  mocking  laugh,  it  seemed,  at  himself—-'^  she 
isn't  an  Irishwoman  at  all.  Sir — nor  yet  a  Scotch* 
woman — nor  yet  a  Frenchwoman  ;  ^e  is  an  Eng- 
lishwoman, Sir — and  English  to  the  back-bone ; 
and  when  she  married  me,  she  was  as  handsome  as 
I'm  ugly.  Sir ;  and  as  good  and  as  gentle,  as  I  was 
evil,  and  soured,  and  ill-tempered." 

And  this  is  the  man,  thought  I,  who  hates  £ng-* 
land,  and  everything  English,  and  yet  takes  an 
Englishwoman  to  his  bosom,  and  makes  her  the 
mother  of  his  children  ;  and  this,  too,  is  the  man 
who,  almost  in  tiie  tame  breath  in  which  he  spoke 
of  twisting  the  heads  off  various  little  children,  in 
Little  Windmill  Street,  betrays  the  emotion  of  a 
woman's  heart,  at  a  supposed  prospect  of  injury  to 
one  little  child  in  Paris. 

I  may  as  weU  mention  in  this  place,  how,  still 
in  reference  to  little  Johnny,  the  nature  of  my 
new  acquaintance  became  mofe  fully  unveiled  to 
me.  In  a  few  months  afterwards,  I  lost  the  child. 
He,  who  had  never  before  known  an  hour's  illness, 
and  who  was  as  lovely  as  a  sunbeam,  and  as 
strong  as  a  young  Hercules,  died  from  me,  after 
about  a  day's  struggle,  in  the  dutch — the  hangman 
clutch  of  >'  Za  ^pe"  The  blow  stunned  me  ;  saad 
perhaps  until  this  day,  J  have  not  recovered  ^m 
its  effects.  The  little  fellow  died,  too,  in  convul- 
sions, rising  up  against  death  in  his  cradle-bed, 
erect  on  his  limbs,  and  holding  his  clenched  hand 
high  above  his  head ;  and  in  my  weakened,  and,  I 
suppose,  unsound  state  of  mind,  I  remember  to  have 
felt  somehow  that  I  despised  the  grim  King  of 
Terrors  for  his  paltry  and  cowardly  triumph  over 
so  sinless  a  little  creature. 

In  my  affliction,  many  friends  and  acquain- 
tances called  upon  me,  but  Socrates  reditnvtu  did 
not  come  near  me ;  and  in  the  egotism  of  grief, 
this  made  me  waver  in  my  growing  good  opinion 
of  him.  In  about  five  days,  however,  he  did  come. 
It  was  Sunday.  I  was  in  bed,  but  he  would  see 
me.    I  received  him  coldly. 

^'  I  see.  Sir,"  he  saic),  "  that  you  resent  a  seeming 
neglect  of  mine.  But  it  was  only  a  seeming 
neglect.  I  could  not  come  near  you  sooner.  And 
it  wasn't  occupation  that  kept  me  away, — though, 
(xod  knows,  I  have  my  share  of  labour  ft-om  morn- 
ing to  night  allotted  to  me.  Still  X  couldn't  come. 
I  loved  that  little  child,  Sir,  and  I  hf^d  also  my 
own  feelings  towards  its  father;  and  'tisn't  my 
way,  nor  it  isn't  in- my  nature,  to  get  the  cold 
words  of  condolence  by  heart,  and  deal  them  out 
during  a  commonplace  visit.  In  your  first  grief,  I 
didn't  know  what  to  say  to  you ;  and  I  wouldn't 
come  to  say  nothing  to  you.  The  time,  since  then, 
has  natundly  calmed  you  down  a  little  ;  and  I  say 
to  you  now.  Sir,  may  God  enable  you  to  overcome 
soon  your  father's  sorrow  for  that  boy,  for  your 
loss  has  been  heavy.  And  I  prayed  the  same 
prayer  this  morning  before.  Sir,  in  the  fairyland 
cemetery  of  Mora  MartrCy  while  kneeling  at  the 
entaurragey  that  already  surrounds  his  little  grave, 
with  its  little  patch  of  flower-beds,  and  after  I  had 
read  the  inscription  on  the  little  spotless  marble 
monument,  crowned  by  perhaps  almost  the  only  cross 
in  the  extensive  and  most  beautiful  church-yard. 

"  And  after  taking  my  leave  of  poor  Johnny,  I 


202 


IRISH  TREASON  IxN  PARIS. 


came  here,  Sir,  to  see  you,  but  still  unable  to  taUs 
comfort  to  you.  I  will,  however,  tell  you  a  story.  It 
is  by  contrast  with  other  things  that  we  know  the 
real  value  of  anything ;  it  is  by  contrasting  with 
the  visitations  dealt  out  to  others,  those  which  are 
dealt  out  to  ourselves,  that  we  can  estimate  the 
heaviness  or  the  lightness  of  the  latter.  So  listen 
to  me.  Sir. 

^'  I  have  admitted  to  you  that  I  had  at  home 
four  girls  and  three  boys.  I  did  not  say  that  I  had 
any  other  child, — ^but  I  haioe  another  at  home — a 
girl.  Sir,  and  my  first-bom,  and  my  most  beautiful, 
though  they  are  all,  boys  and  girls,  comely,  and 
the  most  of  them  handsome.  Why  did  I  leave  out 
kcr  in  mentioning  the  number  of  my  little  flock  ? 
Because,  Sir,  she  can  scarcely  be  said  to  be  of  it. 
Because,  Sir,  it  has  pleased  the  Almighty  to  send 
her  from  his  hands  without  the  slightest  share  of 
intellect  or  reason — treason,  the  only  medium 
through  which  human  nature  can  see  or  even 
become  conscious  of  Its  very  existence.  Oh,  that 
evening  and  tliat  hour — she  being  then  in  her  fifth 
year — ^when,  sitting  on  her  mother's  lap,  we  be- 
came perfectly  assured,  by  the  sentence  of  a  highly 
qualified  professional  man,  that  our  darling  was 
an  idiot !  Oh,  the  sickening  qualms  In  which  for 
years  before  we  suspected  the  terrible  truth !  and 
oh,  the  agony  that  to  this  day  she  awakens,  wan- 
dering through  the  house  among  us,  and  scarce 
addressing  a  word  to  us,— or  else  a  word  that  has 
no  meaning,  and  that  shows  no  sympathy  with 
family,  or  kind — ^wlth  life  Itself!    You  are  the 


first  human  being.  Sir,  out  of  my  own  fiimily,  to 
whom  I  have  opened  my  lips  on  this  subject. 
Hardly  one  but  ourselves  knows  that  the  poor 
being  breathes.  Her  case.  Sir,  Is  one  of  perfect 
Idlotlsm^-of  cureless,  hopeless  Idlotlsm  ;  and  of  a 
moping,  melancholy  kind,  too ;  and.  Sir,  she  runs 
from  ^e  sight  of  a  stranger,  or  the  sound  of  a 
strangers  voice,  as  the  blind  mole  runs  to  hide 
himself  In  the  earth. 

"And  now,  Sir,  compare  your  visitation  with 
that  which  I  have  described,  and  ask  your  heart 
wliich  Is  the  severer  of  the  two?  Your  little  pet 
suddenly  taken  from  you,  by  the  hand  that  gave 
him  to  you,  almost  as  fresh  as  when  he  was  given? 
or  left  with  you  to  grow  up,  In  mere  animal 
beauty,  day  after  .day,  year  after  year,  to  man's 
estate,  without  understanding  you,  without  com- 
prehending the  words  of  your  lips,  or  the  tears 
that  you  weep  over  him, — wltliout  even  the  power 
of  knowing  that  you  love  him, — without  the 
power  of  loving  you, — without  an  idea  of  your 
existence  even,  or  of  his  own  ?  Sir,  think  on  my 
story  and  be  comforted.  I  have  told  you,  you  are 
the  first  to  whom  I  ever  hinted  It.  And  It  has  cost 
me  a  struggle  to  make  up  my  mind  to  Impart  it 
even  to  you.  But  I  said  to  myself,  tliat  It  would 
help  to  lessen  your  great  sorrow.  God  grant  that 
It  may!" 

He  walked  out  of  the  room,  his  deeply  furrowed 
cheeks  streaming  tears,  some  of  which  fell  on  my 
hand  as  he  took  It  at  parting. 

{To  he  continued, ) 


SABBATH  PROFANATION. 


BY  A  LADY. 


Oh  !  call  It  not  profiuie  to  wander  forth 

On  Sabbath  eve — to  gaze,  with  gladdened  eye, 

On  all  the  beauties  of  the  teeming  earth. 

The  sea  mysteriona,  and  celestial  sky. 

Then  sacred  Meditation  ofl  is  nigh, 

Prompting  the  heaven-yrard  hope — the  holy  thought 

That  leads  to  pray'r.    Sometimes  unwittingly 

The  careless  Spirit  is  heart-worship  taught, 

And  meek  devotion  comes,  although  unsought. 

Sweet  is  the  birds'  song — lovely  seems  each  flow*r 
To  toil-worn  crowds  who  rove  at  Sabbath  eve ; 
Some  note  the  vast  economy  and  poVr 
Displayed  in  all  God's  works — these  will  not  leare 
Nature  with  hearts  untaught.    Nor  should  we  grieve 
If  lovers  rove  in  quiet  privacy  ; 
A  pure  affection  can  fh>m  vice  retrieve — 
For  virtuous  love  is  heaven-bom ;  and  may  be 
A  joy  perfected  in  eternity. 

Much  ^  profanation'*  ev'rywhere  takes  place 
When  conscience  sleeps.    Bigots  censoriously 
Rail  at  their  neighbours'  want  of  Christian  grace  ; 
These  in  God's  Temples  but  the  creature  see. 
His  creed  they  learn,  not  Christianity. 


Some  note  the  dress  and  looks  of  all  around, 
Yet  seem  to  pray  !  What  sinful  thoughts  would  be 
(Could  we  read  hearts)  in  erring  creatures  found, 
For  Satan  loves  to  tread  on  holy  ground. 

From  faithful  Pastors,  of  God's  wondrous  love, 

In  earthly  Temples  it  is  sweet  to  hear ; 

And  then  true  Worshippers  delight  to  rove 

Far  from  the  city — for  they  would  be  near 

His  works;  and  those  of  men  appear 

To  keep  them  far  from  God — each  sight  and  sound 

Too  common  seem — mysterious  but  dear 

This  tie  to  nature  !    Thus  worn  hearts  have  found 

New  peace  and  beauty  from  fair  scenes  around. 

Oft  God  is  hidden  from  us, — and  array'd 
In  robes  of  pride,  poor  IVail  Humanity 
Feigns  pow'r  divine  I    By  others  war  is  made 
On  the  few  joys  of  toil-worn  Penury : 
All  praise — few  practise  Christianity. 
These  few  prize  social  love ;  they  understand 
That  ev'ry  man  is  God's  own,  nor  should  be 
Harshly  prejudg'd.    Love  was  their  Lord's  command ; 
For  ''the  good  Shepherd"  leads  with  gentle  hand. 


293 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MARQUISE  DE  GANGE. 

A  SEAL  TRAGEDY  OP  THE  **  GOOD  OLD  TIMES  "  IN  FRAKCE. 


Tbb  Tenture  was  made,  in  a  late  nnmber  of  this 
Magazine,  to  claim  for  histories  of  real  life  a  share 
of  the  interest  lavished  upon  fiction.  But  it  could 
not  be  expected  that  its  especial  prerogative,  which 
is  a  power  to  move  and  to  delight,  would  ever  he 
ferioQsIy  invaded  hy  this  concession.  To  say  no- 
thing of  the  privilege  enjoyed  hy  the  poet  alone,  of 
liuowiDg  into  one  focus  all  the  possibilities  which 
m  in  lealify  scattered  over  the  whole  mass  of  life, 
-the  historians  have  in  general  taken  good  care 
\hi  invention  should  run  no  risk  of  being  for- 
•iken  for  their  truth.  They  have  seemed  to  think 
ii  a  matter  of  dignity  to  avoid  pleasing ;  instead  of 
facts,  they  give  us  mere  skeletons  of  facts ;  as  if 
tbej  deemed  it  frivolous  to  perceive,  or  had  not 
the  capacity  to  preserve  those  living  elements  of 
coloOT,  expression,  and  speech,  without  which  we 
miv  see  half  of  an  era  or  an  event.  The  poet's 
faocifal  creation,  adorned  with  these  vivid  details, 
Lo  therefore  felt  to  contain  a  more  essential  part 
of  truth  than  survives  in  the  residuum  of  the 
chronicler.  And  in  this  way  has  arisen  an  unna- 
tural idea  of  opposition  between  the  different  pro- 
pertiei^  the  sum  of  which  alone  makes  up  truth ; 
t)  be  seriously  regretted,  when  we  think  what  his- 
t'7  might  become,  if  clothed  with  natural  flesh 
md  bkod !  For  there  is  a  power  in  the  actual, 
^ite  peculiar  to  itself,  and  rooted  in  the  deepest 
?rwmd8  of  human  sympathy.  The  knowledge 
tiiat  what  I  am  now  hearing  was  the  real  history 
'^a  liring  man,  touches  me  with  an  emotion  allied 
^  personal  feeling,  and  forces  my  imagination  to 
ttmplete  a  story  that  the  narrator  may  have  mere- 
ly ^[etched.  Far  less  active  is  the  assistance  given 
iJ  the  fabuHst,  who  is  seldom  trusted  for  more 
thn  he  himself  exhibits.  It  is  rarely  that  we  at- 
tenpt  to  pursue  his  invention  beyond  the  limits 
vhich  he  has  drawn  around  it.  The  Hall  of  Eblis, 
wd  the  smoke  of  Padalon,  we  do  not  imagine  with 
wore  terrors  than  the  poet  has  described  ;  we  be- 
^U  them  with  an  awe  which  is  passive,  and  not 
tnpleasing :  we  mourn  over  the  dying  innocence 
''  Cordelia,  and  take  fire  at  Clarissa's  wrongs ; 
ht  when  tile  book  is  closed,  the  spell  is  half  dis- 
«iTed  at  once.  A  totally  different  sensation  over^ 
«WM8  one  who  kneels  in  the  Pozzi  to  read  /^e 
loea,  often  meagre  enough,  which  their  f^fmer 
Umo^  h^y^  scratched  on  the  wainscot^  <>r  who 
fumbles  over  the  rack  lymg  in  the  gal*^  of  the 
Aodienda  in  Toledo.  These  are  impressions  that 
^  deep  into  the  heart,  and  cann^  be  effaced  at 
^IL  From  the  crisis  of  the  mo^  tragical  **  Eo- 
^'^'"^rf  modem  lAfe^  we  escape  with  a  sigh,  as 
^  start  from  a  distressing  dream  ;  but  the  hand 
^  tingle  for  days  after  touching  the  garment 
through  which  (xustavus  was  stabbed  at  a  mas- 
qoerade,  or  the  ring  that  discovered  the  remains 
^  a  lovely  Princess  Schwartzenberg,  amidst  the 
«?he8  of  the  Pavilion. 

Had  they  who  told  the  history  of  the  Marquise 

^  CI.— VOL.  IX, 


de  Grange  been  aware  of  this,  and  filled  up  its  dead 
outlines  with  the  proper  colouring,  nothing  would 
have  been  wanting  in  the  tale  to  excite  all  the 
emotions  that  fiction  commands,  and  all  the  inter- 
est which  attaches  itself  to  positive  reality.  But 
the  records  of  French  criminal  law,  voluminous  as 
they  are,  do  not  abound  in  touches  of  nature  ;  and 
it  is  now  too  late  to  restore  them.  The  story, 
however,  though  but  half  told,  cannot  be  heard 
with  indifference,  and  the  reader  will  therefore  be 
requested  to  accept  it  in  its  present  imperfect  form. 
It  will  be  recognised  as  an  old  acquaintance  by 
those  who  are  conversant  with  the  obscurer  litera- 
ture of  France  ;  but  we  have  never  seen  it  alluded 
to  in  an  Engliidi  work,  and  therefore  suppose  that 
it  may  be  new  to  a  large  class  of  general  readers, 
as  weU  as  tothose  students  of  foreign  letters  whom 
curiosity  has  never  induced  to  sift  the  twenty-two 
wordy  volumes  of  M.  Guyot  de  Pitaval. 

It  would  be  hard  to  name  a  story  in  which  some 
of  the  prominent  characters  of  the  anden  r^gime^ 
and  of  the  social  consequences  of  its  faith  and 
practice,  appear  more  distinctly  than  in  the  pre- 
sent narrative.  Meagre  as  it  may  be,  it  discloses 
the  canker  which  even  then  was  destroying  the 
nation,  better  than  a  volume  of  generalities.  It 
indicates  to  a  thoughtful  eye  the  relative  positions 
of  the  high  and  low  noblesse^  beneath  whic^i  nothing 
existed  but  a  servile  class :  the  ambition  of  the 
one  to  rise,  the  hunger  of  the  otb^  for  gold  to 
supply  its  pomp  and  waste  ;  and  »^hat  fruits  were 
produced  by  the  alliance  of  tlM^  elements.  An- 
other figure  starts  forward  va  a  living  impersona- 
tion of  that  vice  of  the  Fp^ch  Church,  the  secular 
Abb^:  ecclesiastic  in  ^ame  only,  alike  exempt 
from  duties,  restraint  and  religion— notable  chiefly 
for  the  dissolute  p^als  and  profane  acquirements 
which  were  ea^  alike  busy  in  the  work  of  domes- 
tic mischie*^'  A  fearful  glimpse  is  also  shown  of 
the  powe^  ^or  evil,  whidi  the  feudal  noble  stiU 
retained  111  the  l7th  century,  when  remote  from 
the  pApital,  and  surrounded  in  his  chateau  by  crea- 
tp^s  who  knew  no  law  superior  to  his  will : — 
while  we  see  how  slowly  the  foot  of  justice  limped 
afl^r  the  worst  criminals  of  this  dangerous  rank. 
Of  the  manner  in  which  these  features  are  dis- 
played, the  story  itself  wUl  apprize  the  reader. 

There  resided  at  Avignon,  in  1636,  a  certain 
Sieur  de  Rossan,  belonging  to  the  lowest  dass  of 
gentry,  but  more  than  conmionly  wealthy.  His 
only  chUd,  a  daughter,  bom  in  this  year,  was  des- 
tined to  inherit  his  riches,  as  well  as  the  more 
considerable  possessions  of  Sieur  de  Nochdres,  her 
maternal  grandfather,  from  one  of  whose  estates, 
by  the  custom  of  heiresses,  she  assumed  the  style 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Chateaublanc.  Thus  she  was 
one  of  the  richest  maids  in  Provence;  but  far 
richer  in  the  gifts  of  a  rare  beauty,  and  of  a  dispo- 
sition soft  and  equable,  with  talents,  not  dazzling 

2B 


294 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MARQUISE  DE  GANGE. 


indeed,  but  sufficient  to  haye  rendered  her  engag- 
ing, even  had  her  personal  charms  been  less.  These 
must  have  been  extraordinary.  The  soberest 
writers  are  warmed  into  a  kind  of  rapture  in 
describing  a  loveliness  which  dazded  the  eyes  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  which  was  celebrated  at  Versailles 
by  the  title  of  La  Belle  Praoen^ale.  Christina  of 
Sweden,  who  had  seen  the  beauties  of  all  the  courts 
of  Europe,  declared  hers  to  be  unrivalled. 

The  death  of  her  father,  while  she  was  still  young, 
left  her  to  the  guardianship  of  M.  de  Noch^res.  Be- 
fore she  had  reached  a  marriageable  age,  proposals 
for  her  hand  had  already  been  made  by  many  of 
the  chief  Proyen9al  nobility, — far  more  covetous 
of  the  wealth  she  could  bestow,  than  attracted  by 
her  beauty.  Her  grandfather  had  no  idea  that  he 
could  fulfil  his  duty  of  guardian  better  than  by 
handing  over  his  niece  at  once,  young  and  ignorant 
as  she  was,  to  the  suitor  highest  in  rank,  and  with 
whom  he  could  make  the  best  terms ;  and,  accord- 
ingly, chose  the  Marquis  de  Castellane.  He  was 
not  too  old,  was  handsome  and  good-natured ;  but 
De  Noch^res  only  accepted  him  as  the  grandson  of 
the  Duke  de  YiUars.  Mademoiselle  de  Chateau- 
blanc  became  a  wife  at  thirteen  ;  an  age  in  which 
even  a  Proven  9al  maid,  although  her  bloom  comes 
early  in  that  genial  climate,  has  not  reached  the 
term  of  girlhood.  But  she  was  already  remarkable 
for  her  beauty  and  gentle  temper  ;  to  both  of  which 
maturer  years  brought  embellishment  and  increase, 
but  no  change.  She  had  inherited  none  of  the 
feverish  blood  which  generally  belongs  to  the  na- 
tives of  Southern  Fnuice ;  and  seemed  in  every 
respect  destined  to  a  career  as  happy  as  it  was 
possible  fot  one  in  her  condition  to  enjoy.  A  few 
years  after  tkelr  marriage,  the  Marquis  conducted 
her  to  Paris ;  loxd  she  appeared  at  Versailles. 

That  a  young  i/»auty,  married  while  a  child,  and 
thrown,  on  the  thrubold  of  womanhood,  amidst 
the  vanities  of  a  court  like  Louis  XIV/s,  could 
hardly  avoid  danger  anC  suspicion,  need  not  be 
said  : — ^her  husband  thought  little  of  this,  and  left 
her  for  the  army.  It  is  proba'^e  that  at  this  time 
she  did  yield  to  the  general  example,  and  gave  too 
willing  an  ear  to  the  adulatbn  thw;  worshipped 
her  wherever  she  appeared.  But  her  Liune,  at  all 
events,  was  never  publicly  scandalized ;  vad  from 
the  conduct  of  her  maturer  years,  this  early  <«i7eak- 
ness,  to  which  it  was  whispered  that  she  stooged, 
may  fairly  be  regarded  as  the  error  of  extrenn 
youth  and  inexperience,  left  without  a  guide.  The 
expedition  to  Sicily  was  now  in  progress  ;  her  hus- 
band had  not  long  been  absent,  when  the  tidings 
came  of  his  shipwreck.  Most  of  the  French  galleys 
had  been  destroyed  by  a  tempest  in  the  Mediterra- 
nean :  and  amongst  those  that  perished  was  the 
Marquis  de  Castellane. 

The  young  widow,  left  without  children  by  a 
husband  who  had  been  far  from  attentive  to  her, 
was  nevertheless  much  afflicted  by  his  loss,  and 
appears  to  have  remembered  it  long*  At  first,  she 
retired  to  the  protection  of  Madame  D'Ampus,  her 
late  husband's  mother :  but  after  some  time,  busi- 
ness, concerning  her  fortune,  called  her  from  this 
refuge  to  Avignon.  Here  she  lived  in  a  convent, 
in  great  seclusion,  seeing  none  but  her  female 


friends,  and  men  of  business.  But  one  so  rich  and 
charming,  in  the  very  sweetest  bloom  of  her  age, 
and  now  advanced  in  station  by  her  late  marriage, 
could  not  remain  long  unsought  by  wooers ;  nor 
is  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  after  a  time  she 
wished  to  be  so  :  although  she  was  not  hasty  in 
making  a  new  engagement,  ^e  was  now  in  a 
position  to  choose  according  to  her  own  liking; 
which,  unhappily,  seems  to  have  been  chiefly  led 
by  the  eye.  At  the  age  of  twenty-two,  she  bestowed 
herself  on  M.  de  Lanide,  Marquis  de  Guige ;  a 
youth  of  twenty,  remarkably  handsome,  well-born, 
a  baron  of  Languedoc,  sufficiently  rich,  and  owner 
of  a  military  charge— ^e  governorship  of  St.  Andr^. 
The  match  was  one  of  reciprocal  affection ;  and  the 
exceeding  beauty  of  the  young  couple,  made  all 
exclaim  that  a  happier  marriage  could  not  have 
been  imagined.  It  was^  however,  doomed  to  be 
far  otherwise.  The  young  pair  resembled  each 
other  in  nothing  but  personal  comeliness.  The 
Marquise,  as  we  have  said,  was  remarkable  for  the 
placidity  of  her  disposition ;  the  Marquis  was  a 
man  of  a  fierce  insolent  nature,  subject  to  sudden 
^d  bobterous  fits  of  passion,  and  yet  cursed  with 
a  jealous,  distrustful  temper,  and  a  proneness  to 
cruelty,  which  the  least  offence  was  sufficient  to 
provoke. 

With  him  the  lover's  rapture  soon  subsided; 
and  the  Marquis  became  a  negligent  husband.  He 
resumed  the  gaiety  of  his  earlier  habits,  and  sought 
every  kind  of  dissipation.  For  this  indifference 
his  wife  not  unnaturally  sought  compensation  in 
society,  where  she  was  always  the  centre  of  admi- 
ration and  homage.  But  if  indiscreet  in  her  girl- 
hood, in  this  second  marriage  her  conduct  appears 
to  have  been  irreproachable.  In  company  sh« 
sought  no  more  than  a  harmless  recreation ;  and 
at  once  imposed  silence  on  her  admirers,  if  th^ 
worship  appeared  on  the  point  of  transgressing  thfl 
bounds  of  innocent  gaUantry.  But  many  were  oB 
the  watch  to  injure  her.  Rivals,  whom  her  beauty 
eclipsed ;  idle  scandle-mongers,  eager  for  employ- 
ment ;  lovers,  whom  she  had  refused ;  parasiteflj 
who  sought  to  establish  a  merit  with  her  husband  { 
all  were  ready  to  report  and  exaggerate  her  blame* 
less  gaieties.  The  Marquis,  disposed  to  suspicioi^ 
became  alarmed ;  but  he  had  not  the  frankness  oi 
nature  which  might  have  put  the  wife  on  her  guard 
and  soon  he  abandoned  himself  to  a  furious,  bui 
secret  jealoxisy.  The  fear  of  ridioule,  and  thi 
absence  of  all  real  occasion  of  complaint,  compeIle< 
h!«n  to  repress  its  utterance  in  public  ;  but  at  hom 
it  bxoke  out  in  sullen  reproaches,  and  rude  anj 
tyramical  behaviour.  The  gentleness  of  tb 
Marquist  seemed  only  to  exasperate  him ;— thej 
never  met  vithout  bickering,  and  for  many  yeat 
the  unfortunate  lady  was  condenmed  to  a  specie 
of  domestic  piu^atory,  which  tried  the  passivi 
sweetness  of  her  nuture  to  the  uttermost.  In  th< 
early  years  of  her  marriage  she  had  given  birtl 
to  a  son  and  daughter ;  and  her  only  moments  o 
peace  were  those  which  she  was  perBiitted  to  spen^ 
in  the  company  of  her  children.  Yet  we  hay< 
every  reason  to  believe  that,  in  spite  of  this  unmer 
ciful  and  causeless  persecution,  she  still  inwaidl j 
loved  the  object  <^  her  unfortoBate  choiee. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MARQUISE  DE  GANGR 


295 


Sach  had  long  been  the  wretchednefls  of  the 
Mapquise's  home,  when  it  introduced  to  her  two 
new  inmates,  destined  to  exercise  a  material  influ- 
ence on  her  fortunes.    These  were  her  husband's 
younger  brothers,  now  arriyed  at  man's  estate ; — 
who,  having  completed  such  studies  as  had  been 
thought  proper  for  each,  were  received  as  members 
ftf  the  Marquis's  household,  in  which  they  soon 
became  formidable.    The  elder  of  the  two,  nomin- 
lUj  a  churchman,  bore  the  dubious  title  of  AhU 
de  Gauge ;— it  is  likelj  that  his  superior  talents 
tsA  aptitude  for  intrigue  had  directed  him  to  this 
profiMBion,  rather  than  his  younger  brother.    He 
bd,  indeed,  capacity  sufficient  for  the  worst  de- 
8^  and  every  propensity  which  could  lead  him 
to  conoeive  them  :  being  imperious,  dissolute,  and 
KTengeful ;  but  a  master  of  hypocrisy,  of  fasci- 
Bating  addresat,  witty  and  eloquent  in  discourse, 
-t  rery  painted  sepulchre,  with  an  outside  that 
well  covered  the  rottenness  within.    The  Chevalier 
(ie  Gauge,  his  junior,  was  a  more  vulgar  character, 
floe  of  those  rude,  blind  natures,  bom  to  be  ruled 
by  others,  and  destitute  of  any  notable  quality 
rf  their  own ;  a  selfish,  thoughtless  man,  entirely 
mder  the  sway  of  the  Abb^,  who  had,  indeed, 
ach  absolute  influence  over  his  mind,  that  the 
Qttvaher  obeyed  his  brother's  commands  without 
wmuch  as  asking  the  reason  for  them.    This  was 
in  easy  thing  to  master ;  but  the  restless  Abbe' 
WM  capable  of  a  higher  reach.    He  had  not  long 
been  at  the  Marquis's  board  before  he  had  dex- 
teroudy  obtained  a  command,  nearly  as  absolute, 
rf  this  brother  also,  although  here  the  influence 
*M  concealed  with  the  most  cautious  dissimula- 
^   He  succeeded  by  persuading  the  Marquis 
«IiM  entire  devotion  to  the  family  interests,  and 
»^acquired  the  real  control  of  aU  affidrs,  both 
ttwadandathome.    With  this  substantial  power 
■e  waa  content ;   in  appearance,    the  Marquis^ 
*  really  a  merepuppet  of  the  Abb^s,  was  still, 
>•  heretofore,  the  master. 

Akk!^^  fiist  sight  of  his  lovely  sister-in-law,  the 
AbW  conceived  a  violent  appetite  for  herperson,  and 
'«>1^  to  gratify  it;  which,  taking  all  circum- 
**«»  into  acconnt,  he  expected  to  accomplish 
^1*  But  ho  began  with  all  the  caution  and 
^"^  erf  his  acquired  character.  Whfleallhis 
f^^  of  seduction  were  covertly  employed  to 
fJPti^te  the  lady,  he  laboured  at  the  same  time 
wjoften  the  mind  of  her  husband ;  and  by  address 


character  were  at  the  mercy  of  one  who  could  so 
eontrbl  the  dispositions  of  the  Marquis. 

Most  creatures  are  gifted  with  an  instinct  that 
warns  them,  at  the  first  moment,  of  the  approach  of 
anythingnoxiousordeadly;  and  the  weakest  areoften 
the  mostliberally  endowed  with  thisprotective  sense. 
On  the  first  appearance  of  the  Abb<^,  the  Marquise 
had  conceived  a  strong  antipathy  against  him : 
she  was  now  alarmed  by  his  parade  of  an  obliga- 
tion that  she  believed  Um  thoroughly  capable  of 
abusing,  and  her  acknowledgments  were  paid  with 
a  coldness  that  betrayed  how  much  she  r^^ted 
the  occasion  which  called  for  them.    This  was  an 
efiect  the  very  opposite  to  that  which  the  Abb^ 
had  looked  for ;  but  he  was  not  to  be  dismayed  by 
the  first  repulse.    His  attentions  only  became  more 
pressing ;  and  he  besieged  the  Marquise  with  an 
eagerness,  the  meaning  of  which  no  woman  ever 
long  misunderstands.    But  she  would  not  seem  to 
understand  it  at  all,  and  intrenched  herself  within 
a  distant  politeness,  as  cold  as  the  intercourse  be- 
tween relations  could  decently  allow.    After  he 
had  been  foiled  in  this  manner  for  some  time,  the 
Abb^  became  impatient,  and  with  the  audacity 
natural  to  him,  resolved  to  declare  hia  intentions 
openly,  and  leave  her  no  means  of  concealing  hers. 
An  occasion  was  soon  found,  in  a  visit  which  die 
paid  to  the  country-house  of  a  friend  :  the  Abb^ 
followed;  and  at  once  ingratiated  himself  vdth  all 
the  party,  by  the  spirit  and  gaiety  of  his  conversa- 
tion.    He  wished  that  the  Marquise  should  learn 
to  value  the  attentions  of  one  who  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  be  treated  with  indifierence.     On  the 
next  day  there  was  a  party  on  horseback :  the 
Abb^  offered  himself  as  her  cavalier,  and  thus 
gained  the  fullest  liberty  of  addressing  her  unheard. 
Without  hesitation  he  avowed  his  passion,  and 
vehemently  besought  her  favour.    The  Marquise 
was  seriously  troubled  by  this  attack,  which  she 
had  long  endeavoured  to  ward  ofi;    It  was  too 
uigent  to  be  laughed  aside  as  a  mere  flourish  of 
gallantry ;  she  fotmd  heiself  compelled  to  rebuke 
the  proposal  with  the  disdain  which  it  merited. 

With  as  much  coliness  as  she  could  assume,  she 
said,  "  M.  L'Abb^  I  need  not  tell  you  how  a  wo- 
man of  my  character  should  receive  a  compliment 
like  this :  you  will  please  to  give  yourself  the  an- 
swer I  ought  to  make,  and  spare  me  the  unpleasant 
duty  of  uttering  it."  This  was  spoken  wiUi  a  tone 
of  contempt  that  galled  the  Abb6  to  the  quick  : 


'M  perfusion  actually  succeeded  in  removing  his  I  and  changing  his  manner,  he  openly  told  her,  that 
Jj'pwona,  and  turning  his  animosity  towards  the    " 
*J»qw8e  into  indulgence  and  a  show  of  regard. 

!^  change  was  most  welcome  to  the  ill-used 
^  with  a  placability,  which  was  not  the  least 
2 ^charms,  she  forgot  the  causeless  sufferings 
?**•  years,  and  replied  with  tenderness  to  her 
■JJ^a  advances.  For  a  while  the  morning  of 
*^^  seemed  to  have  returned. 

^  author  of  this  revolution  took  care  that  his 
•^wrt  should  not  remain  unknown.  While  with 
1^  art  he  tried  to  ensnare  his  sister-in-law's 
*^<w»,  he  discovered  to  her,  in  confidence,  by 
^  influence  her  husband  had  been  so  greatly 
^»g^ ;  and  hinted  to  her,  in  a  manner  that  could 
y  that  her  happiness  and 


her  peace  was  in  his  power ;  that  a  slight  eflbrt 
would  serve  to  break  the  truce  which  he  had  made, 
and  render  her  once  more  as  wretched  as  she  had 
formerly  been  ;  while  it  would  be  vain  to  denounce 
or  oppose  him  in  a  quarter  where  his  dominion 
was  absolute.  "  Let  us^  therefore,"  he  concluded, 
**  consult  our  mutual  repose  without  thwarting 
each  other :  make  me  happy,  and  preserve,  in  re- 
turn, the  calm  and  cheer^ilness  which  you  now 
enjoy."  The  Marquise  replied  with  unaltered 
coldness :  *^If  you  have  learned  to  love  me.  Sir, 
learn  to  respect  me  also  ;  and  know  that  the  fears 
of  the  worst  misery  you  threaten  me  with,  will  not 
alarm  me  faito  a  course  fatal  to  my  virtue ;"  adding, 
with  a  burst  of  natozAl  vftm^ih  ^^  uopradence 


299 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MARQUISE  DE  GAUGE. 


of  which  may  well  be  excused,  "  And  if  I  were 
capable  of  forgetting  myself,  you  are  the  last  man 
in  the  world  who  could  tempt  me  to  do  so !"  The 
Abb^y  glowing  with  rage  and  chagrin,  turned 
away,  and  rode  homewards;  and  on  the  same 
evening  abruptly  took  leave  of  the  party,  and  re- 
paired to  Avignon. 

A  common  seducer  would  have  deemed  such  a 
repulse  decisive :  not  so  the  Abb^.  After  some 
reflection,  he  determined  to  persevere  in  the  attempt 
to  overcome  an  aversion  so  pointedly  shown  to- 
wards him.  He  therefore  refrained  for  a  while 
from  disturbing  the  peace  between  the  married 
couple ;  not  without  hope  that  his  threat  would 
still  have  its  effect  on  the  Marquise.  But  time, 
and  his  endeavours  to  please,  did  not  abate  her 
antipathy  ;  it  rather  seemed  to  increase  :  she  was 
deaf  to  his  compliments,  and  avoided  being  left 
alone  with  him  for  a  moment.  The  Chevalier, 
who  was,  in  secret,  as  warmly  enamoured  of  her 
beauty  as  his  brother,  she  had  not  learned  to  dis- 
trust :  his  easy  temper  pleased  her,  and  led,  on 
her  part,  to  an  affectionate  familiarity,  in  which 
there  was  not  a  particle  of  love.  In  proportion  as 
she  more  hated  ihe  one  brother,  she  grew  the  more 
disposed,  by  contrast,  to  like  the  other,  and  her 
friendly  treatment  induced  the  latter  to  conceive 
hopes  of  success.  This  could  not  escape  the  jea- 
lous penetration  of  the  Abb^  :  at  first,  he  suspected 
that  his  brother  had  obtained  favours  which  had 
been  refused  to  him ;  but  the  most  vigilant  spy 
could  not  have  detected  in  the  Marquise  a  single 
deviation  from  the  innocent  kindness  of  a  friendship 
that  had  nothing  to  conceal.  But  even  thus,  the 
rejected  suitor  could  not  bear  to  see  hb  brother 
rival  him ;  and  seeing  the  passion  grow  'stronger 
daily,  he  feared  that  it  might  soon  overcome  the 
influence  he  had  hitherto  possessed,  and  determined 
at  once  to  deceive  his  brother,  and,  if  possible, 
ruin  the  Marquise. 

He  took  the  Chevalier  aside,  and  openly  declar* 
ing  his  wishes,  "  We  are  both,"  he  said,  "in  love 
with  her:  I  do  not  wish  to  oppose  you.  Try, 
therefore,  if  you  can  carry  yonx  point.  If  not,  re- 
tire, and  I  will  see  if  I  can  succeed  better.  We 
are  too  good  friends  to  quarrel  for  any  woman's 
sake."  The  Chevalier,  duped  by  this  show  of 
generosity,  the  real  object  of  which  was  to  lay  a 
snare  for  the  Marquise,  offered  to  renounce  his 
pursuit ;  but  the  Abb^  insisted  that  it  should  pro- 
ceed in  the  manner  which  he  had  proposed.  The 
Chevalier,  thus  urged,  began  to  offer  a  warmer 
courtship  to  his  sister-in-law ;  and  the  Abb^  in- 
sidiously kept  in  the  back  ground  to  favour  its 
progress.  He  wished  to  try  whether  the  virtue 
that  had  rejected  him  was  really  impregnable,  or 
merely  led  by  inclination.  But  no  sooner  did 
the  Marquise  perceive  that  the  Chevalier  had  as- 
sumed the  looks  and  hopes  of  a  lover,  than  she  at 
once  drew  back  from  all  familiar  intercourse  with 
him  also  ;  and  testified  without  disguise  the  perfect 
indifference  with  which  she  regarded  him  in  this 
character.  He  was  not  so  patient  a  suitor  as  the 
Abb^,  nor  so  shameless  in  his  approaches :  he  tried 
to  win  and  please  to  the  best  of  his  power ;  but 
receiving  juo  fncoujagement,  he  had  not  the  bold- 


ness to  make  any  declaration.  In  six  months  he 
was,  if  possible,  farther  from  her  favour  than  at 
his  outset ;  indeed,  the  Marquise,  to  check  his  ad- 
vances, did  violence  to  her  natural  disposition,  and 
affected  to  notice  his  empty  remarks  and  ill-chosen 
expressions  with  a  contempt  that  destroyed  all  his 
confidence.  He  resolved  to  subdue  a  hopeless  pas- 
sion ;  and  told  his  intention  to  the  Abb^  by  whom 
it  was  applauded :  mortified  affection  was  suc- 
ceeded by  hatred,  and  he  was  ready  to  embrace  any 
plan  which  should  ofier  him  a  vengeance  on  the 
woman  that  had  despised  his  love. 

The  Abb^  thought  it  now  time  to  execute  his 
threat,  and  poison  the  husband's  mind  with  doubts 
of  his  wife's  virtue.    During  the  attempts  of  his 
two  brothers,  seeing  with  the  Abb^s  eyes  only, 
the  Marquis  had  never  for  a  moment  suspected 
them,  the  ohly  real  foes  of  his  honour :  his  jealousy 
was  now  to  be  revived  by  calumnies  which  their 
barbarous  revenge  alone  had  invented.    In  one 
cursed  with  a  suspicious  temper,  it  was  easy  to 
disturb  the  calm  which  the  Abb^  had  for  his  own 
purposes  maintained.    He  dropped  hints  that  his 
confidence  in  the  virtue  of  his  sLster-in-law  had  of 
late  been  repeatedly  shaken :  then  pretended  to 
notice    levities^    which   no    husband   could  ap- 
prove of :  after  this  came  a  more  circumstantial 
story,  built  upon  the  single  fact  that  the  Marquise, 
one  evening  in  company,  had  for  some  time  re- 
mained conversing  with  a  young  gentleman,  who 
had  amused  her  by  hb  good  spirits.    This  wrought 
the  intended  mischief :  the  brutal  temper  of  the 
Marquis  was  again  unchained :  he  assailed  his  wife 
with  violent  reproaches ;  would  not  listen  to  her 
protestations  of  innocence,  and  insulted  her  openly. 
The  Abb^  secretly  blew  the  flame  he  had  kindled ; 
it  grew  more  intolerable  daily,  and  to  such  an  ex- 
cess, that  the  unfortunate  lady  was  even  subjected 
to  personal  ill-treatment.    She  knew  to  whose  in- 
fluence this  cruel  change  was  owing:  but  suf- 
fered in  silence,  trusting  that  time  might  reveal 
the   treachery    practised    against    her:   it  was 
vain,  she  knew,  to  oppose  her  enemies  at  the 
moment.     Under  such  circumstances,  the  Ahb^ 
had  the  cowardly  insolence  to  renew  his  solicita- 
tions.   In  spite  of  her  vigilance,  he  surprised  hei 
one  day  when  alone  in  the  garden.  *^  Now,  madam,' 
he  said,  *^  are  we  to  remain  in  this  state  of  discod 
for  ever  ? — ^will  you  force  me  to  be  your  enemy  ?- 
and  do  not  you  see  how  much  it  concerns  you  t4 
make  me  your  friend?    Do  not  persist  in  thii 
severity,  when  you  see  how  easily  you  can  secun 
me,  and  rule  your  husband."    To  this  shamelefl 
address  she  listened  with  an  unmoved  countenance 
and  turned  her  back  on  the  speaker,  without  i 
word  of  reply. 

She  had  for  some  months  endured  this  misery 
when  an  event  occurred  which,  for  a  time,  checker 
the  extreme  violence  of  her  persecutors.  M.  D* 
Nocheres,  her  grandfather,  died ;  and  she  succeedei 
to  his  great  possessions,  which  were  left  at  hei 
absolute  disposal.  This  was  a  prize  worth  secur 
ing  at  any  cost.  Some  means  must  be  found  t 
induce  the  Marquise  to  relinquish  her  exdusiv* 
rights ;  and  in  order  to  this,  it  became  necessary 
to  treat  her  with  some  show  of  decency.    Th 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MAtlQUISE  OE  GANGE. 


29r 


Marquis  repressed  his  cruel  insults :  the  Abb^  as- 
gamed  a  studied  respect,  and  importuned  and 
tkiestened  no  longer ;  the  Chevalier,  as  usual,  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  his  brothers.  Again  the  un- 
happy Marquise  enjoyed  a  short  interval  of  repose. 
It  had  been  usual  for  the  Marquis  to  reside 
ahemately  at  Avignon  and  at  his  patrimonial 
disteaa  of  Gange,  a  few  leagues  distant  from  the 

I  dty,  and  nearly  the  same  distance  from  Montp^er. 
It  was  another  benefit,  arising  from  this  inheri- 

I  tinee,  that  the  visits  to  Grange  were  for  some  time 
nupended,  while  the  business  detained  the  family 
it  Arignon.  The  Marquise  always  dreaded  the 
lemoT^  to  Gauge,  where  she  led  a  cheerless  life, 
mroonded  by  persons  in  absolute  dependence  upon 
her  husband.  The  power  of  a  seigneur  on  his 
&mil7  estates  was  still  almost  despotic ;  and  it  was 
nsafe  for  those  whom  he  disliked  to  remain  there 
too  long.  On  a  former  visit  to  Avignon,  the  Mar- 
qoiae  had  met  with  an  accident  calculated  to  excite 
alann.  There  had  been  arsenic  conveyed  into  a 
cream  of  which  she  had  partaken  with  some  others ; 
but  as  it  was  not  in  great  quantity,  the  conse- 
quences were  not  fatal.  At  the  time  the  circum- 
stance created  much  speculation;  but  nothing  was 
found  out,  and  after  a  while  it  was  apparentiy  for- 
gotten. The  Marqube  spoke  of  it  with  the  utmost 
indifierence,  as  a  casual  occurrence;  but  it  is 
aid  that  in  reality  she  regarded  it  as  the  first 
laming  of  a  malicious  design  against  her  life;  and 
Rcoired  to  the  prediction  of  an  astrologer  in  Paris, 
ito  had  long  since  foretold  to  her  that  she  would 
perish  by  a  vblent  death.  But  with  nothing  beyond 
inere  apprehensions  to  allege,  it  would  have  been 
impoadble  for  her  to  seek  for  protection  from  the 
&nger  that  haunted  her.  .  The  civility  which  had 
Wen  affected  since  her  new  accession  of  fortune  did 
Bot  hnpose  upon  her ;  and  she  lived  in  watchful- 
K8B  and  anxiety,  the  more  wretched,  because  there 
vtt  no  one  to  whom  she  could  impart  her  fear,  or 
ipfdy  for  counsel. 

A  ample  fact  will  disclose,  more  impressively 
tban  any  description,  what  must  have  been  the 
Mate  of  her  feelings  at  this  period.  As  soon  as 
^  learned  her  husband's  intention  to  take  her 
^k  to  Gauge  for  the  autumn,  she  resolved,  before 
<^arting  from  Avignon,  to  make  her  will.  In  this 
<locQment  her  mother  was  made  universal  heir, 
^th  a  provision  that  she  might  bequeath  the  pro- 
perty to  either  of  the  Marquise's  children  whom 
the  afaonld  prefer.  Moreover,  she  took  the  pre- 
cuitioii  of  leaving  in  the  hands  of  the  magistracy 
&  dedaratbn  disavowing  farmalfy  beforehand  on^ 
*^  of  later  date  that  might  subsequent^  be  produced 
ohm.  This  declaration  was  made  in  1666,  im- 
o^ediately  before  her  departure  for  Gauge :  its 
■^euung  requires  no  explanation ! 

She  idso  distributed  a  considerable  sum  in  gold 
^ongst  various  religious  bodies,  especially  to  the 
^tcoQtts,  for  masses  to  be  said  on  her  behalf,  that 
^  ffight  not  die  without  the  sacraments  of  the  church  ; 
^  the  earnestness  with  which  this  office  was  be- 
ipoght  and  commended  to  them,  was  described  as 
^  that  of  one  who  stands  in  near  expectation  of 
<l@&th.  From  her  friends  she  parted  iii  a  manner 
»ore  serious  and  tender  than  usual ;  leaving  few 


without  shedding  tears:  and  they  who  were  at- 
tached to  her  could  not  observe  without  anxious 
feelings,  the  solemnity  with  which  she  bade  them 
farewell,  and  begged  them  to  remember  her. 

At  Grange,  she  found  her  mother-in-law,  who  had 
come  thither  on  a  visit  from  Montpellier.  She  was 
an  excellent  person,  much  loved  by  the  Marquise, 
whose  spirits  were  greatiy  raised  by  her  presence. 
Everything  seems  to  have  been  intended  to  banisli 
apprehensionfrom  the  victim's  mind  at  this  conjunc- 
ture. Her  husband  and  brothers-in-law  received 
her  in  the  most  affectionate  manner ;  and,  for  some 
days^  the  chateau  looked  more  cheerful  than  it  had 
been  for  years.  But  Madame  de  Grange,  after  a 
short  stay,  returned  to  Montp^er  :  and  soon  af- 
terwards business  recalled  the  Marquis  to  Avig- 
non. It  is  certain  that,  before  leaving  Grange,  he 
had  concerted  with  the  brothers  what  should  be 
done  in  his  absence.  The  unhappy  lady  was  left 
in  the  hands  of  the  only  persons  on  earth  who  im- 
placably hated  her. 

But  tiiey  gave  no  sign  of  evil  intentions  through- 
out the  winter  and  ensuing  spring.  Indeed,  so 
artfully  they  dissembled,  as  to  persuade  the  Mar- 
quise tiiat  their  hostility  to  her  was  laid  aside :  and 
in  one  easily  won  from  her  just  resentments,  this 
belief  produced  a  return  of  friendliness  towards 
them,  which  was  not  overlooked.  The  Abb^,  when 
he  saw  the  deceit  so  far  successful,  began  dexterous- 
ly to  approach  the  subject  of  the  will  which  she 
had  left  at  Avignon :  suggesting,  that  the  love  of 
the  Marquis,  which  she  had  now  partly  regained, 
would  never  fully  return,  while  such  an  evidence 
of  her  distrust  was  extant ;  and  urging  her,  for 
her  own  sake,  to  remove  tiie  only  obstacle  to  a 
course  of  entire  union  and  happiness  ;  which  all 
the  family  would  vie,  he  said,  in  promoting*  In- 
duced by  repeated  persuasions  in  this  tone,  at  length 
the  Marquise  yielded  :  revoked  her  previous  will, 
and  made  anotiier  in  favour  of  her  husband.  But 
the  declaration  still  subsisted  ;  and  the  Abb^  was 
not  aware,  that  while  it  remained,  the  new  will 
was  mere  waste  paper.  He  believed  that  half  of 
his  work  was  now  performed  ;  and  the  rest  he  pro- 
ceeded to  execute  without  delay.  He  had  inflamed 
the  vexation  of  the  Chevalier  into  the  most  inveter- 
ate and  cruel  hatred  of  his  victim  ;  and  found  him 
a  willing  accomplice  in  any  iniquity. 

On  the  17th  of  May,  16679  the  Marquise  had  or- 
dered some  medicine  to  be  prepared  for  her  by  the 
apothecary  of  the  place ;  but  the  draught,  when 
brought  to  her,  had  so  unusual  an  appearance,  that 
she  threw  it  away,  and  instead  of  it  took  another 
sort  of  physic,  of  which  she  had  brought  some  frcm 
Avignon.  The  draught  had  been  poisoned :  the  bro- 
thers, not  knowing  that  she  had  refused  it,  sent 
thrice  during  the  forenoon  to  inquire  how  she  felt 
herself;  and  could  hardly  conceal  their  surprise 
and  vexation,  when  they  were  told  that  she  was 
relieved  by  what  she  had  taken.  In  the  course  of 
the  day  they  discovered  how  they  had  been  foiled  ; 
and  thereupon  determined  to  accomplish  their  pur- 
pose by  other  means  of  a  more  desperate  kind. 

The  Marquise  did  not  leave  her  bed  that  day,  but 
invited  some  ladies  of  the  neighbourhood  to  come 
and  Bit  with  her  after  dinner.    The  A^bb^  and  his 


298 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  BiARQtJISE  DE  GRANGE. 


brother  were  present  as  usual;  but  they  spoke 
little,  and  sate  gloomy  and  absent,  looking  restless- 
ly on  thecompany.  The  Marquise  appeared  ingood 
spirits,  and  rallied  them  on  this  strange  and  un- 
usual demeanour;  which  they  attempted,  when 
thus  addressed,  to  put  ofiP  by  a  forced  gaiety;  but 
the  effort  and  its  failure  were  apparent  to  alL  The 
conversation  became  broken  and  constrained,  and 
an  impression  of  some  concealed  misfortune  or 
danger,  communicated  itself  to  the  whole  party. 
The  Marquise  alone  was  not,  or,  more  probably, 
would  not  seem  to  be,  aware  of  it.  A  collation  was 
served,  of  which  she  partook  freely :  the  brothers 
tasted  nothing.  As  soon  as  it  was  ended,  the  ladies 
withdrew ;  the  Abb^  accompanying  them  to  the 
door,  left  the  Chevalier  alone  in  ikt  chamber  with 
his  sister-in-law.  Amazed  at  his  dogged  silence, 
she  urged  him  to  say  what  it  meant :  but  he  only 
replied  by  looks  which  made  her  tremble.  After 
an  interval  of  fearful  suspense,  the  Abb^  returned, 
and  the  mystery  was  abruptly  explained. 

Although  he  had  been  only  a  few  minutes  ab- 
sent, his  countenance  was  so  changed  when  he  en- 
tered, that  the  Marquise  cried  out  with  alarm ;  and 
she  i^terwards  declared  that  its  expression  was  so 
ghastly  and  devilish,  that  in  all  this  tragedy,  no- 
thing seemed  so  terrible  to  her  as  his  aspect  at 
that  moment.  In  one  hand  he  held  a  pistol,  and 
in  the  other  a  glass  filled  with  a  dark-coloured 
liquid.  Closing  the  door  behind  him,  he  advanced 
to  the  bedside,  where  he  stood  for  a  few  seconds  in 
silence,  eyeing  his  victim  with  looks  under  which 
her  heart  turned  cold  and  sank  within  her.  At  the 
same  time  the  Chevalier  drew  his  sword :  for  an  in- 
stant she  hoped,  in  her  defence ;  a  second  glance 
at  his  countenance,  which  reflected  the  fiiry  of  the 
other,  showed  her  that  no  mercy  for  her  was  there. 
At  length  the  Abb^  spoke  to  her  in  a  low  voice, 
but  with  the  most  malicious  emphasb  and  deliber- 
ation :  "  You  must  prepare  to  die,  madam  I — ^take 
your  choice  of  fire,  steel,  or  poison." — "  Die  I — 
wherefore  must  I  die?"  cried  the  unhappy  lady. 
"What  crime  have  I  committed  ?—whendid  I  injure 
you,  that  you  both  judge  and  execute  me  at  once  ? 
how  have  I  deserved  your  hatred  ?— cannot  less 
than  such  horrible  cruelty  satisfy  you  ?  **  But  she 
saw  that  the  Abb^  was  impenetrable :  and  turned 
to  the  Chevalier,  whom  she  might  well  hope  to  find 
more  easily  moved.  To  say  nothing  of  their  for- 
mer cordiality,  she  had  long  been  his  benefactress 
in  many  ways :  and  besides  giving  him  handsome 
presents,  had  continually  supplied  his  want  of 
money  from  her  own  private  purse.  Nor  had  any 
open  difference  ever  disturbed  their  friendship  :  in 
the  name  of  which  she  now  besought  him  to  spare 
her,  with  the  most  plaintive  and  winning  appeals 
to  his  recollection  of  her  kindness.  But  not  a  mo- 
tion of  relenting  could  she  excite  in  his  depraved 
heart.  He  replied  as  briefly  as  the  Abb^  had 
spoken:  "The  thing  is  decided  already:  make 
your  election — ^if  not,  we  will  for  you." 

In  a  strait  so  terrible,  mena<id  suddenly  by 
treachery  and  death  in  the  most  cruel  and  hideous 
forms,  the  Marquise  displayed  a  self-possession  of 
which  few,  of  eitiier  sex,  would  have  been  capable. 
She  said  nothing  further;  but^  After  raising  ber 


eyes  to  heaven,   as  if   in   protest   against   thj 

wickedness,  she  turned  with  a  firm  and  indignai 

gaze  to  the  Abb^;  and,  reaching  out  her  han^ 

took  £rom  him  the  glass  containing  poison,  whi] 

the  one  assassin  held  a  pistol  to  her  throat,  and  ik 

other  pointed  his  weapon  at  her  heart ;  and,  wit 

the  cold  sweat  bursting  from  her  brow,  swallowe 

the  evil  draught.    It  is  said  to  have  been  made  i 

arsenic  and  sublimate  dissolved  in  aquafortis.  Fro^ 

what  subsequently  took  place,  we  can  hardly  b< 

lieve  that  it  was  all  compounded  of  such  destructil 

ingredients.    But  so  corrosive  it  was,  that  a  fd 

drops,  falling  from  the  edgeof  the  glass  on  herbofion^ 

instantly  blackened  the  skin ;    and  her  lips,  b| 

the  mere  passage  of  the  liquid  over  them,  we] 

stained  and  scorched  dreadfully.    The  Chevalii 

seeing  that  a  sediment  was  left  at  the  bottom  < 

the  glass,  collected  it  on  the  edge  with  a  silv^ 

bodkin,  and  forced  it  upon  her,  with  a  phrase  tb 

brutal  to  be  recorded  here.    This  must  have  beei 

the  deadliest  part  of  the  poison  :  the  Marquise  tool 

it  into  her  mouth ;  but,  at  the  same  instant,  fall 

ing  back  on  the  pillow  with  a  cry,  as  if  saddenlj 

agonized,  she  turned  her  head  round,  and,  withoii 

being  seen,  spat  the  mouthful  out  again.     ^ 

then  besought  them,  in  God's  name,  as  they  hai 

now  satisfied  their  rage  by  killing  her,    not  ^ 

wreak  revenge  on  her  soul,  but  send  her  a  confe^ 

sor,  that  she  might  not  die  like  an  outcast.     The] 

retired;  and,  locking  the  door,  went  out  to  call  tfa 

vicar  of  the  place,  a  dependent  on  the  family  fd 

twenty-five  years,  to  attend  the  Marquise,  and  sei 

her  die.    It  is  likely  that  this  man  was  alreadj 

aware  of  the  design :  at  all  events,  he  was  easUj 

found,  and  at  once  ready  to  serve  the  crime  to  thi 

utmost  of  his  power. 

The  instant  the  assassins  were  gone,  the  Ma^ 
quise,  whose  spirit  and  judgment  throughout  wen 
admirable,  instantly  bethought  her  of  escaping 
She  was  undressed  to  her  shift,  and  had  only  tim^ 
to  throw  over  it  a  taffeta  skirt:  thus,  half-clad 
she  ran  to  a  window  which  looked  down  into  th< 
stable-yard,  and  flung  herself  out  of  it ;  the  di» 
tanoe  to  the  ground  being  more  than  twenty-fivi^ 
English  feet.  At  this  moment,  the  priest  entered] 
and  seeing  her  escape,  tried  to  hold  her  back  ;  bnl 
this  only  saved  her  from  being  dashed  to  pieced 
As  she  was  falling,  the  miscreant  caught  hold  oi 
the  skirt  of  her  dress,  and  kept  it  long  enoughj 
before  it  gave  way  in  his  hand,  to  glide  her  faU 
in  a  safe  direction.  She  alighted  on  her  bare  feel^ 
with  no  other  harm  than  the  tearing  of  their  deli- 
cate  skin  by  sharp  points  of  the  pavement.  Sh4 
had  been  for  an  instant  suspended  by  the  part  od 
her  dress  that  the  priest  had  caught,  and  ^e  faU 
was  thus  partially  broken.  Still  he  hoped  to  readi 
her  ;  and  seizing  a  large  water-jar,  which  stood  in 
another  window,  hurled  it  down  after  her;  had 
the  aim  been  true,  she  must  have  been  crushed  to 
death;  but  it  passed  a  hair's-breadth  from  her. 
The  instant  that  she  reached  the  ground,  i^e  forced 
the  ends  of  her  long  hair  down  her  throat,  and  thtus 
in  a  moment  brought  on  the  intended  efl^ct  of  vomit- 
ing :  no  deliberation  could  have  chosen  a  more  im- 
portant remedy ;  when  this  was  over,  she  sou^l&t 
how  to  pursue  her  flight.  On  all  sides  Uio  yard  i 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MARQUISE  DE  GANGE. 


but  np.  She  ran  towards  the  stables,  through 
rfaich  a  passage  might  be  found ;  they  were  closed : 
he  was  a  prisoner  still,  only  in  a  wider  space.  At 
his  moment  she  might  well  give  up  all  hope,  when 
he  difiooyered  the  face  of  a  groom  looking  at  her 
^  one  of  the  eyelets.  She  called  out  to  him, 
'Mercy!  help  I  Friend,  save  me  from  death!  I 
m poisoned!  open  the  door,  and  let  me  run  to 
ptV  some  relief ! "  The  man  was  touched  (as  who 
fould  not  have  been  ?)  with  the  pitiful  spectacle 
I  his  mistress — ^a  woman,  one  of  the  loveliest  in 
fnnoe,  half-naked,  dishevelled,  with  bleeding 
bei,  wildly  imploring  help  to  fly  from  murder 
fBisuing  her  in  her  husband's  own  walls !  The 
(room  took  her  up  in  his  arms,  carried  her  through 
be  offices,  and  until  he  met  with  some  women  in 
he  highway ;  with  whom,  either  from  fear  or  a 
0138  of  decorum,  he  left  her.  It  is  probable  that 
le  dared  not  be  seen  openly  to  protect  her  flight. 
The  priest  had  hastened  to  inform  his  masters 
i  the  escape.  They  were  furious  ;  and,  resolved 
ft  all  hazards  to  pursue  her  to  death,  ran  out  after 
Iff,  crying  to  the  people,  who  had  begun  to  gather 
I  crowds  at  the  extraordinary  sight  of  the  Mar- 
fm,  in  such  disarray,  seeking  wildly  for  shelter 
r"She  is  mad  !  she  is  struck  with  hysteric 
lenzy!"  In  truth,  her  appearance  and  looks  of 
nntic  alarm,  might  well  seem  to  confirm  the 
JHeption.  She  had,  however,  reached  the  house 
^a  Sieur  Desprat,  distant  some  three  hundred 
fuds  from  the  ch&teau,  when  the  Chevalier  over- 
lok  her,  and  forcing  her  in  at  the  door,  entered 
•ith  her,  and  closed  it.  The  Abb^,  who  had  now 
IBme  up,  guarded  the  threshold,  pistol  in  hand, 
krcatening  to  kill  the  first  person  that  approached ; 
Bd  crying  that  he  would  not  sufler  the  madness 
if  his  sister-in-law  to  be  made  a  show  of.  The 
*J€ct  was  to  take  care  that  no  medical  help  might 
Mch  her,  before  the  poison  had  had  time  to  do  its 
*wk. 
Unhappily  the  master  of  the  house  was  absent ; 
fest  his  wife  was  there,  and  with  her  a  company 
rf  iereral  young  ladies,  but  no  man.  The  cries  of 
fl*  Marquise  and  of  her  pursuers,  and  the  presence 
rf  these  furious  armed  men  from  the  chateau, 
•^rcame  them  with  alarm.  The  Marquise, 
■RathlesB,  threw  herself  amongst  them,  crying. 
Safe  me!  send  for  help !  I  am  dying,  poisoned ! " 
-tnt  Aey  could  attempt  nothing  in  defiance  of 
«« two  brothers,  who  had  possession  of  the  house. 
«  appears  that  they  were  not  for  a  moment  duped 
"7  the  story  of  the  Marquise's  being  mad ;  for 
*Mle  the  Chevalier  turned  in  the  chamber,  where 
*  guarded  her  from  escaping,  one  of  the  ladies 
*^yed  bto  her  hand  a  box  of  om<*?on,*  from 
^ch  she  contrived  to  swallow  several  pieces 
unseen.  Another  brought  her  some  water,  which 
Me  was  about  to  drink  eagerly,  for  the  poison  was 
^"^™g  her  hiwardly  ;  but  the  savage  broke  the 
p«  at  her  very  lips,  begging  the  ladies  not  to 
"Bterfere  and  foster  her  complaint  by  such  indul- 
!™««,  but  retire,  and  leave  her  to  his  care ;  adding 

*'Hua  was  a  renowned  antidote,  prepared  in  Italy  j 
™»  m  fomier  times  esteemed  so  sorereign  against 
[**%  that  few  households  in  France  were  without  a 
*PPlyofit. 


that  he  would  watch  her  himself,  until  the  fit  had 
passed  over.  The  Marquise,  now  seeing  that  time 
was  running  from  her,  and  that  with  none  but 
female  defenders,  she  was  still  at  his  mercy,  made 
one  effort  more  to  soften  the  Chevalier,  while  away 
from  his  brother.  She  begged  the  ladies  to  pass 
into  the  next  room ;  and  when  they  were  gone, 
fell  at  the  murderer  s  feet,  imploring  him  with  the 
pathos  of  an  innocent  creature  pleading  for  its  life, 
to  pity  her,  to  let  some  relief  be  called  for ;  or  if 
not,  at  least  to  leave  her  the  remains  of  life  that 
still  kept  her  on  the  threshold  of  the  grave !  This 
touching  entreaty,  the  sight  of  the  beauty  he  had 
so  long  worshipped,  her  promise  to  forgive  all  if 
he  would  only  now  relent,  made  no  impression  on 
the  Chevalier ;  or  rather  seemed  to  exasperate  his 
fury.  He  fell  upon  her  with  the  short  sword  that 
he  wore,  using  it  as  a  dagger ;  and  had  already 
pierced  her  twice  in  the  bosom,  before  she  could 
cry  out  and  rush  to  the  door.  As  she  fled,  he 
stabbed  her  five  times  in  the  back  ;  until  the  blade, 
breaking  at  the  last  blow,  remained  sticking  in 
her  shoulder.  After  this  butchery,  believing,  as 
well  he  might,  that  his  victim  could  not  now  sur- 
vive, he  ran  out  of  the  house,  calling  to  the  Abb^, 
"  Come  along :  let  us  make  our  retreat ;  the  afikir 
is  finished  I" 

The  ladles,  rushing  into  the  chamber,  were 
horror-struck  to  find  the  Marquise  weltering  in 
blood.  She  scarcely  breathed,  but  some  life  still 
remained.  While  such  violence  was  at  hand,  no 
woman  dared  to  leave  the  house ;  but  one  of  them 
cried  from  the  window,  to  the  crowd  assembled 
without,  begging  that  a  surgeon  might  instantly  be 
sent  for.  The  Abb^  heard  this,  and  judging  that  the 
victim  must  still  be  alive,  returned.  He  burst  into 
the  room,  where  the  women  were  busied  in  reviving 
the  Marquise,  held  his  pistol  to  her  side,  and  would 
have  discharged  it ;  but  the  piece  missed  fire,  and 
a  Demoiselle  Brunei  (the  same  who  beforo  had 
privily  supplied  the  orviStan)  seized  his  hand, 
turning  the  weapon  from  its  aim.  The  Abb^  re- 
plied by  savagely  striking  the  lady ;  and  seizing 
the  pistol,  to  use  the  butt  as  a  truncheon,  he  would 
have  beaten  out  the  last  remains  of  life  in  the 
Marquise :  but  the  women,  now  forgetting  their 
fear  in  the  horror  of  this  attempt,  fell  upon  him 
in  a  body,  and,  with  blows  and  outcries,  drove 
him  out  of  the  house. 

One  of  these  heroines,  fortunately,  had  some 
notion  of  surgery,  and  bound  up  the  bleeding 
wounds ;  having  first  plucked  out  the  broken  blade 
from  the  shoulder  of  the  Marquise ;  who  had  the 
fortitude  to  beg,  that  the  operator,  if  she  wanted 
strength,  would  aid  herself  by  pressing  her  knee 
against  the  shoulder,  and  forcing  the  weapon  out  in 
this  manner.  None  of  the  wounds,  when  searched, 
appeared  to  be  mortal :  the  Chevalier's  fury,  if  not  an 
instinctive  horror  of  the  act,  had  disturbed  his  aim, 
and  he  had  dealt  the  blows  at  random :  the  poison 
was  the  real  danger  that  now  threatened  her  life. 
At  last,  though  tardily,  help  had  arrived.  The 
consuls  of  the  burgh,  hearing  the  alarm,  repaired 
to  the  house,  around  which  a  guard  was  posted : 
and  the  best  medical  aid  was  summoned  from 
Montp^er.    The  neighbouring  noblesse,  appalled 


300 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MARQUISE  DE  GANGE. 


by  the  news  of  such  a  crimen  crowded  aroand  the 
sufferer  with  offers  of  service.  The  tenth  part  of 
these  succours  might  have  saved  her  life  a  few 
hours  earlier ;  now,  they  could  only  smooth  her 
way  to  the  grave. 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  the  Chevalier  and  the 
Abb6,  whose  crime  had  been  too  public  for  safety, 
fled.  No  one  had  dared  to  arrest  them ;  and  they 
retired,  without  hinderanoe,  to  an  estate  of  the 
Marquis's,  at  Auberas,  a  league  ofi^.  Here  they 
remained  together  for  some  time  :  and  it  is  difficult 
to  conceive  anything  more  frightful  than  the  hours 
which  they  passed  here  in  rage  and  mutual  re- 
proaches, each  cursing  the  other  for  having  left 
the  victim  alive ;  and  half-disposed,  at  all  haz- 
ards, to  return,  and  despatch  her  outright !  But 
their  danger  was  now  become  pressing  :  the  coun- 
'  try  in  alarm  ;  the  Grand  Pr^vot  already  in  pursuit 
of  them :  and  instant  flight  was  their  only  safety. 
They  had  barely  time,  before  they  were  overtaken, 
to  embark  in  a  fishing-boat  on  the  coast  near 
Agde;  and  thus  escaping,  reached  Venice  in  se- 
curity. 

All  this  tune,  where  was  the  Marquis  ?  He  had 
received,  at  Avignon,  an  account  of  the  will  that 
had  been  extorted  from  his  wife,  and  waited  im- 
patiently for  the  news  of  her  death ;  when  he  was 
informed,  apparently  by  some  messenger  from  the 
Abb6,  of  the  tragedy  that  had  taken  place.  Soon 
afterwards,  when  public  rumour  brought  the  tale 
to  Avignon,  he  affected  the  utmost  grief  and  horror, 
and  loudly  execrated  his  brothers,  vowing  to  avenge 
the  crime  upon  them  with  his  own  hand.  But  he 
did  not  set  out  for  Gauge  until  the  afternoon  of 
the  day  following.  As  the  first  rumour  declared 
that  the  Marquise  was  dead,  he  repaired  to  the 
magistracy  ;  and,  producing  the  second  will,  there 
learned,  to  his  consternation,  that  it  was  of  no 
effect,  imtil  the  protest  had  been  revoked.  After 
this,  he  saw  more  than  one  acquaintance,  to  whom 
he  discoursed  of  other  things,  never  mentioning 
what  had  happened  at  Gauge :  and  at  length, 
hearing  tliat  tiie  Marquise  still  survived,  leisurely 
proceeded  thither.  A  behaviour  so  callous  and 
indecent,  could  only  admit  of  one  interpretation. 

When  he  reached  Gauge,  the  Marquise  received 
him  with  as  much  tenderness  as  a  better  husband 
could  have  deserved :  if  she  suspected  his  knowledge 
of  the  crime,  she  did  not  be^y  her  suspicions ; 
and  only  reproached  him  gently  for  leaving  her  at 
the  mercy  of  such  enemies.  The  heart  that  could 
resolve  to  authorize  their  crime,  was  already 
dead  to  common  feelings  :  but  it  must  have  been 
obdurate  indeed,  to  bear,  without  burning  shame 
and  remorse,  this  demeanour  of  the  Marquise.  She 
even  sought  to  soften  the  reproaches  she  had  ut- 
tered, as  if  they  had  been  extorted  by  the  sharp- 
ness of  her  bodily  sufferings.  But  the  Marquis 
was  not  one  to  be  touched  by  thb  forgiving  soft- 
ness :  he  only  conceived  from  it  a  hope  that  he 
might  yet  deceive  his  victim,  and  reap  the  fruit  of 
h  is  crime.  With  hypocritical  caresses,  he  besought 
her  to  revoke  the  protest,  and  confirm  the  will  she 
had  made  in  his  favour.  The  Marquise  met  this 
audacious  request  by  a  calm  refusal;  and  from 
this  moment,  at  least,  must  have  known  that  her 


liusband  was  the  real  author  of  the  conspiracy 
against  her  life.  After  this  rebuff,  he  did  not 
venture  to  renew  the  subject :  and  finding  the 
transaction  beginning  to  excite  judicial  inquiiy, 
he  deemed  it  prudent  to  feign  the  utmost  solicitude 
for  his  dying  wife.  When  Madame  de  Rosmui, 
her  own  mother,  hastened  to  her  side,  with  seyeral 
of  her  friends  from  Avignon,  she  was  amazed  to 
find  the  Marquis,  of  whose  guilt  she  was  firmly 
persuaded,  in  attendance  at  the  house  of  Desprat. 
The  horror  of  seeing  him  hourly  in  her  daughter's 
presence  was  more  than  she  could  abide ;  after 
staying  three  days,  it  compelled  her  to  quit  the 
scene ; — ^nor  could  she  afterwards  bring  herself  to 
endure,  for  more  than  a  few  hours  at  a  time,  the 
company  of  one  whom  she  regarded  as  the  chief 
assassin  of  her  child. 

At  first,  the  Marquise  had  some  hopes  of  re- 
covery;  although  she  demanded,  after  dedaringher 
forgiveness  of  all  her  enemies,  to  take  the  sacrament. 
But  even  in  this  solemn  act,  her  feelings  were  sub- 
jected to  an  abominable  outrage.  The  priest, 
whom  the  Marquis  summoned  to  perform  the 
office,  was  no  other  than  the  wretch  Perrette,  who 
had  lately  endeavoured  to  kill  her,  when  escaping 
from  the  ch&teau !  Yet  she  had  the  self-command, 
or,  say  the  Christian  gentleness,  to  endure  thi^ 
last  cruel  insult ;  although  she  insisted  that  thd 
priest,  on  giving  her  the  host,  should  himself  par- 
take of  it;  believing,  that  even  in  this  sacre<i 
mystery  she  was  not  secure  from  a  renewed  at^ 
tempt  to  kill  her  by  poison.  This  had  been  aiJ 
unnecessary  crime — ^the  first  draught  had  done  its 
work  too  fatally.  In  a  few  days  the  hope  of  lift 
vanished;  the  wounds  healed  rapidly,  but  no- 
thing could  arrest  the  ravages  of  the  poison.  She 
struggled  long  :  the  native  soundness  of  her  oon^ 
stitution  was  such,  that  it  surprised  her  medical  at- 
tendants ;  and  the  ladies  who  waited  on  her  declai^ 
ed,  that,  in  her  fullest  health,  she  had  never  looked 
more  beautiful  than  now,  while  lying  on  a  painful 
death-bed.  A  day  before  her  decease,  a  Conmiissaiy 
from  the  Parliament  of  Toulouse  was  enabled  to 
take,  from  her  own  lips,  a  full  declaration ;  upon 
which  that  tribunal  afterwards  founded  its  judg- 
ment. On  the  evening  of  June  5th,  after  linger- 
ing for  nearly  twenty  days,  she  expired  in  tenibk 
suffering ;  but  with  the  words  of  resignation  and 
forgiveness  on  her  lips.  There  was  lamentation 
for  her  death  over  all  Provence :  and  the  peopk 
mourned,  not  in  outward  show  only,  for  lovelines? 
so  excelling,  and  misfortunes  so  cruel  and  extra* 
ordinary. 

The  reader  will  hardly  be  satisfied  to  pause  heiCj 
without  inquiring  what  signal  justice  overtook  th< 
authors  of  this  tragedy.  The  answer  to  be  giveil 
is  more  suggestive  of  the  character  of  the  times 
than  satisfactory  to  our  indignant  feelings:  hul 
the  measure  of  retribution  is  not  filled  in  thii 
being  only.  On  the  death  of  the  Marquise,  th« 
Conmiissary  decreed  a  caption  of  the  person  againsi 
her  husband,  who  was  seized  at  the  chatean,  and 
carried  a  prisoner  to  Montpfllier.  Though  h« 
arrived  there  at  night,  all  the  city  was  awake,  an<i 
stationed  at  the  lighted  windows  to  see  the  crimi" 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MARQUISE  DE  GANGE 


301 


oal ;  whom  ihe  populace  pursued,  as  he  was  led 
along,  with  hisses  and  execrations.    Madame  de 
Roasui,  haying  taken  the  inheritance  under  her 
dtogfater's  will,  prosecuted  the  murderers  with  the 
Dtmost  diligence  ;  and  the  Marquis,  after  an  exa- 
mioation  in  which  there  appeared  a  flagrant  pre- 
samption  of  guilt,  was  sent  for  trial  hefore  the 
Ptriiament  of  Toulouse.     The  pleadings  hefore 
this  body  were  always  written  ;  the  accuser's  fac- 
tmHf  (as  the  exhibition  of  a  case  was  called,)  re- 
lated the  stoiy  we  have  given  here.    The  reply  of 
the  Marquis  contained  a  few  words  only ;  admit- 
ting his  brothers'  guilt,  denying  his  part  in  it,  and 
defying  any  conclusion  founded  on  mere  presump- 
tiooa.    This,  he  felt  confident,  would  save  him ; 
ud  for  some  time,  indeed,  the  absence  of  any  direct 
proof  niq>ended  the  magistrate's  decision.    Their 
wtencc,  however,  was    at    length    pronounced 
against  all  the  parties  concerned.    The  Abb^  and 
Cberalier  were  condemned  to  be  broken  alive  on 
tlie  wheel ;  the  Marquis  to  be  banished  for  life, 
^^fraded  from  the  noblesse,  and  his  possessions 
wofirated  to  the  crown  ;  the  priest  Perrette,  after 
degradation   by  his  ecclesiastical  superiors,  was 
ntenced  for  life  to  the  galleys.  This  last  was  the 
only  one  of  the  criminals  who  appeared  to  die  in  a 
Banner  suited  to  his  deserts.    He  was  attached  to 
the  cioMe,  or  convoy  of  culprits  sent  to  the  galleys, 
ind  txplnd  of  rough  usage  on  the  journey.    The 
poblic,  especially  the  female  part  of  it,  loudly  con- 
<ieinDed  the  lenity  shown  to  the  Marquis ;  but  he 
vaiaconsiderable  noble,  and  few  would  have  dared, 
in  those  times,  to  venture  on  a  more  extreme  pun- 
islunent,  even  when   supported  by   the  popular 
deling.    The  Abb^  and  Chevalier  were  already 
^yond  the  reach  of  their  judges. 

At  Venice,  the  Marquis  joined  them  ;  and  he 
ttdthe  Chevalier  offered,  and  were  allowed,  to  take 
vriee  onder  the  Republic,  which  was  then  engag- 
«i  in  the  memorable  defence  of  Candia  against  the 
Torki,  Both  are  said  to  have  fought  bravely  at  this 
*ge,  and  both  died  there : — the  Chevalier,  blown  to 
*y*»  by  a  bomb,  shortly  after  his  arrival ;  the 
*w?ws,  a  few  weeks  later,  buried  in  the  explosion 
^  a  mine ;  a  manner  of  death  for  too  honourable 
w  miscreants  soiled  by  the  cowardly  and  pitiless 
"•wlerofa  woman! 

The  Abbe  lived  longer ;  but  we  cannot  suppose 
««t  the  days  of  the  architect  of  so  much  mischief 
^^  exempt  from  the  secret  misery  which  pur- 
*^the  guilty.  He  fled,  under  an  assumed  name, 
^ofland,  where  a  gentleman,  in  whom  he  con- 
JW,  piesented  him,  at  Viane,  to  the  Count  de  la 
'f^  as  a  Frenchman  of  merit,  who,  having  ab- 
J^  the  Catholic  religion,  had  sought  an  asylum 
^Piotestant  country.  The  Abb^  thought  it 
"ttle  to  add  to  his  other  crimes  the  disgrace  of  re- 
J^g  his  creed.  The  Count  was  pleased  by 
we  Roger's  address  and  information,  took  him 
n>to  his  household,  and  made  hun  tutor  to  his  heir, 
»  hoyof  nme  or  ten  years  old.  This  charge  was 
***^yt«d  with  the  utmost  zeal  and  success ;  the 
Popd  became  a  credit  to  his  instructor,  who  thereby 
*2^"»d  the  entire  confidence  of  the  Count  and  his 
^  Still  he  was  careful  to  conceal  his  origin  ; 
*mch  made  his  patrons  conclude  that  it  must  be 

**.a— T0L.IX, 


an  obscure  one,  never  imagining  that  any  other 
reason  for  secrecy  could  exist  in  one  whose  conduct 
appeared  to  be  so  exemplary.  They  forbore  to 
urge  him  on  the  subject ;  but  he  lived  in  constant 
fear  of  detection,  and  shrunk  from  every  encounter 
with  those  who  might  possibly  have  seen  him  in 
his  own  country.  This  appeared  when,  after  the 
revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  some  Huguenot 
fSamilies  sought  to  establish  themselves  at  Viane. 
The  right  of  granting  this  privilege  belonged  to  the 
Count ;  and  it  was  expected  that  M.  de  la  Martel* 
li^re,  (as  the  Abbe  now  called  himself)  being,  like 
them,  a  Protestant  and  a  refugee,  would  advocate 
their  petition.  But  they  were  disappointed :  the 
new  convert,  apprehensive  of  some  discovery, 
wrought  upon  his  patron  to  refuse  them  a  settle- 
ment. His  influence  in  the  Count's  family,  still 
increasing,  enabled  him  to  win  the  affections  of  a 
young  lady,  of  great  beauty,  and  related  to  the 
Countess,  to  whom  he  made  a  proposal  of  marriage. 
The  Counteas,  however,  opposed  it,  on  the  ground 
of  the  obscurity  which  hung  over  the  suitor's  his- 
tory; remarking,  that  a  person  of  such  merit 
could  only  conceal  his  real  extraction  from  reluc- 
tance to  confess  that  it  was  a  mean  one.  But  the 
lady  viras  too  much  enamoured  to  yield,  and  related 
to  her  lover  what  the  Countess  had  said.  Upon 
this,  as  if  an  infatuation  had  seized  him,  he  flatter- 
ed himself  that  the  time  was  now  come  when  he 
might  venture  to  reveal  his  secret ;  imagining  that 
his  interest  with  the  family,  and  his  uniform  good 
conduct  while  attached  to  it,  might  procure  him 
indulgence  for  his  former  crimes.  He  repaired  to 
the  Countess,  and  throwing  himself  at  her  feet, 
imploring  her  pity  and  favour,  declared  his  noble 
birth,  and  oonfesoed  that  he  viras  the  unfortunate 
Abb^  de  Grange,  whose  name  had  formerly  been  so 
notorious  in  his  own  country.  Seeing  that  the 
Countess  was  thunderstruck  by  this  confession,  he 
used  all  the  eloquence  of  whidi  he  was  master,  to 
implore  her  compassion,  and  awaken  her  sympathy. 
But  she  recoiled  from  him  with  horrer ;  and  shud- 
dered at  the  idea  that  a  wretch  like  this  had  so 
long  been  an  inmate  of  her  family,  and  the  teacher 
of  her  son.  The  Count,  when  informed  of  the  dis- 
covery, partook  of  her  abhorrence ;  and,  not  con- 
tent with  compelling  the  offender  to  depart  from 
Viane,  would  have  had  him  arrested,  but  for  the 
entreaties  of  his  son,  who  was  greatly  attached  to 
his  tutor.  The  Sieur  de  la  Martelliere  fled  to 
Amsterdam,  where  he  was  soon  afterwards  joined 
by  his  mistress,  and  privately  married  to  her.  The 
young  Count  supplied  him  for  some  time,  in  secret, 
with  the  means  of  subsistence,  until  an  iidieritanoe, 
which  fell  to  his  wife,  enabled  him  to  live,  without 
charity,  in  an  humble  manner.  He  afterwards 
became  a  member  of  the  Protestant  Consistory, 
was  much  respected  for  his  learning  and  decorous 
conduct,  and  died  amongst  them  at  an  advanced 
age,  it  is  said,  in  the  odour  of  sanctity ! 

But  he  told  the  friend,  who  was  the  depositary 
of  his  secret,  that  his  private  hours  were  full  of 
remorse  and  dismay  ;  and  constantly  haunted  by 
the  apparition  of  the  Marquise,  as  she  looked  upon 
him  at  the  moment  when  he  commanded  her  to 
choose  the  manner  of  her  death.    He  declared  that 

2C 


802 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  MARQUISE  DE  GANGK 


he  could  not  €8cape  from  her  appearance — that  he 
•aw  it  as  distinctly  as  any  living  thing — and  that 
words  could  not  describe  the  torment  that  he  en- 
dured in  its  presence  ;  it  was,  he  said,  as  if  his  yery 
entrails  were  toni  with  horror  I 


So  that,  although  he  had  escaped  from  the  hand 
of  tempond  justice,  a  secret  Nemesis  puzsaed  the 
criminal,  with  a  doom  of  suffering  more  terrible 
and  lasting  than  any  that  he  had  Uie  power  to  in- 
flict on  his  innocent  victim !  V. 


SATIETY. 


Ths  Bcotoli  lord  look'd  o'er  his  fldr  domain, 
Cer  forest  and  meadow,  o'er  bill  and  o'er  plain : 
The  Summer  noon  sun  was  shining  bright. 
And  gilding  the  riyer  with  floods  of  li^t ; 
And  showing  the  course  of  the  mountain  nils, 
As  they  streamed  like  silver  adown  the  hills ; 
And  the  young  trees  waved  in  ihe  Summer  air, 
And  the  spirit  of  Beauty  seem'd  hovering  there  : 
But  not  to  their  owner  was  loveliness  seen 
In  the  dark  blue  hills,  or  the  forests  green. 
And  he  said,  ^  Though  glorious  the  prospect  be, 
With  its  mountains  stem,  and  the  silvery  sea — 
Though  boundless  wealth  may  my  coffers  fill. 
Yet  my  heart  is  sad  and  restless  stilL 
I  must  see  the  world,  and  my  part  must  bear 
On  the  crowded  stage  of  life's  theatre." 

He  has  roam'd  to  the  east,  he  has  roam'd  to  the  west, 

In  search  of  the  things  which  might  please  him  best; 

He  has  tried  all  follies,  one  by  one. 

Till  their  life  was  past,  and  their  xest  was  gone ; 

He  has  led  the  host  of  Pleasure's  sons. 

And  the  phalanx  of  Fashion's  myrmidons ; 

And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  the  world's  gay  throngs, 

Amid  wine  and  music,  and  laughter  and  songs, 

He  has  said,  **  Though  I  strive  regret  to  kill. 

Yet  my  heart  is  sad  and  restless  still ; 

From  the  cares  of  the  world,  its  fever  and  strife, 

I  vrill  fly  to  the  charms  of  domestic  life ; 

I  will  win  a  young  heart  before  one  thought 

Has  a  scene  of  the  world,  or  its  pleasures  8ou|^t-^ 

Before  one  envious  wish  has  sprung, 

Or  the  toils  of  deceit  o'er  her  soul  been  flung ; 

I  will  make  her  affections  all  my  ovm — 

I  vrill  honour  and  love  but  her  alone ; 

And  vrith  her  for  ever  at  my  side. 

My  days  will  as  calmly  and  hi^pily  glide, 

As  the  river  that  girdles  the  ancient  woods 

Of  my  mountain  home's  vast  solitudes  !". 

He  has  chosen  a  bride  fh>m  the  fair  array 

Of  the  young,  the  beautiful,  and  the  gay ; 

He  has  cuU'd  the  fairest  creature  the  son 

In  his  daily  rounds  has  look'd  upon ; 

In  whose  young,  pure  heart,  the  feelings  had  slept, 

Till  this  dream  of  love  o'er  her  spirit  crept — 

Awaking  her  thoughts  fh>m  their  secret  cells. 

And  calling  forth  passion  flrom  purest  wells, 

Where  it  silent  had  lain  till  the  mighty  spell 

Of  the  wizard  Love  o'er  their  still  depths  felL 

He  has  taken  this  lovely  creature  home 

To  his  ancient  seat,  where  the  ftee  winds  roam — 

Where  the  eagle  builds  his  eyrie  proud 

On  the  cliff  that  o'ertops  the  bursting  cloud ; 

Where  the  murmur  of  the  distant  sea 

Alone  breaks  upon  Nature's  monotony ; 

And  the  mind  must  feel,  in  its  lightest  mood. 

The  awe  that  reigns  over  solitude. 

This  being  is  his— and  her  ''heavenly  grace 
Hath  a  sunshine  made  in  the  sbadv  place ;" 
And  her  children  are  round  her  a  lovely  band. 
The  flower  of  the  beautiful  of  the  land. 


But  the  lord  is  sad,  and  his  heart  again 

Is  fill'd  with  restlessness  and  pain ; 

And  he  said  with  a  sigh,  '^  Must  these  bounded  ties 

The  whole  of  my  powers  monopolize  ! 

I  vrill  vrin  a  name,  and  my  fame  shall  be 

To  my  children  their  proudest  legacy." 

And  his  lan^  throngh  the  midnight  is  burning  now, 
And  shedding  its  light  o'er  his  broad  pale  brow ; 
And  his  works,  which  betoken  a  master's  hand, 
Have  traversed  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  the  land ; 
From  confhsion,  have  into  expression  brought 
Hie  strength  and  power  of  a  nation's  thought. 
And  have  shaped  its  ideas,  only  half  conceived. 
Into  solemn  truths,  which  the  world  believed. 
But  though  splendid  his  triumphs,  and  bright  his  career, 
He  must  make  them  more  varied,  and  bring  them  more 
near. 

He  is  now  in  the  Senate — ^his  long-tried  sense. 
With  the  weight  of  his  glorious  eloquence — 
*  The  thoughts  that  breathe,  and  the  words  that  bum)" 
As  reason  or  passion  takes  its  turn — 
Have  swept  o'er  the  hearts  of  thoee  who  listen'd. 
Till  each  pulse  has  throbb'd,  and  each  eye  has  gUsten'd; 
And  conviction  has  follow'd  his  flashing  words. 
As  sweet  sounds  follow  the  touch  of  the  chords. 
He  has  felt  in  its  ftilness,  again  and  again. 
The  power  of  swaying  the  passions  of  men ; 
And  guiding  their  feelings,  for  good  or  for  ill, 
With  the  whelming  force  of  a  master  vrilL 
Applauses  have  rung,  and  laurels  been  flung, 
And  the  voices  of  poets  his  praises  have  sung ; 
But  the  thrill  of  excitement  which  once  led  him  on, 
Wi^  the  power  of  applause,  o'er  his  spirit  is  gone ! 

From  plan  to  plan  does  his  fine  mind  range, 
And  yet  his  spirit  sighs  for  change  ; 
And  still,  in  the  mic^t  of  snccessftil  schemes, 
His  heart  is  haunted  by  troubled  dreams ; 
And  ever  thus  is  be  doom'd  to  sigh. 
For  his  mind  is  o'eipower'd  by  satiety  1 
He  has  leaxn'd  not  the  lesson  so  hard  to  reach. 
Which  nought  but  Religion  itself  could  teach, 
Of  giving  self-interest  a  portion — ^not  whole. 
Of  the  boundless  love  of  the  human  sonl ; 
From  self,  letting  its  energies  fly  as  firee 
As  the  mighty  winds  or  tiie  restless  sea, 
Till  it  hold,  in  its  wide  and  circling  bands, 
The  natives  of  other  and  distant  lands ; 
And  embrace,  in  its  kindly  and  Christian  mood, 
The  whole  of  mankind  in  its  brotheriiood ! 

He  must  learn  to  direct  his  aspiring  mind. 

Which  on  earth  is  "  cribb'd,  cabin'd,  and  confined," 

To  a  better  cause  than  vrinning  a  name — 

To  a  brighter  future  than  that  of  ftime  ! 

For  the  restless  yearning  vrhich  uxges  him  on. 

Till  his  task  is  done  and  renown  is  won. 

Is  but  one  form  of  that  mighty  hope 

Which,  whatever  our  nature  and  being's  scope, 

Bums  in  all  hearts — ^the  desire  to  be 

Existing  still  throngh  eternity  1  ^ 


808 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OF  AMERICA.* 


Mb.  BucKmaHAM's  Tour  in  the  Southern  and 

IVeMem  States,  will  prove  much  more  generally 
attractiyey  than  his  account  of  the  more  familiar 
ind  hackneyed  route  to  which  his  previous  volumes 
wwa  devoted.  The  field  is  not  only  more  compre- 
lieiia?e,  but  more  varied  and  fresh. 

This  portion  of  the  voluminous  work  commences 
with  Charleston,  the  capital  of  South  Carolina,  to 
whieh  city  Mr.  Buckingham  and  his  travelling 
companions,  (his  wife  and  his  son,)  made  an  ex- 
oedingly  disagreeable  voyage  from  New  York,  in 
a  sailing  vessel.  In  Charleston,  Mr.  Buckingham 
lEmained  at  this  time  for  three  weeks,  delivering 
Ms  customary  course  of  Lectures  on  the  East,  and 
njojing  frequent  friendly  intercourse  with  the 
most  intelligent  inhabitants  of  the  place.  Charles- 
ton, which  he  afterwards  revisited,  seems  to  have 
]th  I  pleasant  impression  upon  his  mind. 

As  in  the  first  three  volumes  of  the  work,  the 
airthor  wherever  he  sojourns  takes  occasion  to  give 
a  pretty  fall  view  of  the  history  of  the  particular 
State ;  compiled  from  the  best  sources,  and  of  value 
M  a  kind  of  Greneral  Survey  of  the  United  States, 
tbou^  of  kss  interest  to  the  British  reader,  and 
of  little  or  none  whatever  to  those  who  merely 
t*ke  up  the  work  as  a  book  of  recent  travels.  Of 
ail  this  weighty,  and  to  us,  extraneous  matter, 
te  ihaU  therefore  steer  clear. 

In  point  of  appearance,  in  its  public  buildings  and 
general  air  of  prosperity,  Charleston  is  inferior  to 
the  cities  of  the  Northern  States.  It  more  resem- 
Ities  a  West  Indian  than  an  American  town,  from 
the  prevalence  of  wooden  buildings  painted  white ; 
^wandaa^  porticoes,  and  Venetian  blinds  ;  and 
probably  also  from  the  numerous  domestic  slaves, 
^  light  or  gaudy  dresses.  Charleston  is  considered 
peculiarly  unhealthy,  though  some  of  its  own  phy- 
^nans  uphold  it  ^  as  decidedly  one  of  the  healthiest 
otiea  on  the  face  of  the  globe." 

Slavery,  the  actual  condition  of  slaves  in  all  its 
l**ring8,  was  everywhere  an  important  object  to  the 
Tonriflt ;  if  it  was  not,  next  to  his  private  affairs  and 
4e  Temperance  cause,  the  most  important  object 
of  hii  journey.  But  instead  of  following  his  desul- 
tory remarks  on  slavery,  in  the  course  of  his  long, 
Bg-ag  ramble,  we  shaJl  endeavour,  at  its  conclu- 
^  to  give  a  brief  summary  of  the  information  he 
***lltt!ted,  and  of  his  personal  observations.  His 
next  station  after  leaving  Charleston,  was  Savan- 
^  in  Georgia,  an  old  city  containing  about 
10,006  inhabitants,  of  whom  the   one-half  ore 

«>loured  people."  In  manners  and  institutions 
"^  0ue  as  closely  resembles  a  West  India  town 
w<ioe8  Charleston:— 

^  uliitc  population  are  chiefly  merchants,  planters, 
™M8,  and  professional  men  ;  the  laboripus  trades  be- 
^•tt  cairied  on  by  coloured  persons,  and  nearly  all 
toe  eefere  and  menisd  labour  is  performed  by  slaves. 
^^  ^  society  of  Charleston,  this  of  Savannah  is  char- 

*  Two  thick  volumes,  8vo.    With  numerous  plates. 


acterized  by  great  elegance  in  all  their  deportment; 
the  men  are  perfect  gentlemen  in  their  manners,  and 
the  women  are  accomplished  ladies.  A  high  sense  of 
honour,  and  a  freedom  from  all  the  little  meannesses  and 
tricks  of  trade,  seem  to  prevail  universally  among  the 
gentlemen,  who  are  liberal,  frank,  and  hospitable,  with- 
out ostentation,  or  much  pretence  ;  while  the  ladies  are 
not  only  well  educated,  but  elegant  in  their  manners, 
and  mingle  with  the  pleasures  of  the  social  circle,  much 
of  grace  and  dignity,  blended  with  the  greatest  kindness 
and  suavity. 

The  principal  causes  of  this  difference  from  the  cold- 
ness, formality,  and  reserve  of  the  north,  is,  no  doubt, 
partly  to  be  attributed  to  climate,  partly  to  the  different 
style  of  living,  and  a  great  deal  to  the  circumstance, 
that  as  all  persons  of  moderate  fortunes  live  here  upon  a 
footing  of  equality  with  the  wealthiest,  there  is  not  that 
straining  after  distinction,  and  the  practice  of  various 
arts  to  obtain  it,  vHiich  prevail  in  cities  where  the  aris- 
tocracy is  composed  of  three  or  four  grades,  or  castes, 
each  anxious  to  outrival  and  overtop  the  otiier,  whieh 
begets  uneasiness,  jealousy,  suspicion,  and  an  extraordi- 
nary degree  of  fastidiousness  as  to  the  acquaintances 
formed,  the  parties  visited,  and  the  guests  entertained. 
The  graceftil  ease  and  quiet  elegance  of  the  southern 
families,  make  their  visiters  feel  that  they  are  in  the 
society  of  well-bred  and  recognised  gentlemen  and  ladies; 
while  in  the  north,  the  doubt  and  ambiguity  as  to  rela- 
tive rank,  and  position,  and  the  overstrained  efforts  to 
be  thought  genteel,  make  the  stranger  feel  that  he  is  in 
the  presence  of  persons  new  to  the  sphere  of  polished 
society,  and  labouring  under  an  excessive  anxiety  about 
the  opinion  of  others,  which  makes  them  a  burthen  to 
themselves. 

There  is  inconsistency,  more  apparent  perhaps 
than  real,  in  the  account  which  Mr.  Buckingham 
gives  of  the  character,  manners,  and  attainments 
of  the  gentlemen  of  the  South  and  the  North;  the 
former,  under  a  thin  crust,  or  exterior  lackering  of 
politeness,  being  in  many  other  parts  of  the  work 
described  as  irascible,  an'ogant,  vindictive,  and,  in 
short,  exactly  such  men  as  the  masters  of  slaves, 
educated  among  slaves,  must  become,  in  spite  of 
every  countervailing  influence.  The  complaint 
made  by  British  travellers  of  the  lax  discipline  of 
the  North  in  the  training  of  children  and  young 
people,  appears  to  be  still  more  applicable  to  the 
South;  where  the  boys  affect  the  bravoy  carry 
bowie-knives,  and  sometimes  marry  at  fourteen. 

After  visiting  Augusta,  the  Tourists  proceeded 
into  the  interior  of  Ceorgia,  and  pass^  through 
Alabama  on  their  route  to  New  Orleans.  This 
journey,  generally  made  in  the  wretched  stage  or 
mail-coaches  of  the  South,  aboimds  in  interest  and 
entertainment ;  though  the  complaints  of  disorder, 
fllth,  bad  or  scanty  accommodation,  horrid  roads 
and  miserable  fare,  become  somewhat  tiresome 
from  their  continual  reiteration,  not  only  here,  but 
in  the  subsequent  rambles  in  the  Alleghanies.  No 
doubt  these  privations  must  have  been  very  distress- 
ing at  the  moment ;  but  English  travellers  ought 
to  remember  that  they  cannot  carry  all  "the 
comforts  of  the  Saut  Market  at  their  tails,"  over 
the  "  corduroy  roads,"  and  into  the  Backwoods  ; 
and  so  make  up  their  minds  to  two-pronged  iron 
forks,  coarse  crockery,  brass  and  tin  candlesticks, 
and  even  worse  afflictions,  which  the  Americans 


304 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OF  AMERICA, 


bear  with  perfect  good-humour.  A  taste  of  these 
minor  calamities  of  life  may  even  be  amuung ; 
and  they  become  in  this  narrative  piquant  to  the 
malicious,  from  the  amount  of  ludicrous  distress 
so  gravely  and  so  often  and  solemnly  described. 
At  Sparta — ^no  country  in  the  world  equal  to 
Yankeeland  for  classic  names — the  Travellers 
going  by  the  stage  to  Macon,  stopped  to  dine ;  but 
alas !  for  the  squeamish  stomachs  of  people  from 
the  Old  Country — 

The  sight  of  the  pablic  table  prepared  for  the  passen- 
gers, was  80  reToIting,  that,  hiuigry  as  we  were  after 
our  long  and  cold  ride,  early  rieiog,  and  violent  motion, 
we  turned  away  in  disgust  from  the  table,  and  made  our 
dinner  in  the  coach  on  hard  biscuits.  There  were  three 
lines  of  coaches  on  this  road,  all  leaving  at  the  same 
hour,  and  arriving  at  the  same  time — the  Mail  line,  the 
Telegraph  line,  and  the  People's  line.  The  passengers 
fh>m  each  of  these  took  their  seats  at  the  table,  and 
many  of  them  appeared  to  dine  as  heartily  as  if  they 
saw  nothing  unusual  in  the  fare.  But  the  dirty  state  of 
the  room  in  which  the  table  was  laid,  the  filthy  condi* 
tion  of  the  table-cloth,  the  coarse  and  broken  plates, 
rusty  knives  and  forks,  and  large  junks  of  boiled  pork, 
and  various  messes  of  com  and  rancid  butter,  added  to 
the  coarse  and  vulgar  appearance  and  manners  of  most 
of  the  guests,  made  the  whole  scene  the  most  revolting 
we  had  yet  witnessed  in  the  country 

We  left  Sparta  at  three  o'clock ;  and  after  a  cold, 
dreary,  and  tedious  drive  through  thick  woods  and  over 
broken  roads,  we  reached  Milledgeville  about  eight, 
having  been  assured  before  setting  oat  that  we  should 
reach  there  at  three.  As  this  is  the  legislative  capi- 
tal of  the  State  of  Georgia,  we  had  hoped  to  find  a  good 
hAtel  here  at  least,  as  uie  legislatorial  body  consists  of 
nearly  400  members,  and  these  all  reside  here  during  the 
few  months  that  the  two  houses  are  assembled  in  annual 
session.  But  our  hopes  were  not  realized.  The  inn  at 
which  the  coach  stopped  was  a  wretched  one ;  and 
though  all  we  desired  to  hare  was  a  cup  of  tea  and 
some  cold  meat  for  our  party,  we  had  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty in  getting  either The  tea  was 

tardily  and  reluctantly  prepared  for  us  in  a  bed-room  ; 
and  it  may  give  some  idea  of  the  rudeness  with  which 
this  was  done,  to  say,  that  the  dirty  negress  who  made 
the  tea,  brought  the  stinted  quantity  required  in  the 
hollow  of  her  hand,  without  any  other  receptacle  for  it — 
that  the  milk  was  placed  on  the  table  in  a  broken  tea- 
cup, milk-cups  not  being  in  use — and  that  when  a  slop- 
basin  was  asked  for,  the  thing  was  unknown,  and  a  large 
salad-bowl  was  brought  for  that  purpose. 

The  hotels  of  the  new  and  secondary  towns  of 
the  South,  are  often  little  better  than  those  above 
described;  but  that  of  3fac(m formed  an  exception. 
This  is  a  pity  rising  only  fifteen,  and  already  num- 
bering 8000  inhabitants  ;  of  whom  3000  are 
slaves  and  free  coloured  people.  In  the  year 
before  Mr.  Buckingham  visited  Macon,  its  exports 
in  cotton  alone  amounted  to  5,000,000  dollars,  and 
its  imports  to  4,000,000 ;  the  surplus,  which  is 
stated  at  about  2,000,000  dollars,  being  expended 
in  buildings,  railroads,  and  other  improvements. 
This  is  a  good  rate  of  progress ;  and  one  which 
will  inevitably  bring  silver  forks,  toilet  tables,  and 
everything  needful  in  its  train.  As  the  place  b 
comparatively  new  ground,  and  a  promising  field, 
we  copy  out  a  part  of  the  account  of  the  town  : — 

It  is  very  agreeably  and  advantageously  situated  on  the 
western  bank  of  the  river  Ocmnlgee,  which  joins  the 
river  Oconee,  farther  south,  and  their  Junction  makes  the 
river  Alatamaha,  on  which  the  town  and  port  of  Darien 
is  situated,  within  a  few  miles  of  the  sea.  This  river,  in 
its  windings,  goes  over  a  space  of  600  miles  between 


Macon  and  Darien,  a  length  equal  to  that  of  all  Eoglud 
and  Scotland  united  !  yet  Macon  is  very  nearly  in  the 
middle  of  the  State  of  Georgia,  it  being  quite  as  hx  from 
it  to  the  Tennessee  river,  which  is  its  north-westen 
boundary,  as  it  is  to  the  river  St.  Mary,  or  CumberUnd 
Sound,  which  is  its  south-eastern  boundary  on  the  At- 
lantic This  extensive  area  has  not  more  than  600,000 
persons  yet  settled  on  it,  according  to  the  census  of  the 
last  year,  though  its  fertility  and  general  resooroes 
would,  no  doubt,  be  sufficient  to  maintain  in  comfort,  if 
not  in  affluence,  the  whole  population  of  England ;  ud 
this  will,  no  doubt,  be  its  ultimate  destiny,  when  its 
forests  are  cleared,  and  all  its  agricultural,  mineral  ud 
mannfiMsturing  resources  are  fVilly  developed. 

The  plan  of  Maoon,  like  that  of  nearly  all  the  towns 
in  the  United  States,  is  remarkably  regular ;  the  streets 
run  at  right  angles  with  each  other,  and  are  fipon  100  to 
120  feet  in  breadth.  The  houses  are  mostly  of  wood ; 
many  of  these  are  spacious  and  elegant ;  and  some  of 
the  private  dwellings  are  of  brick,  well  built,  and  in  good 
taste.  The  public  edifices  are  large,  well  proportioned, 
and  indicative  of  a  rising  and  prosperous  city.    .    .  . 

A  neat  market-house,  with  open  colonnade  and  tower, 
occupies  the  middle  of  the  same  street,  and  near  this  is 
the  Railroad  Bank,  with  a  fine  Doric  portico  of  Anted 
pillars ;  while  the  new  Presbyterian  Church,  with  its 
square  tower,  completes  a  very  interesting  architeotnnl 
group. 

On  the  west  of  the  town  is  a  rinng  ground  terminat- 
ing in  a  lull,  about  a  hundred  feet  in  height,  overlooking 
the  town  on  the  east,  and  having  behind  it  on  the  west, 
a  pretty  valley,  beyond  which  are  dusters  of  riUts  and 
cottages,  to  which  the  wealthy  inhabitants  reim  in  the 
hot  season  to  sleep,  coming  into  the  city  fbr  bosiness 
only.  On  this  hill  are  several  private  mansions,  as  lai;ge 
and  as  handsome  as  any  of  those  which  excited  onr  ad- 
miration at  New  Bedford.  On  this  elevation  is  now 
constructing,  and  nearly  completed,  an  extensiye  pile  for 
the  Female  College  of  Macon.  This  edifice,  which  is 
built  of  brick  and  stone,  is  sufficiently  capacious  to  acco- 
modate 200  boarders,  and  to  educate  200  day-scholan 
besides  ;  in  addition  to  this,  it  has  ample  acoommodatioi 
in  rooms,  for  study,  recitations,  and  every  other  reqnisite 
for  pupils,  with  an  excellent  private  dwelling  for  ih» 
master  and  teachers.  Though  the  building  is  not  yet 
finished,  there  are  already  150  young  ladies,  from  10  to 
18  years  of  age,  receiving  their  education  there ;  and 
the  style  of  tuition,  and  range  of  subjects  taught,  are 
not  inferior  to  those  of  any  of  the  Female  Academies  of 
the  north.  I  had  an  opportunity  of  conversing  wiUi  the 
headmaster  ;andeigoyedtheadvantagesof  the  serrioeaof 
the  Latin,  French,  and  Spanish  teachers  for  my  son ;  and 
they  appeared  to  me  to  be  quite  as  competent  to  the  dis- 
charge of  their  duties,  as  those  of  the  best  schools  of 
Europe. 

In  front  of  the  College  is  a  space  of  six  acres  of  slop- 
ing land,  which,  as  well  as  the  site  for  the  building,  was 
the  gift  of  a  Methodist  minister,  who  is  also  a  merchant 
in  Macon,  and  which  it  is  intended  to  lay  out  as  a  Botani- 
cal Garden  for  the  recreation  and  improvement  of  the 
students.  Instruments  are  also  providing  for  giv°)S 
them  instruction  in  chemistry,  mineralogy,  and  astro- 
nomy, so  that  the  course  of  education  will  be  solid  and 
useful,  while  languages,  music,  and  drawing,  will  make 
it  also  ornamental.  The  whole  will  be  extremely  chwp ; 
the  English  literary  and  scientific  course,  mdnding 
the  French  hmguage,  being  only  50  dollars  per  annnm, 
or  £10  sterling. 

In  this  manner  new  cities  startup  in  the  wilder- 
ness. A  chartered  State  Bank  is  made  to  contri- 
bute to  the  building  of  the  College,  as  the  price  of  it» 
exclusive  privileges.  Like  every  American  town, 
Macon  has  already  a  competent  number  of  Volnn- 
tary  places  of  worship,  of  the  usual  kinds— nsmely* 
Episcopalian,  Presbyterian,  Methodist,  Bsptist, 
and  Universalist.  Roman  Catholic  and  Unitarian 
chapels,  though  generally  found  in  the  towns  <» 
the  South,  have  not  yet  made  their  way  here. 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OF  AMERICA. 


d05 


The  Baptisto  are  of  an  order  new  to  ns.  They 
are  named  ffard-sketted  ;  though  hard-shelled 
ChristiaDs  may,  we  fear,  be  found  of  all  denomi- 
natHMU.  They  aeem  to  be  what  is  termed  Antino- 
siiaiu.  Mr.  Buckmgham  has  probably  received 
hu  aoeoont  of  them  from  their  religious  unfriends. 

The  Baptists  are  of  the  ord^r  called  here  «  Hard-shell- 
ed Baptists,''  a  phrase  which  was  new  to  me  ;  and 
viiidi  was  glTen  to  them,  as  I  understood,  from  their 
being  M  impenetrable  to  all  influences  of  a  benevolent 
kiad,  and  so  hostile  to  all  the  anxiliarj  aids  of  missions, 
traet  societies,  temperance  societies,  peace  societies, 
aek-Tiaiting  societies,  and  other  charitable  and  philan- 
Onpie  associations  ;  agamst  all  of  which  they  are  said 
toKt  their  Aces,  and  to  denonnee  them  as  interfering 
with  the  free  operation  of  the  gospel,  and  snbstitntmg 
kaaa  machinety  for  apostolic  preaching.  They  are  ac- 
wdia^y  giyen  to  the  pleasures  of  the  table  without 
mtraiot ;  and  one  of  Uieir  reteran  preachers  here  is 
aid  to  hare  declared  from  the  pulpit  that  he  would 
terer  sabmit  to  be  deprived  of  his  '^  worldly  comforts" 
by  the  fknatics  of  modem  times  ;  and  among  those  com- 
fertibe  Bumbered  his  ^honey-dram  before  breakfast"  and 
Ui  'mint  julep  or  sling,  when  the  weather  required  it." 

"Wen now,"  as  the  Yankees  say,  **but  don't 
you  regard  your  own  creature-comforts  pretty  con- 
■deiable  yourself,  Mr.  B.  V*  as  witness  many  pages 
rf  your  book ;  only  yours  are  not  exactly  of  the 
■me  kmd  with  those  of  the  honey-dram  preacher, 
or  the  smoker.  We  hear  of  a  worse  distinction  be- 
tween the  Hard-shelled  and  the  Evangelical  Bap- 
tots  than  Teetotaliam.  At  a  place  named  Talbot- 
ton,  in  this  district,  there  is  a  small  chapel  by 
ti»  road-side,  which,  on  a  particular  Sunday  even- 
ing, was  refused  to  the  Orthodox  Baptists  *by  the 
BardrtihdUd  sect,  though  not  otherwise  occupied, 
and  for  this  bad  reason  :^ 

A  &et  was  mentioned  to  us  here,  as  of  recent  occur- 
iCBee,  which  will  sufficiently  show  the  necessity  of  more 
Aarehes  tnd  more  preachers,  to  correct  the  present 
ftite  of  things.  In  this  quarter  there  are  two  descrip- 
■9«9  of  Baptists  :  the  orthodox  or  CTangelical,  who  are 
l^utically  as  well  as  theoretieidly  pious,  and  disposed 
touiist  in  all  benevolent  undertakings;  and  the  Anti- 
jaiMSjOr,  as  they  are  here  caUed,  "hard-shelled" 
«Pti>ti,  who  preach  the  doctrines  of  unconditional  elec- 
^  and  reprobation  in  their  sererest  forms,  and  whose 
Wice  diows  how  little  importance  they  attach  to  good 
*•*!.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  the  road  between  Knox- 
^  aad  Talbotton,  was  a  small  chapel,  which  belonged 
*•  toe  Utter;  and  one  of  the  preachers  of  the  former 
J*t«d  to  occupy  it  on  a  Sabbath  eyening,  when  the 
^^hadnoserrice,  but  it  was  refused.  There  was 
^MiMkt  question  agitating  the  public  mind  here, 
^w  Christianity  should  be  preached  to  the  slaves, 
adausaioDaries  be  permitted  to  go  among  them  for  this 
gJP08e  or  not.  The  evangelical  Baptists  desired  this; 
"*»  the  «  hard-shelled"  order  opposed  it.  In  this  they 
*^»«pported  by  the  majority  of  the  whites  here,  who 
^ived  that  preaching  to  slaves  would  only  make 
^^  Bore  dissatisfied  with  their  condition,  and  encour- 
2®  ™» to  rebel  against  their  masters.  The  **  hard- 
«Ued"  minister  denounced  missions  and  missionaries, 
^*m» palpit,  and  was  appUuded  and  caressed  by  his 
^^^ .  ^^  evangelical  minister  commended  missions 
^  miadonaries,  from  such  elevated  stumps  as  he  could 
m  among  the  trees  to  preach  ftrom,  and  he  was  insulted 
M^toen  off  the  ground;  since  which  the  «  hard-sheU- 
^  Baptista  are  said  to  have  had  everything  their  own 
*>y»  a  this  quarter. 

Yonng  as  the  city  of  Macon  is,  there  have  already 
I'ttn  several  attempts  made  by  the  slaves  to  set  it 
^  fire.  Incendiarism  seems  quite  a  common  crime 
^H  the  bUcks,     Three  diflferent  times  in  the 


course  of  this  summer,  the  hotels  at  which  Mr. 
Buckingham  and  his  family  were  stopping,  were 
set  on  fire  by  incendiaries ;  and  one  of  these  times 
the  conflagration  was  attended  with  serious  conse- 
quences. The  fires  were,  in  every  case,  known  to 
be  the  work  of  slaves,  either  domestics  of  the  house 
or  of  the  guests ;  but  all  inquiry  was  prudenify 
suppressed,  as  only  tending  to  make  things  worse. 
On  one  of  these  occasions,  Mr.  Buckingham  a 
trunks  were  only  saved  by  the  activity  and  zeal  of 
his  faithful  Iri^  servant ;  though  he  lost  a  good 
deal  of  property  which  he  considered  valuable. 
The  motive  of  the  slaves  to  commit  this  fearful  and 
common  crime,  is  sometimes  the  hope  of  plunder, 
but  much  oftener  revenge. 

The  settlers,  or  country  people  around  Macon, 
are  a  very  primitive  and  rude  race.  Their 
home-spun  costume  is  that  of  the  petty  farmers  in 
the  remote  parts  of  England  and  Wales,  a  century 
ago.  But  this  does  not  appear  to  hold  of  the  ladies. 
On  the  journey  from  Macon  to  Columbus,  in  Ala- 
bama, the  stage-coach  stopped  at  a  cottage  to  take 
in  a  lady  passenger : — 

She  was  apparently  abont  14  or  15,  and,  like  almost 
all  the  American  females  at  that  age,  waa  remarkably 
pretty,  with  as  much  feminine  delicacy  as  would  be  seen 
in  the  highest  circles  in  England,  though  with  less  of 
polish  or  of  grace.  Though  coming  fh>m  so  humble  a 
dwelling,  her  apparel  was  of  silk,  while  the  gold  rings 
on  her  white  and  taper  fingers,  and  the  green  veil  hang- 
ing from  her  Leghorn  bonnet,  showed  that  her  handia 
had  not  been  much  inured  to  labour,  or  her  complexion 
much  exposed  to  the  sun. 

There  is  a  great  difference  between  the  condition  and 
appearance  of  young  females  in  the  humbler  ranks  of 
life  in  England  and  ^erica.  In  the  former,  they  labour 
to  assist  their  parents,  by  which  they  get  an  air  of 
roughness,  and  rude  health,  accompanied  with  a  plain- 
ness of  attire,  such  as  is  thought  becoming  in  persons  of 
inferior  station.  Here,  except  it  be  among  the  emi- 
grants and  first  settlers,  who  are  mostly  foreigners,  few 
females  assist  their  mothers  in  household  or  any  other 
duties.  They  are  brought  up  to  be  waited  on  by  a 
negro  girl,  who  does  sOl  that  is  required ;  and  every 
white  woman's  daughter,  begins  f^m  the  earliest  years 
to  think  herself  a  lady.  Fine  dress  and  delicate  appear- 
ance, with  an  imitation  of  genteel  manners,  are  the 
business  of  her  life,  until  she  gets  married,  which  is  here 
often  at  14  and  15  ;  and  then  her  utter  inefficiency  as  a 
mother  may  be  readily  conceived. 

There  is  hereabouts  hardly  a  dwelling  with 
females  in  it,  in  which  there  is  not  a  pianoforte; 
all  the  girls  being  taught  to  play  "  a  little  ;" — a 
very  little.  The  picture  of  the  settlers  here,  at 
their  earlier  stages,  is  not  inviting : — 

It  is  difficult  for  any  one  living  in  England  to  appre- 
ciate the  difficulties,  toils,  and  privations  which  a  settler 
and  his  family  have  to  undergo  in  clearing  land,  and 
surrounding  themselves  with  even  the  barest  necessaries. 
Every  member  of  the  family  must  work  bard,  from  day- 
light to  dark,  the  women  as  well  as  the  men,  and  the 
children  as  well  as  the  grown  people.  We  saw  many 
boys  and  girls,  of  not  more  tlum  six  or  seven  years  of 
age,  some  using  small  axes,  others  carrying  wood,  and 
oSiers  assisting  in  domestic  duties.  In  general  they 
were  very  dirty  in  their  persons,  the  mother  being  too 
weary  to  wash  them  ;  ragged,  and  ill-fitted  in  their 
clothes,  there  being  no  tailor  or  dressmaker  to  make 
them  ;  and  some  of  the  boys  especially  reminded  me  of 
Cruikshank's  ludicrous  sketch  of  a  ''boy  wearing  out 
his  fother's  garments,"  for  many  of  them  had  the  coats 
and  hats  of  grown  men,  so  that  the  fbrmer  came  down 
below  their  ankles,  and  the  latter  covered  thehr  eyes, 


806 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OP  AMERICA. 


and  required  constant  lifting.  They  were  all  appa- 
rently unhealthy,  parents  and  children  looking  pale  and 
haggard,  over- worked  in  body,  and  orer- pressed  with 
thought  and  anxiety  in  mind.  What  adds  greatly  to  the 
disadvantage  of  their  situation,  is,  that  there  are  no 
schools,  Sundays  or  weekdays,  and  Tery  few  places  of 
worship ;  while  dram-shops,  under  the  name  of  oon- 
fectionaries,  exist  in  great  numbers,  where  sweatmeats, 
cordials,  and  spirits  are  to  be  had  so  cheap,  that  the  poi- 
son is  abundant  and  the  remedy  scarce  ;  so  that  the 
border  population,  surrounded  by  such  circumstances, 
ean  hardly  fail  to  be  reckless  and  nnprinoipled. 

The  journey  from  Columbus  to  Montgomery 
proved  tedious  and  fatiguing ;  but  from  the  latter 
town  the  travellers  were  enabled  to  descend  the 
Alabama  river,  by  steam,  to  Mobile ;  going  A  dis- 
tance of  five  hundred  and  eight  miles  in  about  forty- 
eight  hours.  The  steamer  does  not  set  off  until  all 
the  coaches  from  the  East  have  arrived,  and  they  are 
very  irregular.  Yet  the  wonder  is  not  the  irregu- 
larity of  the  conveyances,  but  the  facilities  for 
taking  such  journeys  at  all.  The  scenery  on  the 
Alabama  is  described  as  fine. 

The  steamer,  the  interior  arrangements  of  which 
were  comfortable,  called  at  different  places  to  take 
in  bales  of  cotton  for  Mobile.  Smoking,  chewing 
tobacco,  and  spitting,  flourished  the  whole  way. 
The  following  are  good  specimens  of  the  natives: — 

Among  the  passengers  was  a  planter  from  beyond  the 
Mississippi,  who  evinced  a  great  curiosity  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  us,  as  he  stated  that  we  were  the  first 
English  persons  he  had  ever  yet  seen.  He  seemed  to  be 
glad  to  find  himself  quite  certain  that  he  had  now  seen 
real  people  from  the  "  Old  Country,**  as  he  had  passed 
his  whole  life  in  the  interior,  200  miles  beyond  the  great 
river,  and  would  have  something  to  say  when  he  went 
back.  Another  of  our  passengers  was  a  cotton  planter, 
firom  the  interior  of  Alabama,  who  was  said  to  be  worth 
100,000  dollars,  though  his  apparel  certainly  would  not 
sell  in  any  town  of  the  United  States,  for  five  dollars. 
He  was  about  seventy  years  of  age,  had  lost  one  eye,  had 
only  three  or  four  teeth  left,  a  sunburnt  and  wrinkled 
countenance,  like  parchment,  with  white  locks  hanging 
over  his  shoulders,  a  pair  of  scarlet  cotton  trousers, 
crossed  with  bars  of  deep  blue,  snuff'-brown  cotton  stock- 
ings, shoes  without  buckles  or  strings,  a  short  buttonless 
waistcoat,  no  braces,  a  nondescript  coat,  between  a 
jacket  and  a  surtout,  no  neckcloth,  and  a  low-crowned 
and  broad-brimmed  brown  hat.  He  was  of  a  merry  dis- 
position, and  communicative  as  well  as  inquisitive.  He 
was  particularly  impressed  with  the  fresh  and  healthy 
appearance  of  myself  and  family,  as  contrasted  with  th^ 
generally  pale  complexions  of  his  countrymen,  and  asked 
U8  if  all  the  men,  women,  and  children  in  England  were 
as  robust  and  rosy  as  we  were.  I  told  him  that  the 
greater  number  of  those  who  lived  temperately,  and 
took  a  proper  portion  of  exercise  in  the  open  air  were 

00 He  admitted  that  drinking, 

smoking,  and  chewing,  were  injurious,  but  thought  it 
impossible  to  break  the  habit  of  either,  when  once  con- 
tracted ;  and  when  I  mentioned  to  him  successful  in- 
stances of  abandoning  them  all,  he  seemed  incredulous, 
and  said  he  had  never  heard  so  much  before.  He 
thought  it  a  great  blessing  that  we  had  no  negroes  in 
England,  as  he  believed  thev  were  enough  to  destroy 
any  country.  He  was  going  down  to  Mobile,  to  receive 
money  for  cotton  sold,  and  to  make  some  purchases  for 
his  people  ;  and  when  I  said  to  him  he  would  arrive  in 
good  time  on  Saturday  night  to  go  to  church  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  he  said  that  he  had  never  been  in  any 
church  in  all  his  life,  and  thought  he  was  now  too  old  to 
begin,  though  he  had  '^  heard  a  few  preachings  in  the 
woods,  but  didn't  much  mind  *em.** 

Mobile,  the  principal  town,  and  the  port  of  the 
'ate  of  Alabama,  has  a  population  of  25,000,  of 


whom  the  half  are  whites,  and  the  remainder  dares, 
with  some  free  coloured  people.  The  manners  of  the 
better  class  of  the  inhabitants  are  nearly  the  same 
as  those  of  the  citixens  of  Charleston  or  Savannah ; 
though  the  town  seems  as  much  to  resemble  New 
Orleans  as  the  Atlantic  towns  of  the  South.  Law 
is  powerless  at  Mobile,  and  shocking  outrages  an 
frequent.    The  following  sarcasm  is  fair :— - 

I  had  vritnessed  a  Liverpool  election  ^or  mayor,  under 
the  old  suffrage  of  the  ft«emen,  and  I  had  seen  many 
other  elections  in  England  for  members  of  parliament, 
in  which  drunkenness,  riot,  and  disorder  reigned  :  and  I 
am  bound  to  say  that  this  municipal  election  for  Mobile, 
was  just  as  bad  as  any  of  them ;  worse  would  perhaps 
be  Impossible. 

Mr.  Buckingham  was  well  deceived  in  MobOe, 
and  his  Lectures  were  numerously  attended ;  so 
were  they  in  New  Orleans,  in  which  city  he  re- 
mained for  a  month,  and  of  which  he  has  given 
the  fullest  account  that  has  been  published  in  any 
book  of  general  travels.  The  party  went  by  steam 
from  Mobile  to  New  Orleans,  whidi  thus  pictu> 
esquely  presented  itself  at  dawn,  as  they  advanced 
by  the  railroad  cars,  from  the  landing-place  at 
Pontchartrain. 

Going  for  about  five  miles  over  a  perfect  swamp  or 
morass,  through  which  the  railroad  ran,  with  impervious 
woods  and  thickets  on  either  side.  We  reached,  hi  hall 
an  hour,  the  outskirts  of  New  Orleans.  The  avenue  b; 
which  we  entered  the  city  was  called  Les  Champs  £!/• 
s^es  ;  and  everything  that  caught  our  attention  reminded 
us  strongly  of  Paris.  The  lamps  were  hun^  from  th< 
centre  of  ropes  passing  across  the  streets,  as  m  France 
women  were  seen  walking  abroad  unbonneted,  withga^ 
i^rons  and  caps  ;  the  names  of  all  the  streets  and  plaeo 
we  passed  were  French;  the  car-drivers,  peters,  ani 
hackney-coachmen,  spoke  chiefly  French  ;  the  shopi 
signs,  gateways,  pavements,  and  passengers  moving  ii 
the  streets — all  seemed  so  perfectly  Parisian,  that  if ) 
person  could  be  transported  here  suddenly,  withott 
knowing  the  locality,  it  would  be  difficult  for  him  i 
persuade  himself  that  he  was  not  in  some  city  in  France 

After  passing  through  the  French  quarter,  we  cam 
to  Canal  Street,  which  divides  it  from  the  American 
and  crossing  this  fine  broad  avenue,  lined  with  trees  oi 
each  side,  the  transition  was  as  marked  as  between  Calai 
and  Dover. 

His  residence  for  a  month  in  a  hotel  in  whid 
there  were  about  five  hundred  guests,  gathered  fitrt 
all  parts  of  the  Union,  enabled  Mr.  Buckingham  t 
see  a  good  deal  of  the  American  character.  E 
was,  besides,  constantly  in  society  ;  and  a  man  wli 
has  bustled  so  much  about  the  worlds  was  sni«,  whe 
ever  he  went,  to  meet  with  former  acquaintances 

From  the  account  of  this  singular  city  ^ 
take  the  description  of  one  of  its  most  striking  f» 
tures  :*- 

The  most  animated  and  bnsth'ng  part  of  all  the  cil 
is  the  Lev^e,  or  raised  bank  running  along  immediate 
in  front  of  the  river,  and  extending  beyond  the  hou9 
and  streets,  IVom  100  to  150  yards,  for  a  length  of  i 
least  three  miles,  f^m  one  end  of  the  city  to  lie  othe 
Along  the  edge  of  this  Lev^,  all  the  ships  and  vesse 
are  anchored  or  moored  in  tiers  of  three  or  fbur  dee 
The  largest  and  finest  vessels  are  usually  at  the  app< 
end  of  the  city,  near  Lafayette,  the  steam-boats  lie  I 
the  centre,  and  the  smaller  vessels  and  coasters  occoi 
the  bank  at  the  lower  end  of  the  city.  It  may  be  dwhu 
whether  any  river  in  Uie  world  can  exhibit  so  magnii 
cent  a  spectacle  as  the  Afississippi  in  this  respect  The 
are  more  ships  in  the  Thames,  but  the  largest  and  fine 
of  these  are  usually  in  the  various  docks^  while  il 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OP  AMERICA. 


807 


r  tind  are  chiefly  seen  ^thont,  snd  the  Thunes 
hif  not  luUf  the  ample  breadth  and  sweep  of  the  Mis- 
ii«ppL  niere  are  as  many  Tessels,  perhaps,  in  the 
Umejy  hot  these  are  nearly  all  in  dock,  and  the  riyer 
is  eoB^ratively  bare.  The  Tagns  is  a  broader  stream, 
bit  ito  shipping  are  neither  so  nnmerons  nor  so  fine; 
ad  even  New  York,  splendid  as  is  the  array  of  ships 
fntnitd  by  her  wharft,  is  not  so  striking  as  New 
Orienii,  where  a  greater  number  of  large,  handsome, 
ud  fine  Tessels  seemed  to  me  to  line  the  magnificent 
csrre  of  the  Mtseissippi,  than  I  had  ever  before  seen  in 
lay  one  port.  The  reflection  that  these  are  all  con- 
gregated here  to  receive  and  convey  away  to'other  lands 
^  prodnce  of  such  mighty  streams  as  the  Missouri 
in!  the  Mississippi,  the  Ohio,  the  Tennessee,  the  Arkan- 
s»,  and  the  Red  Raver,  including  more  than  20,000 
■fles  of  inland  navigation,  the  sonroes  of  the  principal 
Etieams  being  in  the  region  of  perpetual  snows,  and 
tbeiroatlet  in  the  latitude  ^of  perpetual  verdure,  carries 
Ik's  idmiration  to  the  verge  of  the  sublime. 

Tht  Lev^*  itself,  on  the  edge  of  which  all  these  ships 
lad  TCMels  are  andiored,  is  covered  with  bales  of  cotton 
ad  other  merchandise;  and  in  the  busy  season,  such  as 
tlat  IB  which  we  were  at  New  Orleans,  in  Maich  and 
A{rril,it  is  filled  with  buyeis  and  sellers,  from  every 
put  of  the  Union,  and  spectators  from  all  parts  of  the 
vvrkL  There  are  no  less  than  1500  drays  for  the  con- 
reyaaee  of  this  merchandise,  licensed  by  the  city;  and 
thej  seem  to  be  all  in  motion,  flying  to  and  fro  on  a 
brisk  faot,  whether  laden  or  empty — the  horses  never 
viUdng,  and  the  drivers  never  sitting,  either  on  the 
dafti,  or  in  the  drays,  as  in  Europe.  The  bales  of  cot- 
tra,  on  tiieir  arrival  in  the  rafts  or  steam-boats,  from 
4t  Bpper  country,  are  carried  off  to  the  numerous  estab- 
BAffliits  of  steam-presses,  where  they  are  compressed 
oto  about  half  their  original  bulk,  and  repacked,  in  this 
ndoeed  shape,  for  shipment  to  foreign  ports.  All  thip, 
with  Oe  arrival  and  departure  every  day  of  many  hun- 
dreds of  passengers  up  and  down  the  river,  from  Cin- 
'inatti,  Louisville,  St  Louis,  and  Pittsburg,  to  the  Ha- 
Tunah,  to  New  York,  and  to  Texas,  occasions  such  in- 
«SBBt  bustle,  that  everybody  and  everything  seems  to 
k  in  perpetual  motion. 

The  next  scene  is  yery  diaracterisiic  of  New 
Odeaos.  The  locale  is  the  splendid  hotel  of  St. 
I^  where  ie  the  Exchange : — 

Id  fte  outer  hall,  the  meetings  of  the  merchants  take 
ih^  m  'diaoge  honrs;  ajid  in  the  Rotunda,  pictures  are 
^xIiibHed,  and  auctions  are  held  for  every  description  of 
pwds.  At  the  time  of  our  visit,  there  were  half  a  dozen 
ytMaewB,  each  endeavouring  to  drown  every  voice  but 
b  own,  and  all  straining  their  lungs,  and  distorting  their 
(OQBtenaoees  in  a  hideous  manner.  One  was  selling  pic- 
tow,  and  dwelling  on  their  merits;  another  was  dispos- 
a;  of  ground-lots  in  embryo  cities,  and  expatmting  on 
te  capacities ;  and  another  was  disposing  of  some 
il&Tet.  These  consisted  of  an  unhappy  negro  £Hnily, 
^  were  all  eipoeed  to  the  hammer  at  the  same  time. 
^^  good  quahties  were  enumerated  in  English  and  in 
."weh,  and  their  persons  were  carefully  examined  by 
^^nding  pnrehaesrs,  among  v^om  they  were  ultinately 
^wed  i^  thkAj  to  Creole  buyers  ;  tiie  hufband  at 
'M  doDars,  the  wife  at  550,  and  ihe  children  at  220 
«^  The  middle  of  AeBotonda  was  filled  vrith  casks, 
^*in,  bales,  and  erates;  and  the  negroes  exposed  fbr 
^  wwe  put  to  stand  on  these,  to  be  the  better  seen 
"Tpenims  attendlBg  the  sale. 

But  public  ImildingB,  hdtelfl,  churches,  and  Mar- 
»«^  are  of  less  interest  to  those  who  are  never  to 
SK  then,  than  the  yarieties  of  the  inhabitante  of 
^Mnogely  mixed  etiy.  Ctf  these  mingled  tribes, 
«<»  with  whom  we  at  home  are  least  acquainted 
"e  the  Creoles,  who,  out  of  the  whole  population 
<rf  about  100,000,  number  20,000.  The  Creoles 
y  persons  of  pure  race  ;  bom  in  Louisiana,  but 

*  U»  kto  mnmfvpK^w  ngret  to  notice,  that  aeonsiderihle 
Htwtof  the  Letifi  baa  been  destroyed  by  a  landslip.—^.  T,  M, 


of  French  or  Spanish  ancestors ;  and  still  retain- 
ing, it  would  seem,  many  of  the  characteristics  of 
their  origin.  They  are  almost  all  Roman  Catholics ; 
and  they  all  spe^  the  French  language ;  though 
Mr.  Buckingham  ascribes  to  them  much  of  the 
romance,  generosity,  and  chivalrous  bearing  of  Old 
Spain.  They  seem  to  be  a  people  that  will  soon 
become  secondary  to  the  more  energetic  Anglo- 
American  race : — 

The  men  are  generally  small,  and  neither  robust  nor 
active,  distinguished  by  no  particular  traits  of  character, 
except  it  be  extreme  sensitiveness  on  points  of  honour, 
and  readiness  to  avenge  an  afflront  by  appeal  to  arms; 
duels  being  much  more  frequent  with  them  than  even 
vrith  the  Americans,  and  almost  always  fought  with 
swords  till  one  or  other  of  the  combatants  fall.  There 
being  no  order  of  nobility  or  privileged  class,  and  no 
great  vrealth  possessed  by  individuals,  there  is  a  very 
general  equality  of  condition  among  them;  and  though 
some  few  of  the  older  inhabitants  live  on  fixed  incomes, 
derived  from  rents,  investments  in  stocks  and  banks,  and 
the  labour  of  their  slaves,  yet  by  fer  the  greatest  num- 
her  are  engaged  in  business  or  professions,  as  merchants, 
shopkeepers,  restaurateurs,  and  artisans,  besides  engag- 
ing in  the  liberal  professions  of  medicine  and  the  law. 
They  are,  in  general,  devoid  of  ambition,  and  deficient  in 
energy,  being  content  to  live  a  quiet  and  an  easy  life, 
rather  tluui  incur  the  toil,  anxiety,  and  wear  and  tear  of 
body  and  mind,  iriiich  they  see  the  Americans  endure 
to  get  rich.  They  are  somevrhat  lax. in  their  manners, 
which  their  religion  and  colonial  origin  may  sufficiently 
account  for;  but  they  are  upright  in  their  dealings, 
faithful  in  all  offices  of  trust,  and  remarkably  docile  and 
manageable  with  kindness  in  all  subordinate  offices,  as 
clerks,  assistants,  &c. 

The  Cr^le  women  are  not  so  pretty  as  the  Ameri- 
cans, but  their  manners  are  more  interesting.  They  are 
of  the  most  delicate  and  graceful  forms,  with  a  round- 
ness and  beauty  of  shape,  figure,  and  toumure,  vtrhich 
contrasts  very  strikingly  with  the  straitness  and  regu- 
larity of  American  female  figures  generally.  Their 
complexions  are  like  those  of  the  women  of  Italy  and 
the  northern  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  approaching 
to  brunette,  of  a  rich  marble-like  smoothness,  sometimes 
suiiyised  with  a  glow  of  warmth  indicative  of  the  deep- 
est feeling;  large  black  eyes,  fiill  of  langour  and  expres- 
sion;  jet-black  hair,  full,  soft,  and  glossy ;  exquisite 
lips  and  teeth;  and  countenances  beaming  with  amiabi- 
lity and  tenderness.  They  combine,  in  short,  the  attrao- 
tions  of  the  women  of  Cadiz,  Naples,  and  Marseilles; 
and  notwithstanding  the  admiration  they  excite  in 
strangere,  they  are  said  to  make  MihM  as  well  as 
fond  wives,  and  excellent  mothers;  except,  indeed,  that 
in  this  last  capacity,  their  love  for  their  children  runs 
into  such  excess,  as  to  cause  them  to  be  too  indulgent  to 
them,  and  thus  to  injure  their  ftiture  happiness  by  ex- 
cessive kindness. 

The  Americans  of  New  Orleans  are  said  to  be 
less  keen  in  driying  a  bargain,  and  more  profuse 
in  their  habits,  than  those  of  the  North.  In  short. 
New  Orleans  is  a  place  in  idiich  manners  change 
not  for  the  better,  and  morals  relax  with  remark- 
able rapidity.  There  the  young  New-Englander 
soon  becomes  as  dissipated  as  the  Southern. 

One  of  the  female  schools  of  New  Orleans  has 
an  interesting  history  : — 

There  is  one  Protestant  Female  Academy  recently 
established  in  New  Orleans,  the  history  of  which  is  pe- 
culiarly interesting.  A  young  American  gentleman,  of 
religious  disposition,  married  the  daughter  of  a  Scotch 
merchant  here;  and  after  their  marriage,  which  was 
one  of  pure  affection,  the  father  bestowed  on  his  daughter 
a  handsome  fortune.  Soon  after  their  marriage-union, 
the  young  lady  died;  and  as  the  husband  had  not  mar- 
ried her  for  her  wealth,  he  signified  to  the  fiither  that  it 
was  not  his  intention  to  use  it,  but  caused  it  to  be  trans- 


308 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OP  AMERICA. 


ferred  back  to  her  parents.  This  the  father  refoaed  to 
accept,  saying  it  was  the  hnsband's,  by  right  of  mar- 
riage, and  should  remain  in  his  possession.  The  con- 
test was  at  length  ended  by  this  honourable  compromise. 
Neither  would  consent  to  accept  the  sum,  which  was 
considerable,  amounting  to  50,000  dollars.  The  young 
widower,  therefore,  purchased  with  it  a  piece  of  ground, 
built  a  Female  Academy  for  the  education  of  Protes- 
tant Young  Ladies,  endowed  it  with  an  annual  income, 
and  called  it  after  the  maiden  name  of  his  beloyed  and 
departed  wife,  **  The  M'Ghee  Female  Academy.'*  I 
confess  that  I  looked  on  this  building  with  feelings  of 
peculiar  pleasure,  and  with  great  yeneration  for  its 
amiable  and  pious  founder. 

The  Scotch  hare  thriyen  wonderfally  in  New 
Orleans.  One  Scotch  settler  named  Henderson, 
said  here  to  haye  once  been  a  steward  to  the  Duke 
of  Gordon,  left  ^50,000  for  the  support  of  an 
orphan  aslynm  ;  and  another  named  Milne,  left 
IK),000  dollars  to  the  same  institution. 

In  New  Orleans,  Mr.  Buckingham  met  with 
Mademoiselle  or  Signora  America  Vespucci,  the 
magnificent  beggar-woman,  whom  the  ungallant 
Congress  would  haye  nothing  to  say  to.  He  speaks 
of  this  new  Corinne,  in  a  strain  of  high-flown  en- 
thusiasm, which,  contrasted  with  the  cold  caution 
of  Mr.  Combe,  and  the  obduracy  of  the  members 
of  Congress,  is  somewhat  diyerting. 

The  party  ascended  the  Mississippi,  by  steam,  to 
Natchez,  where  Mr.  Buckingham  ddiyered  his 
usual  course  of  Lectures.  Instead  of  going  farther 
up  the  mighty  riyer,  and  entering  the  Ohio,  as  he 
had  proposed,  he  formed  the  determination  of  re- 
turning to  Charleston  by  the  route  which  he 
had  already  trayersed,  and  thence  to  make  an  in- 
land tour  through  the  Carolinas,  Georgia,  Tennessee, 
and  the  back  parts  of  Virginia.  This  was  accom- 
plished, and  the  narratiye  of  the  interior  journey 
forms  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  whole  tour 
so  far  as  it  has  yet  been  published. 

It  was  now  early  summer,  and  the  weather  and 
scenery  were  delicious  as  the  trayellers  proceeded  by 
New  Orlean8,Mobile,  and  through  the  different  places 
already  described.  The  most  remarkable  eyent  on 
the  journey,  was  the  danger  Mr.  Buckingham  ran 
at  Macon,  of  a  ^'  tarring  and  feathering,"  the  usual 
punishment  of  the  ayowed,  or  eyen  suspected  AhoU- 
tionists.  After  remaining  some  time  at  Charleston, 
the  party  set  forih  on  their  tour  through  the 
Carolinas,  Geoigia,  part  of  Tennessee,  and  finally 
Virginia.  In  those,  and  the  other  rambles  recorded 
in  the  yolumes,  the  remarks  of  Mr.  Buckingham 
are  rather  corroboratiye  of  what  has  been  obsenred 
by  former  trayellers  than  strikingly  original; 
though  he  contributes  a  liberal  quota  of  new  in- 
formation. 

The  equality  of  rights  in  America  seems,  accord- 
ing to  Mr.  Buckingham's  theory,  to  haye  produced 
a  general  uniformity  eyen  of  stature  among  the 
citizens.  There  are  no  stately  lords  in  contrast 
with  stimted  yassals. 

The  men  are,  in  general,  tall  and  slender.  .... 
The  arms  are  long,  the  legs  small,  the  chest  narrow, 
the  form  not  so  frequently  erect,  as  slightly  stooping, 
arising  from  carelessness  of  gait  and  hurry  in  walking; 
the  head  is  small,  but  the  features  are  long,  the  com- 
plexion pale,  the  eyes  small  and  dark,  the  hur  straight, 
the  cheeks  genenJly  smooth,  or  without  whiskers  or 
beard,  and  the  whole  expression  and  deportment  is  graye 
and  serious.    The  women  of  America  are  not  so  tall  in 


stature  as  the  women  of  Europe  generally,  being  oftena 
below  flye  feet  four  inches,  than  aboye  it;  of  sLNidei 
figure,  without  the  fulness  or  rotundity  and  flowing  linei 
of  the  Medicean  statue,  imperfect  deyelopment  of  bnst, 
small  hands  and  feet,  small  and  pretty  features,  pale 
complexions,  dark  eyes,  a  mincing  gut,  delicate  healthj 
and  a  graye  rather  than  a  gay  or  animated  expresnoa 
If  the  men  seem  to  be  martced  by  a  general  u^ormit  j 
of  standard  in  personal  i^pearanoe,  the  women  are  atill 
more  alike. 

Mr.  Buckingham  adds  his  testimony  to  that  ol 
all  trayellers  as  to  the  beauty,  or  rather  the  pretd- 
ness  of  the  women ;  though  he  denounces  their  thin, 
wiry  yoices,  and  drawling  tones.  Romantic  lovej 
the  enthusiastic  and  impassioned  deyotion  of  Eu' 
rope,  IB  not  more  frequently  found  among  the 
Anglo-Americans,  than  among  the  Aborigina 
race  ;  and  its  absence  is  accounted  for  by  the  cir 
cumstances  of  a  society,  where  there  is  no  leisuR 
for  gallantry  and  the  refined  arts  of  courtships 
Though  the  men  of  America  are,  in  general,  slen- 
der, yery  strong  and  yery  fat  men  are  found  in 
some  localities.  The  robust  Kentuckians  hare 
long  been  famed  for  height,  strength,  and  bulk ; 
but  the  farmers  and  yeomen  of  the  interior  parti 
of  Geoigia  fully  equal  them. 

Health,  light  labour,  competency,  content,  and  cheer' 
fulness,  are  the  probable  agents  in  giring  so  lemtrk' 
able  a  number  of  large,  ruddy,  and  &t  men  to  thii 
section  of  the  country,  as  I  continuity  met  with  in  mj 
way.  I  heard,  indeed,  from  otiiers,  that  this  wts  the 
case  throughout  the  interior  of  the  northern  parts  d 
Geoigia ;  and  I  was  assured  that  on  a  late  occasion,  in 
Sparta,  near  the  capital  of  this  State,  a  jury  of  twelve 
yeomen  were  so  uniformly  large,  that  they  were  weighed, 
as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  and  found  to  weigh  thirty-sue 
hundred  weight,  or,  on  the  ayerage,  more  than  Uiree 
hundred  pounds  for  each  person.  In  an  amusing  article 
in  the  Southern  Whig  of  Athens,  for  July  5,  published 
during  our  stay  there,  entitled  "  State  Constitutions  and 
Fat  Men,"  it  is  alleged  that  the  State  Constitution  for 
Florida  was  principally  fttuned  by  **  Jenckes,  tiie  ftt  msh 
of  Florida,  who  weighed  from  450  to  500  lbs.  ;*'  and  the 
amended  State  Constitution  of  Georgia  was  chiefly  carried 
by  the  influence  of  **  Springer,  the  fat  man  of  Qwrph 
who  is  ftilly  as  large  as  Jenckes."  Dixon  Lewis,  the  re- 
presentatiye  of  Alabama,  weighs  nearly  600  lbs. 

The  inns  in  the  interior  parts  of  the  sootiieTii 
States,  and  eyen  those  in  places  of  considerable 
pretension,  unite  eyery  kind  of  discomfort,— ex- 
orbitant charges  too  often  included.  At  Sparta, 
in  Georgia,  one  of  the  many  Spartas,  the  new  hotel 
was  not  quite  finished ;  but  the  national  taste  for 
show  and  finery  was  already  conspicuous  in  all  its 
appointments. 

Though  the  rooms  were  small  and  mean,  both  in  bu* 
terial  and  execution,  the  frimitnre  was  at  once  ooetly 
and  tawdry;  beautifiil  mahogany  chairs,  Tari^ted 
marble  tables,  and  rich  mirrors,  were  seen  in  the  same 
rooms  with  broken  lamps,  brass  candlesticks,  and  com- 
mon prints,  in  black  fHmes,  as  pictures,  such  as  sugbt 
be  had  of  hawkers  and  pedlars  in  England  for  a  shiM; 
a-piece.  On  what  was  called  the  ladies*  drawing-roooi 
though  without  a  carpet,  there  was  seen,  on  an  Italiaj 
marble  table,  two  gilded  French  lamps,  a  hair-brnsli 
*  kept  for  the  use  of  the  company,"  and  a  dirty  iwoj 
smail-tooth  comb,  for  general  use  i^,  fiill  cf  grease  aofl 
hairs;  yet  the  serrant,  a  negreas,  when  desired  to  remoje 
it,  said  this  was  its  proper  place,  as  it  was  always  IcR 
there  with  the  brush  for  those  who  wanted  it  I 

The  Curraghee  hotel  was  not  more  bviting'* 
The  windows  were  without  glass,  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  beds  were  placed  in  one  laxfs^  J^"*» 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OF  AMERICA. 


doa 


mhat  all  the  male  gnests  slept,  two  or  three  in  a 
bei  The  serrant  did  his  work  with  one  hand, 
Hating  himself  by  carrying  a  piece  of  pitch-pine 
in  the  other : — 

If  SMM  operation  required  the  use  of  both  hands,  his 
Hgitted  torch  was  deposited  erect  in  some  part  of  the 
IMS  whire  he  oonld  fix  it,  and  his  hand  relieved.  As 
aatipeeial  faTonr  to  ns,  who  were  declared  to  be  ^  mighty 
ptrtieolsr,"  a  candle  was  mads  while  we  waited  for  it, 
Nne  threads  of  cotton  serving  for  a  wick,  and  this  being 
eireloped  in  a  mass  of  bees'  wax,  was  brought  to  us  qnite 
bot  from  the  melting.  Washstands  and  looking-glasses 
were  hxuries  here  unknown  ;  and  the  travellers  whom 
ve  aw  in  the  house  appeared  neither  to  undress,  shave, 
ewaah,  bot  simply  to  lie  down  just  as  they  alighted, 
froB  their  horses  or  carriages,  and  rise  up  in  the  same 
■aoner.  In  oar  confined  cell,  there  was  not  room  for  a 
mgle  tnmk,  and  the  smallest  cabin  of  a  ship  at  sea,  was 
■ore  eomfortable  than  this  for  sleeping. 

We  rested  but  little,  therefore,  during  the  night,  and 
veie  stirring  with  the  earliest  dawn  ;  there  was  a  com- 
■oa  waah-basin  of  tin-plate  placed  in  the  veranda,  with 
I  piece  of  coarse  yellow  soap,  and  a  rough  rolling-towel 
km|  on  a  roller,  for  general  use.  To  this  some  of  the 
imatcfl  repaired  in  succession  for  washing,  but  the 
peiter  number  came  to  the  breakfast-table,  as  early  as 
flx  o'eloek,  as  dirty  as  they  vrent  to  bed,  and  the  whole 
Keoe  and  establishment  seemed  hardly  a  single  remove 
bejtnd  the  rudest  condition  of  the  Indians  which  these 
K^  had  displaced. 

When  the  travellers  reached  Talbotton,  they 
finnd  the  whole  community  in  a  state  of  excite- 
■ent,  from  an  occnrrence  which  resembles,  in 
character,  a  border  bridal  foray  of  past  ages : — 

It  appears  that  there  was  a  lady  who  had  been  set- 
tied  fio^r  a  few  months  as  a  teacher  of  music  at  Talbotton, 
hit  not  having  obtained  many  pupils,  she  had  contracted 
■ore  debts  than  she  could  pay,  and  went  on  to  Colum- 
^  to  seek  better  fortune  there.  At  this  place,  she 
■abed  to  hire  or  rent  a  house,  but  the  owner  would  not 
1^  it  without  some  guarantee  for  the  payment  of  the 
RDt;  and  some  resident  of  Talbotton  became  her  security 
&rtUa.  As  it  vras  not  paid,  however,  in  due  time,  and 
a  otber  debts  were  also  unliquidated,  the  lady  was 
>pated  at  Columbus  by  process  of  law.  This  the  inha- 
^^  of  Talbotton  chose  to  interpret  as  an  insult  to 
^  town,  fh>m  whence  she  had  come ;  and  accordingly, 
I  kige  nnmber  of  the  young  men  of  Talbotton  mounted 
^  hones,  armed  themselves  with  weapons,  and  rode 
•7  to  Golombus,  where  they  efi(9cted  her  release,  and  as- 
^aed  inch  an  attitude,  that  it  was  thought  at  one  time 
*t^  ihort  of  a  civil  war  between  the  two  towns  must 
Mlew.  It  had  gradually  cooled  down,  however,  into  a 
■^  of  peace;  but  no  legal  authorities  interfered  to 
^7  tbe  proceedings  of  these  young  cavaliers,  who  carried 
*»  point,  and  made  what  tiiey  oJled  **  public  opinion" 
<*Bpletely  triumph  over  the  laws. 

This  is  Ifnehitiff  of  its  own  kind.  Dancing, 
proiniseuons  dancing,"  which  was  not  tolerated  by 
*^«ral  denominations  of  dissenters  in  Great  Britain 
«>  late  as  about  fifty  or  fewer  years  ago,  is  still 
^"^  the  ban  of  the  ministers  in  Georgia ;  but 
"^  must  snbmit.  Temporizing  and  compromise 
*re  creepmg  in,  and  the  matter  will  soon  end  in 
Jj«  good  people  of  Augusta,  the  town  referred  to  be- 
. » b^,  in  this  respect,  as  great  sinners  as  their 
•^ighhours.  The  clergy  have  an  instinct  when  to 
f^  ent,  and  when  to  give  way.  Church  members 
m  Angurta  must  not  only  not  dance,  but 

It  is  deemed  their  duty  not  to  countenance  this  amuse- 
■«t,  t?en  by  their  presence.  No  members  of  churches, 
Z~Vf^  of  families,  therefore,  ever  give  a  party  for 
Jrag;  and  if  tny  such  exercise  is  enjoyed,  it  can  only 
'*  oy  we  unnttried.    But  of  late,  a  curious  evasion  of 


this  prohibition  has  been  practised  with  success  in  this 
manner  : — ^The  family  give  what  is  called  "  a  social 
party,"  to  which  a  large  number  are  invited  to  take  tea, 
and  spend  the  evening.  When  tea  is  over,  some  young 
lady  places  herself  at  the  piano,  and  strikes  up  a  quad- 
rille. Presently  a  few  couples  rise,  and  speedily  a 
**  spontaneous  and  unpremeditated  dance"  is  got  up, 
and  continued  with  great  spirit  till  midnight.  This 
point  has  been  submitted,  it  is  said,  to  the  judgment  of 
the  clergy;  who  have  decided,  that  if  the  carpets  were 
taken  up,  and  violins  employed,  and  ball-dresses  used, 
then  it  would  be  unequivocally  '*  a  dance,"  and,  as  such, 
clearly  sinfhl.  But  the  carpets  being  down,  no  music 
used  but  that  of  a  pianoforte,  and  the  ladies  not  in  ball- 
costume,  it  could  not  be  considered  anything  more  than 
a  "  social  party,"  and  in  this  all  might  innocently  join. 

On  the  subject  of  religious  revivals,  also,  we  heud  some 
curious  particulars.  &ere  are  fixed  periods  of  the  year 
in  which  these  are  regularly  got  up,  in  Georgia  and  the  Ca- 
rolinas,  as  in  a  prescribed  circuit.  The  periods  chosen  are 
those  in  which  there  is  the  least  business  doing  in  the 
towns  or  on  the  plantations.  The  ministers,  among  whom 
those  of  the  Methodist  and  Baptist  persuasions  Uke  the 
lead,  then  organize  the  proceedings  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
produce  considerable  effect;  and  thus  add  every  year  to 
the  nnmber  of  their  communicants.  It  is  said  that  tlds 
is  sometimes  done  in  schools  and  colleges,  where  youths 
of  nine  to  fifteen  are  so  vnrought  upon  as  to  proclaim 
themselves  converts,  and  make  public  profession  of  a 
new  birth;  but  it  is  doubted  by  the  less  zealous  and  en- 
thusiastic, whether  the  instances  in  which  these  conver- 
sions are  permanent  are  so  numerous  as  those  in  which 
the  parties  fall  off,  and,  by  a  reaction,  oscillate  to  the 
opposite  extreme  of  indifference,  or  something  worse. 

Mr.  Buckingham  witnessed  some  renvois.  Of 
one  at  Athens,  in  Greorgia,  he  observed  nothing 
remarkable.  It  did  not^  in  short,  succeed,  and  a  lady 
present  told  him. 

That  the  ministers,  who  took  a  lead  in  this  matter,  were 
not  good  ^  Revivalists ;"  that  is,  not  skilled  in  the  art  of 
drawing  forth  the  vehement  expressions  and  passionate 
exclamations,  the  tremblings,  and  sobbings,  and  struggles, 
which  a  true  revival  requires.  There  were  many,  indeed, 
both  male  and  female,  among  my  informants,  who  thought 
this  a  failure,  and  attributed  it  to  imperfect  or  undalfU 
organization  : — the  time  of  the  year  was  thought  to  be 
too  early ;  the  elders  and  members  had  not  exerted 
themselves  sufilciently  in*  the  private  circles  of  their 
acquaintance,  to  bring  in  hearers ;  the  members  were  too 
few  ;  the  preachers  were  too  cold,  and  the  spark  could 
not  be  fanned  into  a  blaze.  Other  similar  meetings  in 
the  town  during  the  last  year,  and  at  a  later  period,  were 
referred  to  as  ''better  managed,"  and  therefore  more 
suocessfhl.  That  of  the  Methodist  church  lasted  eighteen 
successive  days  and  nights,  with  singing,  preaching,  and 
prayer,  three  times  each  day,  without  intermission;  and 
fifty  new  members  were  added  to  the  church  by  open 
profession  of  religion.  The  Presbyterian  revival  was 
nearly  as  long,  and  quite  as  productive  of  converts.  The 
pastors  and  the  elders  usually  determine  the  period  at 
which  it  is  proper  to  begin  the  work  of  a  revii^ ;  and 
everything  is  duly  arranged,  prepared,  and  organized, 
to  make  it  as  effective  as  possible. 

However  free  horn  objection  vras  all  I  saw  or  heard 
at  the  meetings  here,  I  was  assured,  by  members  of  the 
church,  and  persons  of  undoubted  piety  and  veracity,  that 
such  meetings  elsewhere  were  not  always  so.  One  gen- 
tleman mentioned  to  me,  that  in  the  State  of  New  York 
a  meetmg  had  been  held  for  forty  days  and  nights  in 
succession,  in  imitation  of  the  fasting  and  temptation  of 
the  Saviour ;  and  that  he  had  attended  several  of  its  sit- 
tings. But  though  the  quarantine  was  observed,  as  to 
the  number  of  its  days,  there  was  nothing  else  in  whidi 
the  resemblance  was  complete.  The  ministers  employed 
in  this  revival  were  very  numerous,  and  many  of  them 
young  and  handsome  men.  When  they  saw  a  female 
under  excitement,  they  would  leave  the  desk  beneath 
the  pulpit,  and  go  to  her  in  the  pew,  take  her  by  the  hand, 
and  squeeze  it  with  ardour,  look  steadfastly  in  her  eyes. 


•310 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OF  AMERICA* 


stroke  her  on  the  neck,  and  head,  and  back,  with  the 
palm  of  the  hand,  give  her  spiritual  consolation,  and 
sometimes  kneel  down  with  her  to  pray  on  the  same 
onshion.  One  of  these  was  a  married  lady  of  great  per- 
sonal beantjywho  was  attending  with  her  two  dkughters, 
bnt  there  was  no  hnsband  or  brother  with  them.  The 
minister  was  so  attracted  by  her  beauty,  and  oyerwhelmed 
by  her  state  of  excitement,  that  after  the  prayer  he  placed 
his  head  beneath  her  bonnet,  and  attempted  to  **  salute 
her  with  an  holy  kiss."  She  drew  back,  and  reftased  bis 
embrace.  Her  fViend,  my  informant,  saw  this  ;  and  was 
in  the  act  of  rising  to  proclaim  the  offbnce,  and  to  resent 
it  on  the  spot ;  but  the  lady  prudently  preyented  it,  by 
a  timely  intimation  with  her  hand,  of  her  wish  for  him 
not  to  move  or  notice  it ;  and  assigned  as  her  reason 
afterwards,  that  if  made  public  at  the  time,  it  might  haye 
broken  up  the  meeting,  and  brought  a  scandal  on  reyiyals 
generally,  whereas  this  was  but  the  oflfbnce  of  one  man. 
The  gentleman  assured  me,  howeyer,  that  this  was  not 
a  solitary  instance  of  such  attempts,  many  of  which  were 
more  successful,  and  that  the  moying  of  the  ministers  to 
and  fVo  from  pew  to  pew,  their  seizing  the  women  by  the 
hand,  pressing  and  fondling  yarious  parts  of  their  bodies, 
melting  into  tears  with  them,  holding  their  hands  together 
fbr  a  long  period,  and  sometimes  sustaining  them  in  their 
arms  from  fklling,  were  quite  common. 

By  such  means  as  these,  many  hundreds  of  conyerts 
were  brought  into  the  church,  the  chief  portion  of  whom 
were  females,  some  not  more  than  seyen  or  eight  years  old, 
but  the  greater  number  were  between  fifteen  and  twenty 
years  of  age.  My  informant  farther  added,  that  not  long 
after  this,  he  was  at  Ballston  Spa,  near  Saratoga,  at  which, 
towards  the  close  of  the  gay  season,  there  had  been  a  Re- 
yiyal  of  more  than  usual  intensity,  both  as  to  the  time  of  its 
duration,  and  the  feryonr  that  existed  through  the  whole 
period  ;  and  among  the  fhiitt  of  this  excitement,  he  saw 
a  public  document  in  the  hands  of  a  legal  gentleman, 
containing  the  affidavits  of  several  young  females,  who 
had  been  prematurely  made  mothers  of  illegitimate 
children,  some  by  clerical  and  some  by  lay-members  of 
this  great  body  of  Reyivalists !  The  churches  of  America, 
of  course,  no  more  approve  of  this,  than  do  the  churches 
of  England  the  baokslidings  of  her  occasionally  amatory 
preachers.  There  are,  unhappily,  wolves  in  sheep's 
clothing  in  all  flocks ;  and  *^  black  sheep,"  as  well  as 
white,  among  the  number. 

It  is  quite  true  that  Christianity  should  not  be  charged 
with  the  blame  of  these  excesses  ;  and  equally  true  that 
its  sincere  and  genuine  disciples  may  preserve  their 
integrity  and  chastity  in  the  midst  of  such  temptations. 
But  that  unprincipled  men,  and  weak  women,  brought 
into  close  contact  under  such  excitements  as  these,  may 
and  do  create  a  great  deal  of  suffering  to  themselves,  and 
scandal  and  odium  to  the  very  cause  of  religion,  no  man 
can  well  doubt 

Mr.  Buckingham,  in  short,  is  very  donbifiil  about 
this  kind  of  spiritual  agency. 

Our  traveller  repeatedly  expresses  surprise 
at  the  meekness,  indifference,  or  insensibility, 
which  the  Americans  display  in  the  same  circum- 
stances which  set  an  Englishman  a-fretting  and 
grumbling.  At  a  watering-place  in  North  Caro- 
lina, named  Flat  Rock,  where  fifty  opulent  per- 
sons of  the  best  families  in  the  State  were  residing 
for  health  or  pleasure,  the  accommodation  was,  in 
every  respecf^  of  ^the  most  wretched  kind.  Mr. 
Buckingham  has  advanced,  from  *^  native  autho- 
rity," a  theory  for  the  ladies  being  so  fond  of  gad- 
ding about,  that  they  willingly  submit  to  every 
inconvenience  :  this  is,  unhappy,  or,  at  least,  un- 
congenial marriages,  which  render  every  spot  on 
earUi  more  supportable  than  home.  Or  if  not 
unhappy,  yet  listless  and  unoccupied,  their  idle  life 
becomes  a  burthen ;  and  thus,  according  to  Mr. 
Buckingham, 

They  visit  these  springs  and  watering-places,  where, 


as  a  gentleman  truly  observed  to  me,  they  do  not  ^'kiH 
time,"  for  that  implies  a  battle  with  the  enemy,  or  tt 
least  an  active  struggle,  by  energetic  and  Uvely  amnse* 
ment  of  some  kind  or  other — but  where  they  rather  "lose 
time  "  in  so  complete  a  manner,  by  listlessness  and  trifl- 
ing, that  they  are  unable  to  give  any  aeoonnt  to  them- 
selves or  others  what  has  become  of  this,  to  then  tlie 
most  worthless  of  all  poesessions — since  tbsir  great  tin 
is  to  devise  new  modes  to  get  rid  of  it. 

This  is  miserable  work,  and  mnch  of  it  is  to  be 
attributed  to  the  existence  of  slavery,  the  ill  effects 
of  which  are  visible  in  the  domestic  habits  of  all 
ranks.  In  North  Carolina, — nor  can  the  observatbii 
be  limited  to  this  State, 

In  every  farm-house  you  pass  here,  you  see  eight  or 
ten  lazy  men  and  boys  lounging  idly  in  the  verandi  or 
piazza,  in  front  of  it,  with  their  legs  thrown  up  higher 
than  their  hips,  their  hats  on,  doing  nothing,  because  the 
negro  slaves  can  do  the  work ;  and  what  they  do,  thoDgh 
done  badly,  contents  them.  The  white  women  are  seen 
at  the  same  time  in  groups  of  five  or  six  at  another  part 
of  the  house,  rocking  in  their  chairs,  with  their  loose 
cotton  bonnets  and  deep  hind-curtains  hanging  over  tiieir 
shoulders,  wasting  their  time  in  the  merest  gossiping; 
their  clothes  dirty,  their  hair  loose,  and  their  whole  per- 
sons most  nntidy ;  the  children  without  shoes  or  stock- 
ings, filthy  apparel,  uncombed  silvery  hair,  and  unwashed 
pale  faces;  l]^cause  the  negresses  do  the  household  work, 
and  look  after  the  children;  and  what  they  do  not  do,  is 
left  undone,  for  the  mothers  seem  to  make  no  effort  to 
assist  them.  The  slave-system  is,  no  doubt,  one  powerful 
cause  of  this  general  indolence  and  dirtineasof  the  whites, 
among  the  fanners  and  peasantry  of  the  South ;  bat  we 
thought  perpetually,  that  if  an  English  fikrmer  and  his 
wife,  with  their  sons  and  daughters,  could  be  snddenlj 
transported  to  some  of  these  imrm-bousee,  and  told  they 
were  to  be  their  homes,  they  would  so  change  the  Cms 
of  things  in  a  month,  by  their  industry,  deanliaesB,  and 
order,  that  the  original  ooonpauts  would  hardly  know 
them  again  in  their  improved  dress ;  the  English  fiun- 
houses,  in  general,  being  as  superior  to  those  of  this  pait 
of  America  in  cleanliness  and  comfort,  as  Mr.  Barhig'f 
or  Mr.  Greig's  beautiful  dwellings  are,  to  those  of  pe^ 
sons  of  sinSar  wealth,  but  lees  love  of  order,  and  \m 
taste,  by  whom  they  are  surrounded. 

The  Mr.  Baring  referred  to  is  a  cousin  of  Lord 
Ashburton  s.  He  has  a  pretty  villa,  or  mansion, 
in  this  neighbourhood,  of  which*  the  grounds  are 
kept  in  trim  order  ;  though  his  English  example 
seems  to  lead  to  no  improvement  among  the 
slovenly  natives.  From  Mr,  Buckingham's  work, 
many  traits  of  manners,  and  various  anecdotes, 
might  be  selected  to  show,  that  extreme  niceneas,  or 
pmdetyy  are  no  guarantee  for  i-eal  delicacy  of  mind 
and  feeling,  among  the  Americans,  any  more  than 
among  other  folks ;  and  also  that  long  public  prayeii 
and  graces  are  no  proof  of  true  religion.  At  th^ 
Warm  Springs  of  Asheville,  where,  sometimefc 
so  many  as  600  visiters  assemble,  he  saw,  in  thi 
bar-room  of  the  hotel,  persons 

Playing  at  cards  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  ^ 
rounded  by  others  who  were  drinking  spirits  and  wr^'* 
and  betting  on  the  game.    In  this  respect,  there  is 
same  inconsistency  observable  in  the  American  pes] 
as  in  their  affectation  of  extraordinary  delicacy; 
while  they  make  professions  of  great  piety,  have  publ 
prayers,  and  say  long  graces  over  their  meals,  they,  tf 
the  same  time,  often  indulge  in  practices  that  in 
other  countries  would  be  thought  wholly 
with  the  profession  of  religion. 

In  the  advertisenkents,  to  attract  visiters  to  thil 
place,  it  is  first  announced,  that  there  will  h* 
Divine  Service  on  every  Sunday  :  and  th^ 
« Sportsmen"  are  informed,  "that  the  race-conrw 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OF  AMERICA. 


811 


is  th«  best  in  the  State  ;  and  that  hones  will  be 
in  training  for  three  months  before  the  races  com- 
mence. From  a  dlsgnsting  anecdote  related,  Mr. 
Buckingham  draws  the  conclusion-— 

Hmt  though  the  Americans  affect  to  be  much  more 
4elkate  in  their  horror  of  certain  associations  than  the 
people  of  any  other  nation,  and  sompulously  avoid  the 
Bttenace  of  certidn  words  in  common  use  in  England  in 
tbe  belt  society,  without  the  slightest  idea  of  impurity 
bdag  attached  to  them  by  us ;  yet  that,  in  reality,  the 
■en,  of  the  South  especially,  are  more  indelicate  in  their 
tbeofhts  and  tastes  than  any  European  people ;  and  ex- 
Ubit  a  disgusting  mixture  of  prudery  and  licentiousness 
conbined,  which  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  effects 
ef  tbe  system  of  Slavery,  and  the  early  familiarity  with 
fidou  intercourse,  to  which  it  invariably  leads. 

From  among  many  TroUopian  scenes  we  select 
the  following,  which  occurred  at  Athens  in  Georgia, 
npoQ  the  occasion  of  the  meeting  of  a  Debating 
dub,  consisting  of  the  leading  persons  of  the 
placer- 
It  WIS  held  in  a  spacious  room  over  the  Post-office, 
vbich  8er?ed  also  for  the  reading-room  of  the  club,  and 
na  amply  supplied  with  newspapers  firom  all  parts  of 
tbe  Union.  The  meeting  commenced  at  three  o'clock, 
&ad  continued  till  seven.  The  members  in  attendance 
were  few,  but  they  were  all  above  forty  years  of  age,  and 
larij  all  bad  titles,  as  general,  colonel,  nu^or,  &c.  The 
tppeanace  of  the  room  when  we  entered  it,  was  more 
iOu  some  of  the  scenes  described  by  Mrs.  Trollope  in 
tbe  Weet,  than  X  bad  ever  before  seen.  The  floor  was 
•f  newly-planed  pine-wood,  without  mat  or  carpet,  and 
itvaioorered  with  saliva  and  tobacco  juice,  from  the 
cbewen  of  the  club,  for  whom  no  spitting-boxes  appeared 
to  bare  been  provided,  and,  therefore,  every  minute  at 
kiK,  tome  member  was  seen  and  heard  to  project  his 
mtnbation  to  the  floor,  which  was  spotted  over  like 
tbe  leopard's  skin. 

Tbe  chair  was  taken  by  the  President,  a  General,  and 
tbt  Secretary  called  the  meeting  to  order,  but  this  did 
■oi  produce  the  least  alteration  in  the  aspect  of  the  meet- 
■f.  The  few  members  who  were  scattered  about  the 
iwa,  sat  each  after  his  own  fashion.  One  gentleman 
piaced  his  legs  on  the  table,  and  exhibited  the  soles  of 
^  boots  to  the  President.  Another  hung  back  in  his 
U,  while  it  stood  on  its  two  hind  legs  only,  with  his 
^  placed  on  the  upper  fh>nt  bar  of  the  chair,  in  which 
>ttitade  be  rocked  himself  to  and  fVo  like  a  nurse  hushing 
» baby  to  sleep,  and  everything  was  marked  by  the  great- 
ttt  indifference  to  decorum. 

Tbe  question  for  debate  was  "  Ought  the  State  to  have 
^  right  to  educate  the  children  of  its  citizens  V*  The 
^  speaker  was,  by  the  rules  of  the  club,  the  gentleman 
^  placed  the  question  on  the  books  for  discussion.  He 
voice  tot  about  an  hour,  in  support  of  the  afllrmative  of 
^qneation ;  and  argued  the  case  closely  and  well ;  but 
fcong  a  BH>Te  than  usually  copious  chewer  of  tobacco,  he 
•pit  oil  the  floor  at  the  end  of  almost  every  sentence, 
|*Uing  bis  quid  firom  side  to  side  in  his  mouth  during  the 
B^^nal  Once,  during  his  speech,  he  asked  for  a  tumbler 
"^witer,  which  one  of  the  members  brought  him  ttom  a 
'w^  backet,  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with  a 
Wooden  ladle  to  drink  and  fill  the  glass  with  ;  and  he 
^ftrew  away  his  quid,  stopped  to  rinoe  out  his  mouth 
mir  or  fire  times  with  the  water,  which  he  projected  out 
•f  tbe  wmdow,  near  which  he  was  speaking  ;  he  then  took 
a  Ml  quid  from  a  large  black  square  mass  of  compactly 
P«>ied  tobacco,  which  he  carried  in  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
^  msaed  his  discourse,  spitting  on  the  floor  until  a 
^  pool  had  be(»  formed  before  him  ;  and  at  the  close 
*»  bia  address,  the  rincing  of  the  mouth,  and  the  renewal 
ijj  ^^^^y  ^^  repeated. 

Inia  gentleman,  who  we  understood  was  a  man  of  for- 
*■••  ttd  leisure,  not  engaj^ed  in  any  business  or  profession, 
•lafoUowed  by  three  speakers  In  succession,  who  main- 
^^'^  the  negatiTe  of  the  question  ;  and,  very  much  to 
■y  wrprise,  nearly  the  same  arguments  that  are  used 
HMMt  the  adoption  of  any  measures  by  the  State  for 


the  promotion  of  general  education  in  England,  were  re- 
peated here.  Each  of  these  gentlemen  spoke  about  half 
an  hour,  and  delivered  their  sentiments  with  great  force 
and  in  accurate  language.  They  all  copiously  loaded  the 
floor  with  tobacco-juice,  so  that  the  odour  began  to  be 
extremely  disagreeable,  especially  as  the  afternoon  was 
warm  ;  the  thermometer  being  at  90**  in  the  shade.  The 
fifth  speaker  at  length  took  up  the  affirmative  of  the 
proposition,  as  to  the  right  and  duty  of  the  State  to 
educate  the  children  of  its  citisens,  or,  in  other  words, 
to  provide  funds,  and  establish  a  system  of  National  £dn* 
cation,  by  which  the  children  of  all  those  who  were  either 
unable  or  unwilling  to  confer  on  them  the  advantage  of 
primary  instruction,  at  the  expense  of  the  State. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Mr.  Bucking- 
ham and  his  family  attended  a  'Wery  brilliant 
party,"  given  by  Dr.  Church,  the  President  of  the 
University  of  this  Athens,  for  there  are  many  towns 
in  the  United  States  so  named,  to  the  principal  fa- 
miliesinthe  neighbourhood,  and  the  senior  students : 

The  party  was  very  elegant,  and  highly  intellectual. 
There  were  about  200  persons  present,  who  remained 
together  fh>m  eight  o'clock  till  midnight.  I  do  not 
remember  ever  to  have  seen  a  greater  number  of  beanti- 
fbl  countenances  than  among  the  young  ladies  of  Uiis 
party ;  their  ages  ranging  between  fifteen  Mid  twenty. 
The  style  of  beauty  was  like  that  of  Charleston,  Savan- 
nah, and  New  Orleans:  small  delicate  figures,  fair 
complexions,  but  not  so  deadly  pallid  as  at  the  North ; 
great  symmetry  of  foatures,  brilliant  black  eyes,  finely- 
arched  eyebrows,  and  AiU  dark  hair.  The  style  of  dress 
was  not  so  stiff  and  formal  as  at  the  North,  and  more 
quiet,  or  less  showy  :  white  muslin  being  almost  the 
only  material  of  their  robes,  and  pear£  and  white 
ribbons,  with  here  and  there  a  few  delicate  flowers,  being 
the  only  ornaments  seen.  A  young  bride  of  fifteen,  with 
her  husband,  were  of  the  party,  though  their  marriage 
had  only  taken  place  three  days  before;  and  many 
were  surprised  when  I  stated  that  English  brides  rarely 
mingled  with  large  parties  till  a  fow  weeks  after  their 
nuptials. 

No  doubt,  many,  or  all  of  the  squirting  orators 
of  the  morning  were  present ;  and  private  parties 
never  seem,  in  any  degree,  to  arrest  the  perennial 
flow  of  tobacco-juice  : — 

Each  young  man  carries  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  not  in 
a  box,  but  open,  a  flattened  square  mass  of  black  com- 
pressed tobacco,  like  a  piece  of  Indian  rubber.  From 
this  he  cuts  off,  from  time  to  time,  whether  in  the  com- 
pany of  ladies  or  not,  a  large  piece,  and,  taking  the 
expended  quid  from  his  mouth,  he  flings  it  out  of  the 
window,  or  in  any  near  comer,  and  replaces  it  by  the 
new  one,  which  he  forthwith  begins  to  roll  about  like 
any  ruminating  animal.  Their  practice  is  literally  that 
of  **  chewing  the  cud,"  though  they  want  the  **  dividing 
the  hoof,"  to  take  them  out  of  the  class  of  "  unclean 
beasts." 

Once  more,  the  traveller,  who  is  as  intolerant  of 
tobacco,  as  of  spirits  or  opium,  raises  his  **  counter 
^laste,^*    But  we  have  enough  of  it. 

Mr.  Buckingham  has  collected  some  of  the  pe- 
culiar phrases  or  idioms  of  the  Americans;  but 
we  are  now  so  familiar  with  *'  a  pretty  consider- 
able fix" — a  bad  fix,"  "  sun-up,"  and  "  sun-down," 
to  "  tcte  the  plunder"  of  a  passenger  into  his  apart- 
ment, and  so  forth,  that  we  prefer  the  following 
anecdote,  which,  in  the  revenge  of  the  neglected 
young  citizens,  carries  a  deeper  meaning  than 
even  the  grand  phrase  used  by  the  lady  : — 

Sometimes  there  is  extreme  reluctance  to  use  particu- 
lar words,  because  they  are  supposed  to  convey  associa- 
tions that  ought  to  be  avoided.  For  instance,  I  heard 
that  on  the  night  of  the  party  given  at  the  University, 
the  president,  Dr.  Chunm,  had  received  a  slight  injury 


312 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OP  AMERICA. 


in  the  head,  by  %  8tone  being  thrown  in  the  direction 
where  he  stood,  bj  one  of  the  younger  class  of  students 
who  were  dissatisfied  with  their  not  being  included  in 
the  invitation,  though  it  was  never  usual  to  extend  it 
beyond  the  seniors.  But  the  lady  who  mentioned  this 
incident  to  me,  said,  ^  The  little  boy  threw  a  rock  at  the 

g resident ;"  on  which  I  expressed  my  surprise,  thinking 
e  must  be  an  infant  Hercules  to  hurl  a  rook  ;  when  she 
replied,  **  Oh  I  no,  it  was  a  very  small  rook,  and  there- 
fore the  injury  was  very  slight.'*  I  found  afterwards 
that  it  is  thought  indelicate  to  use  the  word  stone  ;  and 
that  they  say  a  house  is  built  of  rock,  the  streets  are 
paved  with  rock,  and  the  boys  throw  rooks  at  sparrows, 
and  break  windows  by  throwing  rocks.  To  speak  of  the 
tail  of  a  horse,  or  any  other  animal,  is  deemed  most  in- 
delicate, and  the  words  hip  and  thigh  must  not  be  men- 
tioned. This  fastidiousness  is  carried  to  such  a  length, 
as  to  lead  to  alterations  in  the  prayers  of  the  Episcopa- 
lian service,  and  even  in  the  language  of  the  Bible.  The 
passage  in  die  Litany,  ^  When  thou  tookest  upon  thee 
to  deUver  man,  thou  didst  not  abhor  the  virgin's  womb," 
is  thought  too  shocking  for  the  public  ear ;  and  the  pas- 
sage in  which  prayer  is  offered  for  ^  all  women  labour- 
ing with  child,"  is  also  thought  too  gross  to  be  uttered. 
In  the  mutilations  of  Scripture,  these  two  cases  were 
mentioned  to  me  by  a  clergyman  who  had  himself  heard 
them.  In  the  passage  of  Genesis,  in  which  the  curse  is 
pronounced  on  the  serpent,  **  On  thy  belly  shalt  thou 
go,"  the  preacher  read  it,  ^On  thy  stomach  shalt  thou 
go  ;"  and  in  the  passage  of  the  Evangelist,  where  the 
Savionr  says  to  Peter,  ''Verily,  before  the  cock  shall 
crow,  thou  shalt  deny  me  thrice,"  another  preacher  read 
it  thus,  **  Before  a  certain  fowl  shall  crow,  thou  shalt 
deny  me  thrice." 

At  their  public  celebrations  the  Americans  are 
most  gallant  and  ingenious  in  their  toasts  and  sen- 
timents.   The  following  are  happy  specimens : — 

"By  Oliver  P.  Copeland.—The  Ladies :  The  fkirest 
part  of  Crod's  creation — ^The  mainspring  that  impels  man 
to  action  :  While  our  arms  are  able  to  bear  arms,  we 
will  protect  their  charms." 

•*  Woman,  lovely  Woman, — Ever  usefiil  and  dear  to 
us,  wheAer  in  prosperity  or  in  adversity.  Without  her, 
lifo  would  be  insupportable." 

"  The  Fair, — liie  beauty  of  a  fine  woman  is  the  only 
tyranny  to  which  a  man  should  submit." 

Sometimes,  the  ladies  themselves  send  toasts,  to  be 

}>roposed  by  gentlemen  present ;  and  of  these  the  two 
bllowing  vnll  be  regarded  as  curious,  as  well  as  the  one 
by  a  bachelor  which  succeeds  it. 

**  By  a  Ladv, — ^Phrenology :  May  our  children  abound 
in  bumps  of  discretion,  and  be  tree  from  all  bumps  of 
dissipation  I" 

'^  Sent  by  a  Lady,— The  Bachelor,  <  solitary  and  alone 
in  his  glory.'" 

**  By  an  Esrpeetant  Bachelor. — Women  and  wine- 
presses :  Sacred  sources  of  sympathetic  joy." 

**By  0.  P,  Copeland,—SucceBS  to  Mulberryism,  SUk- 
ism,  and  all  other  kinds  of  isms — except  Abolitionism." 

We  have  left  ourselves  little  space  to  notice  the 
specific  facts  illustrative  of  the  teeming  and  com- 
plicated evils  of  Slavery,  which  Mr.  Buckingham 
has  diligently  collected  in  the  course  of  his  travels. 
The  arguments  he  held  with  the  interested  and 
prejudiced,  always  ended  as  might  have  been  an- 
ticipated ;  hut  ^e  reluctant  admissions  of  those 
persons  who  acknowledged  the  evils  of  the  system, 
while  they  were  unable  to  devise  any  means  of 
reformation,  go  in  reality  to  the  surrender  of  the 
entire  question.  In  travelling  from  Charlotteville,  in 
Virginia,  to  Richmond,  the  following  conversation 
occurred : — 

About  five  miles  beyond  this  we  passed  the  house  and 
farm  of  Mr.  W.  C.  Bives  the  Virgmia  senator.  Nothing 
could  be  more  slovenly  than  the  state  of  the  husbandry 
all  along  this  road ;  and  the  neglected  state  of  the  farms  i 


gave  evidence  of  great  inferiority  in  their  modeof  maas^ 
ment  We  had  with  us  in  the  coach  a  senator  from 
Pennsylvania,  who  expatiated  on  the  contrast  presented 
by  the  appearance  of  the  farms  in  his  State ;  and  I  ven- 
tured to  ask  him  what  he  considered  to  be  the  cause  oi 
so  remarkable  a  difference  in  two  districts  or  oountriei 
so  nearly  a4Joining,  vrith  so  great  an  equality  of  adran- 
tages  in  soil  and  climate.  He  replied,  ^  There  is  no  other 
intelligible  cause  for  this  difference,  than  that  PennByl- 
vania  is  cultivated  by  fVeemen,  and  Virginia  by  sisTes: 
the  freemen  have  every  motive  to  labour,  because  they 
enrich  themselves  by  their  toil,  and  eigoy  what  thej 
produce;  the  slaves  have  every  motive  to  be  idle,  becauae 
no  toil  enriches  them,  and  nothing  beyond  bare  saheis- 
tence  ever  rewards  Uieir  exertions :  therefore,  the  free- 
men do  as  much  as  possible,  and  the  slaves  do  as  little." 
He  farther  expressed  his  belief,  that  there  was  many  a 
farmer  owning  500  acres  in  Pennsylvania,  without  a 
single  slave,  who  was  rich;  while  there  were  mioj 
planters  in  Virginia  who  were  poor  vrith  5000  acres,  and 
as  many  slaves  as  were  requisite  to  oulUvate  the  whole; 
because  the  farmer  of  Pennsylvania,  vrith  such  an  estate, 
would  lay  by  money  every  year,  while  the  pUnter  of 
Viiginia,  vrith  so  much  ampler  means,  would  get  every 
year  deeper  and  deeper  into  debt !  Such  is  the  ^fferenee 
in  the  results  of  fireedom  and  slavery,  according  to  the 
sober  judgment  of  a  native  of  the  country.  When  I  asked 
him,  whether  the  Virginia  planters  were  themselrei 
aware  of  this  difference,  he  replied,  '^  The  greater  nnmber 
of  them  undoubtedly  are;  but  a  spirit  of  frilse  pride  pre- 
vents them  ftrom  acting  on  it."  Biany  yean  ago,  the 
Legislature  of  Viiginia  entertained  the  proposition  of 
emancipating  the  slaves ;  and  the  public  opinion  of  the 
migority  of  the  State  vras  in  favour  of  such  a  step.  Every 
one  here,  indeed,  believes  that  if  nothing  had  oecnrred 
to  interrupt  the  progress  of  this  sentiment,  the  abolition 
of  slavery  in  this,  and  the  adjoining  State  of  Maryland, 
would  have  happened  long  ago.  But  Uiey  allege,  that 
because  the  Abolitionists  of  the  North  wished  to  force 
them  on  futer  than  they  chose  to  go,  they  would  not 
move  at  all;  and  since  these  Abolitionists  have  increased 
their  pressure,  the  slave-holders  have  actually  receded 
backward,  out  of  a  sheer  spirit  of  opposition,  because 
they  would  not  be  driven  even  into  the  adoption  of  a 
measure  which  they  approved.  They  seem,  therefore,  to 
be  now  in  the  position  of  a  ftroward  child,  who  takes 
delight  in  doing  just  the  contrary  of  what  he  is  desired 
to  do — to  show  his  independence. 

It  is  remarked,  that  the  democratic  newspapers 
of  the  South,  are  nniformly  those  found  the  most 
violent  against  Abolition.  To  such  a  length  does 
the  tyranny  of  opinion  go,  that  Mr.  B.  affirms  .— 

I  feel  assured  that  it  would  not  be  so  dangerous  for  a 
man  to  preach  the  right  of  resistance  to  despotic  antho- 
rity  in  Petersburg  or  Vienna,  to  inveigh  against  Popeiy 
at  Rome,  or  denounce  Mohammedanism  at  Constantii- 
ople,  as  it  would  be  for  him  to  proclaim  himself,  eithe^ 
by  his  pen  or  by  his  tongue,  an  iU>olitionist  in  the 
slave-holding  States  south  of  tiie  Potomac  in  Ameri< 
and  yet,  to  tell  the  Americans  that  they  have  neif* 
fhiedom  of  the  press  nor  freedom  of  speech,  to  the  exi 
to  which  both  are  enjoyed  in  England,  would  greal 
offend  as  well  as  surprise  them,  though  nothing  could 
more  true. 

0*Connell  b  the  object  of  the  peculiar  and  vio- 
lent hatred  of  the  Slaveholders  of  the  South. 

Mr.  Buckingham  admits,  that  the  condition 
of  the  domestic  slaves  in  respectable  or  opu- 
lent families  is,  physically,  exceedingly  comfort-J 
able.  The  mere  selfishness  of  their  owners  goaraD-^ 
tees  their  comfort  in  food,  dress,  and  appearance 
As  the  influence  of  enlightened  self-interest  mn^ 
ultimately  be  the  main  instrument  in  abolish* 
ing  Slavery  all  over  the  world,  arguments  of  tbi 
following  kind  cannot  be  made  too  familiar  :— 

Of  the  fklse  economy  of  employing  slave-Ubonr  in  thi. 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OF  AMERICA. 


813 


■hintioB  of  land,  eTeryihing  I  heard  and  saw  con- 

ined  Me  in  the  opinion,  that  it  was  most  injurions  to 

ht  interests  of  the  planters;  and  that  none  would  hene- 

it  Boie  by  a  system  of  free  labour  than  the  Tery  land- 

Fwoen  themselTes.    At  present,  if  a  planter  wishes  to 

Hirdisse  an  estate  for  cnltiyation,  he  can  get  1000  acres 

!f  land  for  10,000  dollars;  and  if  he  could  obtain  fVee 

^bour  to  till  his  fields,  hiring  it  by  the  day,  and  paying 

ht  such  labour  aa  he  required,  and  no  more,  5000  dol- 

\m  would  be  ample  for  a  reserved  capital  by  which  to 

proeue  his  seed,  labour,  and  stock.    But  as  he  must, 

leoontiDg  to  the  present  system,  buy  his  slaves  as  well 

Mhii  land,  it  will  require  at  least  500  doUars,  or  £100 

stertiDf,  for  each  working  negro  that  he  may  need;  and 

nppMmg  only  100  negroes  to  be  purchased,  this  would 

itqoire  50,000  dollars  to  be  laid  out  in  the  purchase  of 

fntptctke  labour,  paying  for  it  before  he  receives  the 

di^tcst  benefit,  and  under  all  the  risks  of  sickness,  de- 

sotioD,  and  death.     In  this  manner,  according  to  the 

^itenient  of  Mr.  Clay,  in  his  recent  anti-abolition  speech 

ii  Congress,  there  is  locked  up,  of  dead  capital,  in  the 

pidnae  and  cost  of  the  negro  slaves  of  the  United 

Stat«i,Uie  enormous  sum  of  twelve  hundred  millions  of 

4elhn,  or  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  sterling ! 

Kow,  if  slavery  had  never  been  permitted  to  exist  here, 

lad  b^or  could  have  been  hired  by  the  day,  or  week, 

«  jeir,  IS  in  other  f^  countries,  this  enormous  amount 

•f  apitel  would  hare  been  available  to  deyote  to  other 

pvpoces;  and  the  whole  country  would  have  been  ad- 

nooed  at  least  a  century  beyond  its  present  condition. 

It  nay  be  quite  true  that  the  AfHcan  race  can  alone 

RsUintiie  exposure  to  heat  and  labour  combined,  which 

tbe  eoltivation  of  rice,  sugar,  and  cotton  demand;  but  it 

is  at  the  same  time  as  true,  that  their  labour  might  be 

tired  and  paid  for  only  as  it  was  employed,  instead  of 

ibe  raittiKisly  improvident  system  of  buying  up  all  the 

hkov  of  their  lives,  and  paying  for  it  beforehand ;  thus 

nbDg  an  immense  capital  in  the  very  country  where 

capital  is  more  viduable,  because  more  productive  of 

volth,  than  in  any  other  country  that  can  be  named. 

If  a  laige  manufacturer  in  England,  when  he  had  built 

kit  Bill  and  fitted  his  machinery,  were  required  to  buy 

ail  hit  working  hands  at  £100  each,  and  then  maintain 

tkm  all  their  lives,  sick  or  well,  aged  or  infirm,  with 

t^  risk  of  loss  by  desertion  or  death,  he  would  be  less 

^  to  work  his  mill  with  £100,000,  than  he  is  now  with 

^^MOO ;  and  consequently  not  half  or  a  fourth  of  the 

■ills  now  in  operation  could  be  established.    If  a  ship- 

•vner,  iHien  he  had  built,equipped,  and  provisioned  his 

ifaip  for  her  voyage,  had  to  buy  up  all  his  seamen  at 

1100  a-head,  and  maintain  them  all  their  lives  after- 

vaidi,  it  would  require  four  times  the  capital  that  is 

uw  neoenary  to  send  a  large  ship  to  sea,  and  oonse- 

flatly  fewer  persons  could  equip  vessels.    Thus  the 

aunfoctoring  and  the  shipping  interests  would  both  be 

Ktarded  in  their  progress  by  this  improvident  and  heavy 

^uden  of  paying  for  a  life  of  labour  in  advance,  instead 

ofpajingfor  it  by  the  week  or  month,  as  its  benefits 

*a«  reaped  by  them. 

Exactly  the  same  efl'ects  are  produced  in  retarding 
tbe  pnMperity  of  agriculture;  and  thus  it  is  that  the  old 
>l>ve-ftates  of  Virginia  and  Maryland  are  already  ex- 
^>Mited.  The  CaroUnas  and  Georgia  are  already  par- 
^7  so;  and  in  process  of  time  this  will  be  the  fate  of 
^lil^iiia,  Mississippi,  Kentucky,  and  the  other  slave- 
>^;  while  those  who  employ  the  cheaper,  more 
vigoroQs,  and  more  productive  element  of  free  labour, 
^  ontstrip  them  in  the  race,  firom  the  mere  advantage 
jj» Wtter  system  of  industry.  While  1  believe,  there- 
»re,  that  the  condition  of  the  slaves  would  be  much  im- 
posed by  their  being  placed  under  the  influence  of  those 
■(^  aod  better  motives  to  labour  which  the  enjoy- 
■ot  of  the  reward  of  their  own  toil  can  alone  create,  I 
*l*^^ve  that  the  planters  would  all  benefit  by  the 
*"*tittttioQ  of  f^ree-hj>our  for  slave-labour,  because  the 
"^Ber  is  cheaper  and  more  productive  than  the  latter  can 
«T«rbe  Blade.  The  slave-owners  are  indeed  their  own 
ncaies  in  opposing  or  retarding  the  emancipation  of 
"tt'labouiets. 

^^n^  enoonnging  idlenese^  recklessnese^  and 


all  manner  of  extrayagance,  among  the  whites, 
Mr.  Buckingham  justly  imimtes  the  arrogant  and 
tyrannical  temper  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  South 
to  Slavery.    From  it  arises — 

The  universal  irritability  of  temper,  impatience  of 
contradiction,  and  constant  readiness  to  avenge  every 
imaginary  insult  with  instant  and  deadly  punishment  of 
the  offender.  Henoe  the  f^quent  aflhiys,  duels,  street- 
fights,  shootings,  stabbings,  and  assassinations,  of  which 
every  part  of  the  South,  but  more  especially  the  newer 
States,  is  so  full — producing,  it  is  believed,  five  times  as 
large  a  proportion  of  these  crimes  to  the  population,  as  is 
witnessed  in  the  North,  and  ten  times  as  large  a  propor- 
tion as  is  seen  in  any  of  the  flree  countries  of  Europe. 
So  long,  indeed,  as  the  slaves  continue  to  increase  in 
numbers  beyond  their  masters,  and  coercive  measures 
towards  them  may  seem  to  be  more  necessary,  because 
of  such  increase  augmenting  the  danger  of  their  revolt, 
so  long  the  state  of  things  vnll  get  worse  ;  and  as  fear 
is  a  prolific  source  of  cruelty,  the  very  fears  of  the 
whites,  which  are  continually  increasing  every  year,  wUl 
cause  a  greater  exercise  of  tyranny  than  ever.  How 
these  fears  ooie  out  in  almost  everything  they  say  or 
do,  may  he  seen  by  the  following  circumstance.  The 
most  religious  and  moral  of  the  Southern  population, 
have  heen  long  awakened  to  the  cause  of  Temperance, 
and  are  very  desirous  of  promoting  it  in  this  State,  but 
as  almost  all  the  Temperance  publications  are  issued  in 
the  North,  they  are  literally  afraid  of  their  enoouraging 
their  circulation  here,  lest,  by  any  oversight  or  inad- 
vertence on  the  part  of  the  editor,  some  paragraph 
favourable  to  Abolition  should  appear. 

Many  of  the  Americans  have  got  it  into  their 
heads,  that  the  English  abolished  Slayery  in  the 
West  Indies  merely  to  encourage  the  negroes  of 
the  South  to  revolt ;  and  thus  revenge  England 
upon  America  for  having  **  whipped**  her !  That 
slaves  are  the  happiest  of  Grod's  creatures  is  the 
constant  assertion,  in  the  face  of  all  the  floggings, 
sales,  and  runnings  away  that  the  newspapers 
daily  set  forth. 

A  citizen  of  Geoi^gia  has  got  a  new  key  to  the 
mystical  Book  of  Revelations,  and  asserts,  that 
the  Becuty  the  Great  Beast  spoken  of,  means  neither 
Catholics  nor  Protestants,  but  black  niggers  ;  and 
that  there  will  be  no  hope  for  America,  until  the 
whole  of  the  descendants  of  Ham  are  expelled ! 

In  a  lai^ge  American  war-ship,  the  Brandywine, 
which  Mr.  Buckingham  examined  at  Norfolk,  40 
of  the  crew  of  470  were  free  n^roes.  He  says : — 
I  was  much  struck  with  the  fine,  and  even  noble  ap- 
pearance of  these  men  ;  their  erect  and  muscular  forms 
no  longer  crouching  under  the  infiuence  of  forced  servi- 
tude, nor  their  heads  hung  down  under  a  consciousness 
of  inferiority,  but  leading  a  fVee,  bold,  independent,  and 
active  life,  their  appearance  partook  of  these  new  infiu- 
ences,  and  they  were  among  the  finest-looking  men  in 
the  ship.  In  answer  to  my  inquiries  of  Uie  first- 
lieutenant,  who  had  been  upwards  of  thirty  years  in  the 
service,  I  learnt  that  they  received  exactly  the  same 
bounty,  the  same  wages,  the  same  rations,  and  tiie  same 
privileges  as  the  whites  ;  and  that  in  their  arrangements 
and  classification  for  duty,  as  forecastle-men,  top-men, 
waisters,  and  after-guard,  no  distinction  was  made  be- 
tween black  and  white,  but  each  were  mingled  indis- 
criminately, and  classed  only  by  their  relative  degrees 
of  seamanship.  In  this,  he  said,  the  blacks  were  not  at 
all  inferior  to  the  whites,  either  in  their  skill,  readiness, 
or  courage.  Nor  did  the  white  seamen  evince  the 
slightest  reluctance  to  be  associated  with  them  on  t^rms 
of  the  most  perfect  equality  in  the  discharge  of  their 
duties,  or  make  their  colour  a  subject  of  antipathy  or 
reproach.  The  cooks  and  stewards  were  chiefiy  coloured 
men,  because  they  stand  the  heat  better,  and  fkll  into 
these  occupations  more  readily ;  andfh>m  the  negro  sea- 


814 


BUCKINGHAM'S  TOUR  IN  THE  SLAVE  STATES  OF  AMERICA. 


men,  the  Uaiioh  for  wooding  »nd  wfttering,  and  for 
anchor  duty,  was  gencrallj  manned,  becaose  the  African 
constitution  could  stand  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  swamps  and  marshes,  better  than  the 
American.  In  point  of  health,  bowerer,  they  were  quite 
equal ;  and  while  the  senrioe  was  rendered  more  efficient 
bv  this  arrangement,  neither  party  objected  to  the 
Classification.  It  was  really  to  me  a  most  agreeable 
sight  to  see  forty  or  fifty  of  these  fine  athletic  AfHcans 
holding  up  their  heads  like  men,  and  loolpng  as  if  con- 
scious of  their  independence  and  equality,  though  at  the 
same  time  respectful,  obedient,  and  less  frequently  sub- 
jected to  punishment  for  neglect  of  duty,  than  their 
white  brethren. 

One  of  the  most  amusing  traits  of  the  American 
general  character,  is  the  national  vanity,  or  vain- 
glory, which  breaks  out  with  great  natveU  on  the 
most  trifling  occasions,  A  Yankee  hearing  an 
account  read  of  the  part  which  Lord  Brougham 
had  taken  in  an  important  debate,  remarked  : — 

"  Well,  then,  I  expect  that  this  Lord  Brougham  comes 
the  nearest  to  our  Daniel  Webster,  of  any  man  the  Eng- 
lish can  produce.*'  To  which  the  others  signified  their 
assent ;  but  no  one  seemed  to  think  that  he  did  more 
than  approach  him  **  at  a  considerable  distance.*'  One 
of  the  party,  and  in  his  general  conversation  an  intelli- 
gent man,  said^that  Henry  Clay  had  electrified  the 
English  Members  of  Parliament  when  he  spoke  before 
them  in  the  House  of  Commons ;  and  that  Daniel  Web- 
ster, who  was  now  gone  to  England,  would  astonish  them 
still  more,  and  give  them  a  sample  of  what  true  Ameri- 
can oratory  really  was.  I  asked  when  Mr.  Gay  had 
spoken  in  the  English  House  of  Commons,  and  was  told 
that  it  was  when  he  was  resident  as  American  minister 
in  London.  I  assured  them  that  on  no  occasion  did 
foreign  ministers  or  ambassadors  appear  in  either  House 
of  Parliament  in  England  as  speakers  ;  but  the  gentle- 
man who  made  this  assertion  really  beliered  that  in  his 
diplomatic  capacity  he  had  appeared  before  the  House, 
and  excited  the  astonishment  and  admiration  he  de- 
scribed I  He  still  ^on^ht  that  an  opportunity  would 
be  afforded  to  Daniel  Webster  to  do  the  same.  When 
they  were  informed,  that  among  the  Tory  peers,  Lord 
Lyndhurstwas  the  most  equal  match  for  Lord  Brougham, 
they  felt  this  to  be  a  confirmation  of  their  confidence  in 
their  national  superiority,  as  they  claimed  Lord  Lynd- 
hurst  as  an  American,  though  they  would  rather  haye 
had  him  to  be  a  Virginian  than  a  Bostonian. 

An  Albany  paper,  speaking  of  Mr.  Webster, 
while  he  was  in  England,  after  indulging  in  a  lofty 
strain  of  panegyric,  says  : — 

Such  a  man  is  a  tuJblme  tpeetacUf  in  these  days  of 
political  corruption  and  misrule.    But  such  is  Daniel 


Webster.  Unlike  some  of  our  foreign  functiontriei,  U 
knows  no  diffierence  among  his  countrymen,  so  ^  u 
they  have  merit  to  recommend  them.  He  is  tlikc 
beloved  and  respeeted  by  all ;  and  be  he  at  the  table  ol 
the  rich,  or  on  the  floor  of  the  House  of  Lords,  he  is  tlii 
attraction,  the  charm,  and  the  <idm%r<U%on  of  all  wk 
behold  him! 

Mr.  Buckingham  confirms  what  all  travellen 
allege  of  the  overweening  admiration  of  fashion, 
connexion,  and  wealth,  displayed  by  the  study 
Hepublicans  of  America : — 

The  talk  about  "*  old  families,"  and  being  ''higblT 
connected,"  and  **  moving  in  the  first  circles  of  society  f 
and  the  looking  down  with  contempt  upon  **  people  whoB 
nobody  knows,"  or  who  are  **  not  in  society ;  *'  is  nowhere 
carried  to  a  greater  extent  than  here ;  and  the  lerj 
children  are  found  making  these  distinctions.  This  will 
account  for  the  amazing  eagerness  with  which  the  grester 
number  of  Americans  who  go  to  England  and  fnnce, 
seek  to  be  introduced  at  Court,  and  i^ect  to  be  patroo- 
ized  and  received  by  the  nobility  and  fashionable  world 
there.  This  has  been  carried  to  such  an  extent  of  late, 
as  to  have  become  the  subject  of  just  ridicole  amou 
themselves ;  and  especially  since  the  **  Victoria  fever, 
as  it  is  popularly  called,  has  prevailed  so  extensively  ii 
this  country,  where  the  name  of  Victoria  has  been  ap- 
pended to  almost  everything^  from  Mr.  Sully's  portrait 
of  the  Q^ieen,  down  to  the  last  new  oyfiter-ahop  opened 
in  New  York. 

Notwithstanding  the  strong  prejudice  of  colour 
which  exists  throughout  the  breadth  and  length  of 
the  land,  and  especially  in  the  North, — where  free 
people  of  colour  are,  from  their  intelligence  and 
wealth,  becoming  marked  objects  of  envy  and 
hate, — ^the  few  families  who  can  claim  any  admix- 
ture of  Indian  blood,  are  as  proud  of  the  dia* 
tinction,  as  if  it  were  old  Norman  blood  that  flowed 
in  their  veins,  and  probably  with  as  good  caoBe 
for  pride. 

These  extracts  will  sufficiently  indicate  the  na- 
ture of  this  addition  to  Mr  Buckingham's  volumi- 
nous work,  and  the  kind  of  entertainment  which 
may  be  expected  from  it.  Our  own  opinion  of  its 
merit  may  be  significantly  imderstood  from  the 
circumstance  of  our  having  spoken  of  the  first 
three  volumes  merely  in  general  terms  of  commen- 
dation ;  and  regretting  that  we  cannot  afford 
more  space  to  a  fuller  analysis  of  the  portion  of 
the  work  now  before  us. 


TYTLER^S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND.* 


The  history  of  Scotland,  as  an  independent 
kingdom,  properly  terminates  at  the  Union  of  the 
Crowns,  by  the  accession  of  James  VI.  as  the  le- 
gitimate heir  of  the  throne  of  England  on  the 
death  of  Elizabeth.  To  this  natural  close  of  our 
national  annals,  Mr.  Tytler*s  work  is  hastening 
on  ;  great  events  accumulating,  and  interest  deep* 
ening,  as  the  end  draws  nigh.  Another  volume 
will  fin'ish  what  is  by  far  the  most  comprehensive 
and  elaborate  examination  of  the  Scottish  national 
annals  which  the  world  has  yet  received,  indepen- 
dently of  the  literary  merits  of  the  work. 

♦  Volume  VIII.  of  U^  anginal  edition.  .  8vo.  Tait, 
Edinburgh. 


The  preceding  volume  was  devoted  to  those  mo- 
mentous transactions  of  which  the  consequences 
are  developed  in  this  new  volume  ;  to  the  rise  and 
progress  of  the  Reformation  ;  the  reign  of  Maiy 
queen  of  Scots^  with  its  romance,  vicissitade,  ao^ 
disaster ;  and  the  Regency  of  Murray.  The  flight 
and  imprisonment  of  Mary  by  her  jealous  and  vin- 
dictive kinswoman,  and  the  assassination  of  the 
Regent,  were  included  in  the  seventh  volume. 

The  new  portion  of  the  History  opens  with  thf 
R^ncy  of  Morton,  a  period  which,  notwithatand- 
ing  the  many  bad  points  In  the  character  of  the  R*- 
gent^  was,  from  the  vigour  and  eneigy  of  hisgoven^ 
ment,  one  of  prosperity  to  the  country.  FsctioD  "J* 
exhausted  itself  in  iha  tumultuary  period  of  the 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OP  SCOTLAND. 


.315 


avil  wir,  and  thA  (kwn  of  a  new  order  of  things 
-Uie  eommenoement  of  another  epoch  m  the  social 
progieasof  the  nation  was  hecoming  visihle.  When 
Killjgiewy  the  envoy  of  the  English  courts  visited 
Soofti&Ddy  after  a  idiort  interval  of  quiet^  he  re- 
■arkad  in  a  letter  to  Burghlej — 

I  see  the  noblemen's  great  eredit  decay  in  this  eoim- 
trjyNid  the  bai>on%  burrowB,  and  saoh  like,  take  more 
^OQ  ihsm. ;  the  ministers  and  religion  increase,  and  the 
dean  in  them  to  prevent  the  practices  of  the  Papists  ; 
tk  number  of  able  men  for  serrice  verj  great,  ana  well 
fnoidied  both  on  horse  and  fbot ;  their  navy  so  aug- 
Bated,  SB  it  is  a  thing  almost  incredible. . 

Hits  great  diange  had  taken  place  between  the 
jnr  1567  and  1572 ;  for  while  the  hand  of  the 
npidoQs  Morton  fell  heavy  on  many  individuals, 
ret  trade  and  commerce,  the  great  springs  of  na- 
tioflsl  prosperity,  escaped  his  grasp,  Of  this  period 
Mr.  Tytler  remarks — 

Notwithstanding  the  miseries  of  the  civil  war,  the 
paenl  prosperity  of  the  coontry  had  been  progressive. 
C«BiBeroe  and  trade  had  increased  ;  and  whilst  the 
power  of  the  high  feudal  lords  was  visibly  on  the  decay, 
&e  middle  clasises  had  risen  in  importance  ;  and  the 
great  body  of  the  people,  instmcted  in  their  political 
Cities  bj  the  sermons  of  the  clergy,  and  acquiring  from 
tlte  iostitntion  of  parish  schools  a  larger  share  of  educa- 
tioQ  ud  intelligence,  began  to  appreciate  their  rights, 
ad  to  ftel  their  own  strength. 

Though  many  of  the  early  acts  of  Morton's  go- 
nnunent  show^  great  vigonr,  and  were  popular, 
k  loon  began  to  lay  the  foundation  of  his  ultimate 
min,  in  his  perilous  attack  upon  the  patrimony  of 
the  Kirk.  It  was  much  easier  for  the  avaricious 
Itcgent  to  seize  the  revenues  of  the  Church,  and 
to  iine  the  wealthy  merchants  and  burgesses  of  the 
towM^  than  to  induce  Elizabeth  to  relax  her 
purse-strings  to  hb  clamorous  importunity,  not- 
vithstanding  her  desire  to  maintain  her  ascendency 
IB  Scotland,  and  her  dread  of  the  intrigues  of 
Fnnoe,  and  of  the  incessant  plans  and  projects  of 
^  captive  Queen. 

It  ig  already  well  known  that  Mr.  Tytler  s  work 
•wes  mnch  <^  its  popularity,  as  well  as  value,  to 
it8  angular  richness  in  such  original  letters  and 
^ontments  as  have  hitherto  lain  dormant,  or  been 
fiite  overlooked,  in  the  State-paper  Office,  and  in 
<<ber  collections  of  manuscripts,  though  these  con- 
Attote  the  very  pith  and  marrow  of  authentic  his- 
tory. From  those  fresh  sources  we  have  the  fol- 
lowing portrait,  drawn  by  Killigrew,  in  a  letter  to 
Walangham,  of  James  in  his  seventh  year.  It  is 
^  first  that  has  been  given  of  him  at  so  tender  an 
^  The  child  seems  to  have  given  more  of  pro- 
^  than  the  man  fnlfiUed  : — 

Sinee  my  last  onto  you,  I  have  been  at  Stirling  to  risit 
we  King  ia  her  Mi^'esty's  name,  and  met  by  the  way 
^  Cooatess  of  Mar  coming  to  Edinburgh,  to  whom  I 
^  ber  Majesty's  commendations. 
.  TbeKmg  seemed  to  be  very  glad  to  hear  fh>m  ber  Ma- 
Xatjr,  Md  coold  oae  pretty  speeches  :  as,  how  much  he 
*a*  boand  onto  her  Mi^'esty,  yea,  more  than  to  his  own 
a^hff.  And  at  my  departure,  he  prayed  me  to  thank 
^Ui^iesty  for  the  good  remembrance  she  had  of  him  ; 
*pd  farther  desired  me  to  make  his  hearty  commenda- 
f«M  aato  her  Majesty.  His  Grace  is  well  grown,  both 
Q  bodj  and  spirit,  since  I  was  last  here.  He  speaketh 
«0  Fnach  tongue  marvellous  well ;  and  that  which 
<ctiM  gtraiige  to  me,  he  was  able  extempore  (which  be 
<B<ibiCname)to  read  a  chapter  of  the  Bible  out  of 


Latin  into  French,  and  out  of  French  after  into  English, 
so  well,  as  few  men  could  haTe  added  anything  to  his 
translation.  His  schoolmasters,  Mr.  George  Buchanan 
and  Mr.  Peter  Young,  rare  men,  caused  me  to  appoint 
the  King  what  chapter  I  would,  and  so  did  I,  whereby 
I  perceived  it  was  not  studied  for.  They  also  made  his 
Highness  dance  befbre  me,  which  he  likewise  did  with  a 
very  good  grace  ;  a  Prince  sure  of  great  hope,  if  God 
send  him  life. 

Though  the  ostensible  object  of  the  English  am- 
bassador^  at  this  period,  was  to  form  a  league  for 
the  better  security  of  both  the  kingdoms,  and  for 
the  protection  of  the  Protestant  religion,  an  object 
as  near  and  dear  to  Elizabeth  was  the  getting 
quietly  rid  of  her  troublesome  rival,  Mary,  no  mat- 
ter by  what  means,  so  that  she  herself  escaped  the 
odium  of  putting  "  a  crowned  Queen,"  her  own 
near  relation,  to  death.  Morton  had  not  been  with- 
held from  accomplishing  this  guilty  project  by  any 
feeling  of  honour  or  pity ;  but  he  was  resolved 
not  to  accept  of  the  assassin's  office  without  receiv- 
ing the  assassin's  hire.  That  secret  negotiations 
were  several  times  entered  into  by  Eliiabeth,  for 
giving  up  the  unfortunate  Queen  to  those  previ- 
ously pledged  to  murder  her^  is  made  abundantly 
evident  in  these  pages,  and  was  not  wholly  un- 
known ;  but  Mr.  Tytler  has  dragged  forth  from 
their  obscurity,  fi-esh  and  damning  proofs  of  the 
cold-blooded  and  crafty  policy  of  Elizabeth  though 
some  links  still  seem  wanting  in  the  chain«  In 
the  language  of  Elizabeth's  diplomacy,  the  project 
for  the  murder  of  Mary,  who  was  to  be  given  up 
to  her  own  subjects  for  this  special  purpose,  is 
usually  termed  "M«  preat  matter. "  Often  had 
Elizabeth  and  her  counsellors  been  murderers  in 
heart  and  intent  bef(M«  the  final  catastrophe.  This 
new  instance,  brought  forward  by  Mr.  Tytler,  is 
but  one  of  many  schemes,  extending  over  many 
years: — 

The  Ambassador  anxiously  impressed  upon  Elizabeth 
and  her  ministers,  that  the  Scots  were  no  longer  depen- 
dent upon  England  ;  and  as  to  attempting  to  make  any 
impression  upon  the  Regent  in  ''the  great  matter,** 
which  Leicester  and  Burghley  were  solicitous  should  be 
again  secretly  discussed,  it  seemed  to  him  a  vain  idea 
at  present.  If  Morton  were  to  consent  to  put  Mary  to 
death  on  her  dellrery  into  bis  hands,  it  would  only  be, 
as  he  soon  perceived,  by  the  oflter  of  a  for  higher  bribe 
than  Elizabeth  was  disposed  to  give  ;  and  by  the  settle- 
ment of  large  annuities  on  such  of  the  nobles  as  were 
confidants  to  his  cruel  design.  Killigrew  was  so  assured 
of  the  backwardness  of  bis  royal  mistress  upon  this  pointy 
and  the  determination  of  .the  Regent  not  to  move  with- 
out such  inducement,  that  he  begged  to  be  allowed  to 
return.  '^  I  see  no  cause,**  said  he  to  W^ingham,  '^  why 
I  should  remain  here  any  longer ;  *  *  *  especially 
if  you  resolve  not  upon  the  league,  aor  upon  pensions, 
which  is  the  surest  ground  I  do  see  to  build  '  the  great 
matter'  upon,  without  which  small  assurance  can  be 
made.  I  pray  (}od  we  prove  not  herein  like  those  who 
refused  the  tl^ee  volumes  of  Sibylla's  prophecies,  with 
the  price  which  afterwards  they  were  glad  to  give  for 
one  tiiat  was  lost ;  for  sure  I  left  the  market  here  better 
cheap  than  now  I  find  it." 

The  Queen  of  England,  however,  was  not  to  be  so 
easily  diverted  ttom  any  object  upon  which  she  consi- 
dered the  safety  of  herself  and  her  kingdom  to  depend, 
and  she  insisted  that  her  Ambassador  should  remain  and 
accompany  the  Regent  in  his  Northern  progress,  upon 
which  he  was  about  to  enter.  "  I  think  it  not  conre- 
nient,"  said  Walsingham  to  him,  in  a  letter  of  the  18th 
July,  ^  that  you  be  recalled  tiU  such  time  as  you  have 
advertised  how  you  find  the  Regent  affected  touching 


316 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OP  SCOTLAND. 


*  the  great  matter'  yoa  had  in  eommisaion  to  deal  in  ; 
and  therefore  I  think  fit  you  accompany  the  Regent  till 
you  be  revoked." 

In  the  mean  time,  Elizabeth  held  a  secret  conference 
with  Leicester,  Burghley,  and  Walsingham,  and  appears 
to  have  herself  suggested  a  new  scheme  for  getting  rid 
of  Mary.  It  is  unfortunately  inTolred  in  much  obscu- 
rity, owing  to  the  letter  in  which  it  is  alluded  to  being 
partly  written  in  cipher  ;  but  it  was  disapproved  of  by 
WiJdngham,  apparently  on  the  ground  that  it  would  be 
dangerous  to  send  the  Scottish  Queen  into  Scotland, 
without  an  absolute  certainty  that  she  should  be  put  to 
death. 

The  English  (^een  was  eyidently  distracted  between 
the  fear  of  two  dangers— one,  the  retaining  Mary  with- 
in her  dominions,  which  experience  had  taught  her  was 
the  cause  of  constant  plots  and  practices  against  her  ; 
the  other,  the  deliyering  her  to  the  Soots,  an  expedient 
which,  unless  it  were  carried  through  in  the  way  pro- 
posed by  Burghley  and  Leicester,  in  1572 — that  is, 
under  a  positiTe  agreement  that  she  should  be  put  to 
death,  was,  as  they  justly  thought,  full  of  periL  Mor- 
ton, however,  although  he  had  shown  himself  perfectly 
willing  to  receive  Mary  under  this  atrocious  condition, 
continued  firm  in  his  resolution  not  to  sell  his  services 
for  mere  words.  He,  too,  insisted  on  certain  terms ; 
especially  an  advance  in  money,  and  pensions  to  his 
friends.  But  the  Queen  deemed  his  demands  exorbitant ; 
and,  as  was  not  unfrequent  with  her  when  pressed  by  a 
difliculty  from  which  she  saw  no  immediate  escape,  she 
dismissed  the  subject  from  her  mind,  and  unwisely  took 
refioge  in  delay.  In  this  manner  **  the  great  matter  " 
fbr  Sit  present  was  allowed  to  sleep  ;  and  Biary  owed 
her  life  to  the  partimony  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  avarice 
of  the  Scottish  Regent 

Even  here,  Elizabeth  does  not  appear  in  so  odious 
a  light  as  when,  after  Mary  had  been  tried  and  con- 
demned, she  shrank,  with  selfish  cowardice,  from 
carrying  the  sentence  into  execution,  and  eagerly 
instigated  her  own  servants  privately  to  murder 
the  condemned  Princess.  Of  the  scenes  behind 
the  curtain,  connected  with  the  tragedy  at  Fother- 
ingay,  Mr.  Tytler  has  given  an  account  replete 
with  dramatic  interest,  and  one  which  must  im- 
print an  indelible  stain  on  the  memory  of  the 
English  Queen,  who,  iu  heart  and  spirit,  comes 
out,  in  the  case  of  Mary,  more  black  than  some 
Princes  whose  reigns  have  been  marked  by  more 
violent  and  atrocious  crimes. 

The  Regent  Morton's  confiscations  of  the  pro- 
perty of  the  Eark,  and  attempts  to  establish  the 
Episcopal  form  of  religion,  which,  together  with 
his  violence  and  rapacity,  led  to  the  conspiracy 
which  issued  in  his  destruction,  furnish  matter  for 
speculations  which  will,  at  the  present  moment, 
have  an  especial  interest,  at  least  with  Scottish 
readers;  though,  when  the  wealth,  intelligence, 
and  numerical  strength  of  the  modem  Dissenters 
of  Scotland  are  taken  into  account,  it  would  he  a 
capital  mistake  to  imagine  the  ministers  of  the 
Kirk,  of  this  day,  either  so  popular  or  powerful 
as  their  predecessors  were  in  those  times,  and  con- 
tinued until  much  later  days.  The  conspiracy  or 
coalition  of  Ai^gyle  and  Athole,  which  overthrew 
the  power  of  Uie  Regent,  and  emancipated  the 
young  King  from  one  master  only  to  place  him 
under  another,  was  welcome  to  the  ministers,  who, 
though  suspicious  of  Athole  as  an  avowed  Catho- 
lic, were  yet  opposed  to  Morton,  who  had  intro- 
duced Episcopacy,  and  crushed  and  pillaged  their 
body.  The  complicated  intrigues,  plots  and  coun- 
terplots, and  feuds,  of  this  troubled  period,  are 


lucidly  represented  in  the  narrative,  while  tl 
secret  springs  of  action  are  unveiled  in  its  pr^ 
gress.  But  events  so  crowd  upon  each  other,  thi 
we  must  be  contented  to  notice  only  results,  an 
these  briefly.  Before  the  final  overthrow  of  tJ 
regent  occurred,  Lennox,  the  friend  if  not  tl 
emissary  of  France,  and  the  first  favourite  of 
king  ever  afterwards  addicted  to  inordinate  favoa; 
itism,  had  crept  into  the  affections  of  the  bo)is 
James.  The  passage  we  select  not  so  much  for  it 
events  recorded,  as  a  specimen  of  the  narratit 
style  of  the  work. 

The  favour  shown  to  Lennox,  the  friend  c 
emissary  of  France,  had  exasperated  and  alienate 
Elizabeth,  who  had  angrily  withdrawn  Sir  Eobei 
Bowes  her  ambassador  to  Scotland  : — 

This  retirement  of  Bowes  greatly  strengthened  D'Ai 
bigny.  The  young  King  became  more  attached  to  tl 
interests  of  France  :  he  entered  into  communication  wit 
his  mother,  the  imprisoned  Queen  ;  and  whilst  the  ooori 
of  Rome,  Paris,  and  Madrid,  united  their  endeaToon  t 
procure  her  liberty,  Lennox  persuaded  James  to  seeoo 
their  efforts,  and  to  overwhelm  their  opponents  by 
mighty  stroke.  This  was  the  destruction  of  Morton,  tl 
bitterest  enemy  of  the  Scottish  Queen,  and  whose  reoei 
intrigues  with  the  English  Ambassador  had  i^own  tha 
although  his  power  was  diminished,  his  will  to  woi 
their  ruin  was  as  active  as  before.  Their  plot  agiini 
him,  which  had  been  in  preparation  for  some  tune,  wi 
now  ripe  for  execution 

For  this  purpose  many  things  then  assisted.  Morto 
had  quarrelled  with  the  Kirk,  and  lost  the  confidence  < 
its  ministers  ;  he  was  hated  by  the  people  for  his  aTsric 
and  severe  exactions  during  his  regency ;  and  his  ste&d 
adherence  to  England  had  made  him  odious  to  theftienc 
of  the  imprisoned  Qaeen,  and  the  party  of  France.  Lei 
nox,  therefore,  had  every  hope  of  success  ;  and  to  effet 
his  purpose,  he  employed  a  man  well  calculated  to  oof 
with  such  an  antagonist.  This  was  James  Stewir 
Captain  of  the  Royal  Guard,  and  second  son  of  Lor 
Ochiltree,  who  had  already  risen  into  great  favoar  wit 
the  King,  and  was  afterwards  destined  to  act  a  noted  pu 
in  the  history  of  the  country.  Stewart  had  receired 
learned  education ;  and  ftx>m  the  principles  of  hisfathf 
and  his  near  connexion  with  Knox,  who  had  married  h 
sister,  was  probably  destined  for  the  Church.  Bat  h 
daring  and  ambitious  character  threw  him  into  actit 
life  :  he  embraced  the  profession  of  arms,  served  as 
soldier  of  fortune  in  the  wars  of  France  and  Swedei 
visited  Russia,  and  afterwards  returned  to  his  own  cooi 
try,  where  he  soon  won  the  confidence  of  the  yonng  Kin 
and  the  Duke  of  Lennox,  by  his  noble  presence  and  eb 
gant  accomplishments.  Beneath  these  lighter  attm 
tions,  however,  he  concealed  a  mind  utterly  reckless  aa 
licentious  in  its  principles,  confident  and  courageons  i 
excess,  intolerant  of  the  opinions  of  other  men,  and  ni 
scrupulous  as  to  the  means  he  adopted  to  raise  himae 
into  power. 

To  this  man,  then  only  beginning  to  develop  tlw 
qualities,  was  committed  the  bold  task  of  untignii 
Morton  ;  and  to  obtain  complete  proof  of  his  guilt,  it  wi 
arranged  that  Sir  James  Balfour,  who  was  beUered  I 
have  in  his  possession  the  bond  for  Damley*s  murde 
and  who  was  himself  a  principal  assassin,  should  coii 
secretly  firom  France,  and  exhibit  this  paper  with  Mo 
ton's  signature  attached  to  it. 

In  tlus  last  scene  of  his  life,  the  ex-Regent  exhibite 
the  hereditary  pride  and  courage  of  the  house  of  l>of 
glas.  He  had  been  warned  of  the  danger  be  ii 
curred,  and  the  storm  which  was  about  to  burst  ovCTbi 
head,  two  days  before,  when  hunting  with  the  Kin| 
But  he  derided  it ;  and  on  the  last  of  December,  tli 
day  on  which  he  fell  into  the  toils,  took  his  place,  i 
usual,  at  the  Council  table,  where  the  King  presidej 
After  some  unimportant  business,  the  usher  suddcal 
entered  and  declared  that  Captain  James  Stewart  wi 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


3ir 


fti  the  dooT,  and  earnestlj  crared  an  audience.  The  re- 
qoe«t  was  immediately  granted  ;  and  Stewart  adyancing 
to  the  table,  fell  on  his  knees,  and  Instantly  accused 
Morton  of  the  King's  murder.  *^  My  duty  to  your  High- 
aess,^  said  he,  addressing  the  King,  ^  has  brought  me 
here  to  reveal  a  wickedness  that  has  been  too  long  ob- 
jured. It  was  that  man  (pointing  to  the  Earl)  now 
nttmg  at  this  table,  a  place  he  is  unworthy  to  occupy, 
that  conspired  your  royal  father's  death.  .  Let  him  be 
committed  fbr  trial,  and  I  shall  make  good  my 
words." 

Amidst  the  amatement  and  oonfosion  occasioned  by 
this  sodden  and  bold  impeachment,  the  only  person  un- 
■ored  was  Morton  himself.  Rising  ttom  his  seat,  he 
cut  a  momentary  and  disdaiuAil  glaince  upon  his  accuser, 
uid  then  firmly  regarding  the  King,  **  I  know  not,"  he 
f«id,  ^  by  whom  this  informer  has  been  set  on,  and  it  were 
euy  for  one  of  my  rank  to  refuse  all  reply  to  so  mean  a 
person  ;  but  I  stand  upon  my  innocence— I  fear  no  trial 
The  rigour  with  which  I  have  prosecuted  all  suspected 
ff  thst  murder  is  well  known  ;  and  when  I  liave  cleared 
BjMlf,  it  will  be  for  your  Majesty  to  determine  what 
thfy  deserre  who  have  sent  this  perjured  tool  of  theirs 
to  leonse  me'  1"  These  bitter  terms  Stewart  threw  back 
ipoo  the  Earl  with  equal  contempt  and  acrimony.  '^  It 
18  &lse,  Qtterly  false,"  he  replied,  "that  any  one  has  in- 
iti|ated  me  to  make  this  accusation.  A  horror  for  the 
crime,  and  zeal  for  the  safety  of  my  Sovereign,  have  been 
■J  only  counsellors  ;  and  as  to  his  pretended  seal  against 
the  guilty,  let  rae  ask  him,  where  has  he  placed  Arehi- 
htld  Douglas  his  oousin  t  That  most  infamous  of  men, 
vbo  was  an  actor  in  the  tragedy,  is  now  a  Senator,  pro- 
noted  to  the  highest  seat  of  justice,  and  sufibred  to  pol- 
late  that  tribunal  before  which  he  ought  to  have  been 
vraigned  as  the  murderer  of  hJs  Prince." 

Thii  seene  had  begun  calmly  ;  but  as  these  last  words 
vere  uttered,  Stewart  had  sprung  upon  his  feet,  and 
Hortoo  laid  his  hand  upon  his  sword,  when  Lords  Lind- 
aj  ftnd  Cathcart  threw  themselTes  between  them,  and 
prcrented  a  personal  encounter.  The  King  then  com- 
ttaded  both  to  be  removed  ;  and,  after  a  brief  oonsult»- 
tita,the  Justice-clerk,  who  sat  at  the  Council  table, 
hariog  declared  that,  on  a  charge  of  treason,  the  accused 
■ut  instantly  be  warded,  Morton  was  first  shut  up  in 
the  palace,  and  after  one  day's  interval,  committed  to 
the  eastle  of  Edinburgh.  Even  there,  however,  he  was 
Mt  deemed  secure  from  a  rescue  ;  and  his  enemies  were 
Mt  contented  till  they  had  lodged  him  within  the  strong 
brtress  of  Dumbarton,  of  which  Lennox,  his  great  enemy, 
*M  governor. 

On  the  same  day  that  the  ex-Regent  was  committed, 
fte  Conncil  ordered  his  cousin,  Archibald  Douglas,  to  be 
^d ;  and  Hume  of  Manderston,  with  a  party  of  horse, 
i^  AirioQsly  all  night  to  his  castle  of  Morham :  but 
Don|^  had  escaped,  a  few  hours  before,  across  the 
EBglith  Border,  having  received  warning  from  his  friend 
fhe  Laird  of  Long-Niddry,who  rode  two  horses  to  death 
in  bringiog  him  the  news.  Lennox  and  his  faction,  how- 
ler, had  made  sure  of  their  principal  victim  ;  and  all 
*is  now  headlong  haste  to  hurry  on  his  trial,  and  hare 
*e  tngedy  completed,  before  any  interruption  could  be 
*»<ie,  or  any  succour  arrive.  Yet  this  was  not  easily 
wwmplished.  The  story  of  his  seizure  had  efi'ectually 
*^*Kd  Elizabeth.  Randolph  was  despatched  on  the 
Jpw  tf  the  moment,  to  carry  a  violent  remonstrance  to 
wKing ;  and  Lord Hunsdon, her  cousin, a  proud  and 
^  wldier,  received  orders  to  raise  the  power  of  the 
■«h,  and  lead  an  army  into  Scotland. 

Bat  we  must  hasten  to  the  close  of  the  scene. 
™»l»eth  and  her  counsellors  talked  hig  and 
"^"•tened,  bat  did  not  proceed  to  decided  action  ; 
***  the  death  of  Morton  was  sealed.  The  open 
'^J^wmittances  of  Randolph,  and  the  secret  in- 
^fig^es  of  the  English  oflBcials  were  alike  ineffica- 
W0U8 ;  and  the  abortire  conspiracy  against  Lennox 
^y  hastened  the  death  of  Morton,  whose  ruin  was 
wmpleted  by  Elizabeth  coldly  abandoning  him,  as 

.^.  a— VOL.  IX. 


soon  as  she  lost  the  hope  that  he  could  longer  be 
of  use  to  her, — ^her  undeviatlng  policy. 

His  enemies  were  powerful  and  clamorous  against 
him.  Captain  James  Stewart,  the  accuser  of  the  ex- 
Regent,  had  openly  declared,  if  they  by  whom  he  had 
been  urg^  to  this  daring  enterprise,  did  not  make  an 
end  of  the  old  tyrant,  he  would  soon  make  an  end  of 
them.  The  confession  of  Whittingham,  and  of  Morten's 
confidential  servants,  had  furnished  his  enemies  with 
evidence  sufficient  to  bring  him  to  the  scaffold ;  and 
although  Angus,  Randolph,  and  Hunsdon  still  continued 
their  plots,  it  was  found  impossible  to  carry  them  into 
execution.  One  by  one  the  various  Earls  and  Barons, 
whose  assistance  had  been  bought  by  Elizabeth,  dropped 
ofi^,  and  made  their  peace  with  the  stronger  party  ;  till 
at  last  Morton  was  left  alone,  and  nothing  remained  to 
be  done  but  to  sacrifice  the  victim. 

For  this  purpose,  Stewart,  his  accuser,  and  Montrose, 
were  commissioned  to  bring  him  from  Dumbarton  to  the 
capital.  In  those  dark  days  many  prophetic  warnings 
hung  over  ancient  houses  ;  and  among  the  rest,  was  one 
whidi  predicted  that  the  bloody  heart,  the  emblem  of 
the  house  of  Douglas,  would  fall  by  Arran.  This  saying 
Morton  affected  to  despise  ;  for  the  Earl  of  Arran  was 
dead,  and  the  Hamiltons,  his  enemies,  in  whose  family 
this  title  was  hereditary,  were  now  banished  and  broken 
men.  But  Stewart,  his  implacable  foe,  had  recently 
procured  fh>m  the  King  the  gift  of  the  vacant  earldom, 
though  the  news  of  his  promotion  had  never  reached  the 
captive  in  his  prison  at  Dumbarton.  When  Morton, 
therefore,  read  the  name  of  Arran  in  the  commission,  he 
started,  exclaiming,  ''Arran  !  who  is  that !  the  Earl  of 
Arran  is  dead."  ^  Not  so,"  said  the  attendant ;  that 
title  is  now  held  by  Captain  James  Stewart."  *'  And  is 
it  so  !"  said  he — the  prediction  flashing  across  his  me- 
mory. ^  Then,  indeed,  all  is  over ;  and  I  know  what  I 
must  look  for." 

Yet,  although  hopeless  as  to  the  result,  nothing  could 
be  more  calm  or  undaunted  than  the  temper  in  which 
he  met  it.  During  his  long  imprisonment,  he  had  ex- 
pressed contrition  for  his  sinAil  courses  ;  deplored  the 
many  crimes  into  which  ambition  and  the  insatiable  love 
of  power  had  plunged  him  ;  and  sought  fbr  rest  in  the 
consolations  of  religion,  and  the  constant  study  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures.  At  the  same  time,  his  preparations 
fbr  the  worst  had  not  prevented  him  fh>m  taking  as 
active  a  part  against  his  enemies  as  his  captivity  would 
allow. 

The  trial  of  the  ex-regent  took  place  after  he 
had  suffered  an  imprisonment  of  five  months.  He 
denied  that  he  had  been  implicated  in  the  murder 
of  Damley;  but  admitted  that  he  previously 
knew  that  such  an  attempt  was  to  be  made ;  and 
upon  this  confession  he  was  found  guilty.  His 
last  moments  display  much  of  the  self-deceptiye 
natute  of  a  man,  whose  moral  feelings,  imper- 
fectly educated,  are  farther  deprared  and  warped 
by  an  eril  course  of  life.  When  he  was  fbund 
guilty  art  and  part  of  the  murder  of  Darnley,  it 
is  said — 

The  Earl,  who  had  maintamed  the  greatest  calmness 
and  temper  during  the  trial,  became  deeply  agitated. 
"  Art  and  part !"  said  he,  vrith  great  vehemence,  and 
striking  the  table  repeatedly  with  a  little  baton  or  staff 
which  he  usually  carried.  **  Art  and  part !  God  knoweth 
the  contrary."  It  is  evident  that  he  drew  the  distinction 
between  an  active  contrivance  and  approval,  and  a  pas- 
sive knowledge  and  concealment  of  the  plot  for  Dam- 
ley's  assassination. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  he  suffered,  some 
of  the  leading  ministers  of  the  Kirk,  with  whom  he  had 
been  much  at  variance  on  the  subject  of  Episcopacy, 
breakfasted  vrith  him  in  the  prison,  and  a  long  and  inter- 
esting conference  took  place,  of  which  the  particulars 
have  been  preserved,  in  a  narrative  drawn  up  by  those 
who  were  present.    It  is  difficult  for  any  one  who  reads 

2D 


318 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND, 


this  account,  and  who  is  acquainted  with  the  dark  and 
horrid  crimes  which  stained  the  life  of  Morton,  not  to  be 
painfully  struck  with  the  disproportion  between  his  ex- 
pressions of  contrition,  and  his  certain  anticipations  of 
immediate  glory  and  felicity.  The  compunction  for  his 
many  crimes — murder,  tyranny,  avarice,  cruelty,  lust, 
and  all  the  sins  which  were  the  ministers  of  his  exorbi- 
tant ambition  and  pride — is  so  slight,  that  we  feel  per- 
plexed as  to  the  sincerity  of  a  repentance  which  seems 
to  sit  so  easily.  He  speaks  of  the  murder  of  Riccio,  or 
as  he  terms  it,  "  the  slaughter  of  Davie,"  in  which  he 
acted  so  prominent  a  part,  without  an  expression  of 
regret ;  and  appears  to  have  lost  almost  every  recollec- 
tion of  his  former  life,  in  his  prospect  of  instant  admission 
into  the  society  of  the  blessed.  Yet  all  may  have  been, 
nay,  let  us  hope  all  was  sincere  ;  and  whilst  it  is  vain 
to  speculate  upon  a  state  of  mind  known  only  to  Him 
who  sees  the  heart,  allowance  must  be  made  for  the 
character  of  an  age  familiar  with  blood  ;  for  the  peculiar, 
and  almost  ultra-Calvinistio  theology  of  the  divines  who 
ministered  to  him  in  his  last  moments  ;  and  the  possi- 
bility of  inaccuracy  in  the  narrative  itself,  which  was 
not  read  over  to  Mm  before  his  death.  In  speaking  of 
the  assassination  of  the  King,  he  distinctly  repeated  his 
admissions  made  at  the  trial ;  affirming  that  he,  in  com- 
mon with  many  others,  knew  that  Darnley  was  to  be 
cut  off,  but  did  not  dare  to  forewarn  him  ;  and  adding, 
that  the  Queen  was  the  contriver  of  the  whole  plot. 

These  conferences  took  place  on  the  day  in  which  he 
suffered  ;  and  his  friends  amongst  the  clergy  had  scarcely 
left  him,  when  his  keeper  entered  his  room,  and  desired 
him  to  come  forth  to  the  scaffold.  He  appeared  sur- 
prised, and  observed,  that  having  been  so  much  troubled 
that  day  with  worldly  matters,  he  had  hoped  that  one 
night  at  least  would  have  been  allowed  him  to  have 
advised  ripely  with  his  God.  "  But,  my  Lord,"  said  the 
keeper,  **  they  will  not  wait,  and  all  things  are  ready." 
•*  If  it  be  so,"  answered  he,  "  I  praise  God  I  am  ready 
also  ;"  and,  after  a  short  prayer,  he  passed  down  to  the 
gate  of  the  palace  to  go  to  the  scaffold.  Here  another 
interruption  took  place ;  for  Arran,  his  mortal  enemy, 
was  waiting  on  the  steps,  and  requested  him  to  tarry  till 
his  confession,  which  had  been  made  to  the  ministers, 
had  been  written  down,  and  brought  to  him  for  his  sig- 
nature. But  this  reimmersion  into  worldly  affEiirs  he 
entreated  to  be  spared.  ^  Bethink  you,  my  Lord,"  said 
he,  *'  that  I  have  far  other  things  now  to  advise  upon. 
I  am  about  to  die  :  I  must  prepare  for  my  God.  Ask 
me  not  to  write  now  ;  all  these  good  men  (pointing  to 
the  ministers)  can  testify  what  I  have  spoken  in  that 
matter."  With  this  Arran  professed  himself  satisfied  ; 
but  his  importunity  was  not  at  an  end ;  for  he  added 
that  Morton  must  be  reconciled  to  him  before  he  pro- 
ceeded farther.  To  this  the  Earl  willingly  agreed  ; 
observing,  that  now  was  no  time  to  reckon  quarrels, 
and  that  he  forgave  him  and  all,  as  he  himself  hoped  for 
forgiveness.  He  then  proceeded  to  the  scaffold,  which 
lie  ascended  with  a  firm  step  ;  and  turning  to  the  people, 
repeated,  shortly,  his  confession  of  the  foreknowledge  of 
the  King's  murder,  only  suppressing  the  name  of  his 
near  relative,  Mr  Archibald  Douglas.  He  declared  that 
he  died  in  the  profession  of  the  gospel  as  it  was  at  that 
day  taught  and  established  in  Scotland  ;  and  exhorted 
the  people,  if  they  hoped  for  the  favour  of  Heaven,  to 
hold  fast  the  same.  Mr.  James  Lawson,  one  of  the 
ministers,  then  prayed  aloud  ;  and,  during  this  act  of 
devotion,  Morton,  who  had  thrown  himself,  with  his 
fetce  on  the  ground,  before  the  block  on  which  he  was  to 
suffer,  was  observed  to  be  deeply  affected.  In  his  agi- 
tation, his  whole  fVame  was  convulsed  with  sighs  and 
sobs  bursting  Arom  his  bosom  ;  and  his  body  rebounded 
fVom  the  earth  on  which  he  lay  along.  On  rising  up, 
however,  his  fkce  was  calm  and  cheerful ;  he  shook  his 
friends  by  the  hand,  bidding  them  farewell  with  many 
expressions  of  kindness  ;  and  having  declined  to  have 
his  hands  bound,  knelt  down,  and  laid  his  neck  upon 
the  block.  At  this  awful  moment,  Mr.  James  Lawson, 
stooping  forward  to  his  ear,  read  some  verses  from  the 
Scripture,  which  Morton  repeated  with  a  firm  voire. 
As  he  pronounced  the  words,  "  Lord  Jesus,  receive  my 


spirit !"  the  axe  descended,  and  the  imperfect  seutenee 
died  upon  the  lips,  which  quivered  and  were  silent  for 
ever.  The  execution  took  place  about  four  o'clock  on 
the  evening  of  Friday  the  2d  of  June.  It  was  remarked 
that  Femyhirst,  who  was  known  to  have  been  acquainted 
with  the  murder  of  the  King,  stood  in  a  window  opposite 
the  scaffold.  He  was  recognised  by  a  conspicuous  fea- 
ture in  his  dress — his  large  ruffles  ;  and  seemed  to  take 
delight  in  the  spectacle.  The  people  also  remarked  that 
Lord  Seton  and  his  two  sons  had  taken  great  care  to 
secure  a  good  view  of  all  that  passed,  by  pulling  down 
a  stair  which  would  have  intercepted  their  view  of  the 
scaffold. 

We  have  had  the  less  scruple  in  citing  this  long 
and  striking  passage,  as  the  facts  detailed  so 
graphically  are  very  little  known,  save  to  the  few 
readers  or  porers  over  the  historical  antiquities  of 
Scotland.  The  dying  words  of  Morton  brin? 
another  heavy  proof  against  Queen  Mary.  With 
all  his  self-delusion,  and  desire  to  extenuate  his  own 
guilt,  the  false  accusation  of  the  captive  Queen 
could  not  at  such  a  moment  serve  him.  His  medi- 
tated crimes  against  her  were  then  known  only  to 
himself,  and  to  Elizabeth  and  her  ministers. 

French,  or  in  other  words.  Popish  influence 
revived  with  the  death  of  Morton;  and  though 
Lennox  had  embraced  the  Protestant  faith,  he, 
with  Arran,  warmly  supported  the  king's  design 
with  regard  to  Episcopacy,  which  the  ministers  of 
the  Kirk  regarded  as  a  sort  of  bastard  Popery. 
This  was,  in  fact,  their  own  project.  Nor  was  this 
the  worst.  The  king  was  now  secretly  intriguing 
with  his  mother ;  and  the  matter  went  so  far  that 
mass  was  to  be  restored  under  French  influence. 
This  much  is  necessary  to  be  told,  to  introduce 
some  extracts  which  have  aptitude  to  the  present 
state  of  things  in  Scotland,  as  well  as  intrinsic 
interest : — 

Mr.  John  Dune,  one  of  the  ministers  of  Edinhuiigh, 
sounded  a  fearful  note  of  alarm,  in  a  sermon  which  be 
delivered  in  the  High  Church  of  the  city.  "  The  King," 
he  said,  **  had  been  moved  by  certain  oourtiers,  who 
now  ruled  all  at  their  will,  to  send  a  private  message  to 
the  King  of  France  and  the  Duke  of  Guise,  and  to  seek 
his  mother's  blessing.  He  knew  this,  he  declared,  from 
the  very  man  who  was  employed  in  the  mes8age--George 
Douglas,  Mary's  sworn  servant ;  and  he  painted  in 
strong  colours  the  deplorable  effects  which  might  be 
anticipated  fh>m  such  a  coalition.  It  was  proposed,  in 
these  dark  counsels,  that  the  King  should  resign  the 
Crown  to  his  mother,  and  she  convey  it  again  to  hini, 
with  an  assurance,  that  he  should  then  be  acknowledged 
as  King  by  France,  and  by  the  powers  of  Europe,  whichf 
up  to  this  time,  had  refused  him  the  royal  title.  And 
what  must  inevitably  follow  from  all  this  I  If  the 
transaction  were  completed,  it  would  be  argued,  tliat 
the  establishment  of  religion,  and  all  other  public  trans- 
actions since  the  coronation,  were  null ;  that  the  Kings 
friends  were  traitors,  and  their  adversaries  his  only  true 
subjects."  After  the  sermon,  a  remarkable  conference 
took  place  between  the  Earls  of  Argyle  and  Ruthven, 
and  the  ministers,  Durie,  Lawson,  and  Davison,  in  the 
Council-house.  On  being  pressed  as  to  the  French  in- 
trigues, Argyle  confessed  that  he  had  gone  too  far ;  bnt 
affirmed,  that  if  he  saw  anything  intended  against  re- 
ligion, he  would  forsake  his  friends,  and  oppose  it  toliis 
utmost.  To  Ruthven,  Davison  the  minister  of  Libberton, 
in  alluding  to  the  murder  of  Riccio,  used  a  still  stronger 
argument— « If  things,"  said  he,  "go  forward  as  they 
are  intended,  your  head,  my  Lord,  will  pay  for  Vif^^  • 
slaughter.  But  Scottish  nobles  now  are  utterly  un- 
worthy of  the  place  they  hold  ;  they  would  not,  ">  J*?\; 
times,  have  suffered  the  King  to  lie  alone  at  I^"^ 
with  a  stranger,  [Lennox,]  whilst  the  whole  realm  » 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


319 


goutg  to  coDfoaion ;  and  yet  the  matter  (they  significantly 
added)  might  be  reformed  well  enough  with  quietness^ 
if  the  noblemen  would  do  their  duty." 

Nor  were  these  warnings  and  denunciations  confined  to 
the  nobility.  The  yonug  King,  when  sitting  in  his  private 
rhifflber  in  the  Palace  of  Stirling,  received  an  admoni- 
tion qnite  as  solemn  as  any  delivered  to  his  subjects. 
It  wu  entered  by  Mr.  John  Davison,  along  with  Dun- 
nnson,  the  royal  chaplain,  and  Mr.  Peter  Young  :  and 
DsTison,  after  pointing  ont  the  dreadfhl  state  of  the 
eonntry,  exhorted  him  to  put  away  those  evil  councillors 
who  were  so  fast  bringing  ruin  upon  the  commonweal, 
and  bis  own  soul.  ^  My  liege,"  said  he,  ^'  at  this  pre- 
sent, there  are  three  jewels  in  this  realm  precious  to  all 
good  men — Religion,  the  Commonweal,  and  your  Grace's 
person.  Into  what  a  horrible  confusion  the  two  first 
hire  entered,  all  men  are  witness  ;  but  as  to  the  third, 
TOUT  Grace  hath  need  to  beware,  not  only  of  the  common 
hnwerites  and  flatterers,  but  more  especially  of  two 
sorts  of  men.  First ;  such  as  opposed  themselves  to 
yoor  Grace  in  your  minority  :  whereby  they  have  com- 
mitted offences  for  which  they  must  yet  answer  to  the 
bwB ;  and,  therefore,  must  needs  fear  the  King.  Re- 
nember  the  saying,  *  Mult%$  terribUU,  eatdo  multoi.* 
The  second  sort,  are  those  who  are  conjured  enemies  to 
relifion.  If  (he  concluded)  your  Grace  would  call  to 
yon  soch  godly  men  as  I  could  name,  they  would  soon 
show  yon  whom  they  think  to  be  included  in  these  two 
ranks.'*  It  had  been  arranged  beforehand,  that  shonld 
the  youig  King  exhibit  any  desire  to  profit  by  this 
counsel,  Davison  was  to  name  the  Lairds  of  Dun,  Lun- 
die,  and  Braid,  with  Mr.  Robert  Pont  and  Mr.  James 
Lawson,  two  of  the  leading  ministers  ;  but  James,  after 
hearing  the  exordium,  and  observing,  hurriedly,  that  it 
was  good  counsel,  started  off  from  the  subject,  and  broke 
op  the  interview 

The  Kirk  at  this  time  possessed,  amongst  its  ministers, 
some  men  of  distinguished  learning,  and  of  the  greatest 
courage.  Durie,  Lawson,  Craig,  Lindsay,  Andrew 
Melyil,  Thomas  Smeton,  Pont,  Davison,  and  many  others, 
presided  over  its  councils  ;  and  formed  a  tpintual  con- 
date  vhiehf  in  the  infallibility  they  claimed^  and  the 
obedience  they  demanded,  was  a  hierarchy  in  everything 
bnt  the  name.  Eloquent,  intrepid,  and  indefatigable, 
they  had  gained  the  affections  of  the  lower  classes  of  the 
people  j  and  were  supported,  also,  by  the  increasing  in- 
fiaence  of  the  burghs  and  the  commercial  classes.  Ani- 
mated by  such  feelings,  wielding  such  powers,  and 
backed  by  such  an  infiuence,  it  was  not  to  be  expected 
that  they  would  be  easily  put  down.  The  great  cause 
of  Episcopacy,  on  the  other  hand,  was  supported  by  the 
joang  King,  who  was  himself  no  contemptible  theolo- 
pan ;  by  fie  Duke  of  Lennox,  the  Earl  of  Arran,  and  a 
large  portion  of  the  old  nobility. 

While  the  ministers  of  the  Kirk  were  in  a  high 
^te  of  exasperation  at  the  attempt  made  to  install 
Montgomery  in  the  Dishoprick  of  Glasgow,  to 
which  he  had  been  appointed  by  the  influence  of 
Unnox,  who  was  to  pocket  the  greater  part  of  the 
revenues  of  the  See,  a  messenger  arrived  from  the 
Duke  of  Guise,  ostensibly  with  a  present  of  horses 
for  the  young  king,  though  it  was  suspected  that 
he  had  a  deeper  errand.  It  was  besides  alleged 
that  this  Signor  Paul  had  been  one  of  the  most 
active  and  remorseless  murderers  at  the  massacre 
«f  St  Bartholomew.  It  is  not,  therefore,  wonder- 
ful that  he  was  peculiarly  obnoxious  to  the  Pro- 
testant ministers.  John  Durie,  mentioned  above, 
instantly  rode  to  Kinneil,  now  Arran's  castle,  to 
remonstrate  with  the  king,  who  was  then  living 
there,  and  to  dissuade  him  from  receiving  the  envoy 
of  the  Guises : — 

Meeting  Signor  Paul  in  the  garden,  the  minister 
htttily  drew  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  declaring  he  would 
n»t  pollute  them  by  looking  on  the  devil's  ambassador  ; 
»nd,  tnmhig  to  the  King,  rebuked  him  sharply  for  re- 


ceiving gifts  fVom  80  odious  a  quarter.  ^  Is  it  with  the 
Guise,"  said  he,  "that  your  Grace  will  interchange 
presents — with  that  cruel  murderer  of  the  saints  I  Be- 
waro  my  liege,  I  implore  you,  (he  continued,)  beware 
with  whom  you  ally  yourself  in  marriage  ;  and  remem- 
ber John  Knox's  last  words  unto  your  Highness — re- 
member that  good  man's  warning,  that  so  long  as  you 
maintained  God's  holy  Gospel,  and  kept  your  body  un- 
polluted, you  would  prosper.  Listen  not,  then,  to  those 
ambassadors  of  the  devil,  who  are  sent  hither  to  allure 
you  from  your  religion."  To  this  indignant  sally,  James, 
overawed  by  the  vehement  tone  of  the  remonstrant, 
quietly  answered,  "  that  his  body  was  pure  ;  and  that 
he  would  have  no  woman  for  his  wife  who  did  not  fear 
God  and  love  the  Evangell." 

From  Kinneil,  Durie  returned  to  Edinburgh,  where 
his  zeal  flamed  up  to  the  highest  pitch  ;  and,  transform- 
ing the  pulpit,  as  was  the  practice  of  those  times,  into  a 
political  rostrum  for  the  discussion  of  the  measures  of 
the  Government,  he  exposed  the  intrigues  of  Lennox, 
the  schemes  of  the  Queen-mother,  and  the  profligacy  of 
the  Court,  in  such  cutting  and  indignant  terms,  that  he 
was  immediately  summoned  before  the  Council,  and 
ordered  to  quit  the  city. 

Lennox  carried  matters  with  a  high  hand  against 
the  Kirk ;  but  instead  of  intimidating,  his  rigorous 
proceedings  only  stimulated  the  ministers  to 
bolder  resistance,  and  even  to  retaliation.  It  must 
be  acknowledged  that  the  clergy  then  had  some- 
what  stronger  grounds  of  opposition  than  a 
"  Strathbogie  case."  Mr.  Tytler  thus  describes 
this  singular  epoch : — 

The  country,  at  this  moment,  must  have  presented  an 
extraordinary  picture  :  the  pulpits  rang  with  alternate 
strains  of  lamentation  and  defiance.  Patrick  Simpson, 
alluding  to  the  fate  of  Durie,  declared,  that  the  principal 
link  in  the  golden  chain  of  the  ministry  was  already 
broken.  Davison,  a  firmer  spirit,  whose  small  figure  and 
undaunted  courage  had  procured  him  firom  Lennox  the 
sobriquet  of  the  *'' petit  diMe"  exhorted  his  auditors  to 
take  courage,  for  God  would  dash  the  devil  in  his  own 
devices ;  and,  on  the  27th  of  June,  an  extraordinary 
Assembly  of  the  Church  was  convened  in  the  capital,  to 
meet  the  crisis  which,  in  the  language  of  the  times, 
threatened  destruction  to  their  Zion. 

The  proceedings  were  opened  by  a  remarkable  sermon, 
or  lecture,  which  Andrew  Melvil  delivered  fVom  the 
pulpit  of  the  New  Kirk.  He  chose  for  its  subject  the 
4th  chapter  of  the  first  Epistle  to  Timothy ;  and,  in 
speaking  of  the  fearful  trials  and  heresies  of  the  ^  latter 
days,"  inveighed,  in  no  gentle  terms,  against  the  auda- 
cious proceedings  of  the  Court.  The  weapon  now  raised 
against  them,  he  described  as  the  "  bloody  gully  of  ab- 
solute power."  And  whence,  said  he,  **  came  this  gully  ! 
— From  the  Pope. — And  against  whom  was  it  used ! — 
Against  Christ  himself :  from  whose  divine  head  these 
daring  and  wicked  men  would  fain  pluck  the  crown,  and 
from  whose  hands  they  would  wrench  the  sceptre. 
These  might  be  deemed  strong  expressions,  he  added, 
but  did  not  every  day  verify  his  words,  and  give  new 
ground  for  alarm  ?  Need  he  point  out  to  them  the 
King's  intended  demission  of  the  crown  to  his  mother ! 
Was  not  the  palpable  object  of  this  scheme,  which  had 
been  concocting  these  eight  years  past,  the  resumption 
of  her  lost  power,  and  with  it  the  reifstablishment  of  her 
idolatrous  worship)  Who  were  its  authors?  Beaton 
Bishop  of  Glasgow,  and  Lesly  Bishop  of  Ross.  And  by 
what  devices  did  this  last-named  prelate  explain  their 
intentions  to  the  imprisoned  Princess !  To  the  letters 
which  he  sent,  he  had  added  a  painting  of  a  Queen,  vnth 
a  little  boy  kneeling  at  her  feet  and  imploring  her  bless- 
ing ;  whilst  she  extended  one  hand  to  her  son,  and  with 
the  other  pointed  to  his  ancestors,  as  if  she  exhorted 
him  to  walk  in  their  footsteps,  and  follow  their  faith. 

At  this  Assembly,  it  was  warmly  debated  whether 
Durie  was  bound  to  obey  the  sentence  of  banishment — a 
point  upon  which  opinions  were  much  divided.  The 
Proyost  and  Magistrates  contended  that  they  must  exe- 


320 


TYTLER*S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


eate  tbe  law  which  had  pronounced  the  sentence^  or  he- 
eome  amenahle  to  its  penalties.  One  party  of  the 
ministers,  taking  a  middle  conrse,  adrised  that  two  of 
their  brethren,  Mr.  David  Ferguson  and  Mr.  Thomas 
Buchanan,  should  be  sent  to  remonstrate  with  the  King. 
But  iVom  this  the  fiery  Dayison  loudly  dissented.  ^  Ye 
talk,'*  said  he, "  of  reponing  John  Durie.  Will  ye  be- 
come suppliants  for  reinstating  him  whom  the  King  had 
no  power  to  displace  ;  albeit,  his  foolish  flock  hare 
yielded!"  At  this,  Sir  James  Balfour  started  to  his 
feet,  and  fixed  his  eyes  sternly  on  the  speaker.  Balfbur 
was  notorious  as  one  of  the  murderers  of  Damley  ;  yet, 
having  been  acquitted  of  that  crime  by  a  packed  jury, 
he  had  resumed  his  functions  as  an  elder  of  the  Kirk. 
Such  a  man  was  not  likely  to  overawe  the  bold  minis- 
ter ;  and  he  undauntedly  continued.  "  Tell  me  what 
flesh  may  or  can  displace  the  great  King's  ambassador, 
80  long  as  he  keeps  within  the  bounds  of  his  commis- 
sion ! "  Saying  this,  he  left  the  Assembly  in  great  heat, 
perceiving  that  the  question  would  be  carried  against 
him,  which  accordingly  happened  ;  for,  on  the  resump- 
tion of  the  debate,  it  was  determined  that  Durie  should 
submit,  if  the  Magistrates,  who  belonged  to  his  flock, 
insisted.  They  did  so  :  and  that  very  evening,  he  was 
charged  not  only  to  depart  ftom  the  town,  but  not  to 
reside  within  the  freedom  and  bounds  of  the  city.  About 
nine  o'clock  the  same  night,  he  was  seen  taking  his  way 
through  the  principal  street  of  the  city,  accompanied  by 
two  notaries,  and  a  small  bsLnd  of  his  brethren  ;  among 
whom  were  Lawson,  Balcanqnel,  and  Davison.  On 
reaching  the  Market-cross,  he  directed  the  notaries  to 
read  a  written  protestation,  which  attested  the  sincerity 
of  his  life  and  doctrine  ;  and  declared,  that  although  he 
obeyed  the  sentence  of  banishment,  no  mortal  power 
should  prevent  him  firom  preaching  the  Word.  Upon 
this,  placing  a  piece  of  money  in  the  hands  of  the  no- 
taries, he  took  instruments,  as  it  was  termed ;  and,  during 
the  ceremony,  Davison,  who  stood  by  his  side,  broke  into 
threats  and  lamentation.  ''I  too  must  take  instruments," 
cried  he ;  '^  and  this,  I  protest,  is  the  most  sorrowfVil 
sight  these  eyes  ever  rested  on  :  a  shepherd  removed  by 
his  own  flock,  to  pleasure  flesh  and  blood,  and  because 
he  has  spoken  the  truth.  But  plague,  and  fearfhl  judg- 
ments, will  yet  light  on  the  inventors."  All  this,  how- 
ever, passed  away  quietly,  except  on  the  part  of  the 
speakers  ;  and  the  denunciations  of  the  minister  appear 
to  have  met  with  little  sympathy.  A  shoemaker's  wife 
in  the  crowd  cried  out,  if  any  would  cast  stones  at  him, 
she  would  help.  A  bystander,  also,  was  heard  to  whis- 
per to  his  neighbour,  looking  with  scorn  on  the  two  pro- 
testers, ^  If  I  durst,  I  would  take  instruments  that  ye 
are  both  knaves." 

Mr.  Tytler  9  authority  for  this  is  Calderwood's 
MS.  History.  This  virago,  who  with  her  own 
party  merits  to  rival  the  fame  of  Jenny  Geddes,  was 
named  Urquhart.  She  had  been  "  a  sore  troubler 
of  the  Kirk"  in  Morton  s  time. 

While  the  conflict  between  the  Kirk  and  the 
King,  or  rather  Lennox,  raged  at  the  highest, 
the  Gbwrie  Conspiracy,  known  in  Scoitbh  annals 
as  the  Raid  of  Buthven,  burst  like  a  thunder-clap 
upon  the  nation,  and  was  hailed  by  the  ministers 
as  a  signal  deliverance  for  the  Kirk.  The  king  was 
at  length  rescued  from  his  evil  counsellors,  and  in 
Protestant  hands;  and  Mr.  John  Durie  was 
brought  hack  in  triumph  to  the  capital  as  the  first- 
fruits  of  victory.  Two  thousand  of  the  citizens 
walked  in  procession  before  him,  singing  the  124th 
Psalm ;  while  Lennox,  looking  on  from  a  high 
window,  tore  his  beard  for  anger.  The  leaders  of 
the  Kirk  were  already  in  active  communication 
with  Gowrie,  who  if  not  immaculate  either  in 
principles  or  conduct,  was  in  the  meanwhile  re- 
commended to  them  by  reasons  of  expediency. 
These  scenes  are  all  fresh  in  Mr,  Tytler's  pages. 


In  the  midst  of  these  events  occurred  the  death 
of  Buchanan,  to  whom  one  modem  party  will  think 
that  Mr.  Tytler  has  done  scanty  justice,  while 
another  may  allege  that  he  has  over-stramed 
charity  in  judging  of  the  most  noted  republican 
and  leveller  of  an  age  which  Buchanan's  penetrat- 
ing spirit  had  far  outrun ;  hoth  in  speculating  upon 
the  principles  of  civil  government,  and  on  ecclesi- 
astical affairs.  Mr.  Tytler's  eloquent  testimony 
to  the  great  mental  qualities  of  this  eminent  man, 
will,  however,  not  affect  the  character  which  he 
has  generally  obtained  for  nice  discrimination  and 
dispassionate  judgment : — 

In  the  midst  of  the  commotions  which  followed  the 
Raid  of  Ruthven,  occurred  the  death  of  Buchanan,  i 
man  justly  entitled  to  the  epithet  great,  if  the  true  cri- 
teria of  such  a  character  are  originality  of  genius,  and 
the  impression  left  by  it  upon  Ms  age.  Hus  intelleet, 
naturally  fearless  and  inquisitive,  caught  an  early  and 
eager  hold  of  the  principles  of  the  Reformation ;  and 
having  gone  abroad,  and  fallen  into  the  toils  of  the  in- 
quisition, persecution  completed  what  nature  had  began. 
In  politics  he  was  a  republican ;  and  his  famous  treatise 
"  De  Jure  Regni  apud  Scotos,"  was  the  flrst  work  which 
boldly  and  eloquently  advocated  those  principles  of 
popular  liberty,  then  almost  new,  and  now  so  familiar  to 
Europe.  In  religion  he  was  at  first  a  leveller,  and  with 
the  keen  and  vindictive  temper  which  distinguished  him, 
exerted  every  efibrt  to  overthrow  the  Roman  Catholie 
Church ;  but,  in  his  later  years,  when  the  struggle  took 
place  between  Episcopacy  and  Presbyterianism,  his  sen- 
timents became  more  moderate  or  indifferent;  and 
latterly  he  took  no  part  in  those  busy  intrigues  of  the 
Kirk  and  its  supporters,  which  terminated  in  the  Raid 
of  Ruthven.  Of  his  poetical  works,  so  varied  in  style 
and  so  excellent  in  execution,  it  is  difficult  to  speak  too 
highly ;  for  seldom  did  a  finer  and  more  impassioned 
vein  of  poetry  fiow  through  a  Latinity  that,  without 
servile  imitation,  approached  so  near  to  the  Augustan 
age.  In  his  history  of  his  native  country  he  is  great, 
but  unequal :  his  was  not  the  age  of  severe  and  critical 
investigation ;  the  school  in  which  he  studied  was  that 
of  Livy  and  the  historians  of  ancient  Rome,  in  which 
individuality  and  truth  is  often  lost  in  the  breadth  and 
generality  of  its  pictures.  But  in  their  excellencies,  he 
has  equalled  and  sometimes  surpassed  them.  The  calm 
flow  of  his  narrative,  his  lucid  arrangement,  the  strong 
sense,  originality,  and  depth  of  his  reflections,  and  the 
ease  and  vigour  of  his  unshackled  style,  need  not  dread 
a  comparison  with  the  best  authors  of  the  ancient  world. 
The  point  where  he  fails  is  that  where  they  too  are 
weakest — the  cardinal  virtue  of  truth.  It  is  melancholy 
to  find  so  much  fable  embalmed  and  made  attractire  in 
his  earlier  annals;  and  when  he  descends  later,  and 
writes  as  a  contemporary,  it  is  easy  to  detect  that  party 
spirit  and  unhappy  obliquity  of  vision,  which  distorts  or 
will  not  see  the  truth. 

In  an  interesting  letter  quoted  by  the  best  of  his  bio- 
graphers, and  written  not  long  before  his  death,  he  tells 
his  friend,  that  having  reached  his  seventy-fifth  year, 
and  struck  upon  that  rock  beyond  which  nothing  remains 
for  man  but  labour  and  sorrow,  it  was  his  only  care  to 
remove  out  of  the  world  with  as  little  noise  as  possible. 
With  this  riew  he  abstracted  himself  from  all  publie 
business ;  left  the  Court  at  Stirling,  and  retired  to  £dio- 
burgh  ;  where,  on  the  28th  September,  1582,  his  wishes 
were  almost  too  literally  fulfilled  :  for  amid  tiie  tumult 
and  agitation  which  succeeded  the  Raid  of  Ruthven,  his 
death  took  place  in  his  76th  year,  unnoticed,  unrecorded, 
and  accompanied  by  such  destitution,  that  he  left  net 
enough  to  detny  his  funeral.  He  was  buried  at  tiie 
public  expense  in  the  cemetery  of  the  Grey  Friars :  htt* 
his  country  gave  him  no  monument ;  and  at  this  day  the 
spot  is  unknown  where  rest  the  ashes  of  one  of  the 
greatest  of  her  sons. 

The  arts  of  dissimulation,  the  politioal  bjp»cri»y, 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


321 


wiiidi  cavonstonoes  almost  compelled  James  to 
idopty  eren  in  ehildhood,  and  on  which  lie  came 
to  take  pride,  while  he  dignified  paltiy  deceit  and 
gn»  tnaineerity  by  the  gentle  name  of  ^  Eang- 
toA,"  are  more  fullj  traced  b j  Mr.  Tytler  in  their 
mmnter  ramifications  than  by  any  preyions  Scot- 
tish historian.  James  made  great  progress  in  king- 
craft while  in  the  hands  of  Gowrie,  and  daily  be- 
sieged by  the  Kirk  mioisters;  who  conld  not  ^p  so 
EiTourable  an  occasion  to  monld  the  y onng  monarch 
to  their  wishes.  He  pretended  to  be  perfectly  re- 
conciled to  the  expulsion  of  his  fayonrite,  Lennox, 
who  had  repaired  to  the  English  court ;  but  when  it 
became  a  matter  of  debate  whether  an  ambassador 
00^  to  be  receiyed  from  the  French  king, — "  the 
Woody  Tiger"  and  "  Idolater," — James  demurred, 
aod  in  one  of  the  formal  debates,  then  so  much  in 
Togne,  fairly  confuted  the  divines  sent  to  instruct 
him  in  international  law.    James  contended,  that — 

Sbimld  sn  enyo j  eome  firom  the  Pope,  or  eyen  from 
the  Tnrk,  still  he  must  reoeire  him.  This  Lawson 
■tevtly  eoBtroyerted ;  bat  the  Kinx  not  only  mwntained 
Ui  point,  bnt  took  oecasion  to  blame  the  abnse  with 
which  thii  minister  had  assailed  the  French  monarch. 
"As  for  that,"  said  they,  *^e  priests  speak  worse  of 
7«v  Giaee  in  France,  than  we  of  the  King  of  France  in 
Seotliad."-- <<And  mnst  ye  imitate  them  in  erilt"  re- 
torted James.—*'  Not  m  eyil,"  was  their  answer,  ^  bnt 
it  filwrty.  It  is  as  fiur  for  ns  to  speak  the  truth  boldly, 
u  they  boldly  speak  lees  [lies] ;  and  if  we  were  silent,  the 
cbronieles  would  speak  and  reprove  it'*— ^  Chronicles," 
nid  James,  ^ye  write  not  histories,  when  ye  preach." 
Upon  which  Dayison  whispered  in  Lawson's  ear,  that 
FcaeheiB  had  more  authority  to  declare  the  truth  in 
preaching,  than  any  historiographer  in  the  world. 
Gowrio  then  observed,  that  as  hasty  a  riddance  as  might 
be,  ahoald  be  got  of  the  French  Ambassadors ;  and  the 
■iusters  took  their  leave,  but  Davison  lingered  for  a 
Boaent  behind  his  brethren,  craved  a  private  word  in 
tke  Knig's  ear,  and  remonstrated  toUo  toce  against  his 
Fnfkne  custom  of  swearing  in  the  course  of  his  argu- 
sent  «  Sir,"  said  he,  **  I  thought  good  to  advertise  you, 
W  aot  before  the  r^  that  ye  swore  and  took  God's 
ttae  in  vain  too  often  in  your  speeches."  James  was 
>*^iM  displeased  with  tlus  honest  freedom ;  but,  ao- 
ttttpanying  the  reverend  monitor  to  Uie  door  of  the 
^^et,  put  his  hand  lovingly  upon  Ms  shoulder,  ex- 
pond  hu  thanks  for  the  reproof,  and,  above  all,  lauded 
nn  for  the  unusoally  quiet  manner  in  which  it  had  been 
»<iBuiurtered. 

No  auch  reserve  or  delicacy,  however,  was  shown  by 
^  ttiaistera  to  the  French  Ambassadors ;  and  Monsieur 
^  MenainriUe— a  man  of  great  spirit — ^was  compelled 
to  Tindieate  their  privileges  in  his  first  public  audience. 
^Jfhadbeen  debated  by  the  Kirk,  with  a  reference  to 
w  arrival,  whether  private  mcMts  th<mld  be  permitted 
"""^  oajf  droumttanoet;  and  aware  of  this,  he  had 
'^^y  liaen  from  kissing  the  King's  hand,  when  be  put 
01  Ids  e^^^  boldly  dSmed  the  privileges  which  W 
••jed  to  Ms  office.  **  I  am  come,"  said  he,  **  from  the 
^  CSniatian  Kinar  of  France,  my  Sovereign,  to  offer  all 
^  to  the  establiwment  of  quietness;  and  being  an 
^^^*»sdor,  and  not  a  subject,  1  crave  to  be  treated  as 
"^^.f  aad  aa  1  have  ibod  allotted  for  my  body,  so  do  I 
2?>iie  to  be  allowed  the  food  of  my  soul,— I  mean  the 
1^;  which  if  it  is  denied  me,  I  may  not  stay  and 
^  a  CSnistian  Prince's  authority  and  embassy  to  be 
^^uUed  m  my  person."  This  sphited  address  made 
^  Boiae  at  the  time ;  and  drew  from  BIr.  James 
J^JH^  on  the  succeeding  Sabbath,  a  counterblast  of 
J^^Aca,  in  which,  seizing  the  opportunity  of  elucidating 
*««u«m  of  the  King  of  Babylon,  be  "*  pohited  out  the 
j^h  aabaaaage,"  and  denounced  Mens,  de  Menain- 
B  i!.?".^  oouitwpart  of  the  blasphemous  and  railing 
'**^«h.  Nor  wu  this  aU:  the  indignation  of  the 
"•.av—vouix. 


Kirk  was  roused  to  a  still  higher  pitch,  when  the  King 
commanded  the  magistrates  of  the  capital  to  give  Us 
had  been  usual  in  such  cases)  a  farewell  banquet  to  De 
la  Motte  Fenelon.  This  Ambassador  now  proposed  to 
return  to  France,  leaving  his  colleague.  Monsieur  de 
Menainville,  to  watch  over  the  interests  of  that  kingdom 
in  Scotland;  and  nothing  could  equal  the  abuse  and  op- 
probrious terms  which  were  employed,  to  convince  men 
of  the  horror  of  such  a  proposal  Even  the  sacred  orna- 
ment of  the  Cross,  which  La  Motte,  who  was  a  Knight 
of  the  Order  of  **  Saint  Esprit,"  wore  upon  his  mantle, 
was  described  as  the  badge  of  Antichrist ;  and  when  the 
influence  of  the  ministers  was  found  insufficient  to  stay 
the  feast,  a  solemn  fitst  was  proclaimed  for  the  same 
day,  to  continue  as  long  as  the  alleged  pro&ne  enter- 
tainment was  enacting.  At  this  moment,  the  scene  pre- 
sented by  the  capital  was  extraordinary.  On  one  side 
the  King  and  his  courtiers  indulging  in  mirth  and  fes- 
tive carousal;  whilst,  on  the  other,  was  heard  the 
thunder  of  the  Kirk,  and  its  ministers  ^  crying  out  all 
evil,  slanderous,  and  injurious  words  that  could  be 
spoken  against  France ;"  and  threatening  with  anathe- 
ma and  excommunication  the  citizens  who  had  dared  to 
countenance  the  unhallowed  feast. 

The  pealing  of  the  hells  of  St.  George's,  to  sum- 
mon E^k-Defence  meetings,  or  to  hurl  defiance 
at  the  Ck>urt  of  Session,  is  but  child's-play  to  this. 
After  the  death  of  Lc^ox,  which  happened  in 
France,  and  the  emancipation  of  the  king  from  the 
hands  of  Crowrie,  James  published  a  vindication 
of  the  memory  of  his  fayourite,  who,  he  affirmed, 
had  died  steadfastly  adhering  to  the  reformed  doc- 
trines, which,  alter  living  for  some  time  in  Soot- 
land,  he  had  embraced.  But  the  dying  profes^ons 
of  Lennox  did  not  satisfy  the  ministers ;  and  the 
following  graphic  scene  occurred  in  consequence 
of  their  unchristian  aspersions  of  the  king's  fa- 
yourite : — 

One  of  them  affirmed  that,  as  he  thirsted  for  blood  in 
his  lifetime,  so  he  died  in  blood :  an  allusion  to  the  dis- 
ease of  which  he  was  reported  to  have  fallen  the  victim. 
This  harsh  attack  upon  his  favourite  justly  and  deeply 
offended  the  King;  and  Lawson,  the  author  of  the 
calumny,  having  been  commanded  to  appear  at  Court, 
he,  and  a  small  company  of  his  brother  ministers,  re- 
paired to  Dunfermline,  and  were  carried  into  the  pre- 
sence chamber.  Here,  owing  to  the  recent  changes,  tiiey 
found  themselves  surrounded  with  the  strange  faces  of  a 
new  Court  Soon  after  the  King  entered,  and,  whilst 
they  rose  and  made  their  obeisance,  James,  to  their 
astonishment,  took  not  the  slightest  notice,  but  passing 
the  throne,  which  all  expected  he  was  to  occupy,  sat 
down  fiuniliarly  upon  a  little  coffer,  and  **  eyed  them  all 
marvellous  gravely,  and  they  him,  for  the  space  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour ;  none  speaking  a  word ;  to  the  ad-  * 
miration  of  all  the  beholders."  The  scene,  intended  to 
have  been  tragic  and  awftil,  was  singularly  comic ;  and 
tins  was  increased  when  the  monarch,  without  uttering 
a  syllable,  jumped  up  fh>m  his  coffbr,  and,  **  glooming  " 
upon  them,  walked  out  of  the  room.  It  was  now  diffi- 
cult to  say  what  should  be  done.  The  ministers  had 
come  with  a  determination  to  remonstrate  with  their 
sovereign  against  the  recent  changes ;  and  he,  it  was 
evident,  enraged  at  their  late  conduct,  had  resolved  to 
dismiss  them  unheard ;  but,  whilst  they  debated  in  per- 
plexity, he  relented  in  the  Cabinet,  to  which  he  had  re- 
tired, and  called  them  in.  Pont  then  said  they  had 
come  to  warn  him  against  alterations.  **  1  see  none,'* 
quickly  rejoined  the  King ;  **  but  there  were  some  this 
time  twelvemonth,  (alluding  to  his  seizure  at  Ruthven  :) 
where  were  your  warnings  then?"— "Did  we  not  ad- 
monish you  at  St.  Johnston!"  answered  Pont.  "And, 
were  it  not  for  our  love  to  your  Grace,"  interrupted  Mr. 
David  Ferguson,  "  could  we  not  easily  have  found 
another  place  to  have  spoken  our  minds  than  here !" 
This  allusion  to  thejr  license  in  the  pulpit  made  the 

2E 


322 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


King  bite  his  lip,;  and  the  storm  was  about  to  break  oot^ 
when  the  same  speaker  threw  oil  upon  the  waters,  by 
easting  in  some  merry  speeches.  His  wit  was  of  a 
homely  and  peculiar  character.  James,  he  said,  ought 
to  hear  him,  if  any ;  for  he  had  demitted  the  Grown  in 
his  faTour.  Was  he  not  Ferguson,  the  son  of  Fergus  the 
first  Scottish  King!  and  had  he  not  cheerftilly  resigned 
his  title  to  his  Grace,  as  he  was  an  honest  man  and  had 
possession!  ^Well,**  said  James,  '^no  other  King  in 
Europe  would  hare  borne  at  your  hands  what  I  hare." 
— ^  Grod  forbid  you  should  be  like  other  European 
Kings !"  was  the  reply ;  **  what  are  they  but  murderers 
of  the  saints  1 — ye  hare  had  another  sort  of  upbringing : 
but  beware  whom  you  choose  to  be  about  you  ;  for, 
helpless  as  ye  were  in  your  cradle,  you  are  in  deeper 
danger  now.'' — ^  I  am  a  Catholic  King,"  replied  the 
monarch,  ''and  may  choose  my  own  advisers."  The 
word  Catholic  was  more  than  some  of  the  ministers 
could  digest,  and  would  hare  led  to  an  angry  alterca- 
tion, had  not  Ferguson  again  adroitly  allayed  their  ex- 
cited feelings.  ''Yes,  brethren,"  said  he,  turning  to 
them, "  he  is  a  Catholic,  that  is,  a  unirersal  King ;  and 
may  choose  his  company  as  King  Darid  did,  in  the 
hundred  and  first  psalm."  This  was  a  master-stroke ; 
for  t^e  King  had  rery  recently  translated  this  psalm 
into  English  metre,  and  Ferguson  took  occasion  to  com- 
mend his  yerses  in  the  highest  terms.  They  then  again 
warned  him  against  his  present  Councillors ;  and  one  of 
the  ministers,  stooping  down,  had  the  boldness  to  whis- 
per in  his  ear,  that  £ere  was  no  great  wisdom  in  keep- 
ing his  father's  murderers,  or  their  posterity,  so  near  his 
person.  Their  last  words  were  stem  and  solemn.  "Think 
not  lightly.  Sir,"  said  they,  "of  our  commission;  and 
look  well  that  your  deeds  agree  with  your  promises,  fbr 
we  must  danm  sin  in  whoerer  it  be  found :  nor  is  that 
face  upon  flesh  tiiat  we  may  spare,  in  case  we  find 
rebellion  to  our  Grod,  whose  ambassadors  we  are.  Dis- 
regard not  our  threatening ;  for  there  was  never  one  yet 
in  this  realm,  in  the  place  where  your  Grace  is,  who 
prospered  after  the  ministers  begaa  to  threaten  him." 
At  this,  the  king  was  observed  to  smile,  probably 
ironically,  but  he  said  nothing ;  and,  as  they  took  their 
leave,  he  laid  his  huid  fun^iarly  on  each.  Colonel 
Stewart  then  made  them  drink,  and  they  left  the  Court. 
I  have  given  this  interview  at  some  length,  as  it  is 
strikingly  characteristic  both  of  the  Prince  and  the 
ministers  of  the  Kirk. 

It  is  the  manj  fresh  incidents  thus  related  which 
give  vitality  to  the  pages  of  this  history;  and 
instead  of  dry,  meagre  narratiye,  convert  its  records 
into  a  dramatic  representation  of  facts. 

The  overthrow  and  execution  of  Gowrie,  the 
punishment  of  his  friends,  and  the  ascendency  of 
Arran,  upon  which  events  a  new  light  is  thrown, 
were  followed  by  those  sweeping  forfeitures  and 
«  confiscations,  the  hope  of  which  was,  generally, 
as  much  as  the  love  of  power  or  thirst  of  vengeance, 
the  moving-spring  of  so  many  of  the  conspiracies 
and  revolutions  attending  the  early  period  of  the 
reign  of  James.  The  following  passage  affords  a 
vivid  picture  of  the  scramble  for  plunder  which 
usually  took  place  in  Scotland  after  such  convul- 
sions:— 

Nothing  was  heard  of,  flrom  day  to  day,  but  prosecu- 
tions, arrests,  forfeitures,  and  imprisonments ;  whilst 
Arran,  and  the  nobles  and  barons  who  had  joined  his 
party,  exultingly  divided  the  spoil.  The  immense  es- 
tates of  the  family  of  Douglas  were  eagerly  sought  after: 
and  Davison,  in  a  letter  to  Walsingham,  conveyed  a 
striking  picture  of  the  general  scramble,  "with  the 
misery  and  confdsion  of  the  country 

"  Bothwell  hath  been  an  earnest  suitor  for  Colding- 
knowes ;  but  hath  yet  obtained  no  grace :  he  hath  gotten 
the  grant  of  Cockbumspeth  ;  Sir  William  Stewart  hath 
Douglas  ;  the  Secretary  Maitland,  Boncle  ;  and  the 
Colonel,  Tautallon  :  ail  belonging  to  Augus,  whose  lady 


doth  yet  retain  her  dowiy.  The  Colonel  bath,  besidee, 
the  tutory  of  Glammis,  with  the  Master's  living.  H  unt- 
ley  hath  gotten  Paisley  and  Buquhan's  lands  ;  Montrose, 
Balmanno,  belonging  to  Geon^  Fleck  ;  Cravrford  hath 
gotten  the  Abbey  of  Scone  ;  >^ntrose  the  office  of  Trea- 
surer and  the  Lordship  of  Ruthven  ;  Arran,  Dirleton, 
Cowsland,  and  Newton  :  all  some  time  belonging  to 
Gowrie,  whose  wife  and  children  are  very  extremely 
dealt  withaL  Athole  stands  on  terms  of  interdicting,  for 
that  it  is  suspected  he  will  relieve  and  support  them. 
Glencaim  hath  taken  the  castle  of  Erskine  ;  the  Laird 
of  Clackmannan  hath  spoiled  Alloa  ;  both  belonging  to 
the  Earl  of  Mar,  whose  living  is  yet  undistributed,  save 
the  Lordship  of  Brechin,  which  is  given  to  Huntley. 
The  Laird  of  Johnston  hath  gotten  Lochamell,  belong- 
ing to  George  Douglas.  The  living  of  the  rest  in  exile 
bdng  like  to  fbllow  the  same  course." 

The  incessant  plots  and  intrigues  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Queen  Mary,  if  the  schemes,  to  regain  power, 
of  one  who  still  considered  herself  a  sovereign  prin- 
cess,— ^the  loDgings  of  a  captive  to  recover  liberty, 
— deserve  such  harsh  epithets,  had,  during  much  of 
this  interval,  kept  Elizabeth  in  a  ferment  of  doubt 
and  apprehension,  which  produced  their  natural 
consequences,  distrust  and  hatred.  The  crooked, 
yet  deep  and  dexterous  policy  with  which  Eliza- 
beth at  this  critical  period  played  off  parties  against 
each  other,  alike  false  to  them  all,  and  true  only 
to  her  own  interests  as  these  varied  with  the  hour, 
is  very  forcibly  set  before  the  reader ;  and  the  '^thiee 
modes  of  policy"  carried  on  at  the  same  instuit 
by  the  English  Queen  are  elucidated,  for  the  first 
time,  by  the  correspondence  preserved  in  the  State- 
Paper  OflSce.  In  pursuance  of  one  of  these  lines 
of  policy,  Elizabe^  had  sent  her  kinsman.  Lord 
Hunsdon,  to  have  a  personal  interview  with  the 
now  powerful  and  insolent  Arran ;  which  was 
held  in  Foulden  Eark,  on  the  borders  of  the  king- 
doms. What  passed  at  this  long  private  conference 
we  must  leave  unnoticed,  to  usher  in  a  new  person- 
age, destined  to  act  an  important  part  in  the  drama, 
and  one  whose  perfidy  and  turpitude  have  never 
before  been  revealed  to  the  world  in  all  their  dia- 
bolical blackness.  This  was  the  Master  of  Gray, 
a  young  noblnnan  at  this  time  in  the  suite  of 
Arran,  and  already  as  high  in  &vour  with  the 
king  as  with  the  patron  whom  he  was  scheming  to 
supplant : — 

On  coming  out  of  the  church,  Arran  called  ibr  tiie 
Master  of  Gray,  a  young  nobleman  of  his  suite,  and  in- 
troduced him  to  Hunsdon.    It  vras  impossible  not  to  be 
struck  with  the  handsome  countenance  and  graceful 
manners  of  this  youth.    He  had  spent  some  time  at  the 
Court  of  France  ;  and,  having  been  bred  up  in  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  faith,  had  been  courted  by  the  house  of 
Guise,  and  employed  by  them  as  a  confidential  envoy  in 
their  negotiations  with  the  captive  Queen  of  Soots.     He 
had  always  professed  the  deepest  attachment  to  this 
unhappy  Princess ;  and  the  young  King  had,  within  the 
last  year,  become  so  captivated  with  his  society,  that 
Mary,  who  had  too  rapidly  trusted  him  with  mneh  of 
her  secret  correspondence,  sanguinely  hoped  that  his  in- 
fluence would  be  of  the  highest  service  to  her,  in  regain- 
ing a  hold  over  the  affections  of  her  son.    But  Gray,  under 
an  exterior  which  was  preeminently  beautifbl,  though 
too  feminine  to  please  some  tastes,  carried  a  heart  as 
black  and  treacherous  as  any  in  this  profligate  age;  and, 
instead  of  advocating,  was  prepared  to  betray  the  cause 
of  the  imprisoned  Queen.    To  her  son  the  young  King, 
and  the  Earl  of  Arran,  he  had  already  revealed  ^  he 
knew  ;  and  he  now  presented  a  letter  fh>m  James  his 
master,  to  Hunsdon.    Its  contents  were  of  a  secret  and 
confidential  kind,  and  related  to  the  conspiracies  against 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OP  SCOTLAND. 


Bhabeth,  which' gBTe  tliis  Princess  such  perpetual  dis- 
^oieL  After  eigoiniiig  on  Honsdoa  the  strictest  oon- 
•ttlffltBt  of  all  he  was  ahont  to  commnnioate  from  every 
liring  being,  except  his  royal  mistress.  Gray  informed 
hiffl  that  the  King  of  Scots  meant  to  send  him  speedily 
u  Aabassador  to  England,  with  some  public  and  open 
BMSige  to  Elizabeth  ;  under  colour  of  which,  he  was  to 
be  intnisted  with  the  commission  of  disclosing  all  the 
Mciet  practioet  of  llary.  Had  Hunsdon  kept  his  pro- 
liiae,  we  should  haye  known  nothing  of  idl  this  ;  but, 
next  morning,  he  communicated  it  to  Burghley,  in  a 
letter  meant  only  for  his  prirate  eye.  It  is  to  the  pre- 
Nrratkm  of  this  letter,  that  we  owe  our  knowledge  of  a 
traosaotion  which  brings  the  young  King,  and  his  nTour- 
ite,  the  Blaster  of  Gray,  before  us  in  the  degrading  liffht 
of  informers  :  the  one  betraying  his  mother  ;  the  otner 
selling,  fbr  his  own  gain,  the  secrets  with  wldch  he  had 
besa  intrusted  by  his  sorereign.  This  is  so  dark  an  ac- 
eoatioo,  that  I  must  substantiate  it  by  an  extract  f^m 
Um  letter  in  question  :  **  Now,  my  Lord,"  said  Hunsdon, 
iddressm^  Burghley,  ^for  the  principal  point  of  such 
conspiracies  as  are  in  hand  against  her  Majesty,  I  am 
only  to  make  her  Majesty  acquainted  withal  by  what 
■eaot  she  shall  know  it— yet  will  I  acquaint  your  lord- 
ihip  with  an.  The  King  did  send  the  Master  of  Gray, 
at  this  meeting^  to  me,  with  a  letter  of  commendation, 
under  the  King's  own  hand,  whom  be  means  presently  to 
send  to  her  Majesty,  as  though  it  were  for  some  other 
natters ;  but  it  is  he  that  must  discoyer  all  these  prac- 
tiees,  af  one  belter  aequainted  with  them  than  either 
tlM  King  or  the  Earl,  (but  by  him.)  He  is  Tory  young, 
bot  wise  and  secret,  as  Arran  doui  assure  me.  He  is, 
no  donbt,  yery  inward  with  the  Scottish  Queen,  and  all 
ber  aflkirs,  both  in  England  and  France  ;  yea,  and  with 
tbe  Pope,  for  he  is  accounted  a  Papist ;  but  fbr  his  reli- 
gion, your  lordship  will  judge  when  yon  see  him  ;  but 
ber  ll%je8ty  must  use  him  as  Arran  will  prescribe  unto 
bcr ;  and  so  shall  she  reap  profit  by  him. 

The  farther  deyelopment  of  the  Master  of  Gray's 
character  and  practices,  are  worthy  of  so  hopeful 
a  oommencemeDt.  Nor  was  he  solitary  in  viUany, 
though  unmatched  in  treachery  and  perfidy.  Those 
who  then  roled  the  country,  aaid  the  instniments 
ready  and  willing  by  the  foulest  means  to  work 
tbeir  pleasure,  eadiibit  Scotland  in  a  more  hideous 
inonJ  aspect  than  it  is  seen  even  in  times  the  most 
I^vbanms.  The  great  and  prominent  actor  at  this 
period  was  the  Earl  of  Anan,  whose  daring  and 
^bitious  career  has  never  before  been  so  ably  and 
^ytiaoed: — 

Ob  Us  return  £ram  the  conference  at  Foulden  Kirk,  he 

^  welcomed  with  cannon  by  the  castle  ;  a  ceremony, 

M  it  was  remarked,  neyer  used  but  in  time  of  Parlia- 

i&ent,  and  to  the  King  or  Begents :  and  when,  soon 

sfter,  summonses  were  issued  for  the  meeting  of  the 

^^  Estates,  all  the  country   looked  forward  with 

*^  to  a  renewal  of  the  proscriptions  and  plunder 

which  had  already  commenced  against  the  exiled  lords. 

Bnt  the  reality  eyen  outran  their  anticipation.    Arran, 

Msisted  by  his  lady,  a  woman  whose  pride  and  insolence 

^[l^eeded  his  own,  domineered  oyer  the  deliberations  of 

^^vliaiiient ;  and,  to  the  scandal  of  all,  insisted  on  those 

Aeta,  which  they  had  preyiously  prepared,  being  passed 

^  ones  without  reasoning.  Sixty  persons  were  forfeited ; 

^^^7  were  driyen  to  purchase  pardons  at  a  high  ransom; 

»ad  the  unhappy  Countess  of  Gowrie  was  treated  with  a 

^"^  and  brutality  which  excited  the  utmost  commis- 

*>«^  in  all  who  witnessed  it.    TUs  lady,  a  daughter 

y  Henry  Stewart,  Lord  Methyen,  on  the  last  day  of  the 

l^miameot,  had  obtained  admission  to  an  antechamber, 

]*aere,  as  the  Khig  passed,  she  hoped  to  haye  an  oppor- 

*jn»Hy  of  pleading  for  herself  and  her  cMldren  ;  but,  by 

;  ^nui'i  orders,  she  was  driyen  into  the  open  street. 

^^  die  patiently  awaited  the  King's  return,  and  cast 

welf,  hi  an  agony  of  tears,  at  his  feet,  attempting  to 

cU«»  his  knees :   but  Arran,  who  walked  at  James's 

°^d,  hastfly  pulled  hhn  past,  and  pushhig  the  miserable 


suppliant  aside,  not  only  threw  her  down,  but  brutally 
trode  upon  her  as  the  cayalcade  moyed  forward,  leaying 
her  in  a  Aunt  on  the  payement.  Can  we  wonder  that 
the  sons  of  this  injured  woman,  bred  up  in  the  recollec- 
tion of  wrongs  like  these,  should,  in  later  years,  haye 
cherished  in  their  hearts  the  deepest  appetite  for  re« 
yenge ! 

Immediately  after  the  Parliament,  the  King  repaired 
to  his  palace  at  Falkland  ;  whilst  Anran,  Montrose,  and 
the  other  lords  of  his  party,  now  all-powerful,  remained 
in  Edinburgh,  engaged  in  pressing  on  the  execution  of 
the  late  Acts,  for  the  confiscation  and  ruin  of  their  oih 
ponents.  Of  these,  by  far  the  most  formidable  was  the 
Earl  of  Angus  ;  who,  although  banished,  and  now  at 
Newcastle,  retained  a  great  influence  in  Scotland.  He 
was  the  head  of  the  Presbyterian  faction  in  that  country, 
the  great  support  of  the  exiled  ministers  ;  and  it  was  his 
authority  with  Walsingham,  that  trayersed  Arran's  and 
James's  schemes  for  a  league  between  England  and 
Scotland,  on  the  broad  basis  of  the  establishment  of 
Episcopacy.  It  was  resolyed,  therefore,  to  cut  off  this 
baron ;  and  Arran,  and  his  colleague  Montrose,  the  head 
of  the  powerfU  house  of  Graham,  made  no  scruple  of 
looking  out  for  some  desperate  retainer,  or  hired  yillain 
to  whom  they  might  commit  the  task.  Nor,  in  these 
dark  times,  was  such  a  search  likely  to  proye  either  long 
or  difficult.  They  accordingly  soon  pitched  upon  Jock 
or  John  Graham  of  Peartree,  whom  Montrose  knew  to 
haye  a  blood  feud  with  Angus  ;  sent  a  little  page  called 
Mouse  to  bring  the  Borderer  to  Edinburgh  ;  fesited  and 
careraed  him  durinjf  the  time  of  the  Parliament,  and  car- 
ried him  afterwar£  to  Falkland,  where  the  two  Earls, 
and  the  King,  proposed  to  him  not  only  to  assassinate 
their  hated  enemy,  but  to  make  away  with  Mar  and 
Cunbuskenneth,  Us  brother  exiles,  at  the  same  time* 
Jock  at  once  agreed  to  murder  Angus,  and  was  pro- 
mised a  high  reward  by  the  young  monarch  ;  but  he  de- 
clined haying  anything  to  do  with  Mar  or  Cambusken- 
neth,  with  whom  he  had  no  quarrel ;  and  he  left  the 
palace,  after  receiring  ttom  Montrose  a  short  matchlock, 
or  riding-piece,  whi<£  was  deemed  serriceable  for  the 
purpose  in  hand.  But  this  atrocious  design  was  not 
destined  to  succeed.  The  yillain,  who  was  probably 
lurking  about  in  the  neighbouriiood  of  Newcastle,  was 
detected  and  seized,  carried  before  Lord  Scrope,  com- 
pelled to  confess  his  intention ;  and  information  of  the 
whole  ph>t  was  immediately  transmitted  by  Scrope  to 
Walsingham.  The  English  Secretary  recommended, 
that  Uie  disooyexT  should  be  kept  a  secret  firom  all,  ex- 
cept Angus  and  Mar,  who  were  priyately  warned  of  the 
practices  against  them  ;  and  it  is  horn  the  confession  of 
the  Borderer  himself,  which  he  made  before  Scrope,  that 
these  particulars  are  giyen.  The  intended  assassin  thus 
described  his  interriew  with  the  King :  After  stating 
that  he  had  arriyed  late  at  night  at  the  palace,  they 
brought  him,  he  said,  into  the  Eing's  gallery,  where  he 
[the  King]  was  alone  by  himself :  and  only  he,  Mon- 
trose, and  Arran,  and  this  examinant,  being  together,  the 
King  himself  did  moye  him,  as  the  other  two  had  done, 
for  the  killing  of  Angus,  Mar,  and  Cambuskenneth :  to 
whom  he  answered,  that  for  Mar  and  Cambuskenneth, 
he  would  not  meddle  with  them ;  but  fbr  Angus,  he 
would  well  be  contented  to  do  that,  so  as  the  King  would 
well  reward  him  for  that.  And  the  King  said,  he  would 
presently  giye  him  sixty  French  crowns,  and  twenty 
Scottish  pound  land  to  him  and  his  for  oyer,  lying  in 
Strathem,  near  Montrose. 

These  ftkcts  are  so  distinctly  and  minutely  recorded 
hi  the  manuscript  history  of  Calderwood,  who  has  giyen 
the  whole  of  Graham's  declaration,  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  omit  them  ;  but  although  there  is  little  doubt  of 
the  truth  of  the  intended  murder,  as  fiir  as  Arran  and 
Montrose  are  concerned,  it  would  be,  perhaps,  unfair  to 
belieye  fai  the  fhll  implication  of  the  young  King,  on 
the  single  eridenoe  of  this  Border  assassin.  To  return, 
howeyer,  ttom  this  digression  to  Arran's  headlong  ca- 
reer. His  hand,  which  had  recently  fallen  so  heavily  on 
the  nobility,  was  now  lifted  against  the  Kirk.  Procla- 
mation was  made  that  all  ministers  should  give  up  the 
rental  of  their  benefices  ;  and  that  none  shonld  reoeiy* 


324 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


stipend  bat  such  as  had  subscribed  the  new-framed 
policj,  by  which  Presbytery  was  abrogated  and  Episco- 
pacy established.  As  was  to  be  expected,  many  of  the 
clergy  resisted,  and  were  commanded  to  quit  the  coun- 
try within  twenty  days :  nor  were  they  permitted,  as 
before,  to  take  refuge  with  their  banished  brethren  in 
England  or  Ireland. 

The  people,  very  naturally,  both  from  principle 
and  sympathy,  took  the  part  of  the  oppressed 
ministers,  of  whom  some  remained  in  their  livings, 
openly  braving  the  court,  and  preaching  resis- 
tance ;  and  there  is  a  rough  honesty  in  the  rudest  of 
their  homilies,  which,  together  with  their  indomi- 
table courage,  entitle  these  successors  of  John  Knox 
to  respect.  The  tyrannical  policy  of  Arran  and 
the  king,  so  far  as  the  latter  may  be  regarded  as 
a  free  agent ;  and  their  violation  of  the  laws  and 
the  rights  of  conscience,  had  made  the  resbtance  of 
the  ministers  a  duty  and  a  virtue.  Yet  compara- 
tively few  of  them  withstood  the  arhitary  acts  by 
which  the  Episcopal  form  of  religion  was  thrust  upon 
the  country ;  the  hour  of  trial  found  many  of  their 
number  fedtering.  A  letter  written  by  an  exile 
named  Hume,  describing  the  deplorable  condition 
of  the  Kirk  and  the  country  at  this  time,  states 
that  ^  the  ministers  betwixt  Stirling  and  Berwick 
had  submitted  with  only  ten  exceptions."  And 
it  is  also  stated, — 

That  the  Laird  of  Dun,  the  most  venerable  champion 
of  the  Kirk,  had  so  fkr  receded  fh>m  his  primitiye  faith 
as  to  have  become  a  pest  to  the  ministry  in  the  north  ; 
that  John  Dune,  who  had  so  long  resisted,  had  **er€teied 
ki8  curpU**  at  last,  and  closed  his  mouth  ;  that  John 
Craig,  so  long  the  coadjutor  of  Knox,  and  John  Brande, 
his  colleague,  had  submitted  ;  that  the  pulpits  in  Edin- 
burgh were  nearly  silent — so  fearful  had  been  the  defec- 
tion— except,  said  he,  a  very  few,  who  sigh  and  sob 
under  the  Cross.  His  own  estates,  he  added,  had  been 
forfeited,  his  wife  and  children  beggared  ;  and  yet  he 
might  be  gratefhl  he  was  alive,  though  in  exile,  for  at 
home  terror  occupied  all  hearts.  No  man,  said  he  in 
conclusion,  while  he  lieth  down,  is  sure  of  his  life  till 
day. 

One  of  Elizabeth's  three  modes  of  policy  had 
been  to  flatter  the  captive  Queen  with  hopes  of  re- 
lease from  her  long  imprisonment.  But  if  Mary 
was  dangerous  and  dreaded  while  in  confinement 
in  England,  she  must  have  been  much  more  danger- 
ous if  at  liberty,  whether  in  England,  in  Scotland, 
or  in  France;  and  no  very  serious  intention  of 
restoring  her  to  freedom  seems  at  any  time  to  have 
been  entertained. 

No  long  period  intervened  ere  Babington  s  Con- 
spiracy wasorganized,  and  detected ;  and  Elizabeth's 
minister^Walsinghamyby  means  of  his  spies,  and  by 
intercepting  Mary's  letters,  was  craftily  possessing 
himself  of  that  evidence  which,  by  proving  her  trea- 
sonagainst  his  royal mistressand  thecommonwealth 
of  England,  was  to  justify  her  being  brought  to 
the  scaffold.  The  participation  which  Mary  actu- 
ally and  directly  had  in  that  foul  plot,  and  the 
authenticity  of  some  of  the  documents  brought 
forward  at  her  trial,  as  proofs  of  her  guilt,  are  ex- 
amined by  Mr.  Tytler  carefidly,  critically,  and 
at  great  length  ;  both  in  the  body  of  his  history 
and  in  an  elaborate  note,  which  if  it  may  not  carry 
complete  conviction  to  every  mind,  must  at  least 
raise  doubts  as  to  the  guilt  of  the  Queen  of  Scots 
in  the  main  fiact  of  being  an  infitigator,  or  privy 


to  the  design,  of  Elizabeth's  assassination*  He 
however  pronounces  Mary's  connexion  with  Bab- 
ington's  Conspiracy  one  of  the  most  involved  and 
intricate  portions  of  the  history  of  the  two  king- 
doms. That  it  had  ramifications  in  Scotland,  and 
vras  favoured  by  Mary's  partisans  there,  is  not 
attempted  to  be  denied  ;  and  many  circumstances 
tend  to  show,  that  though  not  personally  or  directly 
connected  with  those  atrocious  designs,  Mary  must 
have  been  suspicious  if  not  aware  of  them.  Her 
daring  scheme  of  instigating  the  King  of  Spain  to 
invade  England,  dethrone  Elizabeth,  and  re- 
establish the  Catholic  religion  in  Great  Britain, 
is  detailed  at  length  in  her  own  words.  That  de- 
sign is  not  denied  ;  nor  that  to  carry  it  into  exe- 
cution the  unhappy  queen,  long  tantalized  with 
the  hope  of  freedom,  and  now  in  the  nineteenUi 
year  of  her  captivity,  proposed  to  give  up  her  eon 
to  the  King  of  Spain  or  the  Pope  ;  make  her  par- 
tisan. Lord  Claud  Hamilton,  Regent  of  Scotland, 
and  compel  James  either  to  embrace  the  Roman 
Catholic  faith,  or  forfeit  his  right  to  the  crown. 
Her  correspondence  on  this  her  final  design,  with 
her  emissaries  and  the  Spanish  ambassador,  proves 
that  the  captive  queen  had  become  as  dangerous  to 
the  King  of  Scotland  as  to  the  Queen  of  England 
and  the  Protestant  religion.  Of  thb  plan  of  Mary's 
to  regain  her  liberty,  and  also  sovereign  power, 
Mr.  Tytler  remarks  : — 

Here,  then,  was  Mary's  plan  minutely  detailed  bj 
herself ;  in  which  Spain  was  to  '^  set  on  England,"  u 
she  expressed  it ;  Lord  Claud  Hamilton  to  be  made  Re- 
gent in  Scotland  ;  her  son,  in  the  event  of  his  reftiaJ  to 
turn  Catholic  and  combine  against  Elizabeth,  to  be 
seized,  imprisoned,  and  coerced  into  obedience. 

The  vigour  and  ability  with  which  the  whole  is  laid 
down,  needs  no  comment  ;  and  the  Scottish  Qneen 
omitted  no  opportunity  to  encourage  her  friends  in  that 
great  enterprise  which  was  now  regarded  as  the  forlora 
hope  for  the  recovery  of  her  liberty,  and  the  restoration 
of  the  Catholic  faith  in  Britain.  All  this  time,  howefer, 
Mary  had  no  communication  with  Ballard. 

Ballard  was  a  seminary  priest,  who,  with  seve- 
ral other  individuals,  had  undertaken  to  murder 
Elizabeth ;  or,  in  other  words,  to  be  the  agents  in 
accomplishing Babington's plot.  Previously  waned, 
though  she  must  have  had  a  shrewd  guess  of  what 
was  going  forward,  Mary  "  prudently"  abstained 
,from  communicating  with  Ballard.  Whether  she 
was  equaUy  prudent  in  the  case  of  Babington  must, 
after  idl  that  Mr.  Tytler  has  ingeniously  and  acute- 
ly urged,  remain,  and  probably  for  ever,  a  matter 
of  controversy — a  question  of  conflicting  evidence ; 
since  the  implication  of  Walsingham  and  his  agent 
PheUpps,  does  by  no  means  fully  dear  Mary.  Her 
plot  for  the  invasion  of  England,  vnth  all  its  fearful 
consequences,  was,  at  all  events,  simultaneous  with 
Babington  sand  BaUanTsplanof  assassinating  Eliza- 
beth ;  and  if  Mary  alone  remained  ignorant  of  that 
design,  many  of  her  most  trusted  adherents  were 
cognizant  of  it.  Her  agent  Morgan,  who  had  tak«i 
refuge  in  France  on  the  detection  of  Throckmo^ 
ton's  plot,  vrith  which  both  he  and  his  mistreas 
were  connected,  and  who,  though  not  given  up  to 
Elizabeth,  was  thrown  into  prison  by  the  King 
of  France,  busily  continued  his  intrigues  in  be- 
half of  Mary,  and  must  have  been  perfectly  aware 
of  the  nefarious  designs  of  Ballard.    Ballard,  as  a 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


325 


meaflue  of  caution,  and  for  her  safety,  was  warned 
not  to  attempt  to  hold  any  communication  with 
Muy,  nor  to  compromise  her ;  hut  Mr.  Tytler  states 
— «iid  it  is  not  easy  to  reconcile  the  notion  of  Maiy's 
entire  ignorance  with  such  an  admission — ^that, 

She  had  been  informed  by  Morgan,  in  a  letter  written 
froB  his  prison,  that  snch  an  agent  was  in  EngUuid 
kbouiBg  bnsily  in  her  behalf,  but  that  there  were  strong 
mwiii  why  she  shonld  aToid,  for  the  present,  all  com- 
Boaication  with  him.  <*  He  foUoweth  (said  he)  some 
Batten  of  eonseqnence,  the  issue  whereof  is  uncertain ; 
wberefbre,  as  long  as  these  labours  of  his  and  matters 
do  eoBtinue,  it  is  not  for  your  Msjesty's  service  to  bold 
uy  mtelligenoe  with  him  at  all,  lest  he,  or  his  partners, 
be  diseoTered,  and  they,  by  pains  or  other  accidents,  dis- 
«0Tar  your  Mi^jesty  afterwards  to  hare  had  intelligence 
with  them,  which  I  would  not  should  ikll  out  for  any 
good  in  the  world.  And  I  hare  specially  warned  the 
ttid  Ballard  ^he  contmued)  not  to  deal  at  any  hand 
with  your  Majesty,  as  long  as  he  followeth  the  affairs 
that  he  and  others  haye  in  hand,  which  tend  to  do  good, 
which  I  pray  God  may  come  to  pass ;  and  so  shall  your 
Mitfosty  be  reliered  by  the  power  of  God. 

la  a  postscript  of  a  letter  of  Morgan's  to  Curie, 
Mary's  ^nch  secretary,  written  on  the  same,  which 
wu  mtercepted  and  deciphered  by  Phelipps,  an  indi- 
rect allusion  was  made  to  these  practices  of  Ballard 
tprnt  the  lifi»  of  Elixabeth.  '^  I  am  not  unoccupied 
(nid  he)  althooi^  I  be  in  prison,  to  think  of  her  Ma- 
jerty's  state,  and  yours  that  endure  with  her,  to  your 
iMttoon  ;  and  there  be  many  means  in  hand  to  remove 
tUheatitkatroubUtk  all  the  world.'' 

Mary  therefore  entered  into  no  correspondence, 
it  kast  with  Ballard ;  though  her  correspondence 
on  the  subject  of  **  the  great  enterprise" — ^namely, 
the  invasion  of  the  kingdom  by  Spain — was  ac- 
tively carried  on  with  Morgan,  Paget,  Miendoza  the 
Spanish  ambassador,  and  others.  But  Walsing- 
bam  had  long  been  weaving  his  snares  around  her, 
and  the  unhappy  Queen  was,  by  this  time,  com- 
pletely meshed.  Mr.  Tytler  speaks  with  just  re- 
Prehension  of  the  base  system  of  espionage  em- 
ployed by  the  English  minister ;  and  yet  he  acquits 
Waliin^am  of  tiie  heavier  charge  of  having,  by  a 
■tiitagem,  drawn  Mary  on  to  renew  her  corre- 
spondence with  Bahington,  that  he  might  obtain 
^nsh  proofs  of  her  guilt.  Asto  the  rest,  if  danger- 
ous and  treasonable  plots  are  hatched,  they  must 
l)e  detected.  Walsingham  had  corrupted  the  prin- 
cipal person,  Gilbert  Gifford,  through  whom  Mary 
^'Mttniitted  her  letters  to  her  partisans.  They 
were  by  these  means  regularly  intercepted,  de- 
ciphered, copied  by  Phelipps,  and  the  originals 
forwarded  to  their  destination.  Mr.  Tytler  en- 
J«yoaiB  to  establish  the  fact  of  Mary's  letters 
l^^ing  been  tampered  with,  and  added  to,  in  order 
to  draw  information  from  Bahington  about  the  in- 
^Tidnals  connected  with  him ;  and  he  has  sucess- 
^J  ahown  that  Phelipps,  the  decipherer,  was  a 
n»*a  qnite  capable,  "  for  State  reasons,*  of  writing 
^'^i^louB  letters.  Yet  it  is  not  easy  to  imagine  any 
y^Te  that  he  could  have  had  for  committing  a  vU- 
^y  that  was  to  he  confined  entirely  to  his  own 

ooeom,  and  do  him  no  advantage ;  and  this  leaves 
^  to  the  alternative  of  the  connivance  of  Walsing- 
Jj^  and  Paulet,  who,  if  not  actual  parties  to 
|[°^PP»'  ftaud,  must,  at  least,  have  winked  very 
f^*  That  the  originals  of  Mary's  alleged  letters 
to  Babbgton  were  not  produced  on  her  trial,  does 
^  quite  establish  the  fact  that  they  nevey  ex- 


isted; and  her  denial,  in  the  circumstances  in 
which  she  was  placed,  scarcely  carries  conviction, 
since  she  at  first  attempted  also  to  deny  the  authen- 
ticity of  other  letters,  regarding  the  plan  of  Spain 
invading  England,  and  giving  up  James  to  the 
King  of  Spain  or  the  Pope,  which  she  afterwards 
taciUy  admitted.  Mr.  Tytler  has  embraced  the 
favourable  side  of  the  controversy,  and  supported 
it  with  great  ingenuity.  He  has,  besides,' the  autho- 
rity of  Lingard,  and  the  assumption  of  Robertson, 
to  strengthen  his  case ;  and  yet  the  matter  remains 
doubtful. 

But  whatever  had  been  the  secret  practices  of  the 
Queen  of  Scots  with  foreign  powers,  with  her  for- 
mer subjects  of  Scotland,  or  with  Elizabeth's  Ro- 
man Catholic  subjects,  and  whatever  the  extent  of 
her  guilt,  the  hour  of  heavy  retribution  was  draw- 
ing nigh,  and  that,  as  we  have  seen,  while  the  poor 
victim  was  in  full  security. 

There  is  no  part  of  Mr.  Tytler  s  work  more 
effective  than  the  pathetic  record  of  the)  last  days 
of  Queen  Mary  ;  her  arrest,  trial,  and  execution* 
We  fear  that  he  may,  with  some  persons,  lay  him- 
self open  to  the  grave  charge  which  Burghley 
brought  against  the  imhappy  Queen  on  her  trial, 
of  **  intending,  by  long  artificial  speeches,  to  move 
pity ;  and  to  lay  all  blame  on  the  Queen's  [Eliza- 
heUi's]  majesty."  He  has  certainly  written  from 
the  heart ;  and,  with  all  her  frailties  and  all  her 
crimes,  the  sad  story  of  the  Queen  of  Scots  is  one 
to  move  to  pity  and  ruth  the  most  severe  of  her 
judges  ;  since,  at  the  last,  it  was  not  as  a  guilty 
woman  that  Mary  suffered,  hut  as  a  political  vic- 
tim,— as  the  martyr  of  a  cruel  State  necessity,  sacri- 
ficed on  the  most  forced  or  insufficient  evidence. 
If  our  object  were  merely  to  select  a  popular  ex- 
tract, we  should  now  copy  out  the  trial  scene  of 
the  deserted  Princess,  or  the  pathetic  narrative  of 
her  last  hours.  But  the  part  acted  by  Elizabeth^ 
at  this  juncture,  is  of  deeper  interest  to  the  histori- 
cal reader,  and  to  the  student  of  the  human  heart ; 
and  it  ofiers  more  novelty.  Whatever  doubts  rest 
upon  the  degree  of  knowledge  which  Mary  had  of 
the  scheme  to  assassinate  "  the  Beast  that  troubled 
all  the  world;"  there  is  no  doubt  whatever  about 
the  eagerness  of  Elizabeth  to  procure  the  death,  by 
secret  practices,  of  the  condenmed  Queen.  Eliza- 
beth foresaw  both  danger  to  her  own  life,  and  the 
greatest  odium  in  a  public  execution ;  though  the 
spirit  generally  evinced  in  England,  and  especially 
in  London,  at  this  period,  gave  little  apparent  cause 
for  apprehension.  To  Mary's  appeals  the  Queen 
paid  no  attention ;  and  the  interposition  of  James, 
and  the  remonstrances  of  the  King  of  France 
through  a  special  ambassador,  excited  her  hottest 
ire.    The  French  ambassador — 

After  many  afTeoted  delays,  Elizabeth  received  in 
unusual  state  upon  her  throne,  and  heard  his  message 
with  a  fliii*h?iTg  eye  and  flushed  and  angry  countenance. 
She  restrained  her  feelings,  however,  sufficiently  to  make 
a  laboured  reply,  pronounced  a  high  encomium  upon  her 
own  forbearance,  promised  a  speedy  and  definite  answer, 
protracted  the  time  for  more  than  a  month,  by  the  most 
frivolous  excuses,  and,  at  last,  drove  the  Ambassador  to 
declare,  that  if  Mary  was  executed,  his  master  must 
resent  it  The  English  Queen,  fired  at  this  threat, 
demanded  whether  his  master  had  empowered  him  to 
use  snch  language  ;  and  having  found  that  it  was  war- 


396 


TYTLER'S  HISTORY  OP  SCOTLAND. 


ranted  by  BellieTVe's  instrnotioiiSy  wrote  a  letter  of  loftjr 
defiance  to  Henry^  and  dismissed  his  enroy.] 

Jamesy  who  had  been  made  acquainted  by 
Elizabeth's  minlBters  with  the  kindnesses  which  his 
mother  had  intended  for  himself  was  not,  at  first 
disposed  to  interfere. 

Honsienr  de  Gonroelles,  who  wis  then  in  Scotland, 
receiyed  instraotions  firom  the  French  King  to  incite  the 
yonng  monarch  to  interfere  for  Mary  ;  bat  he  replied, 
that  his  mother  was  in  no  danger,  and  as  for  the  con- 
miraey,  she  must  be  contented,  he  said,  to  drink  the  ale 
lAe  had  brewed.  He  lored  her  as  much  as  nature  and 
duty  bound  him  ;  but  he  knew  well  she  bore  him  as  lit- 
tle good  will  as  she  did  the  Queen  of  England :  her 
practices  had  already  nearly  cost  him  his  crown,  and  he 
could  be  well  content  she  would  meddle  with  nothing 
but  prayer  and  serving  of  God. 

But  when  the  danger  of  his  mother  became  im- 
minent, he  was  somewhat  moved,  and  sent,  first  Sir 
William  Keith,  and  afterwards  Sir  Robert  Melvil 
and  the  Master  of  Gray,  to  intercede  for  her  and  ap- 
pease Elizabeth.  The  selection  of  the  last  indivi- 
dual leads  Mr.  Tytler  to  doubt  of  the  sincerity  of 
James's  desire  to  save  his  mother ;  nor  can  it  be 
questioned  that  the  peril  of  his  own  succession  to 
tiie  English  crown  lay  nearer  his  heart  than  the 
life  of  a  parent  whom  he  had  had  no  great  reason 
either  to  love  or  to  respect.  We  make  the  less  scruple 
to  cite  the  following  passages,  as  they  are  in  sub- 
stance new  in  any  Scottish  history  Mtherto  pub- 
lished:— 

**  On  Keith's  arrival  at  the  English  Court,  Elizabeth 
and  her  ministers  attempted  to  frustrate  the  object  of 
his  mission,  by  the  usual  weapons  of  delay  and  dissimu- 
lation. When  at  last  admitted,  the  Queen  aifected  the 
utmost  solicitude  for  Mary's  life ;  but  represented  her- 
self as  driven  to  extremities  by  the  remonstrances  of  her 
ministers  and  the  fears  of  her  people.  '^  And  yet," 
said  she,  turning  to  the  Ambassador,  **  I  swear  by  the 
living  Ghod,  tiiat  I  would  give  one  of  my  own  arms  to 
be  cut  of,  so  that  any  means  could  be  found  for  us  both 
to  live  in  assurance.  I  have  already,"  she  continued, 
^  saved  her  life,  when  even  her  own  subjects  craved 
her  death  ;  and  now,  judge  for  yourselves,  which  is  most 
Just,  that  I  who  am  innocent,  or  she  vrho  is  guilty,  should 
suffer !"  Repeated  int^riews  took  place,  and  Elizabeth, 
on  one  occasion  declared,  that  no  human  power  should 
ever  persuade  her  to  sign  the  warrant  for  Mary's  eze- 
eution.  But  in  the  mean  time,  the  sentence  against  her 
had  been  made  public.  Leicester,  Burghley,  and  Wal- 
ffiftghnni  advised  her  death.  The  people,  alarmed  by 
reports  of  the  meditated  invasicm  by  S^Nun,  and  new 
plots  against  their  Princess,  became  clamorous  on  tiie 
same  subject ;  and  James,  agitated  by  the  ill  success 
of  Keith,  sent  him  new  instructions,  with  a  private  let- 
ter vrritten  in  passionate  and  threatening  terms.  On 
•ommnnicating  it  to  the  English  Queen,  die  broke  into 
ene  of  those  sudden  and  tremendous  paroxysms  of  rage, 
which  sometimes  shook  the  Council-room,  and  made  Uie 
hearts  of  her  ministers  quail  before  her.  It  was  with 
tiie  greatest  difficulty  tiiat  she  was  prevented  from 
diasing  Keith,  who  had  spoken  with  great  boldness,  from 
her  presence.  But  Leicester  her  favourite  at  last  ap- 
peased her  ;  and,  on  the  succeeding  day,  she  dictated  a 
Bore  temperate  reply  to  the  young  King. 

His  next  messengers  were  instructed  to  say,  that 
their  master^s  meaning  ^  was  modest,  not  mena- 
cing:*— 

In  her  first  interview  with  these  new  Ambassadors, 
Elisabeth  received  their  offers  vrith  her  characteristic 
violence.  They  proposed,  that  Mary  should  demit  her 
right  of  sucoeesion  to  the  English  Crown  to  her  son. 
"  How  is  thai  poMihle  1"  said  the  Queen ;  ""she  is  de- 


'If  she  have 


no  rights,"  replied  Gray, "  your  Majesty  need  not  to 
her ;  if  she  have,  let  her  assign  them  to  her  son,  in  whom 
will  then  be  placed  the  fbll  title  of  succession  to  your 
Highness."  ^  What,"  said  Elisabeth,  vrith  a  loud  voice 
and  great  oath  ;  ^  get  rid  of  one,  and  have  a  wotm  in 
her  place  1  Nay,  then  I  put  myself  in  a  more  misenbls 
case  than  before.  By  God's  Passion,  that  were  to  eat 
mine  own  throat ;  and  for  a  duchy  or  an  earldom  to  yoni- 
BeVt,  you,  or  such  as  you,  would  cause  some  of  your  des- 
perate knaves  to  kill  me.  No,  by  God !  your  master 
shall  never  be  in  that  place."  Gray  then  craved,  tiiat 
Mary's  life  might  at  least  be  spared  for  fifteen  days,  to 
give  them  time  to  communicate  with  the  King :  but  this 
she  peremptorily  revised.  Melvil  implored  her  torive 
a  respite,  were  it  only  for  eight  days.  No,"  said  Efia- 
beth,  rising  up,  and  impatiently  fiinging  out  of  the  apart- 
ment, '^  not  for  an  hour." 

While  the  fate  of  Mary  ma  thus  hastening  to 
a  dose,  James  ordered  the  ministers  of  the  Kiik 
to  pray  for  his  unhappy  mother,  and  received  a 
peremptory  refusaL  This  we  notice,  as  Mr. 
Tytler  appears  to  mistake  the  principle  of  their 
refusal,  which  could  not  have  been  to  deny  to  any 
dying  sinner,  to  the  vilest  condemned  criminal, 
the  benefit  of  their  prayers,  but  to  deny  the  king's 
right  to  issue  any  mandate  assuming  a  spiritual 
jurisdiction  over  the  Kirk.  On  the  selfsame  prin- 
ciple, when  George  the  Fourth  and  the  Privy 
Coimcil,  having  first  erased  the  name  of  another 
unhappy  queen  from  the  English  Liturgy,  next 
commanded  the  ministers  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland 
to  omit  the  name  of  Queen  Caroline  in  their  public 
prayers,  some  of  the  best  and  ablest  of  the  body 
resisted  this  encroachment  upon  the  spiritual  in- 
dependence of  the  Kirk,  and  regularly  prayed  for 
the  Queen.  Thb  much  explained,  we  give  the 
curious,  and  we  admit  very  indecent  scene ;  though 
we  can  no  more  admire  the  interfeience  of  tht 
Royal  Guard,  than  the  foUy  or  audadty  of  the 
minister,  who  might,  after  his  violent  **  introsioii, 
have  done  all  that  was  necessary  to  maintain  the  in- 
dependence of  the  Kirk,  without  outraging  the  nsr 
tural  feelings  of  mankind,  and  his  Christian  duty. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  Scottish  King,  having  le- 
quired  the  ministers  of  the  Kirk  to  prav  for  his  unhappy 
mother,  then  in  the  toils  of  her  enemies  and  daily  ex* 
pecting  death,  woeived  a  peremptory  refusal.  '^^^ 
the  more  extraordinary,  since  James  had  careftl^y 
worded  his  request  so  as  to  remove,  as  he  thought, 
every  possibility  of  opposition  ;  but  finding  himself  de- 
ceived, he  directed  Archbishop  Adamson  to  offer  up  »» 
prayers  for  the  (^een,in  the  High  Church  of  the  capiteL 
To  his  astomshment  he  found,  on  entering  his  seat,  tb» 
one  of  the  recusant  ministers,  named  Cowper,  had  preoc- 
cupied the  pulpit.  The  Kin«  addressed  him  ftrom  the  gal- 
lery, told  himthattheplacehadbeenintendedforanother; 
but  added,thatif  he  would  pray  for  hU  mother,  he  »*» 
remain  where  he  was.  To  this,  Cowper  answeied,  tto» 
he  would  do  as  the  Spirit  of  God  directed  him ;  a  agw 
ficant  reply  to  all  who  knew  the  history  of  the  tim^* 
and  certainly  amounting  to  a  refdsal.  A  scene  of  torn- 
sion  ensued.    James  commanded  Cowper  to  oo«e  ctm 

from  the  pulpit :  he  resisted.  The  royal  g'*^/^ 
forward  to  pull  out  the  intruder ;  and  he  desoeaded,<ie- 

nouncing  woe  and  vrrath  on  all  who  held  back  ;  dedi^ 
ing  too,  that  this  hour  would  rise  up  in  vritness  H^ 
the  King,  in  the  great  day  of  the  Lord.  Adamsonft* 
preached  on  the  Christian  duty  •f  P**!^  *^'*,  iJ5 
vrith  such  pathetic  eloquence,  and  so  powerfoUj  o*"** 
up  his  intercession  for  their  unfortunate  ^•^■•J^Sn^ 
congregation  separated  in  tears,  lamenting  the  owan*^ 
of  their  pastors. 

To  return  to  £li»ibeth,-4o  HcDiy  tht  S^'^ 


TYTLER*S  HISTORY  OP  SCOTLAND. 


327 


•wi  duller,  w}iom  Mr.  Tytlep  has  so  vividly 
ptinted  .*— Wliilst  "reporte," diligently  spread,  per- 
Aumed  the  modem  office  of  a  ministeiial  press^  and 
kept  alire  alann  in  the  public  mind — 

Tbt  PtiTy-eoimcil  held  repeated  meetings,  and  pressed 
EUabeth  to  give  her  warrant  for  the  execution  ;  Leices- 
ter, Baighler,  and  Walsingham,  entreated,  argued,  and 
remonstrated,  but  she  continued  distracted  and  iireso- 
hte  between  the  odium  which  must  follow  the  deed  and 
Hi  leeeintj  ;  at  last,  amid  her  half  sentences  and  dark 
hilts,  they  perceived  that  their  mistress  wished  Mary  to 
be  put  to  death,  but  had  conceived  a  hope  they  would 
.<pire  her  the  cruelty  of  commanding  it,  and  find  some 
jecret  way  of  despatching  her ;  she  even  seemed  to 
thiak,  that  if  their  oath  to  ''the  association"  for  her 
pntsetion  did  not  lead  to  this,  they  had  promised  much, 
bot  aetoally  done  nothing.  From  such  an  interpreta- 
tion of  their  engagement  howerer  tiiey  all  shrunk.  The 
ide*  of  private  assassination  was  abhorrent,  no  doubt,  to 
their  feelings;  but  they  suspected,  also,  that  Elizabeth's 
•aly  object  was  to  shift  the  responsibUity  of  Mary's 
death  ftom  her  shoulders  to  theirs  ;  and  that  nothing 
wu  Bore  likely  than  that,  the  moment  they  had  ftilfilled 
ber  wishes,  she  should  tuni  round,  and  accuse  them  of 
Mting  without  orders.  MeanwhUe,  she  became  hourly 
■ore  uMiuiet,  forsook  her  wonted  amusements,  courted 
M&tade,  and  often  was  heard  muttering  to  herself  a 
Latin  ssntenoe  taken  from  some  of  those  books  of  &n- 
blemata,  or  Aphorisms,  which  were  the  fashion  of  the 
day :  A^Jer  autferi ;  ne  feriarejeri,  [Either  strike 
or  be  stricken  ;  strike  lest  thou  be  stricken.]  This  con- 
tiaswi  till  tiie  1st  of  February,  when  the  Q^een  sent  for 
Mr.  Dsfison  the  Secretary,  at  ten  in  the  morning.  On 
uriTisf  at  the  Palace,  he  found  that  the  Lord  Admiral 
Howard  had  been  conyersing  with  Elizabeth  on  the  old 
point,  the  Scottish  Queen's  execution  ;  and  had  reoeived 
orders  to  send  Secretary  DaTison  to  her  with  tiie  war- 
lut,  which  had  already  been  drawn  up  by  Burghley 
Jhe  Lord  Treasurer,  and  lay  in  his  posseeeion  unsigned. 
DaTuoQ  hasted  to  his  chamber,  and  coming  instantly 
back  ^th  it  and  some  other  papers  in  his  hand,  was 
failed  in  by  Elizabeth,  who,  after  some  talk  on  indiffer- 
•nt  t<mifl8,  asked  him  what  papers  he  had  with  him.  He 
|*pliea,  diTers  warrants  for  her  signature.  She  then 
ny jed  whether  he  had  seen  the  Lord  Admiral,  and 
had  brought  the  warrant  for  the  Scottish  Queen's  exe- 
^tion.^  He  declared  he  had,  and  delivered  it  into  the 
Qneen's  hand  ;  upon  which  she  read  it  over,  called  for 
P«  sad  ink,  deliberately  signed  it,  and  then  looking  up 
a«W  him  whether  he  was  not  heartily  sorry  she  had 
MM  flo.  To  this  bantering  question  he  replied  gravely, 
«at  he  preferred  the  death  of  the  guilty  before  that  of 
the  umooent,  and  could  not  be  sorry  that  her  Majesty 
wok  the  only  course  to  protect  her  person  from  immi- 
nent danger.  Eliiabeth  then  commanded  him  to  take 
*•  ][yttt  to  the  Chancellor  and  have  it  sealed,  with 
w  orders  that  it  should  be  used  as  secretly  as  possible; 
*M  by  the  way,  said  she,  relapsing  again  into  a  jocular 
J*°J»»  you  may  call  on  Walsingham  and  show  it  him  : 
|j»  the  shock  wiU  kill  him  outright."  She  added 
^  »  public  execution  must  be  avoided.  It  should  be 
'woe,  she  said,  not  in  the  open  green  or  court  of  the 
^^i  hot  in  the  hall.  In  conclusion,  she  forbade  him 
*hiolntely  to  trouble  her  any  farther  or  let  her  hear  any 
■we  till  it  was  done  ;  she,  for  her  part,  having  per- 
™^  all  that  in  law  or  reason  could  be  required. 
J^  secretary  now  gathered  up  his  papers,  and  vras 
*™«  his  leave,  when  Elizabeth  stayed  him  for  a  short 
^ ;  tnd  complained  of  Paulet  and  others,  who  might 
■•T*  ••^d  her  oif  this  burden.  Even  now,  said  she,  it 
^j^  be  so  done,  that  the  bhune  might  be  removed 
^  ttyself,  would  you  and  Walsingham  vnrite  jointly, 
S  ^^  ^"^  Amias  and  Sir  Drew  Drury  upon  it.  To 
j™J  Davison  consented,  promising  to  let  Sir  Amias 
^f  what  she  expected  at  his  hands  ;  and  the  Queen, 
°*^  agam  repeated  in  an  earnest  tone,  that  the 

in  P'^  ^  ^<^^y  ^ndled,  dismissed  him. 

AU  this  took  place  on  the  morning  of  the  Ist  of  Feb- 
^^'   In  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  Davison  visited 


Walsingham,  showed  him  the  wsrrant  with  Elizabeth's 
signature,  consulted  with  him  on  the  horrid  communica- 
tion to  be  made  to  Paulet  and  Drury  ;  and  repairing  to 
the  Chancellor,  had  the  Great  Seal  affixed  to  the  war- 
rant. 

Their  joint  letter  to  Patilet  was  accordingly 
written.  It  oondudes  in  these  terms,  having  pre- 
Tionsly  dwelt  upon  the  guilt  and  the  sentence  of 
Mary,  and  the  ^'indisposition  of  one  of  the  sex 
and  quality  '*  of  Elizabeth  ^  to  shed  blood  so  near 
her"  as  that  of  the  Queen  of  Scots : — 

'^  These  respects  we  find  do  greatly  trouble  her  Ma- 
jesty, who,  we  assure  you,  has  sundry  times  protested, 
that  if  the  regard  of  the  danger  of  her  good  subjects  and 
faithAil  servants  did  not  more  move  her  than  her  own 
peril,  she  would  never  be  drawn  to  assent  to  the  shed- 
ding her  blood.  We  thought  it  very  meet  to  acquaint 
you  [with]  these  speeches  lately  passed  from  her  Ma- 
jesty, referring  the  same  to  your  good  judgments.  And 
so  we  commit  you  to  the  protection  of  the  Almighty. — 
Your  most  assured  friends, 

**  FiuNOS  Walsiiiohau. 

**  WiLUAN  DlVISON. 

""  London,  Febmary  1st,  1586." 

Sir  Amias  Paulet  was  the  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  of 
Ms  day.  He  had  harsh  and  onerous  duties  to  per- 
form ;  nor  can  he,  like  the  men  of  later  times,  be 
supposed  to  have  yiewed  his  troublesome  and  way- 
ward charge  through  the  softening  medium  of  her 
beauty,  her  misfortunes,  her  tragic  fate,  and  the 
lapse  of  three  centuries.  Mr.  Tytler  thinks  of  what 
Pauletwasto  hisroyal  prisoner,  *^  cruel  and  morose ;" 
hut  he  forgets,  in  telling  the  story,  what  his  rest- 
lees  and  intriguing  prisoner  was  to  Paulet.  There 
is,  however,  no  letter  in  the  yolume  which  does 
human  nature,  and  the  individual  in  question, 
more  credit^  than  the  reply  of  Paulet,  the  dogged 
Puritan,  to  the  epistle  of  Elizabeth's  subservient 
ministers  :-^ 

With  the  letter,  Davison  sent  an  earnest  iigunction 
that  it  should  be  committed  to  the  flames  ;  promising 
for  his  part  to  bum,  or,  aS  he  styled  it,  *^  make  a  here- 
tic" of  the  answer.  Cruel  and  morose,  however,  as 
Paulet  had  undoubtedly  been  to  Mary,  he  was  not  the 
common  murderer  which  Elizabeth  took  him  to  be,  and 
refused  peremptorily,  to  have  any  hand  in  her  horrid 
purpose.  He  received  the  letter  on  the  2d  of  February, 
at  five  in  the  afternoon,  and  at  six  the  same  evening, 
having  communicated  it  to  Ihrury,  returned  this  answer 
to  Walsingham. 

**  Your  letters  of  yesterday,  coming  to  my  hands  this 
present  day  at  five  in  the  afternoon,  I  would  not  foil, 
according  to  your  directions,  to  return  my  answer  vnth 
all  possible  speed;  which  [I]  shall  deliver  unto  yon 
with  great  grief  and  bitterness  of  mind,  in  that  I  am  so 
unhappy  to  have  liven  to  see  this  unhappy  day,  in  the 
which  I  am  required,  by  direction  ttom  my  most  gracious 
Sovereign,  to  do  an  act  v^ch  God  and  the  law  forbid- 
deth.  My  good  livings  and  life  are  at  her  Majesty's  dis- 
position, and  I  am  r^y  to  lose  them  this  next  morrow, 
if  it  shall  so  please  her :  acknowledging  that  I  hold 
tiiem  as  of  her  mere  and  gracious  favour.  I  do  not  de- 
sire them  to  eig'oy  them  but  vnth  her  Highness'  good 
liking ;  but  God  forbid  that  I  should  make  so  foul  a 
shipwreck  of  my  conscience,  or  leave  so  great  a  blot  to 
my  poor  posterity,  to  shed  blood  without  law  and  war- 
rant. Trusting  that  her  Majesty,  of  her  accustomed 
clemency,  will  take  this  my  dutiful  answer  in  good  pari'* 

This  refusal,  as  we  have  seen,  was  written  on  the  2d 
February,  in  the  evening,  at  Fotheringay ;  and,  next 
morning,  (the  3d,  Friday,)  Darison  received  an  early  and 
hasty  summons  from  Elizabeth,  who  called  him  into  her 
chamber,  and  inquired  if  he  had  been  with  the  warrant 
to  the  Chancellor's.    He  said  he  had ;  and  die  asked 


328 


!rYTLEIt*S  rasTO&Y  OF  SCO'tLAND. 


sharply  why  lie  had  made  sachhute.  ^I  obeyed  your  Ma- 
jesty's commands,''  was  his  reply  ;  ''and  deemed  it  no 
matter  to  be  daUied  with."— «  Tme,"  said  she,  «yet 
methinks  the  best  and  safest  way  wonld  be  to  hare  it 
otherwise  handled."  He  answered  to  this,  that,  if  it 
was  to  be  dcme  at  all,  the  honourable  way  was  the  safest; 
and  the  Queen  dismissed  him.  But  by  this  time  the 
warrant,  with  the  royal  signature,  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  Council ;  and  on  that  day  they  addressed  a  letter, 
enclosing  it,  to  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury.  This  letter  was 
signed  by  Burghley  the  Lord  Treasurer,  Leioester, 
Hiinsdon,  Knollys,  Walsingham,  Derby,  Howard,  Cob- 
ham,  Sir  Christopher  Hatton,  and  Davison  himself.  Yet 
some  fears  as  to  the  responsibility  of  sending  it  away 
without  the  Queen's  knowledge,  maide  them  stUl  hesitate 
to  despatch  it.  In  this  interval,  Paulet's  answer  arriv- 
ed ;  and  as  Walsingham,  to  whom  he  had  addressed  it, 
was  sick,  (or,  as  some  said,  pretended  illness,)  the  task 
of  communicating  it  to  Elizabeth  fell  on  DaTison.  She 
read  it  with  symptoms  of  great  impatience  ;  and,  break- 
ing out  into  passionate  expressions,  declared  that  she 
hated  those  dainty,  nice,  precise  fellows,  who  promised 
much,  but  performed  nothing  :  casting  all  the  burden  on 
her.  But,  she  added,  she  would  hare  it  done  without 
him,  by  Wingfield.  Who  this  new  assassin  was,  to 
whom  the  Queen  alluded,  does  not  appear. 

The  volume  closes  with  the  execution  of  Mary  ; 
and  often  as  that  tragic  tale  has  been  repeated,  it 
loses  nothing  of  interest  or  pathos  in  the  elegant 
narrative  of  Mr.  Tytler.  This  touching  incident 
ends  the  scene  : — 

An  affecting  incident  now  occurred.  On  removing 
the  dead  body,  and  the  clothes  and  mantle  which  lay 
beside  it,  Mary's  favourite  little  dog,  which  had  followed 
its  mistress  to  the  scaffold  unperceived,  was  found  nest- 
ling under  them.  No  entreaty  could  prevail  on  it  to 
quit  the  spot  ;  and  it  remained  lying  beside  the  corpse, 
and  stained  in  the  blood,  till  forcibly  carried  away  by 
the  attendants. 

A  copious'  Appendix,  consisting  of  Proofs  and 
Illustrations  of  important  facts  in  the  volume,  and 
drawn  from  manuscripts  in  the  State-paper  Office, 
and  from  other  collections  hitherto  unprinted,  to 
which  Mr.  Tytler  has  obtained  access,  besides  stamp- 
ing the  work  with  authenticity,  reveals  many 
curious  traits  of  individual  character  and  national 
manners. 

We  have  left  ourselves  little  space  to  notice  what 
we  consider  the  peculiar  merits  of  Mr.  Tytler 
as  an  historian.  These  are  of  no  ordinary  kind. 
Shakespeare  taught  his  countrymen  a  lesson  in  the 
art  of  writing  History,  by  whichfewof  them  have  yet 
profited.  The  English  historical  style  was  by  many 
considered  to  have  reached  perfection  in  the  stately 


march  of  the  periods  of  Robertson ;  while  others 
preferred  the  lucid  and  easy  undulating  narrative 
of  Hume.  Neither  of  these  eminent  writers  have, 
like  Mr.  Tytler,  as  it  were  dramatized  the  great 
events  they  recorded,  and  placed  the  leading  char- 
acters of  history  on  tiie  scene  before  us,  surrounded 
by  their  natural  accessories^  and  all  in  action,— each 
speaking  his  ovm  very  words,  and  unreservedly  ex- 
pressing the  varied  and  conflicting  passions  and 
motives  by  which  he  was  actuated  while  these 
things  actually  passed.  This  achievement,  which 
Mr.  Tytler  has  accomplished  by  ransacking  their 
private  and  most  confidential  correspondence,— 
eaves-dropping,  as  it  were,  at  their  secret  confer- 
ences and  councils,  and  thus  laying  bare  cvenr 
throb  of  their  hearts  before  the  spectator, — was,  we 
presume,  thought  below  the  dijpiity  of  legitimate 
or  classic  history ;  which  only  d^t  in  lofty  general- 
ities and  sweeping  results,  \rithout  seeking  to  trace 
or  display  those  great  or  more  minute  springs  which 
guided  the  complex  movement.  For  laboured  de- 
scriptions, cold,  however  graceful,  he  has,  in  brief, 
substituted  action  and  vitality. ^What  we,  there- 
fore, consider  the  peculiar  and  very  decided  superi- 
ority of  Mr.  Tytler,  is,  claiming  ampler  scope  and 
verge  for  his  narrative ;  applying,  in  short,  the  true 
principle  to  the  composition  of  history, — ^resuscitat- 
ing its  mouldering  remains — ^bidding  the  dry  bones 
live;  and  yet,  while  thus  boldly  innovating,  never 
once  giving  the  rein  to  imagination ;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, accomplishing  his  end  by  a  more  direct  ap- 
peal to  truth  and  reality,  and  to  the  primary  and 
authentic  sources  of  information  and  knowledge, 
than  his  eminent  predecessors,  who  were  contented 
to  walk  in  the  trammels  which  custom  had  prescrib- 
ed. He  has  in  every  case  gone  to  the  fountain-head; 
taking  nothing  for  granted,  nothing  at  second-hand, 
and  leaving  nothing  unexamined.  This  argues  a  de- 
gree of  perseverance  and  of  actual  time-consombg 
drudgery,  through  which  nothingsave  ardententhu- 
siasm  in  the  pursuit  could  have  carried  an  author. 
The  results  are  corresponding.  We  have  a  work 
valuable  for  the  primary  quidity  of  all  histoiy,— 
authenticity,  and  accuracy,  and  fulness  in  the  de- 
tail of  facts;  while  with  the  strict  fidelity  of  the 
portraiture  are  combined  beauty,  expression,  indivi- 
duality, and  whatever  gives  assurance  that  such 
was  the  real  person — such  the  very  scene. 


TO  MISS  ELLEN  TREE,  AS  "JULIET.' 


« I  iMV«r  thought 
YouUi'c  viai<m  thus 


my  death  to  lee 
perfect.- 

SBKLLtY. 


O,  Lady  !  for  one  glance  of  Shakspeare's  eyes, 
num.  their  eternity,  upon  thee  now  ! 
That  he,  e'en  here  on  earth,  might  reeognise 
His  yonthfhl  vision  once  again,  and  bow 
Before  it  with  youth's  fervour.    And  art  thou 
But  feigning  passions  which  thou  mak'st  us  feel, 
As  if  each  tear  and  vow  to  love  were  real  t 


Thy  eloquence  of  fkce  and  ^  tmmpet-toiigae,'' 

Plead  with  our  grosser  senses  to  unseal 

Sources  of  admiration,  that  belong, 

Not  merely  to  the  abstract  and  ideal. 

But  to  our  proper  nature — ^to  the  strong 

Of  heart,  whom  neither  gold  nor  steel 

Have  power  to  alienate  firom  hopes  of  human  w^ 


Md 


DUGGINS'S  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


BT  BON  OAULTIER. 


h  mj  irayels  up  and  down  the  world,  I  haye 
net  with  not  a  few  unexpected  coincidences ;  but 
one  more  pleasant  than  my  meeting  with  my  old 
frknd,  Chicles  Dnggins^  on  the  banks  of  the  Upper 
MMooiiy  I  certainly  never  encountered.  The  last 
time  I  had  seen  him  was  oyer  the  mahogany  at  my 
friend  Briefless's  chambers  in  the  Temple,  where, 
vithSamLoyer,  Theodore  Hook,  Greorge  Cruick- 
ibiok,  and  a  few  more  such  spirits,  we  contrived 
to  produce  a  very  remarkable  impression,  or  rather 
^^lession,  upon  a  butt  of  our  host's  best  Bor- 
^ttox.  I  had  a  faint  recollection  of  having  parted 
from  him  near  the  foot  of  St.  Martin's  Lane  in  the 
following  singular  fashion. — ^We  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  a  couple  of  cabmen,  who,  seeing  us 
wmewhat  lively,  though  not  more  so  than  gentle- 
men ooght  to  be,  snapped  us  up,  and,  depositing  us 
in  the  interior  of  one  of  Hanson  s  Patent  Safeties, 
drove  OS  belter  skelter  down  the  Strand,  till  the 
opsetting  of  the  Patent  Safety  projected  its  driver 
into  the  window  of  an  oyster  shop,  and  my  friend 
ind  myself  into  a  gutter  unctuous  with  the  mud 
of  three  weeks  of  rain.  When  I  recovered  from 
the  ston  of  my  fall,  I  discovered  my  friend  embrac- 
ing the  curb  stone  in  a  very  passionate  manner, — 
I  lifing  illustration  of  Virgil's  ^^procwnbU  humi 
BOX  ;'*  but  I  had  no  opportunity  of  observing  his 
farther  movements,  as  at  this  moment  my  hat 
vu  knocked  over  my  eyes,  and  I  felt  my  watch 
ttke  flight  from  my  fob.  Having,  with  some 
lenity,  restored  my  D'Orsay  to  its  position,  I 
rushed  after  the  thief  in  pursuit,— I  need  hardly 
ity  without  effect, — and  before  I  returned  to  the 
^  idiere  I  had  left  my  friend,  he  was  gone,  some 
good  Samaritan  having,  I  presume,  set  him  on  his 
^8»  and  sent  him  home  in  a  hackney  coach. 

^oon  after  thb  I  left  England,  and  had  been 
wandering  to  and  fro  upon  the  face  of  the  vast 
<uth,  till  I  found  myself  one  fine  morning  at  the 
most  remote  hunting-fort  oi  the  North  Annerican 
Pnr  Company  upon  the  Upper  Missouri.  It  was 
>hoQt  the  end  of  March  when  I  arrived  there ;  and 
te  the  hunters  were  about  to  descend  the  river  with 
^ir  returns  of  buffi&lo  robes  and  other  peltries,  I 
tuQed  myself  of  the  opportunity  of  returning  in 
one  of  thdr  boats  to  the  confines  of  civilisation. 

We  had  been  descending  the  river  for  several 
^7>>  &  task  of  difficulty  and  danger,  which  those 
^7  who  have  performed  it  can  appreciate.  What 
^ween  hostile  Indians,  snags,  sunken  rocks,  ra- 
1^  and  frost  and  snow  that  cut  into  the  bones, 
^  <>0fa^Mr'«  life  presents  to  the  eye  of  the  to  wn- 
Ixed  mui  as  many  deBogrinwHS  as  can  well  be  con- 
S^^S^ted  into  a  compact  space.  But  the  fatigues  and 
""^^wings  of  the  day  once  over,  the  boat  drawn  up 
^  «hOTe,  the  fire  Idndled,  and  plenty  to  eat,  you 
^  ruely  see  a  happier  fellow  than  the  voj^ageur. 
^^^  his  broad  laugh  ringing  among  the  gigantic 


rocks,  or  through  the  silent  forest, — his  hearty 
carol  echoing  in  the  moonlight  across  the  onwa^ 
flowing  river,  and  you  would  never  think  that  thb 
was  the  man  who  all  day  long  had  been  vnrestling 
with  danger  and  privation,  that  to  a  man  sitting 
over  his  parlour  fire  would  seem  to  carry  certain 
destruction  to  the  sturdiest  frame.  Inured  as  my 
travels  had  made  me  to  every  species  of  privation, 
I  was  soon  familiarized  to  thb  mode  of  Ufe,  and 
enjoyed  the  wonderful  soenery,  through  which  the 
river  swept,  with  a  reHsh  to  which  your  Cockney 
tourist,  who  carries,  like  Dogberry,  ^everything 
handsome  about  him,"  must  be  for  ever  a  stranger. 

It  was  early  morning,  and  we  had  just  emerged 
from  a  bend  in  the  river  where,  on  either  side, 
precipices  rose  high  above  the  water,  shaped  in 
fantastic  forms,  like  huge  monuments,  terraces, 
and  cathedral  spires ;  and^  turning  a  creek,  came 
in  sight  of  a  stretch  of  the  river  where  the  country 
was  more  level,  and  covered  with  timber  to  the 
water's  edge.  The  sun,  which  had  hitherto  been 
concealed  from  us  by  the  steepness  of  the  banks, 
now  broke  upon  our  view,  suffusing  hill,  forest,  and 
river  with  one  broad  glittering  haze  of  gold,  and 
almost  blinding  us  for  a  time  by  the  sudden 
brightness.  As  the  eye  became  more,  familiar  to 
the  blaze,  and  better  able  to  discriminate  the  fea- 
tures of  the  landscape,  I  descried,  in  the  deep 
shadow  of  the  forest  on  the  left  bank  of  the  stream, 
a  thin  streak  ai  blue  smoke  rising  from  the  bank, 
and  two  figures  standing  near  the  point  from  which 
it  rose. 

I  pointed  them  out  to  my  companions ;  and  lest 
they  should  prove  to  belong  to  a  war  party  of  the 
Indians,  who,  at  thb  part  of  the  river,  are  well 
known  to  be  troublesome,  we  saw  that  our  guns 
were  in  order,  and  got  our  ball-pouches  ready,  in 
case  of  a  brush.  As  we  neared  the  figures,  they 
made  signs  to  us  to  approach,  and  their  gestures 
soon  satisfied  us  that  they  did  not  belong  to  the 
Red  Men,  but  came  ai  the  same  stock  as  ourselves. 
Our  boat  pulled  to  the  shore  of  the  river,  which  at 
this  point  might  be  about  two  hundred  and  thirty 
yards  broad ;  and  never  shall  I  forget  the  exulta- 
tion of  the  poor  devib  as  they  hailed  us,  and  we 
responded  in  good  English  to  their  appeal.  The 
railway  traveller  who,  after  a  coUbion,  counts  hb 
limbs,  and  finds  none  of  them  amissing, — ^the 
mariner  picked  from  hb  raft  on  the  wild  and  waste- 
ful ocean, — the  ironed  felon  when  he  b  reprbved, 
— ^the  much-enduring  husband  when  hb  termagant 
wife  pays  the  debt  of  nature — ^the  only  debt  she 
ever  paid, — these  may  fed  a  thrill  of  tran^rt ; 
but  their  transport  b  nothing  to  that  of  the  man 
who  sees  relief  approach  in  the  vast  solitude, 
whose  sibnce  b  broken  only  by  the  beatings  of 
hb  own  heart, — ^where  he  has,  for  hours  on  hours, 
heard,  in  imagination,  the  savage  yell  of  the  Indian 


330 


DUGGINffS  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


ringing  in  his  earg,  as  the  Red  Man  flourishes  the 
tomahawk  over  his  doomed  and  defenceless  head. 

The  outward  man  of  my  friends  and  myself  was 
not  remarkable  for  its  elegance  or  refinement ;  but 
that  of  our  new  acquaintances  was  a  good  many 
degrees  less  so.  The  taller  of  the  two  had  on  a 
red  flannel  jacket^  while  his  lower  extremities  were 
encased  in  a  pair  of  deer-skin  smalls  of  the  amplest 
dimensions,  with  fringes  about  a  foot  long,  sewed 
by  way  of  ornament  into  the  outside  seams.  A 
pair  of  mocassins,  and  a  round  white  hat  com- 
pleted his  attire.  His  friend  was  even  more  primi- 
tively arrayed  ;  his  yestments,  saying  and  except- 
ing a  short  buffalo  robe  round  his  loins,  and  a  pair 
of  mocassins,  being  rigorously  limited  to  those 
with  which  nature  had  endowed  him.  His  skin  was 
agreeably  diversified,  much  after  the  fashion  of  a 
painter's  apron,  with  a  variety  of  ochres  of  the 
coarsest  kind ;  and  from  these,  and  the  feathers 
stuck  into  his  hair,  it  was  apparent  that  an  attempt 
had  been  made  to  ornament  his  person  upon  the 
Indian  model,  which  had  only  imperfectly  suc- 
ceeded. I  thought  that  I  had  seen  the  faces  of  our 
friends  before  ;  but  when  it  is  considered  that  one 
of  them  was  fearfully  gashed  upon  the  cheek  and 
brow,  and  that  the  other  had  been  partially  tatooed, 
I  think  I  may  be  forgiven  if  I  did  not  at  once  recog- 
nise in  the  former  of  these  foriom  wanderers  the 
immortal  N.  P.  Willis,  nor  detect  in  the  other  the 
engaging  smile  of  the  peeriess  Duggins. 

The  first  congratulations  over,  our  friends  ap- 
plied themselves  vigorously  to  the  provisions  which 
we  set  before  them ;  and  before  they  had  finished 
their  third  pound  of  buffalo  Btiek.  each,  and 
washed  it  down  with  an  extra  draught  of  grog, 
one  of  them  was  apostrophizing  a  lady  of  the  name 
of  **  Melanie,"  whUe  the  other  muttered  something 
about  a  child,  a  very  little  child,  who  rejoiced  in 
the  name  of  "little  Nell."  Hilloahl  thought  I, 
whom  have  we  here  ?  and  I  took  a  narrower  view 
of  the  strangers. 

"  Willis,  my  boy,"  I  exclaimed,  in  breathless 
surprise,  as  my  scrutiny  satisfied  me  of  the  iden- 
tity of  one  of  them  with  the  illustrious  Penciller, 
"  what  the  devU  brought  you  into  the  Far  West  ? 
Ecod,  my  fine  fellow,  you  seem  to  have  picked  up 
Pummelings  by  the  Way,  in  place  of  Pencillings, 
this  time?" 

"  Eh,  what  1"  retorted  N.  P.,  arresting  his  mo- 
lars in  the  act  of  mastification,  and  gazing  at  me 
with  all  his  eyes,  "Bon  Gaultierl  No!  Is  it 
you?    Well,  I  never !" 

"  Don't  stand  gaping  there,  man,  like  a  stuck  pig. 
Thank  your  stars  I'm  not  Gibson  Lockhart." 

"  Bon  Gaultier?  Willis,  did  you  say,  Bon 
Gaultier  ?"  exclaimed  the  shorter  stranger,  eyeing 
me  with  his  large  intelligent  orbs. 

"  To  be  sure  I  did !  I  hope  you  have  no  fault 
to  find  with  my  pronunciation,"  responded  the 
bard  of  "Melanie,  and  other  Poems,"  bolting  a 
mouthfiil  in  a  pet,  and  nearly  choking  as  he  did  so. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  how  are  you  ?"  exclaimed  his 
friend ;  and,  starting  from  his  haunches,  he  rushed 
forward,  and  grasped  me  warmly  by  the  hand. 
•*  You  remember  Duggins?" 

"What!— Charles  Duggins?"    I  wplied,  «  Re- 


member the  Author  of  *Chuckleby*  and  *The 
Sketches  V  Do  I  remember  St.  Paul's,  or  the 
Aldgate  Pump?  How  can  you  be  so  superfluous, 
my  dear  fellow,  as  to  ask  me  if  I  remember 
you?  By  the  by,  how  did  you  get  home  th&t 
night  you  and  I  were  spilt  from  tiie  cab  in  the 
Strand — ^what  have  you  been  doing  since— and, 
finally,  what  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  absurd  and 
incomprehensible,  brought  you  to  this  quarter  of 
the  globe  ?  To  think  of  meeting  such  a  pair  of 
shepherds  as  you  and  Willis  upon  the  Missouri, 
and  in  such  toggery  as  this !  Why,  your  mothers 
wouldn't  know  you.  You  have  been  getting  your- 
selves into  a  pretty  particular  vicious  &x^  I  oalcn- 
late,  as  the  Yankees  say." 

"  Yankees,  Sir, — ^what  do  you  mean  by  thatT 
shouted  Willis,  reddening  up  in  the  face  like  a 
turkey-cock  in  a  thunder  storm.  "  The  man,  Sir, 
that  insults  my  nation,  Sir — " 

"  Oh,  confound  your  nation ! — we  all  know  they 
speak  purer  English  than  the  natives  in  the  old 
country — ay,  purer  than  my  friends  of  Cockaigne 
themsdves,"  hiterjected  Duggins,  in  a  bhmd  and 
pacific  tone,  that  operated  like  oil  upon  the  tem- 
pest in  a  teapot,  which  our  friend  N.  P.  had  been 
getting  up  on  his  own  account.  He  cooled  down 
in  a  moment,  and  commenced  an  assault  upon  the 
leg  of  a  roast  goose. 

"  Our  friend,  the  Penciller,  like  all  people  that 
have  no  regard  for  other  people's  feelings,  is  ab- 
surdly sensitive,"  whispered  Duggins  to  me,  **  in 
fact,  he  is  one  universal  raw.  You  can  hardlj 
touch  him,  but  he  winces,  ever  since  that  merciless 
scourging  he  got  in  the  Quarterfy.  But  he  is  real- 
ly not  a  bad  fellow,  though  be  does  bore  one  dread- 
faUy  with  that  ^  Melanie,  and  other  Poema^'  of 
his.  Hear  him ! — ^there  he  is  at  them  already, 
though  not  half  an  hour  out  of  the  very  jaws  of 
death!" 

And,  true  enough,  the  author  of  "  Musings  under 
a  Bridge"  was  vociferating  the  following  lines  ore 
rcitundoy  while  he  polished  off  the  thigh  bone  of 
the  goose,  and  gazed  with  glowing  eyes  upon  the 
scenery  before  him : — 

"  The  mountaiiis  that  enfold 
In  their  wide  sweep  the  coloured  landscape  round, 
Seem  groups  of  giant  kings,  in  purple  and  in  gold, 
That  guard  the  enchanted  ground.'* 

'^  Is  it  not  delightful  to  see  such  elasticity  of 
mind?"  continued  Duggins,  testifying  his  delight, 
by  tossing  off  another  sneaker  of  gin  and  water. 
"  It  is  not  often  that  we  see  such  playful  outburrts 
in  the  world-worn  man,  rising  in  the  sunshine  of 
fancy,  like  the  glittering  jet  of  some  fairy  fountam 
far  hid  in  the  gloom  of  an  enchanted  garden.  The 
spectre  of  widies,  hopes,  and  loves,  decaying  or 
decayed,  is  too  apt  to  fling  its  shadow  across  the 
weary  heart  Its  bloom,  its  first  dewy  freahness 
is  dimmed  and  trodden  away.  Our  tears  are  the 
consuming  lava  that  scars  the  green  mountain  side, 
' — ^not  the  bright  April  shower  tiiat  gemmed  the 
saddest  moments  of  our  infancy.  When  I  was  a 
young  boy,  a  very  little  child ; — ** 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  Duggins,"  exclaimed  Willis» 
bursting  into  a  cold  sweat,  **  don't  come  that  oTer- 
lasting  /  little  child'  ever  us  just  now.    Deucethe 


DUGGINS^S  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


881 


kiAgdieliAVi  70U  talked  about  nnce  weleftNew 
fork." 

**  When  I  waa  a  young  boy — a  very  little  child," 
DDtmned  Dnggina,  with  an  air  of  ofi«nded  dignity-^ 

"^AUtUeehUd^arosyeU; 
Sisging,  dancing  to  itself, 
A  £ur  roand  Umi^  with  chubby  cheeks. 
In  jacket  blae,  and  nankeen  breeks, 
rappoee,*  I  chimed  in.    ^  Gro  a-head,  Duggins. 
?hen  you  were  a  very  little  child — •" 
"  B^y,  gentlemen,  this  is  too  bad.     I  did  not 
^lect  to  have  the  tender  vein  of  sentiment  which 
he  retrospect  of  a  bright  joyous  infancy  always 
o^Mts  to  a  gentle  nature  treated  with  this  air  of 
erity." 

"  Lerity !  my  dear  Duggins,"  replied  the  Pen- 
iDer,  **  I  can  assure  you,  tiiese  same  blessed 
abies  of  yours  are  no  laughing  matter.  There's 
Smike— poor  Smike,  and  the  schoolmaster's  boy, 
k  my  young  boy,  quite  a  little  child — and  litUe 
tidl,  not  to  mention  a  host  of  minor  fry,  that  have 
kept  your  readers  weeping  for  the  last  three  years 
tike  gum  trees  in  the  autunm  time.  Its  an  al- 
mighty shame,  it  is,  to  make  the  public  your 
pocket-handkerchief  in  this  way.  You  know  it's 
KUgammon,  and  that  these  same  very  little  children 
of  yoTirs  were  a  set  of  as  greasy,  wheasy,  puking, 

eg,  dirty-faced  little  vermin,  as  ever  broke  the 
B  of  their  over-wrought  mothers,  or  scorned 
the  fiunillar  use  of  a  pocket-handkerchief.  If  you 
want  genuine  poetry,  the  sentiment  of  a  Sappho 
vith  the  eloquence  of  a  Euripides— there's  my 
'Melanie.*— *• 

**Not  to  mention  the  *  Other  Poems.' |  Not  a 
Ambt  of  it,"  said  I.    "  By  the  by,  did  you  ever 
Wr  that  distich  of  Fitzgreen  HaUeck's  upon  your 
^k  ?    It  mns  something  this  way  : — 
Would  yon  know  the  last  stretch  of  poetical  Tillany, 
Jost  read,  if  yon  can,  N.  P.  Willis's  Melanie." 

"  The  everlasting  rugger,"  roared  the  American 
^pides,  starting  to  his  feet,  and  looking  as 
ttwngh  his  skm  wouldn't  hold  hun.  **  Wait  till 
1  catch  him  in  Broadway  ;  and  if  it's  a  fair  fight, 
*^  no  gouging,  bum  my  old  shoes,  if  I  don't  beat 
^  to  the  other  end  of  eternity." 

It  was  fortunate  that  it  was  now  time  for  us  to 
puioe  oar  course,  otherwise  the  excitement  of  the 
PenciUer  might  have  led  him  to  conmiit  some 
"|oi«trou3  extravagance.  As  it  was,  he  merely 
I^<^ed  np  his  rifle,  which,  by  the  way,  he  had 
^^'istened  by  the  name  of  **  Melanie,"  and  levelled 
^t  twice  or  thrice  at  an  imaginary  Halleck,  with  a 
^  ferocious  air.  "  The  lunatic,  the  lover,  and 
the  poet,"— for  N.  P.  was  at  that  moment  the  three 
fentlemen  in  one,— did  no  mischief,  however,and  we 
^jnmpedinto  our  keel-boat,  and  pushed  ofi;  The 
"<|&tmeQ  began  to  mng  one  of  their  songs, — ^not  the 
^y*washy  afiair,  that  Moore  has  palmed  off  upon 
tt^ boarding-schools  as  *'  The  Canadian  Boat  Song," 
Hmt  a  vigorous  chant,  nuuily  in  words  and  music, 
^chimedwellwith  die  wild  magnificence  of  the 
^"'^  Bolitudes  through  which  we  were  sweeping ; 
^  away  we  went»  beneath  a  bright  bine  sky, 
%^  merrily. 

^  pleasant  time  we  had  of  it  during  the  next 
fcrt&ight,  which  it  took  ua  to  ineacb  St.  Louis. 


Willis,  Duggins,  and  myself  took  our  share  of  the 
work  at  the  boats,  whenever  we  could  be  of  service; 
and  when  we  were  forced  to  put  on  shore  by  the 
severity  of  the  weather,  the  high  wind,  or  any 
other  cause,  I  found  my  friends  no  bad  hfwds  at 
bringing  down  an  antelope,  an  elk,  or  a  bighorn, 
and  even  a  bufialo  upon  occasion,  in  the  course  of 
a  forenoon's  sport.  And  when  we  would  lay  up 
for  the  night,  and  the  wfyageurs  were  sleeping  off 
the  fatigues  of  the  day,  and  the  surfeit  witib  which 
they  invariably  wound  it  up, — for  a  'ocifngmr 
**  beats  all  nature"  at  eating, — my  literary  Mends 
and  myself  would  pile  fresh  billets  on  the  fire,  and 
laying  ourselves  down  beside  it,  on  our  bufialo  skins, 
beguUe  the  darkness  with  tales  of  our  adventures 
and  hair-breadth  'scapes.  Willis  would  sometimes 
slop  us  with  his  poetry,  and  Duggins  maunder 
about  flowers  and  the  glad  sunshine,  and  young 
creatures,  young  and  full  of  hope,  stricken  down 
and  gat^iered  to  their  graves;  but  I  threatened  the 
former  with  iltzgreen  HaUeck's  distich,  and  in- 
terrupted the  other  with  the  familiar  carol  of 
"Bye  Babby  Bunting,"  and  by  so  doing  rarely 
£aUed  to  bring  them  to  their  senses. 

"  This  b  ii^eed  enjoyment,"  exclaimed  Duggins, 
on  one  of  these  occasions,  **  a  perfectly  new  sensa- 
tion, that  hopeless  desidmratum  of  the  civilized 
world!  Here,  with  the  broad  heavens,  and  the 
silent  majesty  of  the  stars,  canopying  our  heads, 
the  old  primeval  forests  around  us,  and  the  river 
rolling  at  our  feet,  as  it  has  rolled  from  the  begin- 
ning and  will  roll  to  the  end  of  time, — here,  with 
the  vast  hush  of  boundless  solitudes  awing  the 
heart  into  devotion  too  intense  for  words " 

"  €ro  a-head  upon  that  figure ! "  said  I,  yawning, 
while  the  PenciUer  began  to  quote— 

"  Its  my  delight,  on  a  shiny  night, 

When  my  Melanie  peeps  from  her  lattice  light." 

'^  Here,  as  I  was  saying,  laid  upon  the  banks  of 
this  vast  river,  by  the  wolf-scaring  faggot,"  con- 
tinued the  imperturbable  Duggins,  "  and  couched 
upon  the  shaggy  hide  of  the  tremendous  bison,  that 
but  yesterday  ^ook  the  prairie  with  the  thunder 
of  his  tread " 

^  Oh  did  you  not  hear  of  a  joUy  yoimg  bnflklo. 

That  kicked  up  his  heels  at  the  Indian's  gmif  haUo  !" 

stmck  in  the  incorrigible  "  Muser  under  a  Bridge.'* 
"  Here,  as  I  was  saying,  in  this  pathless  desert, 
I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  scnnehow  there  rise  be- 
fore me  bright  visions  of  the  homes  of  men,  and 
aU  the  soft  humanities  that  impart  a  grace  to  life. 
I  see  fire-lit  rooms,  with  h^py  faces  smiling  faito 
the  cheerful  blaze  :  the  father,  his  day's  anxieties 
thrown  by,  and  near  him  the  young  blossoms  of 
his  love,--4iis  ohUdren,  young  boys  and  girls,  very 

Uttle  children " 

"  These  infernal  children  again  I  BeaUy,  Dug- 
gins, this  is  too  bad.  I'm  chawed  catawampously, 
if  I  stand  it,"  exclaimed  WiUi>»  in  a  state  of  violent 
excitement 

**  Green  lanes,  too,  smile  out  before  me  in  the 
cheerful  sunshine,  and  flowers  are  springing  there, 
and  maids  art  singing  there,  in  tiie  gladness  of 
their  dawning  lova,  and  a  world  of  aU  bright  and 
beaatifol  things—  '^ 


dd2 


DV(iOINS*S  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


^  Ohy  eonfonnd  it,  Daggins,  keep  all  that  for 
your  next  book.  May  I  be  shoty  if  I  see  any 
of  theee  bright  and  beantifQl  things  that  you  have 
been  palayering  abont.  It's  desperately  cold,  and 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  pay  my  addresses  to  that  flask 
which  yoaVe  been  sucking  at  for  the  last  quarter 
of  an  hour ;  so  pass  the  rosy,  my  friend,  and  give 
us  something  in  your  lively  vein.  That's  all  right/' 
I  continued,  as  I  caught  ^e  flask  which  he  threw 
across  the  fire  to  me  ;  ^and  now,  my  fine  fellow, 
fire  away !  * 

^  Veiy  well,  I  confess  I  was  growing  sentimental. 
So  here  goes. 

^  I  told  you,"  said  he,  *'  last  night,  how  the 
dinner  went  ofl^  that  they  gave  me  on  my  arrival 
at  New  York.  The  dishes  were  excellent,  the 
wine  undeniable,  and  the  speakers  managed  to 
soft-sawder  me  and  themselves  with  the  utmost 
dexterity, — ^taking  care,  though,  to  let  me  under- 
stand, that  though  I  was  a  deucedly  clever  fellow, 
their  own  writers  were  all  to  nothing  a  cleverer 
set,  ^  by  a  long  chalk,'  than  I  was.  I  had  had  a 
taste  of  this  sort  of  thing  at  Edinburgh,  however ; 
so  I  didn't  feel  much  put  about.  Christopher 
North  had  told  me  in  so  many  words  that  my 
works,  beside  Sir  Walter's,  and  half  a  dozen  other 
novelists  of  the  north,  were  very  small  ale  indeed ; 
and  a  succession  of  orators,  who  spoke  in  strong 
gutturals,  had  thrown  a  man  that  they  called 
Bums,  I  think,  in  my  teeth,  till  I  felt  about  as 
perplexed  as  a  fly  in  a  treacle-pot,  and  didn't  know 
how  to  look.  So,  you  see,  when  they  came  to  tell- 
ing me,  at  New  York,  to  take  lessons  from  Cooper, 
Fay,  Flint,  Bird,  Sedgwick,  et  hoc  genus  omnCy  I 
did  not  feel  at  all  strange,  but  took  it  rather  as  a 
compliment  than  otherwise.  And  so,  seeing  how 
the  land  lay,  I  talked  to  them  about  their  ever- 
lasting fine  country,  which  had  given  birth  to  the 
most  everlasting  lot  of  fine  writers  that  ever  dirtied 
paper ;  and  told  them  how  immortal  proud  I  was 
to  see  such  illustrious  men  as  Halleck,  and  Bryan, 
and  Peleg  Longfellow,  and  Brown,  and  Smortolk 
around  me ;  and  then  they  cheered,  and  the  band 
Struck  up  '  Yankee  Doodle,'  and  they  all  looked 
as  lively  as  skinned  eels.  But  the  fancy  ball  at 
the  Park  Theatre,  a  few  nights  after,  beat  the 
dinner  all  hollow.  Fill  your  pipes  ;  and,  Willis, 
mind  you  don't  interrupt  me  with  any  of  these 
verses  of  yours,  but  listen  ^with  an  attent  ear,'  and  I 
shall  give  you  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account  of 

THE  DUGGINS  FANCY  BALL. 
**  The  importunity  of  our  kind  friends  detained 
tis  (nothing  loath)  so  long  at  the  festive  board, 
that  our  preparations  for  appearing  in  fancy  cos- 
tume at  this  great  national  fete  were  necessarily 
curtailed.  For  my  own  part,  I  acknowledge  that 
the  copious  draughts  of  American  admiration  forced 
upon  me  during  that  memorable  evening,  not  to 
mention  the  champagne,  were  not  without  their 
effects.  I  felt,  upon  retiring  to  my  apartment, 
slightly  elevated,  and  would  gladly,  had  it  been 
poflsible,  have  pled  the  excuse  of  indisposition, 
and  absented  myself  altogether.  But  I  was  con- 
scious that,  without  me,  that  vast  lamp-lit  Trans- 
atlantic hiJl  would  appear  to  the  mental  vision  of 


the  spectators,  as  dark  and  dreary  as  the  midnigl] 
heaven  without  the  cheerful  moon ;  and  mine  i 
not  the  nature  to  inflict  one  pang  of  disappoini 
ment  upon  a  single  kindly  heart,  when  any  a&crj 
fice  of  my  own  oomfort  or  convenience  can  preyei 
the  sickly  spasm.  These  reflections,  and  a  eonpl 
of  soda  powders,  restored  my  equanimity,  and 
proceeded  forthwith  to  array  myself  in  tiie  dia 
which  I  had  previously  selected  as  the  most  appn 
priate  for  the  occasion. 

"  I  was  intuitively  aware  that  the  extreme  goo 
taste  of  the  company  would  induce  them  in  manj 
instances  to  embody  in  a  palpable  form  those  chai 
acters  which  have  emanated  with  some  little  fd^ 
city  from  my  humble  pen.  Such  marked  atten 
tion  I  was  determined  should  be  met  upon  my  pu 
with  reciprocal  delicacy  t  accordingly,  as  a  coq 
pliment  to  the  characteristic  features  of  the  grea 
Republic,  I  had  borrowed  the  dress  and  semblanQ 
of  one  of  their  most  distinguished  citizens,  and  i 
slight  appliance  of  oil  and  lamp-black,  togetlu^ 
with  a  becoming  disarrangement  of  the  lowej 
garments,  completed  the  transmutation  of  Chai]^ 
Duggins  into  Mr.  James  Crow.  I  had  persnada 
my  poetical  friends,  Mr.  Fitzgreen  Halleck  as< 
Mr.  Mullins  Bryan,  to  countenance  me  in  th^ 
scheme,  by  adopting  characters  drawn  from  tn 
unsurpassable  fictions  of  the  immortal  Cooper 
and,  accordingly,  on  my  return  to  the  drawing 
room,  I  was  much  gratified  to  find  those  gentle 
men  attired  with  surprising  fidelity, — ^the  first  u 
Natty  Bumppo,  the  well-known  LeaUier-stockin^ 
of  the  American  Scott,  and  the  other  as  Chingach^ 
gook,  the  Sagamore,  with  several  fathoms  of  wam^ 
pum  twisted  round  his  wai8t^a4;omahawk,asIaig^ 
as  a  coal-hatchet^  in  his  belt,  and  as  manyscalpi 
dangling  about  bim  as  would  have  made  the  for 
tune  of  a  London  hairdresser. 

^^  Ain't  this  the  sort  of  thing,  gentlemen  T  sai^ 
I,  as,  after  performing  several  gyrations  round  thl 
apartment  in  imitation  of  a  whirling  Derveesh,  I 
struck,  with  elevated  toe  and  depressed  heel,  Um 
crowning  attitude  of  the  Columbian  fakir,  as  I  haa 
seen  it  performed  by  Mr.  Rice  at  the  AdelphL 

**  For  I  turn  about,  and  wheel  about,  and  do  just  bo, 

And  every  time  I  turn  about,  I  jump  Jim  Crow." 

"'Tamal  death  to  me.  Bosh,"  replied  Mr.  Hal- 
leck, in  convulsions,  "  if  you  a'n't  enough  to 
smother  a  'possum — ^you  are !  But  come,  be  spry  I 
Fm  chawed  catawampously,  if  we  won't  be  too  lata 
to  see  the  gals  splitting  tiieir  toe-nails  hj  the 
bushel — we  will !" 

"  0  yes !"  added  Mr.  Mullins  Bryan,  affinna- 
tively,  in  the  strong  nasal  accent,  characteristic 
of  the  true  ^Columbian ;  whereupon  we  stepped 
into  a  coach,  and  drove  straight  to  the  place  of 
festive  expectation — ^the  great  theatre  of  New  York. 

"What  pen  shall  describe  the  spectacle  that 
awaited  us  there !  How  intensely  gratifying  ^ 
him  who  was  the  sole  theme  and  object  of  a  na- 
tion's homage  !  The  pit  of  the  enormous  theatre 
was  boarded  over  from  the  centre  box  to  the  ba^ 
scenes,  and  crowded  with  animated  figures^  a^'^ 
in  every  variety  of  gay  and  glittering  costume* 
The  boxes  themselves  were  filled  with  the  ^^  <» 
the  American  nobility  and  gentry— «11  the  wp- 


DUGGINS'S  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


333 


lood,  all  the  inteUecty  all  the  beauty  of  Columbia 
ras  there !  Od  one  side  sate  the  stately  Virginian^ 
riih  wide-flowing  nankeen  pantaloons ;  his  raven- 
Uckgloesy  hair  standing  out  in  unpruned  beauty 
ke  a  bush  of  funereal  cypress^  his  sun-burnt 
baek  as  brown  as  the  Havannah  cigar  which  he 
eld  within  his  finely  chiselled  lips.  Beside  him 
ras  the  woodsnuui  from  far  Kentucky,  too  sincere 
f  heart  to  conceal  his  native  forest  manners  be- 
lath  the  high  military  honours  to  which  he  had 
een  self-elected.  No !  primitive  and  coatless,  in 
n  the  dignified  and  airy  coolness  of  shirt  sleeves, 
t  sate  with  his  Herculean  l^;s  thrown  carelessly 
fer  the  front  of  the  box ;  his  checked  shirt  un- 
mttonedy  so  as  to  discover  the  shaggy  redundance 
(  a  tawny  chest,  which,  from  the  frequent  sidelong 
[itnoes  of  bright  eyes,  seemed  to  have  a  capillary 
(ttiactionfor  Uie  ladies.  Thefragmentof  a  pumpkin 
ae  graced  one  of  his  hands,  and  a  mighty  bumper 
f  gin-iling  sparkled  in  the  other.  As  I  gazed 
n  him,  I  felt  my  heart  stirred  with  memories  of 
lome,  aad  my  eyes  moist  with  sweetest  tears  ;  for 
lefoie  me  there  rose  visions  of  the  polished  denizens 
if  the  shilling  gallery  at  the  Surrey,  and  the  com- 
MBitioii  of  refined  enjoyment,  and  gay  abandony 
vhich  throws  such  a  charm  over  the  audience  at 
Kous's  Eagle  Tavern,  NewCity  Road.  Opposite  the 
i^entuckiui  was  the  inhabitant  of  Arkansas,  dis- 
ncumbering  his  brilliant  teeth  from  dietetic  frag- 
ients  with  the  point  of  an  enormous  bowie-knife ; 
ud  in  conversation  with  him  the  more  refined 
D'Orsay  of  the  Broadway,  ever  and  anon  ejecting 
bm  hU  mouth,  with  careless  grace,  a  jet  of  saliva 
%ed  with  the  hue  of  the  cherished  quid.     And 

Ibe  women ^but  in  mercy  to  myself,  I  must 

tvhear  describing  them.  Enough  to  say  (and  the 
voids  fall  short  of  the  reality)  that  all  Paradise 
ind  New  York  were  there. 

"A  general  shout  was  rtdsed  at  our  entrance, 
ttd  t]^  rush  towards  us  was  so  great,  that  I, 
though  considerably  above  the  average  height  of 
''ui^ty,  was  in  some  danger  of  being  over- 
whelmed. However,  my  friends,  Natty  Bumppo 
ttd  the  Sagamore,  botili  men  '^of  extraordinary 
(^Qgth,  set  back  to  back,  and  by  dint  of  vigorous 
neks  administered  to  the  shins  of  the  foremost  of 
the  throng,  preserved  something  like  breathing 
'<>om.    H^eck  was  the  most  emphatic. 

"Dim  your  gander  shanks,  you  comshucking 
ion  of  a  crocodile !"  said  he,  to  a  tall  gentleman  in 
*  leather  hunting-shirt,  who  was  pressing  pre- 
^^y  forward,  "  if  you  don't  stand  back  from 
Squire  Bosh,  TU  be  down  upon  you  like  a  night- 
J*^k  on  a  June  bug !  Bum  my  old  shoes,  you 
!V^  Jugger,  do  you  hear  me  ?  Sheer  ofl^  in  some- 
"%  leas  than  no  time,  or  HI  be  too  wrathy  for 
»^y8luittoholdme;  I  will!" 

As  my  ^end  Mullins  Biyan  likewise  announ- 
^  Ms  mtention  of  *  gouging'  any  individual, 
*ho8e  cariosity  might  overbalance  his  politeness, 
*w  with  great  liberality  volunteered  *  to  whip  his 
^J^t  m  wild-cats,'  the  ardour  of  the  crowd  con- 
"derably  abated ;  and  it  was  at  length  agreed  that 
\«hould  make  the  circle  of  the  hall  mounted  on 
Y  ^^^n  of  my  friends,  in  order  that  proud 
™^  might  behold  her  guest. 


*^  On  we  went,  the  crowd  gathering  around  us ; 
bright,  burning,  blistering  eyes  darting  lightning 
into  mine— music,  ringing  in  my  ears,  mingled  with 
the  shouts  of  admiration;  a  human ovation,probably 
without  parallel  since  the  days  of  Washington. 

*^  Wherever  I  turned,  I  was  stunned  with  cries 
of  ^That's  Bosh,  is  it?'  *  Who's  Bosh?'  'Vm 
blistered  if  I  kno w.^  ^  Ain't  he  a  ring-tailed  squeal- 
ler  ?  Darned  if  he  don't  beat  all  natur  1' — ^  Crikey, 
which  is  him  V  ^  Him  berry  lubly,  Missey  Dinah  1 
— I  guess,  him  am't  bigger  than  a  'coon  cub.' 
^  Garamighty,  dat  not  Bodi ;  dat  Massa  Crow !' 
^Him  much  too  handsome!'    *  Lively,  I  guess, 

as  a  Dutch  cheese  in  the  dog-days.' ^^'Tamal 

death!  straunger,  stand  ofF  my  corns.'  ^  Oh,  you 
logger*  open  the  door  and  let  the  lady's  heel  out  1' 
— ^  Isn't  he  the  true  breed,  half  horse,  half  alliga- 
tor, with  a  sprinkling  of  the  steam-boat  X  *  May 
I  be  shot,  if  he  isn't.'  '0  wake  snakes  and 
walk  your  chalks !' — *  Three  cheers  for  Duggins 
and  independence !' — *  That's  your  sort^  old  Looo- 
foco !' — *  Take  an  ideer  of  drink,  straunger  V  *  Go 
a-head.  Squire  Bosh !'  ^  Liquor  him,  and  hell  jump 
Jim  Crow !'  &c.  &c 

^^  Amidst  these  and  other  gratifying  exclama- 
tions, we  made  the  tour  of  the  theatre,  when  my 
friends  set  me  down  in  a  state  bordering  on  suflPo- 
cation,  and  I  was  formally  introduced  to  the  chief 
dignitaries  of  the  place.  This  ceremony  concluded, 
the  dancing  commenced  with  great  spirit,  and  an 
elegance  truly  American,  in  minute  spaces  of  five 
feet  by  four,  dug  out  of  the  crowd  by  a  poete  of 
Kentuckians,  who  volunteered  the  assistance  of 
their  elbows  for  the  occasion.  I  felt  so  much  ex- 
hilarated, that  I  yielded  to  the  request  of  some  of 
my  fair  companions,  and  jumped  'Jim  Crow,' 
and  'Sich  a  getting  up  stairs,'  with  a  vivacity 
which  surprised  even  myself.  I  was  forced  to  re- 
peat this  exhibition  at  various  parts  of  the  theatre ; 
for  when  it  became  known  generally  that  I  danced 
these  national  figures,  my  entertainers  were  in 
such  ecstasies,  that  they  insisted  on  my  going 
through  them  at  every  comer  of  the  immense  ball- 
room, that  every  person  present  might  enjoy  the 
sight.  It  was  a  fatiguing  operation;  but  I  am 
not  one  of  those  who  can  refuse  to  gratify  the 
wishes  of  kindly  hearts — " 

"  Get  along,  and  never  mind  what  you  are  1"  I 
exclaimed. 

^^  I  can  give  no  description  of  the  brilliant  scene 
in  language  vivid  enough  to  convey  the  faintest 
idea  of  the  reality.  Even  now,  it  flits  before  me 
like  the  disjointed  fragments  of  those  fairy  visions 
which  haunt  the  sleep  of  children — very  little  chil- 
dren, in  the  first  bloom  of  innocence " 

*' At  thesechildren  again,"  screamed  the  Penciller ! 

Dugginscontinued — ''those  tender  buds  sprouting 
upon  the  tree  of  life.  My  heart  is  not  seared ;  but 
yet  it  has  survived  its  fireshness  I" 

"And  no  mistake  1"  remarked  Willis,  paren- 
thetically. 

"Between  the  intervals  of  the  dance,  I  was 
highly  gratified  to  observe  the  peculiar  talent 
which  many  of  the  company  exhibited  in  their 
personification  of  character.  Of  course,  those 
drawn  from  my  own  works  were  most  familiar  to 


dd4 


DUGGINS'S  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


m& ;  and  I  do  not  beeitate  to  say,  that  the  per- 
formanoesy  as  a  whole,  were  most  creditable  to 
the  Transatlantic  taste  and  feeling.  Here  two 
Messrs.  Beerible,  undeniable  twins,  brothers  in 
love  and  in  liquor,  fraternally  concocted  a  donble 
sneaker  of  mint-julep :  there,  a  Sniveller,  with 
stentorian  yoice,  demanded  mpre  flnid  from  the 
bar,  or  called  upon  a  congenial  Chuckster  to  circu- 
late the  rosy;  and  there,  a  John  Browdie  was 
making  love  to  a  blooming  Kate  Chuckleby  in  the 
choicest  accents,  and  highly  figuratire  language  of 
Tennessee.  On  one  side  stood  Mr.  Winkin,  arrayed 
for  metropolitan  sport,  perfect  even  to  the  check  of 
his  unapproachable  tie,  with  the  sallow  neck  of  a 
dead  gosUng  depending  from  his  shooting^bag  :  on 
the  otiier,  a  Dolly  Farden  tripped  bewitchingly 
along,  casting  sidelong  glances  of  fascination  at 
a  representative  of  ibe  great  sea-serpent,  who 
^  swinged  the  scaly  horror  of  his  folded  tail'  along 
half  the  floor  of  the  theatre.  But  the  most  dis- 
tinguished humourist  of  all  was  a  Bamaby  Fudge, 
who  appeared  with  a  real  lire  turkey  in  his  basket, 
an  amazing  animal,  whose  accomplishments  fell 
little  short  of  those  possessed  by  the  visionary 
Gripes.    He  accosted  me  thus : 

"  Ho,  straunger !  don't  you  know  Bamaby,  poor 
silly  Bamaby,  who  can  grin  the  bark  ofl^  a  gum- 
tree  ?  You'll  liquor  us,  master,  won't  you,  for  if  s 
dry  talking?— Eh  heh?— Won't  he.  Gripes?  won't 
he,  you  'tamal  critter?" 

**  (Gobble  !  gobble !  gobble ! — gone  'ooon !  gone 
'coon  I  gone  'coon !  Duggins,  stand  a  sherry  cobler ; 
mix  a  julep  up,  well  all  have  mint !"  vociferated 
the  bibulous  bird. 

"Well  said.  Gripes !  brave  Gripes ! — Gripes  is  a 
knowing  one,  I  calculate,"  said  the  fictitious  Bar- 
naby,  placing  his  finger  on  the  side  of  his  nose, 
and  edging  me  towards  a  side-table.  "  Mint's  the 
word,  eh  ?  Tm  from  Natchez,  where  no  man  dare 
refuse  grog  before  breakfast,  and  the  pump- water 
is  three-parts  rum.  Dam  your  wattles,  Gripes ! 
take  them  out  of  my  tumbler,  or  I'll  switch  your 
tail  with  a  coppersniJce  ;  I  will !" 

"  Never  say  die  !  Drink's  the  thing  I — Give 
Gripes  a  drink ! — Tm  a  julep,  Tm  a  julep,  Tm  a 
julep!"  screamed  the  astounding  turkey,  every 
feather  in  its  neck  standing  up  like  whalebone  as 
it  ineffectually  pecked  at  the  glass.  Exhausted  at 
length,  it  drew  in  its  head  to  Uie  basket,  and  issued 
copious  orders  for  the  immediate  preparation  of 
scores  of  juleps. 

"  Now  straunger,  take  your  change  out  of  that," 
said  Bamaby,  shouldering  his  cudgel.  "  You 
won't  gradge  a  dollar  to  stand  treat  for  a  rale 
genuine  rough-neck,  I  calculate,  I'll  just  step 
over  to  Namby-pamby  Willis  yonder,  and  bush- 
whack the  old  Adam  out  of  the  skeary  critter,  in 
less  time  than  you'd  skin  a  cockatoo !"  So  saying, 
he  departed  on  his  mission  of  mercy. 

"  By  this  time  Willis  had  dropt  asleep,  or  there 
is  no  saying  how  fatal  the  consequences  of  these 
personalities  might  have  been. 

"  I  was  about  to  follow,"  continued  Duggins, 
"when  my  eye  was  arrested  by  an  interesting 
group,  which  I  could  not  for  a  moment  mistake. 
It  was  my  fair-haired  Nell,  the  most  beautifal  of 


my  creations,  my  own  peculiar  dream-child,  wii 
her  old  grandfather!— Yes!  there  they  stood  ] 
living,  glowing  reality,  eating  macaroons  in  d 
lighted  theatre  of  New  York !— My  heart  yeanrt 
towards  them. 

"  Come  away,  dear,  do !"  said  the  child,  eeizii 
the  old  man  by  the  arm,  "I  have  had  a  dreadfi 
dream,  and  you  musn't  drink  any  more  gin-slin^ 
— Come,  and  away  with  me !" 

"  Yes,  but  I  will  though,  Nelly,"  said  the  d 
man,  "for  I'm  thirsty — venr  thirsty.— WLi 
money  have  you  about  you,  NeUy  dearT 

"Don't  now,  dear!"  said  the  child.  "You*i 
more  than  three-quarters  comed  already,  and  vm 
old  head  will  be  splitting  to-morrow  like  a  hicko^ 
nut." 

"  Look  a-head  for  spontaneous  combustioii 
said  Mr.  Chuckster,  swaggering  up  to  the  tabl« 
"  I'm  a  gray  squirrel,  if  I  won't  stand  brandy  cocl 
tails  all  round  ;  I  wilL    Straunger — ^lef  s  hquori 

"  I  was  on  the  point  of  complying  with  this  cod 
teous  invitation,  when  my  attention  was  draim  i 
a  gouging  match  between  two  gentlemen  of  tl 
bar,  which  was  decided  in  favour  of  the  juiu<l 
member,  who  plunged  his  thumb  into  the  head  i 
the  senior,  and  succeeded  in  forcing  the  eye  fro^ 
its  socket.  This  little  incident  over,  dancing  i^ 
commenced  with  great  spirit :  but  it  is  really  ifl 
possible  to  describe,  with  anything  like  accuracj 
all  the  events  of  this  delicious  evening.  I  migbl 
did  my  modesty  not  forbid,  descant  upon  the  mi 
dallions  and  decorations,  of  which  the  princip< 
was  a  huge  transparency  representing  the  genia 
of  Columbia  in  the  act  of  crowning  a  certain  indl 
vidual,  and  in  large  letters  beneath, 

"AMERICA'S  WELCOME  TO  BOSH  I" 

But  I  shall  forbear,  and  merely  add,  that  I  weii 
home  about  two  o'clock  of  the  morning,  verysuffi 
clently  in  beer ;  that  the  harmony  of  the  meetinj 
was  unintermpted,  save  by  a  few  bouts  with  th 
bowie-knife,  (only  ^ye  of  which  proved  ultimatdj 
fatal ;)  and  Uiat  in  the  words  of  my  ilhiBtrioQi 
friend,  James  Langton  Bennett :  "  It  was  a  nigh 
long  to  he  remembered — perfbctlt  Pickwickian." 

"  Bravo,  Duggins,"  I  exclaimed,  "  that  wil 
make  a  famous  chapter  in  your  forthcoming  wor! 
on  this  country.  You  mean  to  publish  yonr  Im 
pressions  of  course  ?'* 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly,  with  illustrations,  by  m) 
accomplished  friend.  Phiz,  who,  as  he  has  nevei 
been  in  this  glorious  land,  will  do  it  admirablj- 
his  imagination  being  whoUyunfettered  by realitj. 

"  A  decided  advantage.  And  what,  pray,  wai 
your  impression  of  the  New  Yorkers  upon  ihi 
whole  ?" 

"  Why,  between  ourselves,  they  are  all  vew 
well,  so  far  as  dress  and  looks  go,  and  hospitabiti 
enough,  no  doubt ;  but  may  I  be  whipped,  if  a 
more  ill-bred,  inquisitive,  obtrusive  set  of  bows 
ever  worried  a  poor  devil's  life  out  of  him.  Wher- 
ever I  went,  I  was  stared  at  like  a  mountebank.  " 
I  walked  abroad,  I  was  not  allowed  to  use  mf 
eyes  for  the  crowds  that  pressed  about  me;  and  if 
I  staid  at  home,  I  was  not  allowed  a  moment's 


DUGGINS'S  IMPBESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


335 


lee  by  people  calling,  that  I  knew  no  more  oi 
in  I  do  of  the  New  Zealanden.    At  last  I  gave 
t  that  I  was  sick— dying— got  a  day's  lestj 
eked  up  my  traps,  and  started  for  Niagara !" 
"  WeD,  and  what  is  your  opinion  of  the  lemons 

«  Why,  as  to  that,"  replied  Doggins,  **I  have 
id  some  experience  of  cascades.  That,  for  in- 
mce,  at  the  Coloesenm  in  the  Regent's  Park,  has 
rnjs  appeared  to  me  a  triumph  of  art.  The 
ill  of  water  occasioned  by  the  opening  of  a  ca- 
J  look,  has  ever  struck  me  as  one  of  the  sublimest 
itnies  in  nature ;  and  no  external  object  remains 
on  riTidly  impressed  upon  my  mind,  than  the 
Mt  faU  of  the  Water  <d  Leith  at  Bell's  MiUs, 
}w  Tisible  from  the  Dean  Bridge  at  Edinburgh, 
iiich  I  Tisited  when  a  young  boy,  a  very  little 
iild,-Hmd  again  saw  during  my  late  visit.  Not- 
ithstanding,  I  must  confess,  that  the  first  view  of 
hfm  took  me  by  surprise.  I  was,  in  fiEM^  not 
lepiued  for  it.    The  enormous  volume  of  water — 

rerj  ocean— rolling  over  the  stupendous  preci- 
ke,  the  deafening  sullen  roar,  and  the  drenching 
toogphere  of  spray,  do  certainly  form  objects  of 
lore  than  common  interest.  At  the  same  time,  the 
1 18  decidedly  damp  and  unpleasant,  the  tempera- 
ore  cooMderably  below  forty  of  Fkhrenheit's  scale, 
fed  the  Table  Rock  so  sloppy,  as  to  penetrate  the 
bickest  shoe." 

**  Excellent  critic !"  I  exclaimed ;  calling  to 
Bind  Yorick's  exclamation  in  a  well-known  pas- 

^. 
"I  possess,"  continued  Duggins,  with  a  philoso- 
phical air,  '^  a  strong  feeling  of  the  sublime ;  but 
I  have  taken  some  pains  to  repress  it :  for,  as  a 
nan  dwelling  among  men,  I  consider  the  promo- 
tion of  kindly  and  social  emotions  the  first  duty  of 
Bdstenoe ;  and  experience  has  convinced  me,  that 
eonTlTial  hilarity  is  rarely  to  be  found  coupled 
^  the  more  majestic  attributes  of  savage  nature." 
**  Spoken  like  an  Aristotle!"  cried  I;  aslblewa 
fei^thened  doud  from  my  calumet. 

*^H<mgeore!**  vociferated  the  Penciller,  who 
ns  dieuning  that  he  was  listening  to  Mrs.  Wood 
^  the  front  seat  of  the  shilling  gallery  at  the 
^&rk  Theatre,  with  his  own  Melanie  by  his  side. 

**  Fancy  Dick  Swiveller  at  Niagara!"  continued 
^^Qggiitt,  rismg  in  his  tone.  ^  Could  that  gor- 
S^<>U8  spectacle  awaken  in  his  generous  bosom  any 
<^the  agreeable  sensations  which  the  sign  of  the 
1^ and  Gridiron  would  inspire?  No!  Of  hbn 
ftinighibe  said  with  Byron, 

*^  He  heard  it,  but  he  heeded  not.    His  eyes 
Were  with  his  heart,  and  that  was  tu  away ; 
The  dmple  element  he  did  despise — 
But  where  the  tap-room  in  Whiteehapel  lay, 
JW«  were  Us  pot  oompaaions  all  the  day, 
^A^iatethe  sooial  CSiaekster— 

"  My  own  feeling,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say,  is 
J^och  the  Bame." 

**Ihggin8,  you're  a  trump!"  was  all  that  I 
^  f^  find  power  to  say,  as  in  speechless  emotion  I 
Janded  hhnthe  flask  of  rum.  He  took  an  able- 
1*^  pnll  at  the  generous  fluid,  and  resumed. 

And  yet  1  tpos  overpowered — ^very  much  so, 
1  "^^  and  80  was  my  companion,    ify  first  ex- 


clamation was—*  My  eyes !'  Hers  wa&— *  Well, 
did  you  ever  T  and  I  believe  we  both  felt  the  force 
of  the  sentiment.  If  I  were  asked  to  give  a  com- 
parison of  Niagara,  I  should  oertainly  say,  that  it 
viras  like  nothing  in  the  world  so  much  as  a  stu- 
pendous green  stage-curtain  flowing  over  an  un- 
bounded proscenium ;— only  I  should  rather  think, 
that  no  sane  spectator  woiUd  care  about  a  peep  at 
what  was  going  on  behind. 

"  We  were  gazing  at  the  Falls,  when  we  heard  a 
full  musical  voice  below  us,  recithig  some  such 
verses  as  these : — 

^  Seething  with  serpent  hiss,  that  might  appal 
The  mightiest  soul,  the  hell  of  water's  horl'd 
In  thunder  o'er  the  steep,  as  if  that  all 
The  gods  had  set  their  seal,  to  gi?e  the  world 
Assurance  of  a  glorious  water-&ll !" 

^  There's  no  snakes,"  exclaimed  our  friend 
Willis,  who  was  with  us,  in  his  usual  highly  figu- 
rative style,  *^  if  that  ain't  Mullins  Bryan  spout- 
ing his  own  verses,  the  conceited  nigger."  ^  And  so 
it  was.  Mullins  Bryan,  like  mysdf,  had  fled  the 
crowd,  the  hum,  and  shock  of  men,  to  wash 
off  some  of  the  dry  dust  of  weary  life  in  Nature's 
baptism ;  and  we  all  returned  to  the  hotel  together, 
where  we  made  a  jolly  night  of  it,  and  projected 
that  mad-cap  expedition,  which  has  landed  me 
here,  and  left  the  bones  of  my  poetical  friend  to 
whiten  upon  the  prairies.  Poor  Biyan,  thou  wert 
as  gentle  a  heart  as  ever  dined  upon  roast  chicken, 
or  fanned  the  cheerful  flame  of  sociality  with  a 
tumbler  of  thin  negus." 

"  But  what,"  I  inquired,  "put  you  upon  mak- 
ing an  expedition  into  the  prairies  among  the  sav- 
ages and  men  of  Inde  ?" 

"  You  may  indeed  ask  that ! "  replied  Duggins. 
"  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  we  got  talking  of 
the  state  of  nature,  and  poor  Bryan  grew  so  elo- 
quent about  the  prairies,  and  the  rivers,  and  the 
mountains,  and  tlie  buffaloes,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  that  I,  who  thought  of  them  only  as  Leigh 
Hunt  did  of  a  withering  lampoon,  as  something 
pleasant  to  read  of  in  a  book,  conceived  it  might  not 
be  a  bad  idea  to  see  something  of  the  reality.  And 
when  Bryan  reached  the  dimax  of  his  eloquence, 
and  exclaimed, 

**  And  then  to  mark  the  lord  of  all. 
The  forest  hero  trained  to  wars, 
(Quivered  and  plumed,  and  lithe  and  tall. 

And  seamed  with  glorious  scars, 
Walk  forth  amid  his  reign,  to  dare 
The  wolf,  and  grapple  with  the  bear, 

I  felt  satisfied  that  they  must  be  a  set  of  very 
fine  fellows,  these  Indians,  and  resolved  to  make 
their  acquaintance.  Besides,  what  knew  I  but  I 
might  find  a  Pickwick  among  the  Siouxes, — a  Tim 
Linkinwater  among  the  Pawnees, — a  Mulberry 
Hawk  among  the  Crows,— or  aSwiveller  among  the 
Assinaboins  ?  Bryan,  too,  wanted  some  ideas  for  his 
poems,  and  sure  enough  he  stood  direfiilly  in  need 
of  them ;  and  our  friend  the  Penciller  thought  he 
might  n^e  a  taking  book  by  prying  into  the 
domestic  secrets  of  the  vngwam,  and  chronicling 
the  small  scandal  of  the  smoking  party  in  the  New 
York  Mirror,  So  we  resolved  to  make  a  start  of 
it,  and  accordingly  off  we  set  for  the  Indian  coun- 
try. 


336 


DUGGINSrs  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


**  We  got  on  Qnoommonly  well  for  a  time,  and 
I  dare  »y  should  have  managed  to  retom  home  in 
a  whole  skin,  bnt  for  that  restless  cariosity  which, 
yon  know,  is  the  besetting  sin  of  our  friend.  We 
had  spent  a  day  or  two  with  a  party  of  the  Black- 
feet,  with  whom  we  had  fidlen  in,  and  I  had  got  into 
high  fayour  with  the  chiefs,  by  making  sketches 
of  them  :  my  friend  Catlin  had  been  among  them 
before,  and  had  inoculated  them  with  a  taste  for 
the  fine  arts.  I  was  looked  upon  as  a  great  mait- 
eine  man,  and  my  friends  and  myself  were  treated 
with  the  utmost  respect  acooidingly.  But  our 
friend  there,  not  content  with  observing  the  man- 
ners of  the  Indians,  as  they  showed  themselves 
openly  to  us,  resolved  to  take  a  sly  peep  of  what 
went  on  within  doors.  He  watched  the  moment 
when  a  6rat«entered  his  wigwam  with  hisfouryoung 
wives ;  and,  creeping  in,  ensconced  himself  behind  a 
pile  of  buffalo  robes.  What  he  heard  or  saw  I 
suppose  we  shall  learn  one  day  from  the  New  York 
Mirror.  I  never  asked  him.  Suffice  it  that  he 
had  been  outwitted  in  his  eaves-dropping  for  once ; 
for,  while  he  was  busy  pencilling  his  observations, 
he  felt  himself  grasped  from  behind,  and  on  look- 
ing round,  a  fierce  old  Indian  met  his  view,  flourish- 
ing a  grisly  tomahawk  in  a  playful  but  ominous 
manner  above  his  head.  Willis,  who  is  a  strong- 
boned  fellow,  and  used  to  rough  work,  knocked 
him  over  and  bolted.  Bryan  and  myself  were 
roused  a  few  seconds  afterwards  by  his  calling  to 
us  to  fly  for  dear  life.  In  a  twinkling  we  were 
on  our  horses'  backs,  and  scouring  along  the  prairie, 
while  the  howl  of  Uie  infuriated  Indians  in  pur- 
suit lent  new  wings  to  our  fear.  However,  we 
contrived  to  distance  them  ;  and  morning's  dawn, 
by  the  best  of  luck,  brought  us  in  sight  of  one  of 
the  Fur  Company's  forts,  where  we  were  admitted, 
and  most  hospitably  entertained. 

^  We  had  not  been  long  there  when  a  host  of 
our  pursuers  dashed  up  to  to  the  palisades  of  the 
fort,  flourishing  their  tomahawks  and  daggers,  and 
filling  the  air  with  the  most  unearthly  cries  of 
vengeance.  Finding  that  our  fortification,  how- 
ever, was  too  strong  for  them,  they  retired.  But 
the  Indian,  though  foiled  for  a  time,  forgets  not 
his  revenge  except  in  death ;  and  of  this  we  soon  had 
experience. 

^^  My  friends  and  myself  were  sitting  in  one  of 
the  bastions  of  the  fort  one  evening,  smoking  and 
chatting  comfortably  about  things  in  general. 
The  evening  had  been  oppressively  hot,  and  I  had 
noticed  that  the  sky  was  in  some  places  as  black 
as  pitch.  In  a  short  time  the  whole  firmament 
round  and  rouild  was  one  mass  of  darkness.  The 
clouds  descended  till  they  appeared  almost  to  touch 
the  ground, — the  ataiosphere  was  close  and  sufib- 
cating.  I  remarked  to  my  friends,  that,  if  I  mistook 
not,  we  were  going  to  have  a  fearful  night.  The 
words  were  scarcely  out  of  my  mouth  when  we 
heard  a  low  moaning  sound  among  the  ravines. 
Presently  the  hurricane  commenced,  accompanied 
by  the  loudest  thunder,  the  most  vivid  lightning, 
and  the  heaviest  rain  I  ever  saw.  The  bastion 
shook  to  its  foundation.  We  ran  down  with  all 
our  speed.  I  lost  my  hat  in  crossing  the  fort ;  and 
by  the  lightning  I  could  see  the  flagstaff  bending 


like  a  willow.  We  reached  our  apartment  in 
the  fort  with  difficulty,  and  had  scarcely  done  so 
when  we  heard  something  fall  with  a  loud  crash. 
We  thought  it  wastheold  bastion,  where  we  had  been 
sitting,  and  the  master  of  the  fort  tried  to  get  oot 
to  see.  After  being  fairly  driven  back  four  times 
by  the  wind  and  rain,  he  got  out,  and  found  the 
whole  range  of  picquets  on  one  side  of  the  fort  kid 
flat  upon  the  ground. 

**  Here  was  a  pretty  business.  The  Indiaofi,  we 
knew,were  close  in  theneighbourhood,  and  ourpaiij, 
which  consisted  of  only  eight  men  in  all,  besides 
my  friends  and  myself,  could  present  no  oppod- 
tion  to  their  formidable  numbers.  So  soon  as  we 
discovered  the  calamity,  we  seized  our  arms  and 
rushed  to  occupy  the  trenches.  The  hurricane 
continued.  The  thunder  pealed  around  us;  and 
the  occasional  flash  of  the  forked  lightning  serred 
to  add  new  terrors  to  the  gloom.  In  abont  an 
hour  the  tempest  abated ;  but  not  with  it  did  oor 
fears  abate,  for  the  crack  of  half-a-dozen  rifles  &om 
the  forest  told  us  that  the  Indians  were  upon  as. 
There  was  a  pause  of  a  moment,  and  you  might 
have  heard  a  pin  fall  along  our  line. 

^^  Save  your  fire  till  you  can  get  a  view  of  the 
rascals,"  whispered  the  master  of  the  fort.  We 
did  not  require  to  economize  it  long ;  for,  with  a 
hideous  whoop,  the  Indians  dashed  horn  the  brake, 
and  in  a  trice  they  were  within  a  few  yards  of  us. 
We  fired,  and  not  a  ball  but  did  its  duty.  The 
foremost  hrave  received  in  his  forehead  the  contents 
of  our  friend  Bryan's  rifle,  and,  jumping  high  in 
air,  fell  like  a  log  to  the  earth.  What  followed  is 
chaos — ^I  saw  Willis  cutting  about  him  like  a 
Berserkar,  giving  and  receiving  gashes  on  ereiy 
hand ;  and  I  warrant  me,  many  a  Blackfbot  will 
carry  his  mark  with  him  to  the  grave,  if  ever 
could  I  have  supposed  the  author  of  '^  Melanle  and 
Other  Poems,"  to  have  had  so  much  mettie  in  him. 
I  laid  about  me  in  all  directions,  and  was  growing 
faint  with  wounds,  when  a  sudden  blaze  flashed 
out  upon  the  midnight  sky. — The  fort  was  in 
flames !  and  the  blazing  pile  lighted  up  the  gashed 
and  gory  bodies  of  its  unfortunate  denizens.  I 
sunk  to  the  ground,  alongside  of  my  poor  fiiend 
Bxyan,  who  had  been  brought  to  the  embraces  of 
mother  Earth  by  the  blow  oi  a  dub,  some  minuted 
before  it  bestowed  a  similar  compliment  upon  my- 
self. 

**  The  dying  groans  of  the  unfortunate  victims  had 
scarcely  sunk  into  the  silence  of  death,  when  the  In- 
dians, hastily  collecting  their  booty,  placed  my  poor 
comrade,  Mullins  Bryan,  and  myself,  who  were  the 
only  survivors,  upon  twoof  the  wild  prairichorsM,hi 
the  very  centre  of  the  cavalcade,  and  with  ferocioos 
yells  of  triumph,  dashed  at  full  speed  into  the  heart 
of  the  boundless  wilderness.  Fettered,  wounded, 
weary,  and  heart-broken  as  I  was,  the  rapid  mo- 
tion and  violent  plunging  of  the  animal  which  I 
rode  somewhat  recalled  my  energies,  and  enabled 
me  with  more  attention  to  note  the  singular  aod 
terrific  aspect  of  the  savage  tribe  into  whose  hands 
I  had  fallen.  Of  a  truth  the  survey  was  by  no 
means  encouraging.  Conceive  sixty  or  seven^ 
taD,  copper-coloured  figures,  half-ni^ed,  streaked 
over  witii  seams  of  red  and  yellow  paint,  their 


DUGGINffS  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


337 


&ce8  tatioed  wiih  the  most  grotesqae  and  hideous 
figures,  gory  scalps  suspended  from  their  waists, 
porcupine  quills  thrust  through  their  noses  and 
their  ears,  and  mounted  on  a  troop  of  infuriated 
hones  as  wild  and  frantic  as  though  possessed 
by  the  demoniac  spirit  of  their  riders.  Such  was 
the  ghastly  troop  that  surrounded  us, — ^the  terrible 
and  remorseless  Bhwkfeet  of  the  Chip-chow-cherry- 
chow  riyer! 

**  With  yell,  and  whoop,  and  eldritch  laughter, 
Tre  sped  through  the  far  Savannah,  startling  the 
gray  wolf  from  his  lair,  and  driving  furiously 
through  herds  of  astounded  buffaloes.  No  rest, 
no  refreshment, — not  even  a  drop  of  water  to 
moisten  our  parched  lips,  and  allay  the  burning 
thirst  that  was  gnawing  at  our  vitals.  Morning 
dawned ;  the  sun  glared  upon  us  with  intolerable 
Tehemence. — Oh,  that  ever  the  blessed  sun  should 
^eome  a  weariness  to  man  I  Huge  clouds  of  dust 
choked  our  feeble  respiration, — my  brain  grew 
dark  and  dizzy,  and  I  fell  into  a  swoon. 

"  It  was  evening  when  I  awoke.  We  had  en- 
camped for  the  night  in  a  small  ravine  by  the  side 
of  a  murmuring  stream.  The  clear  stars  already 
b^n  to  glitter  in  the  dark-blue  empyrean.  The 
cool  wind  breathed  upon  my  fevered  brow  with 
more  than  Elysian  freshness.  I  raised  my  head 
with  difficulty,  and  looked  round.  Our  captors 
were  seated  by  a  huge  fire,  smoking  their  calumets, 
and  circulating,  with  remarkable  rapidity,  several 
bottles  of  rum,  part  of  the  plunder  from  the  fort. 
Near  me  lay  Mullins  Bryan,  bound  and  shackled, 
hb  fine  eye  fixed  with  an  expression  of  deadly 
hatred  upon  the  savage  group,  and  his  hands  con- 
vulsively clenched,  as  if  clutching  the  fatal  bowie- 
knife.  I  coughed  slightly  to  attract  his  attention, 
and  he  turned  his  head. 

"  *Tamal  death  to  me,  Duggins,"  said  my  friend, 
**  if  this  a  nt  a  vicious  fix,  it  is  I  Them  blood- 
thirsty niggers  will  make  mincemeat  of  us  be- 
fore long,  or  there's  no  snakes  in  Virginny,  I 
reckon." 

"  Gracious  heaven !"  said  I,  **  is  there  no  possi- 
bility of  escape?" 

**  Ax  a  'possum  to  jump  out  of  his  skin ! "  re- 
plied Bryan.  **  It's  as  little  use  trying  it  as  pump- 
ing for  thunder  in  dry  weather.  I  know  the  crit- 
ters weU.  They're  the  bloodiest  murdering  set  of 
savages  in  the  prairies ;  and  Lord  help  man,  woman, 
or  child,  that  falls  into  their  hands, — ^gouging's  a 
joke  to  it." 

^  An  Indian  advanced  from  the  fire,  and  touched 
niy  shoulder.  "  Is  the  pale-face  sad?"  said  he, 
in  atone  of  playful  irony,  "  will  he  not  drink  fire- 
water with  his  red  brother?"  and  he  put  a  bottle 
*o  my  lips, 

**  I  drank,  but  not  eagerly.  The  Indian  observ- 
ed me  narrowly,  and  continued. 

**  The  pale-face  is  a  great  medicine.  Is  not  the 
fi»-watergood?" 

**  It  is  good,"  said  I,  **  bnt  I  like  it  better  half » 
and-half,  and  warm  with." 

**  My  brother  is  foolish,"  said  the  savage,  with 
a  chuckling  laugh.  "  Fire  and  water  no  good  to- 
gether, better  plam.  Let  the  pale-face  wait.  He 
8hall  have  it  <  warm  with'  soon  enough."    Then 

so.  CI.— VOL.  IX. 


turning  to  my  companion,  he  ran  his  hand  over 
his  glossy  locks,  and  said  laconically, — 

"  My  brother  has  a  fine  scalp." 

**  Dam  your  mocassins,  you  tarnation  nigger  !*' 
shouted  Bryan.  "  Take  your  obstumpulous  fingers 
from  my  comb-box,  or  I'll  make  an  expectoratoon 
of  your  gimlet-eye, — ^I  will !  *' 

"  The  Yenghese  is  angry.  Anger  is  not  good. 
My  brother  has  a  loud  voice.  Let  us  hear  how  he 
will  sing  his  death-song  at  the  stake." 

**  I  cannot  linger  on  these  details.  Even  now 
the  recollection  of  what  I  endured  on  that  most 
fearful  j  oumey  unmans  me.  I  feel  as  if  the  tragedy 
were  again  reacting  before  me,  and  my  blood  curdles 
at  the  thought.  In  mercy  to  myself  I  must  be 
short. 

"  On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  we  reached 
the  Indian  village.  It  was  a  hideous  place.  A 
circle  of  wretched,  squalid  wigwams  formed  a  sort 
of  arena,  in  the  midst  of  which  was  planted  the 
terrible  war-post,  with  a  heap  of  resinous  faggota 
at  its  base.  Round  it  were  gathered  the  squaws 
of  the  tribe ;  lean,  cadaverous  hags,  than  whom 
Alecto  must  have  been  less  revolting,  and  Hecate 
more  humane.  Children, — ^very,  very  little  child- 
ren (!)  quite  naked,  like  imps  of  darkness,  crawled 
to  and  fro,  contesting  the  possession  of  bones  and 
half-gnawed  morsels  with  the  surly  and  ravenous 
dogs.  Impotent  old  men,  too,  sate  cowering  at  the 
entrance  of  their  huts,  shaking  their  withered 
hands  and  muttering  curses  at  us,  as,  bound  and 
helpless  in  the  middle  of  the  braves,  we  were  led 
into  the  middle  space,  and  made  to  lie  down  upon 
the  ground,  whilst  a  war-council  was  held  around 
the  pile. 

"  I'm  a  gone  'coon,  I  know,"  said  Mullins  Bryan. 
"  They  marked  me  when  I  shot  their  chief,  the 
great  Bull-turtle,  as  they  called  him,  and  my  life 
isn't  worth  one  of  Willis's  copyrights.  But  it's  a 
huckleberry  above  my  persimmon  as  to  what 
they'll  do  with  you ;  and  so,  Duggins,  if  you  get 
oflF  and  return  safe  to  New  York,  don't  forget  to 
tell  Congress,  that  Mullins  Bryan  died  like  the 
American  Byron  he  is,  true  to  liie  rale  principles 
of  freedom,  and  an  uncompromising  enemy  of  all 
emancipation ! " 

"  I  will !  I  wiU !"  said  I,  fervently ;  "  and  I'U 
write  your  epitaph " 

"  You'll  do  it,  Bosh,— you'll  do  it,"  interrupted 
Bryan,  moumfidly.  "  But  you'll  not  do  it  well, 
— half  so  well  as  I  could  have  written  your'n ; 
but  that's  past  praying  for.  Only,  if  you  should, 
just  keep  out  all  mention  of  the  very  little  children, 
will  you  ?  in  respect  that  there's  a  'tarnation  black 
little  imp  at  this  moment  a-biting  of  my  leg,  and 
I  cant't  heel  him  no  how." 

"  Great  men  will  have  their  prejudices ! 

^*  At  last  the  savages  rose.  Brandishing  their 
tomahawks  and  scalping-knives,  they  rushed  to- 
wards us,  and,  joining  hands,  executed  an  extem- 
pore war-dance  around  us,  to  the  music  of  the 
hideous  whoop.  That  over,  an  aged,  scarred, 
skeleton  figure,  father  of  the  fallen  chief,  stood 
forth,  and  spoke  as  follows  : — 

"  Children  of  the  Chip-chow-cherry-chow !  lis- 
ten to  the  voice  of  your  Sachem.    Seven  tiroes  ten 

2  F 


338 


DUGGINS'S  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA, 


Bummers  have  past  since  Smack-whack-gimigo 
was  young ;  tall  as  a  warpost ;  spry  as  the  moun- 
tain cat.  His  hand  was  on  the  scalp  of  the  Yeng- 
hese  :  his  foot  on  the  trail  of  the  bu£falo.  When 
the  squaws  cried  for  meat  he  gave  it  them ;  his 
wigwam  was  full  of  rum.  But  years  came  upon 
him,  and  his  sinews  were  as  weak  as  the  skunk's. 
The  'coon  sate  upon  the  gum-tree,  and  laughed  as 
he  went  by,  and  the  father  of  the  beayere  was 
glad— 

*'  But  Smack-whack-gimigo  had  a  son,  and  he 
was  of  the  braves.  Who  was  so  swift  as  Calipash- 
awash,  the  great  Bull-turtle  of  his  tribe  ?  When 
he  smoked  ike  calumet  of  peace,  his  breath  was 
like  the  cloud  of  the  morning ;  when  he  raised  the 
war-whoop,  the  leaves  of  the  forest  fell.  He  filled 
his  father's  mouth  with  food.  He  gave  him  the 
roasted  rattlesnake,  and  the  baked  opossum  to  eat, 
and  he  made  his  heart  glad  with  the  strong  fire- 
water of  the  pale-face.  But  the  Yengheee  came  to 
the  crooked  river,  and  drove  the  deer  from  the 
prairies ;  the  beaver  heard  them  and  fled.  The 
redskins  dug  up  the  war-hatchet ;  they  threw  fire 
into  the  fort  and  took  the  scalps  of  their  enemies. 
They  came  back  to  the  wigwams  of  their  fathers, 
but  Calipashawash  was  not  with  them,and  Smack- 
whack-gimigo  has  a  son  no  more  1 " 

^'  Here  the  old  savage  paused,  and  the  Indians 
yelled  revengefully,  with  a  dissonance  more  fear- 
ful than  that  of  a  chorus  at  Drury  Lane. 

**  But  the  great  Spirit  is  good.  He  loves  the 
Chip-chow-cherry-chow.  My  young  men  have 
brought  two  pale-faces ;  and  Calipashawash  shaU 
not  go  to  the  far  hunting-groimds  alone.  The 
death-song  of  the  Yenghese  shall  cheer  him  on  his 
way.    Let  my  young  men  light  the  pile." 

^  Swift  as  lightning  this  horrid  mandate  was 
obeyed.  Thick  jets  of  smoke  began  to  rise  from 
the  crackling  {eLggoiSy  when  the  old  man  turned  to 
us. 

^^  The  pale-faces  are  two,"  said  he,  ^*  and  death 
is  slow.  My  young  men  love  to  look  upon  the 
burning  of  the  brave,  and  the  moon  is  but  newly 
risen.  Which  of  you  wiU  go  first  to  the  war-post 
and  sing  his  death-song,  that  the  ears  of  the  other 
may  be  glad  ?  " 

^  Before  I  had  time  to  speak,  MuUins  Bryan 
burst  out : — 

^  If  my  hands  were  free  and  a  bowie-knife  in 
them,  you  'tarnation  'coon-faced  nigger,  I'd  tickle 
your  ribs  without  laughing.  Howsomd'ever,  Tm 
shot  if  I  don't  die  like  a  free  American;  and 
since  the  best  singer's  to  go  first,  Fm  the  man  to 
break  the  heart  of  a  nightingale.  So  kindle  up 
your  fires,  you  bloody  critters,  and  do  your  worst. 
Duggins,  my  lad,  Tm  sorrier  for  you  than  myself. 
This  is  sort  o'  nat'ral  to  a  down-Easter  like  me ; 
but  you're  a  straunger,  and  can't  cotton  to  the 
business,  no  how  you  can  fix  it.  There'll  be  talk 
o'  this  on  Broadway,  I  reckon,  anyhow.  One 
comfort  is,  the  President  will  be  as  wrathy  as  a 
painter.  His  shirt  won't  hold  him,  and  he'U  have 
them  'tamal  Ipjinea  lynched  before  six  weeks  are 
over,  or  there's  no  gougers  in  Hoboken." 

"  They  tied  Bryan  to  the  stake,  drew  the 
lighted  faggots  in  a  circle  round  him,  that  the 


flames  might  scorch  but  not  consume  him,  for  the 
vengeance  of  the  Indian  is  not  easily  slaked,  uid 
hand  in  hand  resumed  their  horrid  dance,  like 
demons  exulting  over  a  fallen  seraph. 

'^  Firm  and  erect,  in  the  midst  of  the  fire,  stood 
the  dauntless  and  indomitable  Biyan,  no  muscle 
moving,  no  nerve  quivering,  in  the  extranesi 
agony.  Pall-like,  a  huge  cloud  of  smoke  soon 
settled  round  his  head,  herald  of  the  martyr's 
crown  of  fire,  that  was  soon  to  envelop  it ;  but 
from  the  middle  of  that  funereal  canopy,  I  could 
hear  his  manly  voice,  pouring  forth  the  last  im- 
passioned accents  of  bis  soul — a  dying  swan,  but 
alas  1  perishing  in  a  fiercer  element. 

V^t  S)ea^r^n0  of  i^Vim  Btsam 

^  Come  on,  you  'tamal  Mingo  ! 

Ill  make  you  walk  your  chalks— 
D'ye  think  I  care,  by  Jingo, 

For  all  your  tomahawl^  I 
Heap  sticks  upon  yonr  braader 

Still  higher  if  you  can, 
I'm  more  of  salamander, 

And  less  of  mortal  man  ; 
Yon  cannot  shake  my  dander — 

I'm  rale  American ! 


'  My  father  was  from  Boston, 

Myi     ■  -   -      -       - 


nnde  was  Judge  Lynch; 
So,  dam  your  fire  and  roasting, 

Youll  never  see  me  flinch. 
Come,  pile  the  ikggots  bigger ! 

It's  seldom  you  will  see 
A  fellow  of  my  figure 

A-standing  at  your  tree — 
You  dam'd  'tarnation  nigger ! 

D'ye  show  your  teeth  at  me ! 
"  Stir  up  your  bloody  natur'; 

You'll  find  me  very  toon 
Half  horse,  half  alligator— - 

With  a  sprinkling  of  the  'ooon  t 
I've  heard  'tis  Injine  fiishions 

To  look  a  little  spry; 
So  come,  you  black  assassins, 
And  l^ap  the  fkggot»  high  ; 
And — ^  Bum  your  old  mocassins, 
You  bloody  imps,'  say  I." 
"  So  ended  the  song — and  with  it,  alas !  ended  the 
life  of  the  intrepid  Bryan.  The  chief,  Smack-whaok- 
gimigo,  who  had  been  for  some  time  with  diffi- 
culty restrained  by  his  braves,  now  stung  almost 
to  madness  by  the  opprobrious  epithets  lavished 
upon  his  race,  sprung  forward  into  the  fire,  and 
buried  his  tomahawk  in  the  brain  of  the  brave 
American.    Mullins  Bryan  fell  lifeless  among  the 
flames. 

"  It  was  now  my  turn  for  the  sacrificar- 
Strange  as  it  may  appear,  every  instant  that 
brought  me  nearer  to  that  burning  pile  seemed  to 
give  additional  calmness  and  fortitude  to  my  mind. 
I  felt,  as  a  martyr  might  do,  superior  to  the  fiery 
trial  which  awaited  me,  and  determined  that  my 
bearing,  in  the  last  extremity,  should  not  be  un- 
worthy of  the  noble  examjde  displayed  by  the 
American  Byron.  I  had  even  (so  Incid  was  my 
understanding)  selected  a  little  poem  of  my  own, 
entitled  *The  Ivy  Green,'  for  my  dirge;  aad 
doubt  not  that  the  wild  Indians  would  haye  re- 
ceived it  at  20CM«  as  [f avtmrably  as  an  enlightened 
British  public  had  done  before  them.  Bat  my 
destiny  had  decreed  that  my  vocal  powers  should 
not  be  put  to  the  test  upon  this  occasion. 


DtJGGINS*S  IMPRESSIONS  OF  AMERICA. 


339 


^  The  cold  serpent-like  fingers  of  the  savages 
were  already  twining  round  my  neck — already  ihe 
deatli-damp  stood  in  thick  drops  upon  my  brow—- 
when  a  loud  shriek  was  heard  from  one  of  the 
nesieet  wigwams.  The  Indians  paused.  A  child 
—a  Tery  very  little  child — ^rushed  to  where  I  lay, 
and,  flinging  her  arms  around  me,  exclaimed— 

"  No,  no  1 — ^you  shallnot  kill  him  1  He  is  my 
&therr' 

^It  was  the  orphan  daughter  of  Calipashawash, 
who,  moved  by  a  beautiful  natural  impulse,  and 
perhaps  by  some  indefinable  resemblance  between 
her  deceased  parent  and  myself,  had  interposed  to 
wn  me  from  the  murderous  tomahawk.  The  In- 
dians are  a  strange  people.  Another  council  was 
held,  and,  after  tike  consumption  of  innumerable 
calumets,  and  all  the  remaining  rum,  it  was  una- 
mmoQsly  agreed  that  the  suggestion  of  the  young 
bdy  shmild  be  ratified,  and  the  stranger  received 
into  the  tribe.  I  see  you  are  getting  drowsy,  and 
ahaU  not  trouble  you  with  the  details  of  the  inte- 
resting ceremony  which  ensued ;  suffice  it  to  say, 
that,  after  a  severe  tattooing,  I  was  raised  to  the 
distinguished  rank  of  chief,  under  the  title  of  Mas- 
tanu^  or  the  Great  Teller  of  Stories.  A  light 
nipper  <^  buffisJo's  liver,  and  a  warm  couch  of  pde- 
eat  akina,  in  the  Sachem's  wigwam,  awaited  me, 
after  the  fatigue  and  agitation  of  the  day." 

''Tou  dont  believe  that  everlasting  nonsense 
of  hii^  about  the  very  little  child,  do  you  T  ex- 
elauned  Willis,  who  had  woke  up  at  the  mention 
of  Calipashawaah's  daughter.  **  That  dodge  won't 
fit  But  he's  got  into  such  a  way  of  talking  about 
yoong  duldren,  that  he  makes  them  the  deus  esc 
nocAina  upon  all  occasions.  I'm  clear  it  was  some 
jocmg  squaw  took  a  fancy  to  him." 

''Tonhonour,'^  saidDuggins,  ina  deprecatingtone. 

"Well,settte  it  between  you,"  said  I.  "Bu^ 
pray,  how  did  you  fall  in  with  one  another  again  1" 

** Why," said  the  Penciller,  "finding  how  the 
&te  of  our  brush  with  the  Indians  was  likely  to 
go,  I  remembered  me  of  the  saw—* 

That  he  who  fights,  and  rons  away, 
Kay  live  to  fl^  another  day, 


and,  in  the  confusion  occasioned  by  the  burning  of 
the  fort,  made  my  escape,  seized  one  of  the  horses, 
and  retreated  into  the  wood,  where  I  remained  all 
night.  In  the  morning,  I  crept  to  the  fort,  and 
found  nothing  but  the  blackened  timbers,  and  the 
bleeding  bodies  of  our  friends.  Among  these,  I 
saw  no  traces  of  Duggins  there,  or  poor  Bryan ;  so 
I  concluded  they  must  have  been  carried  ofi^  by 
the  Indians.  I  resolved  to  follow  upon  their  trails 
to  gain  tidings  of  them  if  I  could,  and,  if  possible, 
aid  them  to  escape.  At  last  I  came  upon  the  In^ 
dian  village'  to  which  they  had  been  taken,  and 
while  hovering  about  its  outskirts,  fell  in  with  a 
young  squaw,  whom  I  had  purchased,  as  a  tem- 
porary wife,  from  her  affectionate  parent  for  half 
a  pound  of  beads,  during  the  visit  which  led  to 
such  fatal  results.  Would  you  believe  it?  The 
benighted  savage  actually  preferred  the  glass  to  a 
dozen  copies  of  ^Melanie,'  my  original  tender! 
Yon  all  know  the  tenderness  of  the  female  heart. 
When  she  saw  me. 

She  rose,  die  flew,  she  dtmg  to  my  embrace; 
and  after  I  had  ascertained  that  Duggins  still  sur- 
vived, I  availed  myself  of  her  fondness  for  me,  to 
procure  another  horse,  and  to  drop  a  hint  to  my 
friend,  that  I  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. He  contrived  to  give  the  Indians  the 
slip,  joined  me,  and  a  couple  of  days  of  hard  riding 
brought  us  to  where  you  found  us ;  and  mortal 
glad  were  we  to  see  you,  you  may  be  sure— for  we 
had  been  living  upon  pomme  blanche^  a  root  that 
St.  Anthony  himself  would  have  sickened  on,  all 
the  time." 

'^  And  heartly  rejoiced  am  I,  I  can  assure  you, 
that  I  should  have  tumbled  over  two  such  pleasant 
fellows  in  this  outlandish  region.  But  it  is  wear- 
ing late,  and  we  are  to  start  with  the  dawn.  So, 
let  U8  drain  a  bumper  to  the  memory  of  poor  Mul- 
lins  Bryan,  double  ourselves  up  in  our  deerskins, 
and  dream  of  fresh  chapters  for  our  friend  Dug- 
gins's 

'IMPBESSIONS  OF  AMERICA.'" 

Sakbthook,  Id  AprU,  1842. 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


^m  A^nee  i^rieklamPi  Lwee  of  ike  Queens  qfJEii^ 
^ondy  firm  the  Norman  Ccnqueet^  6^.  S^.  Vo- 
lume IV.  With  frontispiece  and  vignette.  Col- 
bnrn. 

Thi  present  volume  of  this  attractive  work  does  not 
l^ftrmatter.  Elizabeth  <tf  York,  the  heiress  of  the 
PMagenet  Kiogs,  the  «<Good  Qneen"  of  Henry  VII., 
*«*da  the  way  to  Are  of  the  six  wives  of  the  royal  Blnc- 
^^ud,  Elizabeth's  son.  The  characters  and  fortunes  of 
theie  distingoiflhed  women,  such  as  they  were,  it  has 
^  Ml8s  Striekland's  object  to  exhibit  unencumbered 
j>7  pablie  birtory,  or  those  irretetive  details  which  might 
interrupt  the  continuous  interest  of  the  several  memoirs. 

'^^  sayings,  their  doings,  their  manners,  their  dress, 
ttd  nich  of  their  letters  as  have  been  preserved,"  are 
ftithfully  gifen  J  and,  in  order  to  do  this,  information  has 


been  gathered,  both  from  the  public  muniments,  and 
private  MS.  collections  of  old  fkmiUes  and  antiquarian 
collectors.  It  appears  that  many  of  the  pa^rs  connected 
with,  in  particular,  the  personal  expenditure  of  royalty, 
have  disappeared.  We  should  have  hoped  that  this 
might  have  been  caused  by  shame  of  that  profligate  ex- 
penditure; but  Miss  Strickland  tells  an  extraordinaiy 
story  of  some  tOM  of  precious  parchments  having  been 
boiled  up  into  isinglass,  to  make  jellies,  and  blancmange 
— ^probably,  for  the  City  feasts ! 

It  gives  a  flbvourable  impression  of  the  spirit  in  which 
these  Lives  are  composed,  to  find  the  author  condemning 
the  partial  or  party  views  of  many  lustorians,  and  their 
soycophantic  manner  of  stating  fkcts.  **  It  was'not  thus," 
she  remarks,  ^  that  the  historians  of  Holy  Writ  per- 
formed their  office.  The  sins  of  David  and  of  Solomon 
are  recorded  by  them  with  stem  fidelity;  for,  with  the 


840 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


sacred  analists,  there  is  no  compromise  between  truth 
and  expediency."  In  like  manner  has  she  dealt  with 
Henry  the  Eighth,  extenuating  nothing.  To  heighten 
his  yileness,  to  deepen  the  shades  of  his  cruel  and  brutal 
character,  was  impossible  eyen  to  a  woman,  inspired  by 
the  feelings  of  her  sex.  But  if  Miss  Strickland  has  not 
concealed  the  frailties  and  yices  of  the  personages  of  her 
narratiye,  she  has  dealt  with  them  in  a  spirit  of  generous 
indulgence;  allowing  for  the  weakness  of  humanity,  the 
force  of  untoward  circumstances,  and  the  many  tempta- 
tions which  ensnare  the  fair  faTOurites  of  princes.  The 
"  Good  Queen,"  Elizabeth  of  York,  she  loves ;  Katharine 
of  Arragon,  she  yenerates  and  admires  with  enthusiasm; 
she  can  view  with  much  indulgence  the  ambitious  career 
of  the  wayward,  accomplished,  and  unhappy  Anne  Boleyn ; 
and  Katharine  Howard  has  never  before,  among  her  own 
sex,  found  so  eloquent  an  advocate  or  so  lenient  a  judge. 
The  volume  is  full  of  Court  anecdote,  illustrative  of 
manners ;  and  abounds  in  lively  traits  of  character, 
painted  in  the  words  of  the  individual  described.  The 
abundance  bewilders  choice;  but  the  follovnng  detached 
passages  may  convey  an  idea  of  the  lighter  parts  of  the 
sevend  narratives.  Henry's  passion  fbr  Anne  Boleyn 
Jiad,  by  this  time,  alarmed  his  delicate  conscience  as  to 
his  marriage  with  Katharine;  and  he  had  resolved  to  be 
divorced  from  his  Queen,  whom  he  now  calledhis  brother's 
wife;  but  the  pear  was  not  yet  ripe;  and 

Henry  soothed  the  poor  queen  by  hypocritical  dissimu- 
lation, persuading  her  that  the  scruple  of  the  Bishop  of 
Tarbes  was  the  sole  cause  of  the  point  being  mooted, 
and  that  the  ecclesiastical  inquiry  respecting  the  valid- 
ity of  her  marriage  was  only  instituted  that  it  might 
never  be  questioned  to  the  prejudice  of  their  child.  With 
such  plausible  explanation,  Katharine,  after  a  ''short 
tragedy,"  rested  tolerably  well  satisfied,  and  waited 
patiently  for  the  good  result  promised  by  the  king.  To 
her  rival  (who  was  now  well  known  at  court  to  be  such) 
she  behaved  with  invariable  sweetness.  Once  only  she 
gave  her  an  intimation,  that  she  was  aware  of  her  am- 
bitious views.  The  queen  was  playing  at  cards  with 
Anne  Boleyn,  when  she  thus  addressed  her, — 

''  My  lady  Anne,  you  have  the  good  hap  ever  to  stop 
at  a  king;  but  you  are  like  others,  you  will  have  all  or 
none." 

By  this  gentle  reproach,  Queen  Katharine,  in  some 
degree,  vindicates  tike  honour  of  her  rival,  intimating 
that  Anne  Boleyn  would  be  the  king's  wife  or  nothing 
to  him.  Cavendish,  who  records  this  pretty  anecdote, 
likewise  bears  witness  that  the  queen  at  this  trying 
crisis  "  behaved  like  a  very  patient  Grissel." 

While  matters  remained  in  this  state  at  court,  a  dis- 
mal pestilence  broke  out  in  the  metropolis,  and  several 
of  the  royal  household  dying  suddenly,  the  king,  who  had 
made  such  pathetic  harangues  regarding  the  pains  he 
had  in  his  conscience  arising  from  his  marriage  with 
the  queen,  was  now  seized  with  a  true  fit  of  compunc- 
tion. Its  symptoms  were  indicated  by  his  sending  Anne 
Boleyn  home  to  her  friends,  and  returning  to  the  com- 
pany and  conversation  of  his  queen,  and  sharing  in  her 
devout  exercises.  His  recreations  during  this  quaran- 
tine, were  compounding,  with  his  physician  Dr.  Butts, 
spasmodic  plasters,  ointments,  decoctions,  and  lotions. 
The  recipe  for  one  of  these  precious  compositions  was 
made  public  for  the  benefit  of  England,  under  the  name 
of  **  the  king's  own  plaster."  Moreover  the  king  made 
thirty-nine  wills  ;  and  confessed  his  sins  every  day. 

Henry's  penitence  was  precisely  of  the  same  nature 
as  that  described  in  some  oft-quoted  lines  relative  to  his 
sable-majesty,  "when  sick  ;"  the  pest  abated,  the  king's 
jovial  spirits  returned,  he  wrote  love  letters  perpetuaUy 
to  his  beautiful  fiivourite,  and  huffed  away  his  wife.  The 
cardinal  legate  Campeggio  having  arrived  to  hold  the 
court  of  inquiry  regarding  the  validity  of  his  marriage, 
he  was  once  more  elate  with  hope  of  long  life  and  a  new 
bridal. 


AMME  BOLBTN'S  BIRTH-PLACE. 

To  Blickling  was  decreed  the  honour  of  Anne  Boleyn's 
birth.  As  Sir  Henry  Spelman  was  a  Norfolk  man,  and 
the  contemporary  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  we  think  his  tes- 
timony, borne  out  as  it  is  by  the  opinion  of  the  late 
noble  owner  of  the  domain,  is  oondusiTe.  No  £uier 
spot  than  Blickling  is  to  be  seen  in  the  county  of  Nor- 
folk. Those  magnificent  arcaded  avenues  of  stately  oaks 
and  giant  chestnut  trees,  whose  majestic  vistas  stretch 
across  the  velvet  verdure  of  the  widely  extended  park, 
reminding  us  as  we  walk  beneath  their  solemn  shades, 
of  green  cathedral  aisles,  were  in  their  meridian  glory 
three  hundred  and  forty  years  ago,  when  Anne  Boleyn 
first  saw  the  light  in  the  adjacent  mansion. 

The  room  where  she  was  bom  was  shown,  till  that 
portion  of  the  venerable  abode  of  the  Boleyns  was  de- 
molished to  make  way  for  modem  improvements.  Some 
relics  of  the  ancient  edifice  have  been  evidently  united 
to  the  new  building,  and  the  servants  were  formerly  in 
fear  of  a  domestic  spectre,  whom  they  call  ^  Old  Bal- 
lon." One  room  in  the  old  house  was  shut  up,  on 
aocount  of  the  supernatural  terrors  of  the  household.  It 
is  called  ''old  BuUen's  study."  Ther«  are  gigantie 
statues  of  Anne  Boleyn  and  queen  Elizabeth  on  the  stair- 
case. Grog  and  Magog  in  Guildhall  are  pigmies  in  com- 
parison to  these  sculptured  queens,  yet  their  proportions 
are  graoefhl.  They  are  of  wainscot,  painted  white.  I 
saw  them  when  very  young,  and  v^as  much  impressed 
with  the  £ashion  of  their  robes,  which  are  truly  royal  in 
amplitude  and  length.  The  head-dress  of  Anne  Boleyn's 
statue  is  not  the  coif  edged  with  pearls  which  bears  her 
name,  but  is  a  small  bangled  hat.  The  tall  sleeves  are 
confined  to  the  arm,  at  regular  distances,  with  strings  of 
pearls. 

The  first  years  of  Anne  Boleyn's  life  were  spent  at 
Blickling  vrith  her  sister  Mary  and  her  brother  George, 
afterwards  the  unfortunate  Viscount  Rochford.  Thomas 
Wyatt,  the  celebrated  poet,  was  in  all  probability  her 
playfellow ;  for  his  father.  Sir  Henry  Wyatt,  was  her 
father's  oosbdjutor  in  the  government  of  Norwich  castle, 
and  when  the  Boleyns  removed  to  Hever  castle,  in 
Kent,  the  Wyatts  were  still  their  neighbours,  residing 
at  AUington  in  the  same  county. 

PORTRAIT  OP  ANNE  BOLBYN. 

**  There  was  at  this  time  presented  to  the  eye  of  the 
court,"  says  the  poet  Wyatt,  "  the  rare  and  admirable 
beauty  of  the  fresh  and  young  lady  Anne  Boleyn,  to  be 
attending  upon  the  queen.  In  this  noble  imp,  the  graces 
of  nature,  adomed  by  gracious  education,  seemed  even 
at  the  first  to  have  promised  bliss  unto  her  in  after  times. 
She  was  taken  at  that  time  to  have  a  beauty,  not  so 
tchitd^j  as  clear  aild  fresh  above  all  we  may  esteem ; 
which  appeared  much  more  excellent  by  her  favour, 
passing  sweet  and  cheerful,  and  was  enhanced  by  her 
noble  presence  of  shape  and  fashion,  representing  both 
mildness  and  majesty,  more  than  can  be  expressed. 
Wyatt  is  rapturous  in  his  commendations  of  her  musical 
skill,  and  the  exquisite  sweetness  of  her  voice,  both  in 
singing  and  in  speaking.    In  the  trae  spirit  of  a  lovei^ 
the  courtly  poet,  when  he  mentions  the  malformation  of 
the  little  finger  of  the  left  hand,  on  which  there  was  a 
double  nail,  with  something  like  an  indication  of  a  sixth 
finger,  says,  **  but  that  which  in  others  might  have  been 
regarded  as  a  defect,  was  to  her  an  occasion  of  addi- 
tional grace,  by  the  skiltVil  manner  in  which  she  con- 
cealed it  from  observation."     On  this  account  Anne 
always  wore  the  hanging  sleeves,  previously  mentioned 
by  Chateaubriant  as  her  peculiar  fashion  when  in  France. 
This  mode,  which  was  introduced  by  her  into  the  court 
of  Katharine  of  Arragon,  was  eagerly  copied  by  the  other 
ladies.    Her  taste  and  skill  in  dress  are  mentioned  even 
by  Sanders,  who  tells  us  "she  was  unrivalled  iii  *«* 
graceftihiess  of  her  attire,  and  the  fertility  of  her  inven- 
tion in  devising  new  patterns,  which  were  imitated  of 
all  the  court  belles,  by  whom  she  was  regarded  aj  the 
glasa  of  fashion."    The  same  author  gives  us  the  follow- 
ing description  of  her  person  from  a  contemporaiy>  not 
quite  so  enthusiastic  in  his  ideas  of  her  personal  charntf 
as  her  admirer  the  poetical  Wyatt. 

«  Anne  Boleyn  was  in  stature  rather  tall  and  slender, 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


341 


vitb  an  oral  &c«,  black  hair,  aud  a  complexion  inclining 
to  sallow ;  one  of  her  upper  teeth  projected  a  little.  She 
appeared  at  times  to  suffer  from  asthma.  On  her  left 
lood  a  sixth  finger  might  be  perceived.  On  her  throat 
there  was  a  protuberance,  which  Chateaubriant  describes 
as  a  disagreeably  large  mole,  resembling  a  strawberry  ; 
this  she  carefully  coTered  with  an  ornamented  collar- 
bind,  a  &shion  which  was  blindly  imitated  by  the  rest 
of  the  maids  of  honour,  though  they  had  neyer  before 
thoQght  of  wearing  anything  of  the  kind.  Her  face  and 
figure  were  in  oSier  respects  symmetrical,"  continues 
Sanders;  ^beauty  and  sprightliness  sat  on  her  lips;  in 
readmess  of  repartee,  skUl  in  the  dance,  aud  in  playing 
on  the  lute,  she  was  unsurpassed." 

Having  thus  placed  before  our  readers  the  testimony 
«f  friend  and  foe,  as  to  the  charms  and  accomplishments 
of  the  fkir  Boleyn,  we  will  proceed  to  describe  the  al- 
lowance and  rules  that  were  observed  with  regard  to  the 
table  of  the  ladies  in  the  household  of  Queen  Katharine, 
to  which  Anne  was  now  attached. 

Each  maid  of  honour  was  allowed  a  woman  servant 
and  a  spaiiiel  as  her  attendants ;  the  houdie  of  court 
afforded  ample  sustenance  not  only  to  the  lady  herself 
bat  her  retainers,  both  biped  and  quadruped,  were  their 
appetites  ever  so  voracious.  A  chine  of  beef,  a  manchet, 
and  a  eka  loaf,  offered  a  plentifhl  breakfast  for  the  three  ; 
to  these  viands  was  added  a  gallon  of  ale,  which  could 
only  be  discussed  by  two  of  the  party.  The  brewer  was 
enjomed  to  put  neither  hops  nor  brimstone  into  their  ale, 
the  first  being  deemed  as  horrible  an  adulteration  as  the 
last  The  maids  of  honour,  like  officers  in  the  army  and 
nary  at  the  present  day,  dined  at  mess,  a  circumstance 
which  shows  how  very  ancient  that  familiar  term  is.  To 
the  honour  of  the  ladies  we  have  nothing  to  record  of 
their  squabbles  at  mess.  ^'  Seven  messes  of  ladies  dined 
at  the  same  table  in  the  great  chamber.  Manchets,  beef, 
nnttoli,  ale,  and  wine,  were  served  them  in  abundance, 
to  which  were  added  hens,  pigeons,  and  rabbits.  On  fast 
dajs  their  mess  was  supplied  vnth  salt  salmon,  salted 
eeb,  whitings,  gurnet,  plaice,  and  flounderfi.  Such  of 
the  ladies  as  were  peers'  daughters  had  stabling  allowed 
them.*' 

Miss  Strickland  contends,  that  both  Anne  Boleyn,  and 
Anne  of  Geves,  who  came  to  England  a  Lutheran,  and 
who,  for  a  time,  was  the  hope  of  the  Reformed  cause, 
died  Roman  Catholics. 

lAtther,  a  Poem.  By  Robert  Montgomery,  M.A., 
Author  of  *<Tlie  Omnipresence  of  the  Deity," 
"The  Messiah,"  "Satan,"  &c.,  &c. 
Whether  is  it  more  desirable  for  a  man  to  have  his 
writings  almost  universally  abused  by  the  critics  and 
^tichngs,  and  yet  to  be  exceedingly  popular  in  his  day 
uid  generation  ;or  to  be  lauded  above  measure  by  the  press, 
and  neglected  by  the  public  ?  This  query  comprehends 
the  exact  position  of  Mr.  Montgomery.  No  living  author 
u  Bore  heartily  abused,  and,  if  we  may  judge  by  Uie  num- 
^r  of  editions  of  his  works  that  are  sold,  no  contempo- 
^  poet  is  more  generally  read.  There  is  in  this,  to 
^y  reasonable  rhymer,  abundant  consolation  for  ill- 
^ivrtd  criticism;  and  we  make  no  doubt  that  Mr. 
Montgomery  is  perfectly  satisfied. 

Abused  as  we  understand  Luther  has  been,  it  is 
i>«Tertheless  its  author's  greatest  work;  his  master- 
piece. The  subject  is  among  the  most  lofty  that 
^^nains  in  our  day  to  a  poet's  choice  ;  and  if  the  author 
bss  not  made  the  most  of  that  which  had  been  a  task  for 
Milton,  he  has  shown,  with  a  generous  ambition,  lio 
degpieible  ability  in  realizing  his  aspirations.  The  due 
^<>n<^tion  of  a  design  so  comprehensive,  and  involving 
*o  many  minute  parts,  might  have  taken  much  longer 
time  than  has  apparently  been  bestowed  upon  the 
^olnminous  epic ;  and  there  is  certainly  abundant  scope 
ft>r  the  pruning-knife,  in  its  desultory  luxuriance.    But 


with  all  this,  there  is  mingled  great  excellence,  and  that 
copiously.  If  we  do  not  always  feel  the  power  of  the  poet, 
then  that  of  the  rhetorician,  the  eloquent  declaimcr,  must 
be  confessed.  Though  Mr.  Montgomery  views  Luther  as 
the  author  of  a  finished  work,  rather  than  in  what  we 
consider  the  true  light — namely,  as  a  brave  pioneer  in 
the  march  of  ecclesiastical  and  religious  Reformations-^ 
the  attention  which  his  poem  will  draw  to  the  manly 
character,  and  to  the  genuine  Protestantism  of  the  great 
Reformer,  must,  at  this  particular  crisis,  be  productive 
of  much  good.  It  is  not  possible  for  the  most  zealous 
priest  of  the  Church  of  England,  as  by  law  established, 
to  conjure  a  Fuseyite  or  a  Formalist  out  of  Martin 
Luther. 

An  elaborate  prose  Introduction,  giving  a  sketch  of 
the  character  and  career  of  Luther,  is  prefixed  to  the 
Foem,  for  which  it  is  a  fitting  preparative.  Luther  is  writ- 
ten in  blank  verse,  and  divided  into  sundry  sections,  or 
paragraphs,  according  to  a  ackeme  announced  at  the 
opening.     Our  specimen  is  of  the  level  manner  of  the 
work,  and  taken  from  that  division  of  it  entitled  "Ckar^ 
aeUritticiy^^-ot  Luther,  of  course. 
Genius  hath  faults,  and  Luther's  none  o'erveil. 
A  bravo  restorer  of  departed  truth. 
No  hollow  semblance,  and  no  heartless  shade, 
Came  he  on  earth  to  manifest  or  preach. 
Manful  but  rugged  ;  to  the  centre  bold. 
His  heart  beat  fiercely,  and  his  blood  ran  fire. 
When  Right  divine,  or  diabolic  Wrong 
Challenged  his  faith,  or  forced  his  feelmg  out 
In  action  ;  then  the  soul's  tornado  raged, 
And  shook  the  spirit  to  its  moral  roots ! 
Stormfnl  and  strong,  and  gusty  in  his  moods, — 
Oft  the  black  whirlwind  i^m  some  ireflil  cloud 
Roused  his  rent  bosom  with  disturbing  rush. 
And  hurled  propriety  from  off  its  throne 
Amazed  and  o'er-mastered !    His  was  battle-life-^ 
Great-hearted  being !  with  a  lion  plunge 
Full  on  the  foe,  with  all  his  living  fire. 
Leapt  his  free  soul,  magnanimously  firm — 
And — no  surrender  ! — for  the  truth  must  fight. 
And  faith  prove  confiict  if  it  stand  sincere  ! 
Like  some  burly  oak. 
Whose  boughs  wage  battle  with  the  tearing  winds. 
And  bend,  but  never  break, — Ms  fighting  heart 
Contended  with  alt  mutinies  that  came 
From  Prince  or  Fope ;  from  circumstance  or  creed. 
And  grappled  with  them ;  or  with  Samson  force 
Subdued  them, — or  himself  with  glorious  fall 
Laid  prostrate.    Sinful  oft  his  moody  ire. 
And  hot  afflatus  of  o'er-heated  faith 
Betrayed  him ;  unadvised  words  he  spake  ; 
And  sometimes  when  his  furnace  heart  o'er-boiled. 
Scattered  both  friend  and  foe,  with  burning  froth 
And  scalding  ftiry  1    Like  a  soul  on  fire. 
Intensely  real,  with  his  raging  glow. 
The  gentle  wondered,  and  the  wise  condemned. 
To  see  him  thus  by  evil  lightnings  rent. 
And  harrowed  ;  but  how  soon  the  tempest  died. 
And  the  broad  sunshine  of  forgiving  love 
Blazed  o'er  his  spirit,  like  a  summer  noon 
Settled  and  bright.    Not  always  hot  and  harsh 
Did  Nature  find  him ;  playful  he  could  be  ; 
For  oft  that  smiting  earnestness  of  tone 
Priestly  or  papal,  with  a  forcing  might. 
That  scorned  the  false,  and  cleaved  all  Faction  through. 
That  fiashed  with  fierceness,  like  a  sword's  descent. 
Melted  away ;  and  like  an  infant  lulled. 
Pathetic  Luther,  all  the  poet-life 
Of  purest  feeling  testified  and  taught. 
Witness  ye  tears  that  dropt  o'er  Tetzel's  bed 
When  reft  and  dying ;  and  o'er  thine  that  fell 
Beloved  and  lost,  and  beauteous  Madaline  I 


Luther  had  faults, — but  can  this  feeble  Age, 
When  Forms  Heroic,  such  as  olden  life 


842 


LltfiRAllV  RfeGlStEft. 


Adnured  and  moulded,  are  to  fS&ith  and  fkct 

No  more, — ^where  little-hearted  Trnthe  preyafl,— * 

Wliere  Mammon  chieflT  is  the  standard  nsed. 

And  Qod*B  own  world  (where  angel-wings  yet  play 

In  secret  motion  o'er  the  homes  of  men) 

Is  made  an  Engine,  whose  mechanic  force 

A  mill  may  work,  a  mannfkctnre  sway, — 

Oh !  can  this  age,  so  derogate  and  dead. 

The  mighty  passion,  and  majestic  heart 

Of  Luther  rightly,  and  with  reyerenoe,  weigh  1 

**  Luther  had  faults,*'— but,  Oh,  ve  Uttle  Minds, 
Less  in  your  fi&ith,  and  lesser  still  in  deeds 
That  make  the  hero,  or  the  man  unfold 
In  ftdl-sonl  daring,  idiile  the  outer  life 
Ye  ponder,  have  ye  pierced  the  core  within  { 
A  fool  can  censure  where  a  prophet  weeps. 
When  life  is  only  by  its  faults  and  falls 
Reriewed ;  but  underneath  what  noble  tears. 
What  pangs  remorsefhl,  penitence,  and  prayers, 
What  struggles  mute,  what  passionate  regrets. 
Deep  in  the  bosom — there  begins  the  fight  1 
And  there  the  battle-scene  'tween  flesh  and  faith 
Unfold  its  grandeur ;  all  without  appears 
The  moral  echo  of  that  inward  din, — 
The  mere  reflection  of  internal  strife. 
In  fitftil  shadows  thrown  on  human  eyes ; 
Yet,  these  are  chiefly  what  adjudging  sense 
Accredits ;  character  ftrom  these  is  drawn, 
And  so  with  Luther ;  bold  as  blazing  fSaet 
The  failings  of  his  outer  life  adyance 
To  catch  tiie  censure  of  prosaic  eyes, 
And  hearts  that  neyer  with  emotion  reeked 
Themselyes  or  others  ;  but  the  secret  fight 
Internal,  when  the  wild  and  wasted  heart 
Struggled  and  stroye,  contending  with  the  fiends 
Of  darkness, — baffled  oft,  bleeding,  and  faint^ — 
But  yet  right  upward  through  eclipsing  gloom. 
Through  storm  and  danger,  and  disastrous  wrong, 
From  famished  boyhood  e'en  to  fearless  man. 
Advancing,  with  a  most  unconquered  will, 
To  Heayen  and  yirtue— who  hath  laurelled  tkUf 
Or  wreathed  the  record  with  a  just  renown  I 

The  CkUdkood  of  Luther,  and  seyenJ  other  of  the 


heads,  might  have  Aimished  us  with  samples  more 
purely  poetical  than  the  aboye  ;  but  none  that,  ^viihin 
the  same  bounds,  giyes  a  more  complete  idea  of  the 
work.  The  Roman  Catholics  may,  and  with  jnsfeiee, 
aflirm  that  Bfr.  Montgomery  has  dealt  mmnlj  by 
them ;  but,  with  the  subject  in  hand,  it  was  not  easy  to 
spare  the  corruptions  of  the  Church  of  Eome. 

SERIAL  WORKS. 

Brinde's  BicnoNA&T  of  Science,  LitERATUBfi,  ftnd 
A&T.  Fa&t  XL — This  yaluable  woric,  whether  for  in- 
formation or  easy  referenoe,  will  be  completed  in  another 
Pari.  Of  it  we  may  aflirm,  that  there  is  not  one  word 
superfluous,  nor  any  important  fbct  omitted.  It  is  com- 
posed upon  the  high-pressure  principle,  and  compreases  a 
yast  deal  of  excellent  matter  into  wonderftQly  little 
space. 

Kkight's  PicToniAL  Shakspebb.  Pam  XLII. — 
The  Three  No(>le  Kimmen,  with  a  critical  notice  on  tiie 
authorship  of  the  drama. 

Enqland  in  the  Ninbtkbnth  Cemtu&t.  Pabt  IT. 
Southern  DiyisiON— Cornwall  ;  and  NoBiHnui  I>iti- 

SION—LANC^mi&B. 

The  Gabbrlunzie's  Wallet.  Part  IV.  —  These 
sketches,  but  aboye  all  the  yerses  interspersed  with 
them,  fhlly  sustain  the  high  character  which  this  -work 
reoeiyed  on  its  iqipeaianoe.  Dor  the  artist,  is  now 
fttirly  entitied  to  diyide  laurels  yrith  Jot  the  poet  and 
flctionist ;  or,  more  correctly,  each  must,  from  their  con- 
joint labours,  increase  the  other's  share  of  fiune.  The 
illustrations  are  quite  in  the  spirit  of  the  work. 

WaTBRSTON'S  CtCLOPBDU  of  COMHBRCB,  MBRCAimLB 

Law,  and  Finance.  Part  IV.— This  Part  oontaiiiB, 
among  other  articles,  the  important  ones  to  commercial 
men  of  Insolyency,  Insurance,  and  Interest. 

Canadian  Scenebt.    Part  XXIV. 

ScBNEBT  and  Antiquities  of  Ireland.    Fart  XIII. 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


Income  Tax. — As  yras  generally  anticipated,  the 
Income  Tax  has  passed  the  House  of  Commons — ^not 
without  a  great  deal  of  talk,  but  without  any  real  oppo- 
sition. Lord  John  Russell's  resolutions  causied  a  debate 
dT  four  nights;  and  the  diyision  being  202  for  the 
amendment,  and  308  against  it,  gaye  a  minority  of  106 
in  fftyour  of  the  Ministry — a  result  which  shows  that  the 
Tories  maintain  their  power  unbroken  in  the  House  of 
Commons. 

Right  of  pEnTioNiNo. — A  rather  unexpected  vic- 
tory was,  howeyer,  gained  oyer  Sir  Robert  Peel,  with 
regard  to  the  right  of  petitioning  against  a  pending 
measure  of  taxation.  Sir  Robert  Peel  contended  that  it 
had  been  the  practice  for  150  years  not  to  receiye  such 
petitions.  The  question  yras  iest  raised  on  a  motion  by 
Mr.  Thomas  Duncombe ;  but  was  negatiyed  by  a  majority 
of  167  to  136,  leaving  a  mi^o^ty  of  31.  Mr.  Duncombe, 
however,  declared  his  determination  to  present  every 
petition  that  was  sent  to  him,  leaving  the  House  to  re- 
ject it,  if  they  were  so  disposed.  Accordingly,  a  day  or 
two  after  his  flrst  motion  had  been  disposed  of,  he  pre- 
sented a  petition  against  the  Income  Tax ;  and  although 
called  to  order  by  the  Speaker,  he  insisted  on  his  right 
to  address  the  House,  hereupon  a  lengthened  debate 
ensued,  and  he  intimated  his  intention  of  persevering 
from  night  to  night  if  the  motion  were  rejected ;  and  it 
was  only  lost  by  a  minority  of  one  in  favour  of  Ministers, 
the  numbers  being  222  and  221.  It  wi^(,  no  doubt,  felt 
to  be  too  serious  a  matter  to  exclude,  by  a  solemn  reso- 


lution of  the  House,  the  people  from  petttioniog  &t  the 
very  time  at  which,  above  aU  others,  it  is  their  interest 
that  petitions  should  be  received.  For  example,  in  tiie 
present  case  of  the  Income  Tax,  had  petitions  not  been 
allowed  to  be  received  during  the  discussion  of  the  bill 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  (and  to  say  the  truth,  vre  dont 
see  what  harm  would  arise  had  none  of  them  been  pre- 
sented,) there  was  no  opportunity  of  remonstrMing 
against  the  tax  till  the  bill  reached  the  House  of  Lords, 
where,  of  course,  any  measure  of  the  Ministry  for  the  time 
being  ia  always  safe. 

The  New  Corn  Bill. — The  new  Com  Bill  is  making 
the  same  sort  of  progress  through  Parliament  as  the  In- 
come Tax  ;  that  is  to  say, opposed  and  growled  at  b jail 
classes,  particularly  the  landed  interest,  whom  Peel  drags 
at  his  heels ;  and  reluctantly  supported  by  them,  lest  the 
loss  of  it  lead  to  his  resignation,  and  the  ousting  of  the 
Tory  party  from  office.  The  landlords  have,  no  doubt, 
also  the  fear  of  the  Anti-Corn  Law  League  befbre 
their  eyes,  and  are  glad  to  take  what  they  ean  get, 
lest  worse  befEtU  them.  They  will  also  beneflt  greatiy,— 
though  they  either  don't  know,  or  pretend  not  to 
be  sensible  of  it,— by  the  addition  of  tiie  150  towns 
to  those  from  wluoh  the  averages  are  at  present  taken. 
The  best  grain,  like  the  best  of  every  other  eommo- 
dity,  always  flnds  its  way  to  the  best  markets;  while 
the  inferior  is  in  general  sold  and  consumed  in  the  locality 
of  its  produce.  Hence  there  will  be  practically  a  laige 
return  of  grain  of  inferior  quality,  and  drrased  in  an  in- 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


B4S 


ferior  manner^  thereby  oausing  a  coDBiderable  increase 
of  tiie  duty,  putieularly  in  the  lower  parte  of  the  scale. 
JoMph  Starge  of  ^rmingham,  one  of  the  greatest  com- 
merdiaitts  in  Britain^  adonlatee  this  increase  at  8b.  a 
quarter ;  and  if  he  be  correct  in  his  calculation^  even  to 
a  Umited  extmt,  it  will  be  seen  how  serious  a  tax  is  im- 

rd  on  the  ooontry  for  the  benefit  of  the  landed  interest. 
Hawes  maintained  that  the  new  list  of  towns  would 
hare  a  strong  efliBct  on  the  arerages.  He  had  made  in- 
quiries among  persons  long  and  extensively  encaged  in 
the  com  trade,  and  the  answers  he  had  receiyed  had  con- 
Tineed  him  of  the  Ikct  Some  persons  estimate  the  re- 
dnetion  of  tiie  ayerages  at  from  28.  to  4s.  And  sedulous 
care  had  been  taken  to  include  districts  growing  wheat 
vtmhtioT  quality,  while  districts  growing  wheat  of  the 
beet  <iuality  were  excluded.  Sir  Robert  Peel  and  Mr. 
Glad^ne  contended  that  the  addition  of  the  150  towns 
would  have  no  influence  on  the  averages.  Why,  there- 
fore, make  any  change  f  We  may  be  sure  that  the  trouble 
Hid  additional  expense  of  procuring  accurate  returns 
from  so  great  a  number  of  towns,  dispersed  all  over 
England,  would  not  have  been  incurred  without  some 
objeet  m  view. 

PinnoiTS  AOAimvr  the  Tabiffw — Nothing  is  more 
tfflosiiig  than  to  read  the  petitions  of,  we  believe,  every 
tfade,  against  either  an  increase  or  a  decrease  of  the  ex- 
isttng  duties.  Every  trade  seems  thoroughly  resolved 
tosldft  the  burden  from  its  own  shoulders,  and  put  it 
m  its  neighbours',  and  leave  it  to  get  quit  of  it  as  it 
best  nay.  Such  is  the  morality  of  the  present  reli- 
p/m  age. — ^We  have  the  heads  of  160  firms  in  the  city 
petitioning  against  the  reduction  of  the  duty  on  cofi^ee, 
ttd  sug^sting  a  scale  of  their  own.—"  Above  half 
the  mining  interests  of  the  country"  have  adopted  a  se- 
riet  of  resolutions,  condemning  the  measures  proposed 
by  Mhibters,  with  respect  to  copper,  tin,  and  the  ores, 
and  preparations  in  those  metals ;  declaring,  with  the 
asaal  exaggeration,  that  such  alteration  would  be  a  total 
destraction  of  the  property  invested  in  mines ;  not  for- 
getting the  injuries  sustained  by  the  parties  supplying 
the  iron,  timber,  ropes,  powder,  and  taJlow  candles. — The 
glore  trade  is  also  up  in  arms;  as  well  as  the  boot  and 
Bhoemakers :  and,  to  quiet  the  alarms  of  these  persons, 
H  is  proposed,  by  the  revised  tariff',  to  increase  the  duty 
^ot  a  third. — ^The  cork-cutters,  however,  have  not  been 
80  fortunate;  for  instead  of  being  prohibitory,  as  hereto- 
^,the  duty  is  to  be  reduced  one  shilling  or  two  a  hun- 
dred weight ;  by  which  it  is  gravely  pretended  **  by  per- 
sons hafhig  auUiority,"  and  engaged  in  the  trade,  that 
30,000  men  will  be  thrown  out  of  employment ;  a  greater 
number  than  in  all  probability  there  are  employed  in 
the  trade  in  Europe.  But  the  most  extraordinary  part 
ofthetariil^  is  the  reduction  of  the  timber  duties,  by 
which  £600,000  of  the  revenue  is  given  up,  apparently 
fof  no  purpose  whatever. 

Thc  Aoricuxtubal  Interest  has,  as  usual,  been  op- 
posing any  chuige  by  which  they  anticipate  that  the  food 
of  the  people  wm  be  lowered  in  price.  The  formers  in  the 
North  of  Scotland  are  objecting  to  the  removal  of  the  pre- 
sent prohibition  on  the  importation  of  cattle,  sheep,  &c. ; 
those  of  the  midland  counties  of  Great  Britain  are  ex- 
claiming against  the  new  Com  Bill,and  the  increase  on  the 
(Unties  of  rape  and  oil-cake;  and  tlie  southern  counties  of 
^^Qgland,  against  the  reduction  of  the  duty  on  clover-seed 
from  £1  to  10s.  a  hundred  weight.  The  proposed  duties 
on  cattle  and  meat  have  evidenUy  been  constructed  with- 
out any  principle  at  all,  and  with  the  view  of  enabling 
the  landed  interest  to  amend  them  according  to  their 
owntMicy.  What  proportion  is  there  between  charging 
^i  of  dn^  on  a  ftall-grovm  ox  of  forty  stone,  for  example, 
^  108.on  a  calf,  which  is  probably  not  worth  that  sum  1 
^PPo«,  again,  an  ox  of  the  above  weight  brought  in 
»e  shape  of  salted  meat,  the  duty  would  be  56s.,  so  that 
^  bringbg  it  hi  a  live  state  a  saving  of  £1, 16s.  would 
oe  made.  It  is  evident  that  so  rickety  a  scale  will 
not  stand  the  assault  of  the  House  of  Landlords.  It 
» the  more  unnecessary  to  resort  to  any  such  arbitrary 
QQties,  as  there  is  a  mode  of  measuring  live  cattle, 
sheep,  &c.,  by  whidi  their  weight  within  a  few  pounds 
^  be  ascertained.    With  regard  to  the  duty  on  rape 


and  oil  cake,  we  cannot  but  think  that  the  raising  of  the 
duty  would  be  no  great  harm ;  for  the  beef  of  oxen  fed 
principally  on  this  food,  however  rich  and  oily,  is  of  very 
infbrior  quality  to  that  fed  on  the  ordinary  food,  such  as 
grass  and  turnips.  Whenever  any  alteration  is  proposed 
in  the  laws  regarding  the  importation  of  agricultural 
produce,  the  flmners  get  out  with  a  howl,  that,  if  it  be 
carried  through,  they  will  be  unable  to  pay  their  rents ; 
as  if  the  public  had  ever  agreed  to  guarantee  their  en- 
gagements to  their  landlords.  Had  duties  been  increased, 
we  do  not  suppose  that  they  would  be  selling  their  pro^ 
duce  at  ten  or  twenty  per  cent,  under  the  market  price, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  public.  Why,  therefore,  if  they 
are  to  run  all  the  chance  of  gain  by  the  change  of  the 
law,  are  they  to  run  no  risk  of  loss !  The  obvious  re- 
medy, if  the  rents  are  too  high,  is  to  reduce  them ;  and 
if  the  landlords,  from  the  extravagance  in  which  they 
have  indulged,  are  unable  to  meet  their  engagements, 
they  must  just  do  what  other  people  do  in  the  circum- 
stance— give  up  their  estates  to  their  creditors.  The 
agitation  got  up,  on  this  occasion,  by  the  East  Lothian, 
^rwickshire,  and  Roxburghshire  agriculturists,  is  par- 
ticularly ill-founded.  The  farms  in  these  counties  are 
almost  entirely  let  on  leases  of  nineteen  or  twenty-one 
years ;  so  that  nearly  one-third  of  the  present  leases 
must  have  been  taken  before  the  passing  of  the  existing 
Com  Law  in  18Q8,  and  when  an  impendhig  change  of  the 
law  was  inevitable.  Besides,  it  is  in  vain  for  any  one  to 
pretend,  in  a  country  like  this,  that  he  ever  calculated  on 
anylawbeingimmntable.  It  ought  also  to  be  kept  in  view, 
for  our  readers  will  not  leam  Arom  the  proceedings  at 
the  agricultural  meetings,  that  in  arable  frkrms  the  reduc* 
tion  on  the  duty  of  clover  seed  will  go  far  to  pay  the 
tenant's  Income  Tax ;  so  that  there  is  no  more  danger 
of  the  farmers  being  utterly  rained,  and  the  land  thrown 
out  of  cultivation  just  now,  than  there  has  been  sinoe  the 
end  of  the  war,  during  all  which  tine  the  agrieultnral  in< 
terest  never  ceased  to  eomplain. 


SCOTLAND. 

The  Kirk. — The  prindpal  object  of  attention  here,  for 
some  time  past,  has  been  the  proceedings  of  the  clergy, 
which  have  astonished  every  person  of  common  sense  ; 
and  seem  to  indicate  that  the  downfall  of  the  Estab- 
lishment is  not  far  distant.  Every  care  has  been  taken 
to  pack  the  ensuing  G^eral  Assembly,  by  returning, 
almost  exclusively,  Non-Intrasionists  from  the  Presby- 
teries :  so  that  the  other  party  will  have  no  chance  in 
any  oontest  that  may  take  place  in  the  Assembly.  It  is 
said  that  Professor  Welsh  is  to  be  Moderator  ;  and 
Viscount  Strathallan,  or  Lord  Arbuthnot,  Commissioner. 
We  think  that  it  is  a  pity  that  a  younger  man  than 
either  should  not  have  been  appointed.  Whether  held 
out  as  a  mere  empty  threat  or  not,  we  cannot  tell ;  but 
circulars  have  been  published  under  the  authority  of 
Drs.  Chalmers,  CandUsh,  and  others  of  the  highflying 
party,  in  which  it  is  proposed  that,  at  the  ensuing  As- 
sembly, the  whole  minority  of  the  Church  should  be  de- 
poeed  ;  the  parishes  declared  vacant,  preparatory  to 
their  being  supplied  with  new  Ministers,  to  be  appointed 
by  the  Pr^Bbyteries.  A  company  is  to  be  formed  on  the 
model  of  the  We^yan  Methodists,  for  the  payment  of 
their  salaries,  at  the  rate  of  frtm  £150  to  £200  per 
annum.  It  will  be  easier  to  form  a  company  than  to 
get  the  money  ;  for,  suppose  only  200  or  dOO  of  the 
parishes  out  of  the  1 100  in  Scotland  are  declared  vacant, 
this  vnll  require  from  £40,000  to  £dO,000  a-year.  The 
new  Kirks,  however,  are  to  be  built  upon  a  scale  of  un- 
paralleled economy.  They  are  to  be  of  wood  :  and  Dr. 
Candlish  states,  that  for  £100  a  wooden  kvk  can  be 
built,  which  will  aoeommodate  ftom  600  to  700  people. 
We  have  no  doubt,  that  on  the  first  windy  day  the  whole 
fabric  will  be  blown  down  about  the  ears  of  the  hearers. 
This  is,  no  doubt,  a  bugbear  held  out  to  annoy  Govem- 
ment,  and  will  be  treated  with  the  contempt  it  deserves. 
But  were  it  carried  into  effect,  it  would  only  be  follow- 
ing out  the  Church  Extension  Scheme,  which  lum  been 
so  unaccountably  allowed  to  drop  since  the  schism  in  the 


844 


POLITICAL  REGISTER. 


)(irk  broko  out  Wo  think  that  some  subscriber  to  the 
Sehemes  of  the  Church  should  call  for  an  account  of  the 
investment  and  expenditure  of  the  subscriptions ;  for 
there  is  |;reat  reason  to  beliere  tliat  part  of  these  funds 
has  been  expended  for  very  different  purposes  from 
Ifaose  for  which  they  were  intended.  We  are  glad  to 
vbmrye,  that,  notwithstandinding  all  the  threatened  at- 
tempt a  second  time  to  stop  the  travelling  of  the  Edin- 
burgh and  Glasgow  Railway  on  the  Sunday,  public 
breakfasts,  &c.,  the  whole  affair  ended  in  smoke;  for  at 
the  meeting  of  the  shareholders,  on  the  1 5th  April,  they 
did  not  venture  even  to  bring  forward  their  motion.  On 
the  contrary.  Sir  Andrew  Agncw  made  an  apology,  for 
advertising  so  long  and  loudly  their  intention  again  to 
bring  forward  the  motion,  thereby  causing  unnecessarily 
Aaay  shareholders  to  attend  who  would  not  otherwise 
have  been  present. 

Mb.  Hume  aud  the  Moxtrosb  Burghs. — The  people 
have  much  cause  to  rejoice  that  the  most  faithfVil  and 
efficient  representative  they  ever  had  in  the  House  of 
Commons  has  again  been  sent  there;  and  at  a  time  when 
his  services  will  be  particularly  valuable.  After  much 
intriguing  to  keep  him  out,  in  which  the  Honourable 
Fox  Biauie  had  as  usual  his  full  share,  Mr.  Hume  has 
succeeded  in  securing  his  return  for  the  Montrose 
Burghs.  We  are  surprised  that  a  gentleman  like  Mr. 
Camegy  of  Craigo,  a  good  Reformer,  and  of  consider- 
able local  influence,  could  be  induced  to  allow  himself 
to  be  made  a  catVpaw  by  the  late  Home  Secretary,  for 
the  purpose  of  endeavouring  to  secure  the  election  of 
Mr.  Stuiley ;  he  having  gone  the  length  of  writing  to  Mr. 
Hume  that  he  was  a  candidate,  when  it  would  appear 
from  the  whole  proceedings  that  he  never  had  any  such 
intention.  We  cannot  help  thinking  that  Mr.  Camegy 
has  damaged  his  character  considerably  by  lending  him- 
self as  a  party  to  the  Stanley  Plot.  All's  well,  however, 
that  ends  well;  and  the  return  of  Mr.  Hume,  in  the  pre- 
sent state  of  the  House,  is  of  more  consequence  thaji  the 
election  of  a  score  of  Whigs. — Mr.  T.  Duncombo  will 
now  have  an  able  coadjutor  in  carrying  on  the  war 
against  the  factions  in  the  House. 

Afpohanistan. — Although  the  reports  fVom  Affghan- 
btan  are  still  vague,  there  seems  no  reason  to  doubt  that 
the  whole  Anglo-Indian  force,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  of  the  officers,  has  been  annihilated.  Great  blame 
is  attached  to  General  Elpliinstone,  and  loud  demands 
are  made  for  an  inquiry  into  his  conduct.  It  will  bo 
some  time  before  it  can  be  possible  to  hold  such  an  in- 
quiry, for  there  is  little  doubt  that  Dost  Mahommed  will 
take  good  care  not  to  deliver  up  the  prisoners  till  he 
makes  favourable  terms  of  capitulation.  A  loud  call  is 
made  in  many  quarters  for  signal  punishment  of  Dost 
Mahommed,  and  laying  his  country  waste  with  fire  and 
sword.  But  how  this  is  to  be  accomplished,  without  sa- 
crificing the  lives  of  the  prisoners,  is  not  easily  seen.  We 
deprecate  the  intended  vengeance,  as  wasteful,  cruel, 
and  unchristian.  The  sufferers  would  be  chiefly  our  own 
troops,  and  the  women,  children,  and  helpless  old  men  of 
the  offending  country;  for  the  real  perpetrators  of  the 
late  sanguinary  outrages  would  retire  to  their  mountain 
fastnesses,  on  ihe  approach  of  the  invading  force.  Why 
do  not  the  Scottish  pulpits  ring  with  anathemas  against 
the  wars — the  notoriously  ui\just  wars,  in  which  we  are 
engaged !  Is  the  Sixth  Commandment  less  sacred  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Ministers  of  the  Gospel  of  Peace,  than  the 
Fourth  I 

China. — Notwithstanding  the  boasted  activity  of  the 
new  Commander-in-Chief,  he  is  doing  a  great  deal  loss 
than  his  predecessoi^  BUiot,  by  his  exaction^  of  the 
ransom-money  for  Canton,  at  least  helped  to  make  the 
war  pay  its  own  expenses — a  thing  which  has  not  hap- 
pened, we  believe,  since  Anson  took  the  Spanish  galleons. 
The  Tories  pretend  to  be  very  indignant  at  the  exaction 
of  the  ransom-money;  but  we  do  not  find  that  any  com- 
plaint now  is  made  at  the  placing  of  £340,000  of  it  to 
the  credit  of  the  last  quarter's  revenue. 


TRADE  AND  MANUFACTURES. 

It  is  almost  unnecessary  for  us  to  repeat  month  after 
month,  thai  the  distress  continuea  unabated  in  the  mana- 
facturing  districts.  We  may  just  give  a  few  specimens 
of  the  condition  of  them,  taken  at  random.  In  Man- 
chester— The  depression  in  this  market  continues  without 
the  slightest  abatement.  Rochdale — Few  pieces  hmre 
been  sold,  and  the  prices  offered  would  do  little  more 
than  pay  the  price  of  the  raw  material.  The  Wool  mar- 
ket is  dull.  Stockport — Double  houses  which  two  or 
thrce  years  ago  let  for  2s.  6d.  and  33.  per  week,  are 
offered  at  7d.  clear  of  all  rates.  Leicestershire — There 
is  no  improvement  in  the  demand.  Leeds — The  busi- 
ness done  is  not  half  what  is  usual  at  this  period  of  the 
year.  Preston — A  pretty  general  reduction  of  wag^ 
has  taken  place.  Bolton — The  trade  here  and  in  the 
neighbourhood,  never  was  in  a  more  unsettled  state. 
Power  Loom  cloths  are  very  much  depressed.  Braes 
and  Iron  founders  are  very  slack.  Hundreds  of  mechanics 
are  wholly  out  of  employment,  and  wages  are  from  50 
to  70  per  cent,  lower  than  in  1835.  Lancashire — The 
Cotton  trade  is  in  a  most  depressed  state.  Dundee — The 
number  of  the  employed  is  diminishing,  and  upwards  of 
900  require  aid  from  the  Relief  Association.  Dysart, 
Pathhead,  &c.  &c.~Of  the  total  number  of  looms,  1840, 
531  are  idle.  In  the  vilhige  of  Auchtermuchty,  there 
were,  some  time  ago,  277  idle  looms.  This  is  merely  a 
specimen  of  the  reports  from  various  quarters  ;  and  it 
would  be  easy  to  double  or  triple  similar  accounts. 


Agriculture. — The  weather  has  been  very  favourable 
for  sowing  the  spring  crops;  although  it  is  complained, 
in  some  parts  of  Eugland,  that  owing  to  the  quantity  of 
rain  which  fell  during  the  latter  part  of  last  year,  and 
since,  the  clay  land  has  wrought  very  stiff  and  heavy. 
In  the  South  of  England  a  great  part  of  the  spring  wheat 
was  not  sown  till  the  middle  of  February,  and  no  confi- 
dent opinion  can  be  formed  as  to  its  prospect.  Some 
looked  so  indifferently,  that  it  has  been  ploughed  over  and 
sown  again.  The  young  crops  of  all  descriptions  are  ex- 
ceedingly backward  ;  and  in  Scotland,  very  little  grass 
is  yet  to  be  seen,  even  in  the  most  sheltered  situations. 
The  consequence  has  been,  that  the  sheep  markets  have 
been  completely  overstocked,  and  prices  have  sunk 
greatly,  as  compared  with  last  year's.  At  the  House  of 
Muir  Market,  near  Edinburgh,  held  on  the  28th  March, 
there  were  14,300  sheep  shown;  about  double  the  quan- 
tity that  has  ever  appeared  in  that  market  in  any  year 
since  1034.    Prices  were,  of  course,  greatly  down,  fully 

a  third  from  those  at  last  year's  market. It  appears 

from  the  reports  from  the  best  informed  quarters,  that 
the  stocks  of  free  foreign  wheat  are  at  a  very  low  ebb, 
and  the  actual  quantity  appears  to  be  much  shorter  than 
is  usually  the  case  at  this  season.  That  last  crop  was 
deficient  is  undisputed ;  but  it  is  in  vaiu  to  attempt  to 
make  any  distinct  estimate.  Calculations  vary  £nm  a 
fourth  to  a  sixth,  taking  quantity  and  quality  into  ac- 
count ;  so  that  a  large  importation  of  foreign  wheat  will 
be  required  before  next  crop  can  be  ready  for  consump- 
tion. A  very  exaggerated  notion  is  held  out  in  some 
quarters,  no  doubt  for  interested  purposes,  of  the  immense 
number  of  cattle  which  will  be  imported  when  the  pre- 
sent prohibition  is  removed.  Some  of  these  estimates 
go  as  high  as  20,000  or  30,000  a-year ;  but  we  think 
the  estimate  of  Professor  Low  of  the  University  of  Edin- 
burgh, of  3,000,  for  many  years  at  least,  to  come  much 
nearer  the  truth.  Indeed,  the  other  is  totally  out  of  the 
question,  when  it  is  considered  that  France,  Belgium, 
and  Holland,  are  importers,  and  not  exporters  of  cattle. 
The  consumption  of  London  alone  is  170,000  per  annum 
of  cattle,  much  heavier  than  we  are  likely  to  obtain 
from  the  Continent :  so  that  it  may  be  judged  what  pro- 
bability there  is  of  the  British  markets  being  over- 
stocked with  foreign  supplies. 


Priuted  by  Willi  a3i  Tait,  107,  Princes  Street,  Edinburgh, 


TAIT'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


JUNE,  1842. 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 

BY  MRS.  GORE. 
C Continued  fivm  page  292  of  cur  Mojf  No.) 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Basel  Annbsley  was  just  about  to  enter  the 
onoking  room  of  bis  Clnby  after  dinner,  when  the 
tDeasmger  he  had  despatched  with  a  few  lines  to 
Verdst  to  inquire  after  the  state  of  his  wife, 
Iffoa^t  back  a  note  &om  Salome,  informing  him 
that  her  mother  was  not  only  perfectlj  recovered 
bom  her  seizure,  but  that  she  insisted  upon  their 
keeping  their  engagement  with  Madame  Branzini. 

hutiuitly  relinquishing  an  enjoyment  to  which 
fe  only  resorted  when  unlikely  to  find  himself 
ikortly  afterwards  in  female  society,  Basil  made 
the  best  of  his  way  to  his  lodgings  to  dress.  In  a 
Boment,  his  heart,  previously  depressed  by  his 
ioterriew  with  the  caustic  Abednego,  became  light 
K  a  bird.  A  whole  evening  spent  in  Esthers 
Bociety,  no  matter  where,  was  at  present  the 
^hte6t  prospect  this  world  could  afford  him. 

Bat  for  this  conciliatory  influence,  the  house  to 
which  he  was  about  to  repair,  had  little  charm  for 
Basil.  The  husband  of  Madame  Branzini  was  the 
I^eapolitMi  consul,  and  the  persons  resorting  to  hb 
society  were  almost  entirely  foreigners.  For  though 
|he  highest  diplomatic  class  is  cordially  welcomed 
into  the  best  English  society,  nothing  less  easy 
^n  for  foreigners,  not  included  in  the  pomp  of 
tt»  court,  to  make  their  way  in  a  country  which 
Nes  itself  on  understanding  all  languages,  and 
^c&kiog  none  but  its  own. 

Now  there  is  a  natural  tendency  in  persons 
"»Ting  exclusively  in  the  circles  of  fashion,  to 
^predate  all  those  with  whose  faces  they  are  un- 
faoiiliar.  The  great  world  is  of  such  limited 
*3ttent,  that  every  one  of  its  component  parts  is 
l^jwwn  to  every  one,  either  by  acquaintance  or 
sight ;  and  the  moment  a  strange  face  appears  in 
^  privileged  crowd,  it  is  regarded  with  suspicion. 
At  the  house  of  the  Neapolitan  consul,  all  the  faces 
were  strange  to  Basil  Annesley .  Once  or  twice,  he 
h»d  jomed  the  circle  of  Madame  Branzini,  without 
finding  there  a  single  person  he  had  ever  seen 
wfore ;  and  among  them,  not  above  three  or  four 
^Jw  spoke  his  language.  It  is  true  there  was 
i>Qch  to  reconcile  him  to  this  strangeness;  and  a 
B»an  hlas^  with  the  insipidity  of  the  beau  mande, 
mi^ht  have  experienced  the  greatest  yelief  in  con- 

xo.  ai. — VOL.  IX. 


templating,  in  place  of  the  pale  and  faded  faces  of 
the  belles  of  fashion,  the  fine  rich  glowing  beauty 
of  the  southern  dames,  whose  frank  and  courteous 
manners  were  as  yet  untrammelled  by  the  con- 
ventional laws  of  the  most  formal  country  in  the 
world. 

Italians  and  Spaniards  abounded  at  the  house  of 
Branzini,  who  had  many  years  officiated  at  Cadiz 
as  consul  for  the  Two  Sicilies ;  a  circumstance 
that  explained  the  dark  and  sunburnt  complexion 
of  most  of  the  men  whom  Basil  foimd  assembled  in 
hb  drawing-room ;  and  who,  to  his  Londonized 
eyes,  had  very  much  the  air  of  opera-singers  or 
French  hairdressers.  Though  his  German  educa- 
tion in  some  degree  liberalized  his  views  on  such 
points,  a  public  school  and  the  Guards  had  not 
a  little  inspired  him  with  the  prejudice  of  "  a  man 
about  town,"  that  every  individual  differing  from 
himself  in  dress  and  manner,  must  be  '^  a  tiger !'' 

All  Madame  Branzini's  guests  were  consequently 
"tigers"  to  Basil;  though  scarcely  one  of  them 
but  was  distinguished  by  some  talent  or  accom- 
plishment, endowing  him  with  a  name  beyond  the 
conferring  of  king  or  kaiser.  Most  of  them  were 
men  of  science,  or  memorable  artists,  who  had 
brought  letters  of  introduction  to  the  consul,  from 
countries  where  their  abilities  procured  them  those 
distinctions  which  England  is  so  tardy  in  bestow- 
ing upon  men  of  genius.  StiD,  the  form  of  their 
beards  and  whiskers,  the  cut  of  their  coats,  the 
nature  of  their  salutations,  rendered  them  ridicu- 
lous or  disgusting  in  the  eyes  of  Basil ;  and  he 
had  scarcely  patience,  on  entering  the  circle,  to  find 
several  of  these  "foreign  fellows"  devoting  their 
attentions  to  the  beautiful  daughters  of  Verelst. 

For  then  came  the  vexatious  reflection,  that  this 
was  the  natural  sphere  of  Esther ;  that,  even  if 
these  olive-hued  individuals  loere  the  opera  singers 
to  which  he  so  flightily  compared  them,  they  be- 
longed to  the  same  order  of  society  as  the  girl  he 
loved.  Yet  who  could  gaze  upon  that  well-turned 
head,  those  Grecian  features,  that  exquisite  form, 
every  movement  of  which  was  grace,  and  believe 
them  created  for  any  other  than  the  noblest  order  of 
society  ? — No  I  Such  women  as  the  Maitlands  were 
not  worthy  to  tie  the  sandals  of  Esther  Verelst ! 

2F 


346 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


She  was  indeed  a  being  of  superior  nature. 
Peculiar  elegance  of  mind  served  to  animate  and 
govern  her  peculiar  el^;ance  of  person  ;  yet  in 
spite  of  her  rare  endowments,  the  spirit  of  the 
gifted  girl  was  as  meek  and  humble,  as  if  she  pos- 
sessed BO  trace  of  personal  distinction.  Timid 
almost  to  a  fault,  Esther  was  content  to  remain 
perpetually  in  the  shade.  In  her  own  estimation, 
she  was  less  than  nothing,  and  her  chief  object  in 
life  was  to  occupy  the  attention  of  others  as  little 
as  she  occupied  her  own.  Never  did  there  exist  a 
human  being  so  unselfish ! 

But  for  the  passionate  attachment  of  her  rister, 
who  gloried  in  her  charms  and  talents,  Esther 
might  often  have  succeeded  in  causing  herself  to 
be  overlooked,  where  presumptuous  mediocrity  was 
crowned  with  laurels.  Salome,  however,  thought 
for  her — felt  for  her — acted  for  her, — was  vain  for 
her ;  and  insisted  on  her  being  heard  and  seen, 
when  Esther  had  chosen  to  retire  into  some  obscure 
comer.  It  was  Salome  who  was  at  the  trouble  of 
dressing  her,  so  as  to  enhance,  as  far  as  their  limit- 
ed means  would  allow,  the  character  of  her  beauty ; 
and  as  her  sister's  good  taste  restricted  the  ut- 
most of  these  efforts  to  a  well-fitting  muslin  drese, 
and  her  fine  black  hair  twisted  after  the  model  of 
some  antique  bust,  the  unpretending  Esther  offered 
no  resistance.  She  was  seldom  at  the  trouble  of 
looking  in  the  glass,  indeed,  when  the  task  of  her 
affectionate  handmaiden  was  at  an  end.  Beloved 
in  her  own  family,  secure  in  the  friendship  of  one 
whom  she  believed  to  be  superior  to  external  at- 
tractions, it  was  indifferent  to  her  whether  her 
dress  were  more  or  less  becoming  than  usual. 

It  was  this  very  al)eence  of  pretension,  that  con- 
stituted the  great  charm  of  Esther  Verelst.  Those 
who  are  seen  to  be  wholly  unoccupied  with  them- 
selves, are  the  first  to  occupy  the  attention  of 
others ;  for  vanity  is  souniventtl  a  weakness,  that 
we  are  better  inclined  to  seek  the  society  of  per- 
sons whose  attention  appears  at  our  servioe.^— 
She  was  a  patient  listener,  an  indulgent  companion ; 
and  those  "vriio  at  a  distance  had  been  struck  by 
her  beauty  or  enchanted  by  the  exquisite  charm  of 
her  singing,  were  still  more  fascinated,  when,  on  a 
nearer  acquaintance,  they  found  that  the  being 
thus  accomplished,  thought  so  little  of  herself  and 
80  much  of  the  feelings  of  other  people. 

Still  Basil  Annesley,  much  as  he  had  always 
admired  in  his  gentle  Esther  this  complete  self- 
abnegation,  considered  that  she  was  carrying  it  too 
far,  when  he  found  her  at  Madame  Branzini's,  lis- 
tening deferentially  to  ^  a  strange  looking  man," 
who  was  talking  Italian  to  her  with  earnest  volu- 
bility. As  he  stood  opposite  contemplating  them, 
and  enduring  with  ungracious  impatience  the 
civilities  of  hb  host,  he  could  not  help  fSeeling 
angry  at  her  greater  patience.  He  felt  certain 
that  the  dingy,  bushy-whiskered  stranger  was 
redolent  of  gariic  and  cigars ;  and  when  he  smiled 
at  Esther,  and  Esther  smiled  in  return,  Basil  could 
have  annihilated  the  fellow  on  the  spot ! 

Verelst,  meanwhile,  was  seated  at  picquet  with 
an  eminent  naturatist,  his  countryman ;  and  An- 
nesley had  consequently  no  means  of  inquiring  the 
name  of  this  **  damnod  fweigner.*'    He  had  been 


often  tempted  to  regret  the  secluded  life  led  by  tl 
Verelsts,  as  dull  and  dispiriting  for  the  girls,  f 
now  felt  that  they  could  not  bo  too  much  at  horn 
To  be  exposed  to  the  assiduities  of  such  society  i 
they  met  at  Madame  Branzini's  was  worse  Uia 
noUiing.  "  SwJi  soeiety  I  "—Why  suoh  1— WL 
did  he  know  about  these  strangers  ? — Did  he  ni 
derstand  their  position — ^their  habits — ^their  lai 
guage?  No!  but  he  assumed  an  Englishman 
prerogative  of  disparaging  everything  and  ever} 
body  not  precisely  modelled  after  his  natbiu 
pattern. 

While  giving  vent  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  \ 
hb  unutterable  disgusts,  Esther,  at  the  entreaty  ( 
her  olive-coloured  friend,  was  about  to  compl 
with  the  request  of  Madame  Branzini,  for  eon 
music.  As  she  passed  him  closely  by  to  assnm 
her  place  at  the  piano,  there  was  time  for 
momentary  greeting. 

'^  Do  not,  I  entreat  you,  sing  the  song  of  thi 
morning!"  said  Basil,  certain  of  not  being  under 
stood  by  those  around  him  ;  to  which  request,  i 
reproachful  glance  from  Esther,  implying  the  im 
possibility  of  such  sacrilege,  was  the  only  reply. 

With  all  hb  prejudice  against  the  individul 
composing  Madame  Branzini's  coterie,  who,  be 
cause  they  did  not  look  precisely  like  the  ^ 
company  he  was  acquainted  with,  he  deeided  b 
be  6aJ,— Basil  was  struck  by  the  good-breedu)( 
with  which  they  disposed  themselves  to  do  juetia 
to  the  musician  about  to  exNrt  herself  for  thai! 
entertainment.  In  the  world  with  whidi  he  wn 
familiar,  he  had  often  noticed  the  involontai) 
air  of  contempt  with  which  the  reluctant  auditon 
prepare  to  disparage  what  they  are  about  to  bearj 
and  the  readiness  with  which,  by  their  movement* 
and  whii^rings,  they  interrupt  the  performers.  Bil 
scarcely  was  the  pure,  K^iass^  meUifloous  voice  d 
Esther  Verebt  audible  in  Uie  fiist  bars  of  thai 
beautiful  German  melody,  the  '<  Complaint  ol 
Thekla,**  than  a  pin  mi^t  have  been  heard  t< 
&11  in  the  assembly.  There  was  perfect  good  faitt 
in  their  attention*  They  listened  to  be  gratified 
and  to  praise ;  not  to  detect  errors  insider  heiMfiM 

To  hint  afanlt,  and  hesitate  dlllike ; 
and  by  the  time  the  delicate  musician  had  reached 
the  concluding  line  of  her  song :— > 

every  bosom  thrilled  in  delighted  unison  witk  t4^ 
well-defined  expression  of  the  songstresi. 

It  was  strang€Uiat,at  that  moment,  Basil  Aawi 
ley  felt  more  inclined  to  applaud  the  audience,  tM 
the  performer,— as  if  for  a  courtesy  offered  to  H« 
self.  He  felt  almost  grateful  to  them  for  tbd 
attention  to  .Esther.  From  that  moment,  the  a 
sembly  assumed  new  features  in  hb  •X*^ 
listened  more  civilly  to  the  speeches  of  ^^j^ 
zini;  and  had  the  grace  to  ask  the  names  w  t* 
or  duee  handsome  women  present.  He  efen  u 
quired  in  French,  (the  language  of  the  !««*  f*^ 
most  foreign  houses,)  the  name  of  the  gentlew" 
who  had  conducted  Esther  to  the  instrument. 

•*  The  Duca  di  San  Catalda,"  was  the  reply. 

"A  Ck0imUer  drinduttrie,  I  make  no  doubt!  wj 
hb  mental  commentary  t  but  on  k)okiBg  round  tfj 
perceiving  that  die  Secretary  of  Legation*  •■ 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


34T 


attadUi  of  the  Neapolitan  mission  were  present,  it 
was  impossible  to  infer  that  any  person  admitted 
to  the  house  of  the  venerable  consul^  more  especially 
s  ooontiymaii  of  his  own,  should  be  otherwise  than 
re^Mctable. 

He  was  now  growing  less  thankful  for  the  rap- 
tnie  lavished  by  the  party  upon  Esther  s  perfor- 
mance. In  some  respects,  Basil  had  all  the  way- 
waidnesB  of  a  spoiled  lover<  The  secluded  life  of 
the  Verelsts  secured  him  from  the  usual  terrors 
and  jealousies  of  attachment.  Gro  whither  he 
would,  absent  himself  as  he  pleased,  he  was  certain 
to  find  that  lovely  girl  on  his  return  installed  in 
her  accustomed  place,  at  her  customary  occupa^ 
tbns;  with  the  certainty  thai,  since  their  last 
meeting,  her  looks,  thoughts,  or  words,  had  been 
addressed  to  no  individual  qualified  to  excite  his 
uneasiness.  It  induced  a  pang  in  his  bosom,  un- 
felt  since  the  rehearsal-scene  of  the  previous  year, 
to  find  other  eyes  fixed  upon  her  beauty,  and  other 
ooortesies  addressed  to  her  ear  ;  and,  irritated  and 
^"^PP79  on®  o^  ^0  handsomest  of  human  faces 
became  overclouded  with  ill-humour. 

^  Our  friends  are  now  arrived,"  observed  Madame 
Bransini,  after  looking  graciously  round  upon  the 
groups  engaged  in  livdy  conversation  which  filled 
her  handsome  drawing-rooms ;  ^^  let  us  now  pro- 
ceed to  draw  for  king !" 

Aoenstomed  to  the  formsaccompanyinginChrist- 
maiparties  this  immemorial  custom,  Basil  was  sur- 
prised to  see  no  token  of  the  hugefro8tedcake,|cove> 
ed  with  bonbons  and  devices,  which  usually  tends  to 
sicken,  for  the  remainder  of  the  month  of  January, 
the  nurseries  of  well-conditioned  English  fami- 
liei.  Still  moie  was  he  st<uiled  when  (the  hand- 
some children  of  the  Branzinis  having  been  desired 
to  commence  the  ceremonial,  whereupon  they  in- 
Metsd  tiiat  the  g6u<m  des  rois  was  too  heavy  to  be 
carried  round  without  the  aid  of  their  dear  Esther 
and  Salome)  he  saw  the  Verelsts  lend  their  cheerful 
&id  to  offer  in  succession  to  the  guests  a  huge  un- 
eatable gahUe  fr<«n  which  every  gentleman  present 
was  to  cut  a  slice. 

As  the  stranger  of  the  party,  the  honours  were 
oflPered  first  to  Annesley ;  and  little  Teresaand Cesa- 
rino  Branzini  set  up  a  cry  of  triumph,  when,  on 
examination  of  his  sUeeof  ^u/elta,  no  beanappeared ; 
the  kingship  being  decided  by  the  attainment  of 
the  fortunate  lot  containing  a  /hfe^  or  bean,  drc^ 
ped  into  the  cake  in  Uie  process  of  making. 

In  succession,  young  and  old,  were  subjected  to 
the  trial ;  and  every  new  defeat  was  accompanied 
hy  shouts  of  laughter.  In  their  mirth,  however, 
Basil  found  it  impossible  to  join.  He  was  thorough- 
ly out  of  sorts  on  perceiving,  that  while  the  atten- 
tion of  the  pretendant  was  fixed  upon  the  gaUtte 
he  was  cutting,  that  of  the  assistants  was  riveted 
upon  the  graceful  figures  of  the  two  dish-bearers, 
etch  worthy  to  afford  a  model  for  a  sculptor.  It 
did  not  surprise  him,  so  contrary  was  his  mood, 
when  the  portion  of  the  Duke  of  Catalda  was  pio- 
jwuneed  to  contain  the  bean!  He  had  expected 
it  I — Ut  fdt  certain  that  it  was  a  matter  of  prefer- 
ence and  connivance ;  more  especially  when  the 
l^ke,  his  fine  face  qiarkling  with  joy,  presented  it 
to  C8ther,80  as  to  elect  her  his  queen  for  the  evening! 


U  ni versal  acclamations  followed .  Basil  Annesley 
found  himself  required  to  offer,  among  the  rest,  his 
homage  to  their  majesties ;  who,  according  to  cus- 
tom, proceeded  to  elect  their  household  and  grand 
officers  of  the  crown.  He  was  more  provoked  than 
pleased,  when,  after  naming  little  Teresa  and  Salo- 
me her  ladies  in  waiting,  Cesarino  her  page,  and  a 
merry  old  gentleman  named  Clary,  (the  precis 
writer  to  the  French  Embassy,)  her  almoner, 
she  selected  himself  to  be  her  GheoaMer  d'Hbn- 
neur! 

Few  among  the  party  but  had  been  proud  to  be- 
come the  knight  of  Esther!  Yet  Basil,  whose 
heart  was  swelling  with  the  newly-experienced 
torment  of  seeing  the  woman  he  loved  in  intimate 
communication  with  others,  would  gladly  have  re- 
jected the  distinction.  It  was  no  longer  with  hiqi 
as  in  their  old  childish  days,  in  the  Neckar-Strasse, 
at  Heidelberg !  He  was  grown  too  much  a  man 
of  the  world  to  enjoy  being  included  in  a  piece  of 
buffoonery.  Most  of  the  company  doubled,  a  few 
trehUd  his  years  ;  yet  he  was  the  only  person  too 
old  for  the  indulgence  of  joyous  sport ! — Probably 
because  the  only  Englishman  present ;  the  elasticity 
of  spirits  which  disposes  foreigners  for  enjoyment 
at  any  period  of  liife  between  the  cradle  and  the 
grave,  being  singularly  deficient,  or  unfortunately 
extinguished,  in  our  fastidious  natures.  The  dUt" 
pere  in  loco  is  a  pleasure  for  which  time  and  place 
are  usually  wanting  in  the  British  empire. 

It  was  not  so  with  the  Verelsts.  Completely  at 
home  in  a  house  where  their  few  intervals  of  leisure 
had  been  ^nt  for  two  years  past,  (during  which 
Salome  had  officiated  as  teacher  of  German  to  the 
children,)  they  gave  themselves  up  with  their 
little  pupils  to  the  joyous  spirit  of  the  hour.  £lated 
by  the  presence  of  the  object  of  her  affections,  from 
whom  she  had  been  some  days  separated,  the 
cheeks  of  Esther  glowed  with  unusual  bloom,  as 
she  assumed  her  place  beside  the  Duke,  in  the  two 
arm-chairs,  with  fi>ot-stool%  which  had  been  hastUy 
covered  with  India  shawls  and  velvet  mantles,  in 
r^al  guise,  for  the  reception  of  the  king  and  queen. 
Compelled  to  pledge  the  healths  of  the  company, 
who  drunk  to  them  in  return  in  the  exquisite 
laciyma  Christie  for  which  the  cellars  of  the  Nea- 
politan consul  were  renowned,  she  assumed  courage 
to  play  with  grace  and  spirit  the  part  allotted  to 
her  in  the  pageant. 

**  What  a  charming  actress  Mademoiselle  Verelst 
would  make !"  whispered  the  rosy  Almoner,  old 
Clary,  to  Annesley,  fancying  that  he  was  paying 
her  a  judicious  compliment ;  and  little  suspecting 
that  her  Chevalier  dHonneur  would  gladly  have 
stuck  him  to  the  heart  for  the  mere  allusion. 

Just  as  he  was  meditating  an  answer  not  too 
bitter,  he  found  himself  plucked  by  the  sleeve  by 
Verelst,  whose  careworn  face  had  assumed  a  holi- 
day aspect  under  the  influence  of  conquest  in  a 
hard  fought  game  at  picquet. 

**A  word  with  you,  my  dear  Mr.  Annesley," 
said  the  old  man,  drawing  him  -off  into  a  comer ; 
and  so  conscious  was  Basil  of  the  evil  spirit  by 
which  he  was  at  that  moment  possessed,  that  he 
almost  expected  a  reproof  for  his  ill  manners. 
I      "  Where  did  you  tell  me,"  inquired  the  artist. 


348 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


when  they  were  out  of  hearing  of  the  party,  **  that 
you  had  found  that  edition  of  Hollar  V* 

"  1  did  not  find  it,"  replied  Basi],  almost  re- 
lieved. **  It  is  my  'own.  For  the  credit  of  our 
tab..,  I  am  proud  to  say  that  the  book  is  a  family 
possession." 

^  Most  strange !"  murmured  the  old  man. 

"  Why  strange?"  inquired  Basil.  "  There  is 
nothing,  I  believe,  very  rare  in  the  volume.  I 
hardly  ever  saw  a  considerable  book-sale  that  did 
not  contain  a  copy." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  not  that  copy." 

**  Of  course  not.  It  has  been  in  our  family 
library  these  hundred  years." 

**  You  use  the  term  hundred  years  in  a  figurative 
sense,"  added  Verelst. 

**  As  my  own  age  does  not  amount  to  a  quarter 
of  the  period,  I  can  scarcely  give  my  personal  at- 
testation," observed  Basil,  with  a  smile.  **  But 
such  of  my  mother  s  books  as  did  not  belong  to 
my  father's  bachelor  library,  were  probably  derived 
from  that  of  her  father,  the  late  Lord  L        ." 

**Lord  L r  exclaimed  the  painter,  again 

seizing  the  sleeve  of  Annesley.  ^You  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  you  are  the  grandson  of  that 
man?" 

"  Perhaps  you  knew  him,"  said  Basil,  evasively. 
^'  He  was  more  than  once,  I  fancy,  employed  in 
missions  at  the  courts  of  Germany  I" 

Verelst  was  silent, — absorbed  in  reflection. 

"  Were  you  acquainted  with  my  grandfather  T 
again  demanded  Basil,  resolved  to  obtain  an  answer. 

**  I  never  saw  him.  Lord  L was  ambassa- 
dor at  Vienna  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  French 
Revolution.    I  was  then  a  child." 

"  May  I  ask  in  my  turn,"  inquired  Basil,  "  what 
particular  interest  you  attach  to  the  copy  of  Hol- 
lar?" 

**  Five  minutes  ago  I  would  have  answered  you 
without  hesitation,"  replied  Verelst,  in  a  voice 
tremulous  from  agitation.  ^  Now,  I  must  reflect. 
Inscrutable  are  the  ways  of  Providence !"  faltered 
the  artist,  after  a  few  minutes'  pause.  ^  That  ever 
I  should  be  indebted  for  what  is  dearer  to  me  than 
my  life,— the  welfare  of  my  family,— to  the  grand- 
son of But  no  matter !"  said  he,  checking  his 

ejaculation.  And  Basil  was  too  much  struck  by 
the  profound  emotion  of  the  gray-haired  artist,  to 
persist  in  his  inquiries.  Luckily,  he  was  at  this 
moment  summoned  to  the  discharge  of  his  duties, 
as  Lord-in- waiting  to  the  Reine  de  la  Fhe^  to  which 
he  was  compelled  to  attend  for  the  remainder  of 
the  night ;  and  much  as  Basil  Annesley 's  jealous 
humour  had  found  to  cavil  at  in  the  easy  and 
cheerful  simplicity  of  Madame  Branzini's  party, 
he  would  gladly  have  recommenced  the  evening 
when,  after  taking  leave  of  the  Verelsts  at  the  door 
of  their  own  house,  to  which  he  was  careful  to  re- 
convey  them,  he  proceeded  to  the  more  pompous 
mansion  of  Lady  Maitland. 

The  party  he  found  assembled  in  Arlington 
Street  was  about  the  same,  in  point  of  numbers  and 
intimacy  he  had  quitted  at  the  consul's.  Nor  were 
the  Maitlands  and  their  friends  less  talkative  or 
less  merry  ;  but  it  was  after  a  fashion  of  their  own. 
The  conversation  of  that  brilliant  c(xterie  consisted 


in  scandal,  and  its  mirth  in  irony.  The  duef 
source  of  their  gaiety  lay  at  all  times  in  quizzbg 
old  Carrington,  or  some  other  butt ;  and  as  Uie 
Dowager-colonel  did  not  happen  to  be  present 
when  Basil  entered,  they  were  only  too  happy  to 
attack  him  with  railleries  more  agreeable  to  tium 
than  to  himself. 

^  How  dolorous  he  looks  to-night !"  cried  Jdui 
Maitland,  extending  a  finger  to  the  new  eomer, 
but  without  rising  from  the  sofa  on  which  he  was 
lolling  beside  a  handsome  bold-eyed  woman  of  a 
certain  age.  ^lam  afraid  Nancy,  (a  nickname  given 
to  Annesley  among  the  subs,  from  his  beardless 
aspect  on  joining  the  r^;iment,)  I  am  sadly  afiiid 
you  have  taken  cold  I" 

**  On  the  contrary,  it  is  nearly  a  degree  wanner 
at  Barlingham  than  in  London,"  replied  Basil,  re- 
ferring this  abrupt  conjecture  to  his  country  ex- 
cursion. 

A  vociferous  laugh  was  the  sole  answer  to  this 
explanation. 

**  None  of  your  put-ofi^,  my  fine  fellow  !**  cried 
John  Maitland.  "  Here ! — Blencowe,— Blcnoowe! 
— I  tell  Annesley  that  I  am  afraid  he  caught  cold 
in  the  rain  this  morning,  and  he  tries  to  hum  me 
by  talking  about  his  mother's  thermometer !" 

Captain  Blencowe  thus  apostrophized,  stationed 
himself  on  the  scroll  of  the  tkaise  ktn^ue,  in  an  atti- 
tude little  more  ceremonious  than  that  of  his  friend. 

**I  could  scarcely  suppose  my  movementa  of 
sufficient  coudequence,"  said  Basil,  somewhat  net- 
tled, "  to  make  you  aware  that,  a  few  hours  after 
my  arrival  in  town,  I  had  enjoyed  a  wet  walk." 

"And  in  such  company!"  retorted  Maitland. 
"  arm  in  arm  with  an  old  beggarman  under  a  cot- 
ton umbrella !" 

''Rested iooair^"  cried  the  lady  with  the  bold 
bright  eyes,  "  which  of  the  two  was  aflfording 
hospitality  to  the  other !" 

"  If  you  have  any  interest  in  inquiring,"  said 
Basil,  aware  that  to  defeat  a  jester  is  best  achiered 
by  meeting  him  half-way,  "  the  cotton  umbrella 
was  the  property  of  my  companion  ;  and  an  enn- 
able  property  I  thought  it,  in  that  pelting  shower  1 

"  He  talks  as  reverentially  as  if  the  old  gentle- 
man were  his  grandfather  I"  cried  John  Maitland. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  Nancy  A«^  a  grandfather, 
— extanty  I  mean.  (I  was  not  gouig  to  pwody 
the  vulgar  quiz  on  Brummell.)  Of  course  I  am 
aware,  that  there  was  once  a  Lord  L— -  >  *" 
surmise,  that  a  Sir  Bernard  Annesley  was  not  pro- 
duced out  of  a  crucible,"  said  Captain  Blaocow^ 
watching,  ftom  a  distance,  the  impatience  with 
which  Lucy  Maitland  awaited  Annesley  s  retoase 
from  her  brother. 

«  The  old  b^;garman  who  appears  to  have  ex- 
cited your  curiosity,"  said  Basil,  with  some  em- 
phasis, "  was  no  relation  of  mine ;  but  simply  ^ 
person  who  obliged  me  with  shelter  from  ^^^^0 

"From  South  Audley  to  St.  James's  Street. 
interrupted  Blencowe.  c*«->t'" 

"From  South  Audley  to  St  James's  Street. 
coolly  repeated  Basil,— and  all  the  more  coouj, 
that  he  was  conscious  of  being  in  a  passion* 

"  If  no  rektion  of  yours  then,  perhaps  a  i^ 
of  the  pretty  Jeweser  persisted  Maitland,  ^ 


ABEDNEGO  TflE  MONEY-tfiNDfiR* 


349 


vexed  ftt  finding  that  his  jokes  were  missing  their 
mark. 

«  What  pretty  JewessT  persisted  Basil.  "I 
should  think  your  acquaintance  with  the  Jews 
likely  to  be  quite  as  extensive  as  my  own." 

"I  should  have  been  extremely  happy  to  im- 
prove it  with  the  lovely  Esther,"  retorted  Maitland ; 
"bat  you  and  Carrington,  or  rather  Carrington 
ind  yon,  were  beforehand  with  me." 

^'If  you  allude  to  Miss  Verelst,"  said  Basil, 
gravely,  "I  have  once  or  twice  informed  you, 
that  she  was  as  much  a  Jewess  as  you  a  Christian, 
—that  is,  in  name  alone.  I  am  astonished,  how- 
ever, Maitland,  that  you  should  allude  thus  lightly 
to  a  lady  whom  you  are  anxious  to  introduce  into 
jour  mother  s  house,  as  the  preceptress  of  your 
sisters." 

*'Hear,  hear,  hear,  hear,  hear!"  cried  Mait- 
land, in  a  voice  that  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
whole  party.  "  Here  is  Nancy  owning,  with  match- 
less audacity,  that  though  only  a  few  hours  in 
town,  he  has  been  already  playing  the  secretary, 
and  examining  the  engagements  of  pretty  Esther, 
the  opera  girl." 

^/#  there  an  opera  girl  of  the  name  of  Esther  T 
demanded  Wilberton,  who  having  been  just  elected 
of  the  Omnibus-hox,  felt  bound  to  make  himself 
Master  of  its  Arts  and  Sciences. 

**I  believe  not!"  replied  Basil,  struggling  to 
command  himself ;  ^  certainly  not  in  ifie  person 
of  the  young  lady  to  whom  Maitland  alludes.  As 
he  seems  resolved  to  acquaint  himself  with  every- 
body's business  but  his  own,  I  am  surprised  he 
<loe8  not  obtain  better  information." 

**  My  dear  Nan  I  I  am  now  convinced  that  the 
shabby  old  fellow  with  the  umbrella,  whom  Blen- 
cowe  saw  you  skulking  with  in  Piccadilly,  is  some 
near  relation,  or  you  would  not  be  so  deuced  touchy 
at  having  been  discovered !"  cried  young  Maitland, 
starting  from  the  sofa,  and  slapping  Annesley 
provoldngly  on  the  shoulder. 

''If  Blenoowe  did  see  me  with  the  individual  in 
question,"  cried  Basil,  harassed  out  of  his  self- 
possession,  **  I  wonder  he  did  not  give  a  more  cor- 
net account ;  since  the  stranger  was  an  acquain- 
tance of  his  long  before  he  became  an  acquaintance 
of  mine!" 

"  An  acquaintance  of  Blencowe's  1"— cried  John 
Maitland,  while  Loftuc^  Wilberton,  and  several 
others,  crowded  round .  on  perceiving,  by  the  tone 
of  the  parties,  that  something  was  going  wrong. 

''  An  acquaintance  of  Blenco we ! "  persisted  Basil 
Annesley  ;  **  and  an  acquaintance  of  most  of  you 
heside ; — ^being  no  other  than   the   redoubtable 

A.o.r 

The  silence  of  consternation  instantly  pervaded 
^  giddy  circle. 

Ignorant  of  the  awkward  scene  in  Arlington 
Street,  to  which,  during  his  absence  in  the  country, 
^y  Maitland's  friends  had  been  witnesses,  Basil 
was  totally  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  confu- 
swn  which  appeared  to  have  arisen  from  an  ex- 
planation extorted  from  him  by  the  persecution  of 
the  triflers  he  so  little  intended  to  persecute  in  re- 
turn!— 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  so  astounding 


an  effect  result  from  mere  mention  of  the  cabalistic 
name  of — ^A.  0. ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  following  morning,  moved,  perhaps,  by  cu- 
riosity to  hear  as  much  as  was  likely  to  be  told  by 
Esther  and  Salome  concerning  the  Duke  di  San 
Catalda  without  questioning  of  his  own  to  suggest 
their  dbmmunication,  Basil,  furred  to  the  chin,  to 
meet  the  nipping  blasts  of  January,  (a  severe  frost 
having  dried  the  rain  of  the  preceding  evening,) 
made  his  way  towards  South  Audley  Street : — he 
felt  entitled  to  make  early  inquiries  after  the  health 
of  Mrs.  Verelst.  On  reaching  the  house,  however, 
his  title  was  disputed.  As  if  in  anticipation  of  his 
visit,  the  maid-servant  who  opened  the  door,  placed 
a  packet  in  his  hand,  and  informed  him  that  the 
young  ladies  were  "out,"  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Verelst 
"  engaged." 

The  blood  mounted  into  Basil's  cheeks  at  this 
announcement.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
found  cause  to  suppose  himself  too  frequent  a 
visiter, — there  or  elsewhere.  He  had  not  ad- 
vanced many  steps  from  the  door,  when  it  occurred 
to  him  that  the  parcel  in  his  great-coat  pocket, 
which  evidently  consisted  of  the  volume  he  had 
left  with  Verelst  the  preceding  night,  might  con- 
tain a  note  of  explanati^.  Proceeding,  therefore, 
to  the  by-street  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Chapel, 
where  he  was  secure  from  observation,  he  opened 
the  packet. 

Merely  a  few  cold  and  dry  lines  from  Verelst! 
"  I  return  the  book,  and  regret  from  my  soul  that 
you  should  have  been  induced  to  bring  it ! "  afforded 
only  new  grounds  for  vexation  and  perplexity .*- 
He  had  evidently  given  offence  to  those  whom  his 
whole  life  was  spent  in  exertions  to  serve  and 
please ;  and  without  having  the  slightest  clue  to 
their  grounds  for  resentment. 

Ere  he  replaced  the  volume  in  hi^  pocket,  Basil 
was  moved  by  an  irresistible  impulse  to  reexamine 
the  inscription  which  had  so  singularly  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  artist's  family  ;  and  his  curi- 
osity thus  specifically  directed  towards  it,  he  saw, 
beyond  all  question,  that  the  letters  A.  0.  w^ere  in- 
scribed in  precisely  the  same  handwriting  which 
had  embodied  his  communications  with  Abednego 
Osalez !— - 

What  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  ?  He  re- 
membered the  book  in  his  mother's  possession  as 
long  as  he  could  remember  anything.  At  what 
preceding  epoch  could  it  have  been  the  property  of 
the  Money-lender  ?  That,  having  been  so,  it  should 
have  passed  into  the  hands  of  another,  was  nothing 
very  wonderful ; — ^inasmuch  as  a  person  with  the 
covetous  propensities  of  Abednego,  was  likely  to 
dispose  of  all  or  anything  belonging  to  him,  for  a 
"  con-sideration."  But  that  he  should  have  been  a 
buyer  or  seller  at  so  early  an  age,  as  for  a  book  of 
his  to  pass  into  the  possession  of  the  late  Lord 

L f  who,  if  living,  would  be  eighty  years  old, 

appeared    unaccountable. ^As     Basil    Annes* 

ley  replaced  the  volume  in  his  pocket,  strange 
surmises  crossed  his  brain,  to  which  he  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  give  a  more  positive  form.    He 


150 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


had  always  entertained  a  sort  of  mysterious  horror 
fit  people  of  Abednego's  nation  and  calling ;  and 
though  he  would  have  scornfully  rebutted  the  as- 
sertion of  another  that  he  mistook  his  Greek  Street 
friend  for  the  Wandering  Jew,  involuntarily  there 
recurred  to  his  mind  the  sentence  of — ^  Thou  shalt 
tarry  till  I  come  !"— 

"  Considering  all  the  friendly  advice  the  old  fel- 
low gave  me  last  evening,  as  we  were  trudging  to- 
gether in  the  rain,"  mused  Basil,  while  pursuing 
the  self-same  road  he  had  so  recently  trodden  arm- 
in-arm  with  A.  0., — **  I  am  fully  entitled  to  con- 
aider  him  a  friend,  and  treat  him  as  such.'— I  will 
make  the  best  of  my  way,  therefore,  to  Greek 
Street ;  and  ask  him,  in  plain  terms,  whether  the 
book  was  ever  in  his  possession.  If  he  should  re- 
sent my  intrusion,  what  then  ?  I  am  not  in  his 
power. — r  have  already  booked  up  my  interest. 
He  can  but  give  me  a  gruff  answer ;  and  from  an 
oddity  like  him,  a  gruff  answer  is  easily  endured." 

To  Greek  Street,  accordingly,  he  proceeded,  and 
■oon  found  his  way  to  the  well-remembered  door. 
'—Alas ! — huge  papers,  attached^to  the  centre  panes 
of  the  dining-room  windows,  announced,  in  printed 
capitals — 


THIS  CAPITAL  ROOMY  MANSION 

TO  BE  LET, 

ON  A  REPAIVNG  LEASE. 

Inquirb  at  49,  Dblahatc  Street, 

WESTMINSTER, 

Every  day  from  12  till  2. 


**  How  provoking  !**  was  Basil's  involuntary 
ejaculation,  as  he  stood  contemplating  the  strange 
contrast  of  colour  between  the  white  paper,  (to  give 
place  to  which  the  panes  had  been  wiped,)  and  the 
filthy  encrustations  of  the  remainder  of  the  win- 
dows. As  the  house,  however,  had  appeared  quite 
as  uninhabited  as  now,  on  his  first  visit,  he  de- 
termined to  make  an  attempt  to  enter  ;  nor  was 
it  till  he  had  both  knocked  and  rung  without  effect 
several  times,  that  he  felt  convinced  of  ite  aban- 
donment by  its  strange  proprietor.  Giving  up  the 
point  in  despair,  he  proceeded  on  his  way ;  resolved 
to  visit  Delahaye  Street  the  following  day,  at  the 
early  hour  pointed  out  by  the  placard. 

He  had  not  proceeded  far,  however,  when  a  jar- 
ring sound,  and  a  sort  of  yearning  curiosity,  in- 
duced him  to  turn  his  head  ;  when  he  perceived 
the  door  of  the  deserted  house  slightly  opened,  and 
the  face  of  the  dirty  old  woman  peeping  out.  In 
a  moment,  he  was  back  again  ;  and  having  caught 
the  eye  of  the  grim  porteress,  it  was  impossible  for 
her  to  shut  the  door  in  his  fece. 

"  Is  your  master  at  home  ?"  said  he. 

"Nobody  lives  here  now  but  me,"  grumbled  the 
<^d  woman.  "  'T  isn't  no  fault  of  mine  if  I  didn't 
answer  the  door.  The  owner  of  the  house  don't 
choose  to  pay  taxes  for  it  no  more,  till  it's  let :  and 
duly  lete  me  live  here,  on  condition  that  I  answer 
no  knocks  or  rings,  and  don't  let  myself  be  seen  by 
the  neighbours." 

"  Mr.  Osalez,  then,  is  realfy  not  at  home?"  in- 
^piired  Basil. 

The  old  woman  contracted  her  brows,  as  if  for 


an  effort  of  comprdiension ;  then  drew  back  th« 
dirty  flap  of  her  cap,  and  screwed  her  left  eye,  Hke  a 
person  hard  of  heariing. 

**  I  inquired  whether  Mr.  Osales  Were  at  homef 

"*  A.  O.'s  to  be  spoke  with  at  No.  49,  Delahaye 
Street,  Westminster,"  she  repeated,  eitiier  not 
knowing  or  not  choosing  to  know  the  proprietor  of 
the  uninhabited  house,  by  any  other  designation. 
"  I  would  not  say  as  much  to  a  stranger : — bnt  1 
knows  you  has  Aa<l  dealings  with  him  afore,— ^md 
so  I  don't  mind  !" 

Basil  Annesley  pointed  to  the  noUce  in  the  win- 
dow, as  sparing  him  all  necessity  for  especial  gra- 
titude for  her  communication,  and  wished  her  good 
morning.  As  he  made  his  way  towards  St.  James'B 
Street,  in  a  very  different  mood  from  that  m  whieh, 
three  weeks  before,  he  had  pursued  the  same  track, 
he  could  not  but  revert,  with  unspeakable  irrita- 
tion of  mind,  to  his  repulse  at  the  door  of  the 
Verelste.  Never  before  had  he  felt  so  desirous  of  an 
interview  with  Esther !  He  wanted  to  inquire  the 
meaning  of  the  artist's  letter.  He  want^  to  in- 
quire the  nature  and  standing  of  their  intimacy 
with  the  Sicilian  Duke.  He  wanted  te  tell  h» 
that  he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  lovely— nerer 
heard  her  sing  so  sweetly — as  the  preceding  night; 
and  he  desired  this  all  the  more,  from  feeling  certam 
in  his  heart  of  hearto  that,  unimportant  as  sach  an 
attestetion  might  appear  to  other  ears,  his  approval 
was  essential  to  the  happiness  of  his  own  dear, 
timid  Esther! 

like  most  men  of  his  age  when  passionately  in 
love,  Basil  Annesley  found  little  enjoyment  in 
either  pleasure  or  business  with  which  the  object 
of  his  affections  had  not  some  remote  connexion. 
In  spite,  therefore,  of  his  intentions  of  proceeding 
straight  from  Greek  Street  to  hirf€lub,  he  found 
himself,  in  less  than  an  hour  afterwards,  at  Stoie/s 
Grate ;  contemplating  the  narrow  opening  to  Dela- 
haye Street,  and  as  much  cheered  in  spirits  as  ia  n  w- 
ally  the  result  of  a  stirring  walk  in  frosty  weather. 

He  was  now  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the 
eccentric  habits  of  the  Money-lender  to  petceire, 
without  surprise,  that  the  house  to  which  he  had 
been  referred  was  just  as  dilapidated  of  aspect  tf 
the  one  he  had  just  quitted.  It  was  dear  enongh 
that  the  numerous  temporary  residences  of  Abed- 
nego,  consisted  of  old  houses,  which  he  bought  up 
on  speculation,  and  inhabited  till  a  favourable  op- 
portunity presented  itself  of  getting  them  off  hw 
hands ;  and  the  mansion  hi  Delahaye  Street,  m 
more  «  roomy"  than  the  «  capital"  one  abandoned 
by  the  Money-lender  in  Soho,  was  to  all  appear- 
ance still  gloomier  and  more  ruinous.  It  was  o 
red  brick,  having  ^ye  windows  in  front,  with* 
pretence  at  pihisters  between ;  the  said  V^^ 
being  also  of  brick,  with  capitals  of  carvirf  trood- 
work  supporting  a  heavy  comlce,-*K)f  which  tw 
object  was  doubtful,  unless  it  purported  *V*^ 
in  weighing  down  the  fi^ntage  of  the  attic  ^^y 
which  it  was  appended,  and  the  peaked,  UX-Hi^ 
roofing  above.  i « 

«  Truly,  an  appropriate  den  for  the  strwge  ow 
fellow!"  murmured  Basil,  as  he  apP^^  ]i 
door ;  to  which,  contrary  to  the  usage  ^^J^"^^ 
houses,  it  was  necessary  to  descend  a  step  fwm  w 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


851 


rtreet ;  Anished  probably  after  the  eompletion  of 
the  hooBe,  whieh  retained  a  sort  of  manorial  air  of 
ABtiqiiily  among  its  modernised  neighbours.  He 
h^  tfanost  ashamed  of  presenting  himself  in  broad 
daylight  as  a  yisiter,  at  a  door  which,  he  little 
doubted,  was  recognised  by  the  neighbourhood  as 
the  den  of  a  money-lending  Jew* 

In  order  to  excite  as  little  notice  as  possible,  he 
contented  himself  with  a  modest  ring  at  the  bell ; 
and  so  leisurely  were  the  morements  of  those  ap- 
pointed to  answer  the  summons,  that  he  had  time 
to  notice  a  sort  of  damp  yanlt-like  emanation  from 
the  area,  which  not  eyen  the  frostiness  of  the 
Btmoephere  could  oyercome. — So  stagnant  was  the 
air  brooding  over  the  flagstones  encrusted  in 
mounds  with  green  moss,  (now  hoary  in  patches 
with  rime,)  that  it  seemed  as  though  any  person 
descending  into  that  deserted  area  would  have  been 
it  mudi  in  danger  of  asphyxiation,  as  in  some 
mephitie  well. 

At  length  the  door  creaked,  or  rather  growled, 
on  its  hinges ;  and  a  starveling  of  a  boy  appeared, 
-4he  redundant  growth  of  whose  shock  of  hair 
was  periiape  destined  to  replace  a  general  scarcity 
of  habiliments ;  his  outer  garments  being  suffi- 
ciently ragged  to  show  that  nothing  in  the  way  of 
ilurt  interposed  between  them  and  his  sallow  skin. 

''I  wish  to  speak  to  Mr.  Osalez,"  said  Basil. 

The  urchin  stared,  but  made  no  reply. 

^  I  was  referred  to  this  house,"  persisted  Basil, 
more  and  more  ashamed  of  himself  and  his  errand, 
-**from  Greek  Street^  Soho." 

**  You're  after  hours  I " — said  the  boy,  preparing 
to  shut  the  door  in  his  face. 

**I  know  it,"  said  Basil,  placing  his  foot  so  re- 
solutely on  the  threshold,  as  to  render  the  attempt 
impossible;  and- at  the  same  moment  insinuating 
a  coin  into  the  hand  of  the  boy,  whidi,  though 
sufficiently  insignificant  to  have  been  flung  con- 
temptuously on  the  pavement  by  the  door-opener 
of  any  other  house  in  the  street,  was  so  much  the 
most  hnportant  ever  clenched  in  the  palm  of  the 
™S?^  page  of  the  Money-lender,  that  he  stood 
faring  m  stupid  wonderment,  instead  of  either 
persisting  in  excluding,  or  expressing  his  gratitude 
to  the  mtruder. 

**  Are  you  Mr.  Osalez's  servant ! "  inquired 
Annesley,  scarcely  able  to  refrain  from  a  smile. 

"Fm  Bill  that  sweeps  the  Greotge  Street  cross- 
ing,** replied  the  boy,  tugging  the  longest  of  the 
df-locks  overhanging  his  forehead,  in  token  of 
gratitude  to  his  benefactor.  "  I  runs  of  errands  for 
the  old  gentleman,  and  opens  the  door  from  noon 
^  two.  Only  to-day,  I  stayed  later,  to  light  a 
fire  and  set  on  the  kettle,  'cos  the  old  gentleman's 
pooriy.»» 

**He  M  at  home  then  ? — Be  so  good  as  to  carry 
^PtMs  card,  and  say  I  am  waiting  to  speak  to 
^"— said  Annesley. 

^us  certified  of  the  claims  and  good  intentions 
^  the  visiter,  the  boy  invited  him  into  the  hall, 
*hile  he  proceeded  to  do  his  errand ;  and  while 
w«  little  sweeper,  leaving  his  heavy  shoes  at  the 
DOttom  of  the  square,  creaking  staircase,  shuffled 
^P  rtalts,  Basil  stood  contemplating  the  dark  but 
^toy  hall,  paved  with  black  and  white  marble, 


which,  by  dirt  and  friction,  had  now  degenerated 
into  gray  and  yellow ;  besides  beii^  cracked  in 
many  of  the  lozenge-shaped  squares,  and  in  others, 
sunk  into  the  flooring.  In  the  angle  formed  by  the 
dingy  staircase,  stood  an  old  sedan  chair,  dropping 
into  decay  and  covered  with  mildew,  yet  still 
retaining  in  its  gilt  mouldings  tokens  of  aristocratic 
emblazonment. 

Shuddering  with  cold,  and  the  depression  pro- 
duced by  the  gloom  of  a  spot  into  which  the  day- 
light of  that  narrow  street  struggled  imperfectly 
through  the  half-shuttered  windows,  Basil  waited 
impatiently  till  the  barefooted  boy  shuffled  down 
again. 

"  Master  11  see  you, — ^you  may  walk  up  ! "  said 
Bill,  pointing  upwards  with  his  thumb,  while  re- 
suming his  shoes ;  having  done  which,  he  disap- 
peared towards  the  basement  floor,  leaving  Basil 
to  find  his  way  unescorted  to  the  presence  of 
Abednego  Osalez. 

Concluding  that  he  had  only  to  follow  the  cus- 
tom of  morning  visits,  and  enter  the  drawing-room, 
Basil  walked  leisurely  up  and  opened  the  door  that 
presented  itself  on  me  first  landing.  But  with 
all  his  cognizance  of  the  peculiarities  of  his  host, 
he  was  not  prepared  for  ^e  scene  that  presented 
itself  wiUiin.  The  drawing-rooms  of  which  he  had 
opened  ^e  door,  though  low,  and  rendered  ap- 
parently lower,  as  in  many  old-fashioned  houses, 
by  a  ceiling  overlaid  with  ornaments  and  divided 
into  compartments  by  beams  of  carved  wood-work, 
were  unusually  spacious.  Yet  spacious  as  they 
were,  not  an  alley  presented  itself  by  which  Basil 
could  penetrate  into  the  interior,  without  the  cer- 
tainty of  covering  himself  with  dust  and  cobwebs, 
by  collision  with  the  heterogeneous  objects  crowded 
into  the  area; — ^pieces  of  antiquated  furniture, 
articles  of  virtHy  besides  a  variety  of  undefinable 
and  indescribable  things,  whidi  looked  as  if  as- 
sembled together  by  a  hasty  removal  in  a  fire  or 
the  sacking  of  a  town,  tldrty  years  before,  and 
abandoned  ever  since  to  the  dust-gathering  and 
smoke-gathering  operations  of  Time. 

Heaped  on  the  floor,  in  one  comer  of  the  room, 
like  potatoes  in  a  bam  or  beans  in  a  granary,  lay 
the  ^contents  of  a  library ;  fit>m  their  rich  old 
bindings  apparently  valuable,  but  overgrown  wiUi 
dust  and  mould,  like  the  bricks  of  some  ruined 
pile.— To  the  left  of  the  door,  on  entering,  stood  a 
fine  marble  copy  of  the  Venus  de  MuUds^  which 
the  prudery  of  the  spiders  had  covered  with  dra- 
peries of  black  cobwebs,  that  hung  like  draperies 
down  to  the  very  pedestal.  Further  on,  was  ibe 
Whetter,  in  bronze,  on  whose  dark  surfaoe^  on 
the  contrary,  the  coating  of  dust,  in  ledges,  as- 
sumed a  lighter  colour ;  and  beyond,  in  all  direc- 
tions, were  slabs  of  pkira  dura  slanting  against 
rich  consoles  of  carved  ebony,  and  has  reliefs  in 
rrmo  antico  and  other  precious  marbles,  side  by 
dide  with  tawdry  French  clocks,  Dresden  cups, 
tad  Nankin  vases;  groupings  of  staflM  birds, 
which,  by  the  fracture  of  their  glass-cases^  and  the 
admission  of  the  atmosphere,  had  sacrificed  their 
bright  plumage  to  the  moths ;  so  that  only  the 
shrunken  skin,  skeleton  stufi^  with  straw,  and 
staring  glass  eyes,  remained  perceptiUe,  in  ghastly 


352 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


mockery  of  the  skill  of  the  naturalist.  Crystal 
girandoles  stood  on  the  consoles,  so  encrusted  with 
dust  as  to  have  lost  all  symptom  of  transparency  ; 
while  of  a  magnificent  copy  of  Correggio's  Notte 
that  stood  frameless  against  a  japan  cabinet,  the 
rats  had  gnawn  off  a  comer !  There  was  a  species 
of  altar  with  folding  wings,  such  as  are  us^  for 
the  travelling  devotions  of  crowned  or  mitred  heads, 
adorned  with  chasings,  the  work  of  Cellini  or  one 
of  his  pupils,  which,  though  evidently  of  silver, 
was  tamidied  to  the  tint  of  bronze ! 

Never  before  had  Basil  Annesley  contemplated 
so  singular  a  waste  of  property !  But  that  these 
precious  objects  were  intermingled  with  trays  of 
old  iron,  rolls  of  lead,  and  fragments  of  packing- 
cases,  he  would  have  compared  this  singular  mu- 
seum to  the  brie  d  brae  shops  he  had  visited  on  the 
Q^ai  Voltaire  at  Paris,  or  in  the  Judeu  Crasse  at 
Frankfort;  saving  that,  in  these,  though  the 
chaos  of  valuable  works  of  art  was  quite  as  con- 
fused, the  strictest  cleanliness  was  observed  to  pre- 
serve the  componentobjects  from  injury  or  disregard. 

After  a  deHberate  survey  of  the  room,  a  glance 
at  the  coating  of  dust  through  which  the  colouring 
of  a  parqueted  floor,  now  so  rare  in  London,  was 
faintly  perceptible,  convinced  him  that,  for  some 
time  past,  no  foot  but  hb  own  had  crossed  the 
threshold ;  and  that  he  must  pursue  his  search  else- 
where after  the  ]^roprietor  of  the  extraordinary 
treasury  he  had  thus  invaded. 

Closing  the  door  carefully  after  him,  he  ascended 
another  flight  of  stairs,  and  again  opened  the  first 
door  facing  the  landing.  But  the  result  on  this 
occasion  was  nearly  the  same  as  on  the  first;  with 
the  exception  that  the  warehouse  of  curiosities  on 
the  second  floor,  appeared  exclusively  devoted  to 
the  reception  of  pictures. 

"  My  friend  the  Jew  has  evidently  a  taste  for 
lodging  as  near  as  possible  to  the  sky !"  thought 
Basil,  proceeding  to  the  attic  story ;  and  as  he 
noticed  the  increase  of  light  and  decrease  of 
density  in  the  humid  atmosphere  while  continuing 
to  ascend,  he  came  to  a  conclusion,  that,  were  he 
a  lodger  in  the  old  house  in  Delahaye  Street,  he 
should  follow  the  example  of  its  proprietor. 

The  door  that  now  faced  him  on  the  landing  was 
slightly  ajar,  as  if  purposely  left  so  by  the  ragged 
page,  by  way  of  indication.  Basil  tapped  lightly, 
to  warn  the  inmate  of  his  approach,  and  a  hoarse 
whisper  instantly  bad  him  **  Come  in." 

Before  a  smoking  fire,  composed  of  small  coal  and 
shavings,  the  crazy  grate  containing  which  emitted 
the  stifling  effluvia  peculiar  to  rusty  iron,  in  an 
old-fashioned  berg^e  covered  with  the  ragged  re- 
mains of  a  rich  brocade,  which,  in  the  days  of 
Queen  Anne  and  of  the  Sedan-chair  below,  had 
probably  supported  the  graceful  limbs  of  many  a 
court  beauty, — sat  the  Money-lender;  enrobed  in  a 
faded,  but  magnificent  wrapper  of  velvet  and  sables, 
and  with  his  strongly  marked  features  and  pictur- 
esque costume,  looking  as  though  he  had  been  sit- 
ting for  his  picture  to  Rembrandt. 

^  I  am  afraid  your  wet  walk  has  had  a  worse 
influence  on  ^ou  than  on  myself,  Sirl"  said  Basil, 
struck  by  the  hoarseness  of  the  tones  in  which  the 
old  man  attempted  to  inquire  his  business. 


^  A  slight  sore  throat, — ^nothing  more !"  gram- 
bled  Abednego  ;  ^  easily  cured  with  a  quarter  of 
an  ounce  of  gum-arabic  and  a  pint  of  hot  water ; 
half  the  price  of  a  hackney-coach  farel—What 
do  you  want  with  me  V* — 

'^  So  little,"  replied  Basil  Annesley,  seating  him- 
self on  a  rickety  straw  chair  opposite  the  inyalid, 
'^  that  I  would  by  no  means  have  troubled  you 
had  I  imagined  you  were  indisposed." 

*^  Then  why  diid  you  come  at  all  ?" — demanded 
the  Money-lender,  with  surly  abruptness. 

'^  I  came  to  ask  you  an  idle  question.  Yon  were 
in  such  perfect  health  and  spirits  when  we  parted 
yesterday  evening,  that  I  l^d  no  expectation  of 
being  so  much  an  intruder  as  I  find  myself  to-daj. 
— I  have  been  as  fisir  as  Greek  Street  in  search  of 
you." 

.  ^'  Do  yau  want  to  take  the  old  house  on  a  rqiair- 
ing  lease?"  inquired  Abednego,  with  a  sneer. 
^  You  imagine,  perhaps,  that  some  of  the  money- 
bags of  A.  0.  will  be  overlooked  in  the  old  cap- 
boards  and  odd  comers  ?" — 

'^  I  have  no  views  on  your  money-bags,  Mr. 
Osalez,  excepting  sudi  as  you  have  found  me  very 
frank  in  declaring,"  replied  Annesley,  with  a  de- 
gree of  steadiness  that  did  him  no  disservice  with 
one  accustomed  to  be  addressed  in  terms  of  abject 
subservience. 

*'  Your  question,  then,  I  am  to  condude,  simply 
regarded  Uie  state  of  my  health?"  retorted  the 
Money-lender,  the  wrinkles  which  had  pnckered 
the  comers  of  hb  keen  eyes  into  a  sarcastic  ex- 
pression, gradually  relaxing. 

'^  Still  less !  I  never  saw  a  person  more  robust 
than  my  companion  of  last  night.  I  merely  wish- 
ed to  ask  whether  you  could  give  me  any  infonm- 
tion  concerning  a  volume  in  my  possession,  which 
bears  on  the  title-page  your  initials,  inscribed  in 
your  own  handwriting." 

**  I  should  be  somewhat  puzzled,  I  fancy,"  re- 
plied Abednego,  with  a  hoarse  chuckle,  *'  to  give 
you  precise  information  concerning  all  the  varieties 
of  property  which,  one  way  or  other,  have  passed 
through  my  hands !  I  buy  whatever  I  can  buy 
cheap,  and  sell  it  whenever  I  can  sell  it  dear! 
The  fools  yrow  whom  I  purchase,  or  who  purchase 
from  mcy  are  of  no  more  account  in  my  eyes  than 
one  of  the  atoms  of  dust  which  your  coat  has  im- 
bibed by  your  recent  visit  to  my  lumber-rooms! ' 

Following  the  indication  of  the  old  man's  skinny 
finger,  pointed  towards  him,  Basil  perceived  thai 
his  scrupulously  neat  dress  bore  unsatisfactoiy 
traces  of  the  filmy  drapery  of  the  Venus  de  Medicis. 

"  With  such  feelings,"  resumed  Abednego,  on 
perceiving  that  his  young  visiter  evinced  no  fasti- 
dious tokens  of  disgust  at  the  misadventure  which 
had  befallen  him,  "  I  do  not  often  set  my  mark  on 
those  temporary  belongings, — any  book  in  which 
I  ever  inscribed  my  initials,  must  have  been  a  book 
I  valued!" 

"  You  can  scarcely  have  failed  to  value  a  work 
so  interesting  as  this  /"  replied  Basil,  drawing  froni 
his  pocket  the  volume  he  had  brought  from  Bar- 
lingham,  for  the  amusement  of  Verelst,  and  plac- 
ing it  before  Abednego,  so  as  to  bring  the  inscrip- 
tion under  his  eyes. 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


353 


To  his  ntter  surprise,  the  effect  produced  on 
Osalez  by  the  sight,  was  scarcely  less  remarkable 
than  that  which  it  had  wrought  in  the  mother  of 
Esther !  The  old  man  fell  back  in  his  chair,  and 
for  a  moment  appeared  to  gasp  for  breath ;  while 
Basil  sat  watching  him  with  uneasy  consterna- 
tion. 

*^  That  boy  takes  as  long  to  hoil  my  hot  water, 
ae  a  chemist  to  compound  a  medicine ! "  were  the 
first  words  that  hurst  from  the  quivering  lips  of 
Abednego,  as  if  in  apology  for  his  emotion  ; — "  yet 
I  told  him  I  was  choking  with  my  sore  throat !  *' 

"Will  you  give  me  leave  to  ring.  Sir?"  said 
Basil,  perceiving  that  his  singular  host  was  desirous 
of  evading  his  observation. 

**  I  give  you  leave  to  find  a  bell, — if  you  are 
able!**  retorted  the  old  man,  as  though  priding 
himself  on  the  denuded  condition  of  his  habitation. 
"  No,  no ! — no  bells  here,  my  fine  captain,  nor 
menials  to  answer  them!  No  knaves  in  showy 
liveries,  like  those  who  held  the  great-coat,  on 
jonr  back  for  you,  last  night,  at  my  Lady  Malt- 
land's,  who  have  received  no  wages  save  their 
piciciogs,  stealings,  and  perquisites,  these  two 
jears  past !  If  there  were  indeed  such  a  thing  in 
this  old  house  as  an  unbroken  bell-wire,  it  would 
serve  only  to  frighten  the  poor  rats,  who  are  as 
much  masters  here  as  myself.  I  have  no  servant, 
except  the  beggar-boy  who  showed  you  in." 

"And  do  you  consider  such  an  unprotected 
state  safe.  Sir,  with  such  an  amount  of  property 
in  the  house  1 " — ^inquired  Basil,  wishing  to  give  him 
time  to  recover  his  first  surprise  ere  he  renewed 
his  inquiries. 

"  The  half-starved  terrier  I  let  loose  at  night,  is 
a  better  guard  than  a  company  of  the  household 
brigade !"  replied  Abednego  ;  who  had  thrust  the 
volune  aside  on  the  table,  as  if  not  choosing  to 
encounter  a  second  view. 

"  But  even  if  the  dog  gave  the  alarm, — in  your 
infirm  state" 

"  This  is  the  first  day's  illness  I  have  had  these 
twenty  years ;  and  you  may  perceive  that  I  am  pre- 
pared to  take  care  of  myself!"  interrupted  the  old 
man,  suddenly  opening  the  drawer  of  the  table  be- 
side him,  and  taking  out  a  brace  of  pistols,  on  half 
cock,  which  he  quieUy  replaced, — shaving  evidently 
exhibited  them  to  reassure,  not  to  intimidate  his 
guest 

**  Besides,  the  police  have  their  eye  on  my  house. 
I  have  them  in  fee,  as  I  have  the  insurance  offices, 
as  a  matter  of  business." 

**  But  the  discreditable  urchin  who  waits  upon 
yonT 

^  Regards  me  as  little  better  than  a  beggar ! 
Where  a  half-starved  brat  sees  only  an  empty 
larder,  he  beholds  only  misery  and  want.  The 
^rfd'amvret  you  saw  just  now  in  my  drawing- 
Toom,  have  less  intrinsic  value  in  his  eyes,  than  a 
sirloin  of  beef  in  an  eating-house  window.  Bill 
the  sweeper  pities  me.  Sir, — ^pities  me,  as  a  poor 
old  man,  almost  as  much  a  pauper  as  himself ! " 

"  He  may  some  day  come  into  contact  with 
people  able  to  enlighten  him,"  observed  Basil, 
gravely.  "  May  I  ask.  Sir,  whether  you  have  any 
recollection  of  the  book  beside  you?" 


*^  You  got  it  from  your  mother ! "  said  Abednego, 
as  if  startled  into  the  rejoinder. 

"  You  sold  it  to  her,  then  ?"— demanded  Basil, 
anxious  to  account  for  his  knowledge  of  the  fact. 
But  at  the  word,  Abednego  half  started  &om  his 
chair,  as  if  smitten  with  a  sore  and  sudden  pain. 
In  a  moment,  however,  he  recovered  himself. 

"  Nay, — I  only  so  concluded  by  force  of  infer- 
ence," said  he.  **  A  taste  for  the  works  of  Hol- 
bein and  Hollar,  appeared  more  appropriate  to  an 
accomplished  woman,  than  to  a  gay  guardsman. — 
Perhaps  you  wish  to  dispose  of  ^e  book  V 

'^  I  &m  not,  thank  God,  so  straitened,  even  by  the 
imprudences  which  have  rendered  me  your  debtor," 
said  Basil,  proudly,  '^  as  to  be  driven  to  the  sale  of 
my  mother  8  property, — or  even  of  property  deriv- 
ed from  her.  I  merely  wished  to  account  to  my- 
self for  the  inscription  of  your  initials  on  the  title- 
page." 

*^  The  initials  of  A.  0.  have,  I  admit,  obtained 
strange  notoriety  by  my  means,"  said  Abednego ; 
'*  nevertheless,  you  cannot  suppose  me  to  be  the 
only  individual  who  bears  them,  or  has  ever  borne 
them?" 

"Scarcely!*  replied  young  Annesley.  "But 
these  letters  are  distinctly  of  your  own  tracing !" 

"  Are  you  so  expert  in  handwritings  as  to  swear 
to  that?"  demanded  Abednego;  abstaining,  how- 
ever, from  a  glance  towards  the  book  again  offi- 
ciously placed  before  him  by  BaslL  "My  dear 
young  friend — ^take  my  advice,  and  neither  per- 
plex your  brains  with  surmises  on  subjects  that 
little  concern  you,  nor  by  inferences  arising  out 
of  idle  coincidences,  which  the  inexperience  of 
boyhood  conceives  to  be  pregnant  with  meaning. 
You  are  surprised,  for  instance,  that  I  am  toler- 
ably well  acquainted  with  your  movements,  and 
the  movements  of  people  so  much  out  of  my  sphere 
of  life  as  Lord  Maitland's  wife.  A  moment  s  re- 
flection ought  to  convince  you,  that  a  portion  of 
the  Money-lender's  business  is  to  obtain  the  most 
accurate  information  concerning  the  spendthrifts 
of  the  day, — already  his  debtors,  or  his  debtors 
likely  to  become.  I  look  upon  all  such  as  constituting 
my  flocks  and  herds  ; — ^as  much  my  property  as 
the  physician  regards  the  gouty  lord  lolling  past 
him  in  hb  chariot ;  or  the  undertaker  the  hectic 
wretch  he  hears  coughing  at  the  street  comer !" 

"  It  may  be  your  business  to  seek  such  infor- 
mation :  the  wonder  lies  in  your  obtaining  it !" 
observed  Basil. 

"  All  information  may  be  had  for  money !"  re- 
joined Abednego,  rubbing  his  lean  hands  with  an 
air  of  exultation.  ^^  Everything  is  to  be  had  for 
money — if  applied  with  the  same  intelligence  that 
gathered  it  together.  Look  at  roe,  Mr.  Annesley ! 
— Did  you  ever  see  a  more  loathsome  scarecrow  T 

And  as  he  spoke,  the  Jew  raised  ^m  his  head 
the  Greek  cap,  embroidered  with  tarnished  gold 
lace,  by  which  its  bald  crown  was  covered,  as  if  to 
give  greater  expansion  to  his  ugliness. 

"  Ay,  smile.  Sir ! — You  are  too  civil  to  confirm 
the  ungracious  verdict  of  a  man  who  sees  himself 
as  he  sees  all  things  else  in  this  world — in  the  clear 
and  searching  light  of  truth!  But  I  tell  you 
that,  unsightiy  as  I  am,  women  both  young  and 


954 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER, 


fair  cajole  me  with  their  courtesies : — I  would  say, 
caresses,  but  that  you  must  be  an  eye-witness  of 
the  fact,  to  have  faith  for  disproportion  so  mon- 
strous. Look  ye  here  ! — thb  tawdry  thing,"  said 
he,  pointing  to  the  cap,  which  he  now  replaced 
upon  his  head,  **  was  worked  for  me  by  the  white 
hands  of  a  countess ;  and  if  I  chose  it,  ^e  is  ready 
to  embroider  a  dozen  such, — ^nay,  to  place  them 
with  her  aristocratic  fingers  upon  the  gray  head  of 
the  old  Money-lender  !** 

**  For  which  subjection  to  your  will,  you  despise 
her !"  said  Basil,  with  Indignation. 

**  I  despise  her,  because  the  necessities  that  bring 
her  cringing  to  my  feet,  arise  from  the  wantonness 
of  folly, — ^nay,  the  wantonness  of  crime  ;  for,  in  a 
wife  and  mother,  folly  becomes  criminal  as  vice ! 
Hiis  woman  must  diine,  forsooth,  and  glitter,  and 
dazsle,  by  the  splend6ur  of  her  entertainments, 
and  fashion  of  her  dress.  Why  ?  Because  she  is 
proud ; — ^because  she  has  the  ambition  of  being 
cited  for  her  distinction  of  looks  and  manners !— - 
And  what  is  the  result  of  her  pride  and  her  dis- 
tinction ?  Even  that  die  is  made  to  crawl  in  all 
the  indigence  of  extravagance,  to  the  knees  of  A. 
O.  the  Money-lender,  and  |beg  him,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  and  prayers  upon  her  lips, — ^nay,  more 
than  prayers,  if  I  were  brute  enough  to  profit  by 
her  subjection, — ^to  take  pity  upon  her  necessities. 

"  You  doubt  this  1 — Read,  read  !  Tt  may  be 
treachery  for  a  lover  to  exhibit  the  letters  of  a  fond 
and  trusting  woman.  It  is  none  for  the  Money- 
lender to  betray  the  correspondence  of  a  thriftless 
customer  !**— 

And  snatching  a  pen  from  the  old  leaden  ink- 
stand beside  him,  and  passing  it  hastily  through 
the  signature  of  a  letter  which,  while  speaking,  he 
had  taken  from  an  envelope  lying  on  a  table,  he  pre- 
sented it  to  Basil.  ^  Remark  the  countess's  coronet 
on  the  seal,"  said  he,  **  and  admire  the  delicacy  of 
the  handwriting,  and  elegance  of  the  paper,  in 
confirmation  of  my  assertion,  ere  you  peruse  the 
abject  pleadings  of  this  fashionable  bankrupt !" 

Basil  Annesley  shuddered  as  he  read  ;  for  every 
line  and  every  syllable  adduced  horrible  confirma- 
tion of  Abednego's  assertions. 

'^You  knew  not  half  the  advantages  of  my 
ealUng  I"  cried  the  old  man,  laughing  with  feeble 
triumph  at  the  air  of  consternation  that  overspread 
the  countenance  of  Basil,  under  the  influence  of 
one  of  those  painful  discoveries  which  tend  to 
shake  our  confidence  in  human  nature.  "Till 
now,  you  regarded  the  old  beggar  of  Paulet  Street 
as  the  crazy  proprietor  of  a  warehousefull  of 
worm-eaten  curiosities,  left  in  deposit  by  his  cus- 
tomers,—of  a  few  crazy  houses^ — and  perhaps  a 
few  floating  thousands  lent  out  on  infamous  usury. 
Ha ! — ha  I — ^ha  1 — ^ha ! — You  would  give  worlds, 
boy, — warldSy  for  a  thousandth  part  of  my  influence 
and  authority ! — Preferment  and  promotion  lie  in 
the  bureau  of  the  Money-lender! — I  command 
most  of  those  who  command  the  destinies  of  the 
kingdom.  I  have  princes,  ministers,  bishops, 
among  my  debtors  ;  your  highflying  orator,  your 
rhapsodizing  author; — ^fellows  who,  upon  the  hust- 
ings, or  in  l^e  House,  or  at  Exeter  Hall,  get  up 
and  speethify  upon  virtue,  honour,  honesty :  but  I 


whose  shallow  consciences  are  not  the  Ite  ad- 
measurable  by  certain  shreds  of  parchment,  called 
bonds,  which  1  hold  in  my  possession.  Theie  &ie 
few  things  they  dare  refuse  me.:  and  even  as  wa^ 
making  kings  tremble  under  the  govenaiioe  of 
Rothschild,  under  miney — under  the  control  ef  A.  0. 
shivering  in  his  garret, — abide  more  than  one,  two, 
or  three  of  those  to  whom  you  uncover  your  head 
reverentially  as  you  pass !  You  saw  m^  keep  the 
Duke  of  Rochester  dancing  attendance  at  my  gate. 
As  much,  and  more,  also,  have  I  done  to  men  bar- 
ing the  blood-royal  of  England  in  their  veins!" 

The  spirits  of  Basil  were  overpowwed  hf  the 
vehonence  of  excitement  gradually  enkindled  in 
the  old  man's  frame  by  the  progress  of  discvflsioiL 
He  almost  feared  that  Abednego  must  be  under 
the  influence  of  fever,  to  become  thus  stran^y 
communicative. 

^  Open  yonder  bureau,"  said  the  Money-leader, 
extending  his  skinny  finger  to  (me  clamped  with 
iron,  which  stood  beside  the  wretched  pallet  that 
formed  his  comfortless  bed. 

And  Basil  almost  mechanically  obeying,  beheld 
within,  in  separate  compartments,  piles  of  rouleaos, 
such  as  he  had  already  seen  in  the  secretaire  in 
Greek  Street,  besides  a  variety  of  morocco-cases. 

<<  Bring  me  a  handful  of  those  baubles— or  stay  I 
you  know  not  the  ways  of  the  plaoe,"he  continued, 
tottering  from  his  chair^  till  he  stood  beside  Annes- 
ley, leaning  on  the  bureau,  of  which  he  opened  a 
secret  drawer.  '^  Look  here ! — these  are  a  duchesses 
diamonds.  I  hold  them  in  pledge  while  $ke  appean 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  tiirone,  in  fiilse  trinkets 
of  paste !  These  sapphires  are  the  property  of  a 
banker's  wifs,  who  pretends  to  have  grown  -miouSi 
as  a  pretence  for  abjuring  the  use  of  jewds ;  be- 
cause, deceitful  jade  1  her  own  are  in  the  keeping 
of  A.  O.  I  But  this— <Am  is  my  crown  of  glory !" 
chuckled  the  Money-lender,  bringing  forth  a  small 
round  case,  containing  a  bracelet  of  brilliants. 
"  Do  you  see  this  miniature  ? — Six  years  only 
have  elapsed,  since  the  proud  and  happy  young 
lord  it  represents,  placed  it  on  the  arm  of  bis  lovely 
bride!  He  has  been  three  years  in  his  grave,— an<l 
the  miniature  is  mine  I  The  tinsel  of  fashion  by 
which  the  widow  is  trying  to  bewilder  another  silly 
victim  into  wedlock,  is  procured  with  means  ai 
my  supplying.  But  she  broke  the  heart  of  her 
first  husband  by  her  extravagance.  It  may  not 
be  easy  to  find  another  ready  to  be  heart-broken* 

^'  Surely  you  had  better  rest  yourself  again,  Sir, 
in  your  easy-chair,"  said  Annesley,  eager  to  avoid 
these  hateful  revelati<ms.  ^*  Pardon  me,  if  I  own 
that  I  am  by  no  means  anxious  to  see  the  ?eil 
uplifted  from  the  deformities  and  defeatures  of  my 
fellow-creatures." 

^*  I  have,  neverthelfiSB,  too  dmip  a  stake  in  your 
well-doing,  not  to  afibrd  you  the  means  of  discrimi- 
nating between  the  sheep  of  the  flock,  and  tiie  volves 
in  sheep's  clothing,"  said  the  Money-lender,  **» 
he  doubly  locked  the  bureau,  and  retreated  to 
his  seat  *^  Admit,"  said  he,  gathering  more  closely 
around  him  the  robing  of  his  furred  symar,  which 
might  have  served  a  tiieatrical  Doge  of  Venice,  or 
Grand  Pensionary  of  Holland,—**  admit  that,  n 
I  choose  to  deny  myself  the  daintiness  ef  being 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


335 


didgged  by  a  fashionable  apothecary,  and  dawdled 
oyer  by  a  canting  housekeeper,  it  is  not  for  want 
of  means  to  keep  such  reptiles  in  my  pay  V 

^  Which  makes  me  only  the  more  regret.  Sir, 
your  obstinate  disoomfort,"  replied  Basil,  begin- 
ning to  Borvey  the  squalid  wretchedness  of  the 
HftUlionary,  as  the  crotchet  of  a  maniac.  ^  You  are 
ill  mare  ill,  perhaps,  than  you  imagine  ;  and  left 
hne  all  night  alone,  (for  even  the  boy,  I  conclude, 
quits  yon  at  night?)  alone,  with  the  gnawmg  of  the 
rsU  for  companionship, — to  fight  against  fever  and 
safibeation — ^you  may  have  cause  to  repent  your 
rejection  of  the  means  of  care  and  comfort,  secured 
yon  by  your  ample  fortune." 

**  I  have  been  left  alone  with  worse  things  than 
fsswing  rats,— even  with  my  own  bitter  and  gnaw- 
ing thoughts^    and  yet    struggled  through  the 
trial,''  said  Abednego.     **  You  pity  me,  young 
man,  for  risking  to  be  stifled  by  a  quinsy,  when 
I  might  hire  some  frowsy  old  woman  to  sit  up 
with  me,  whose  gripe  upon  my  throat  at  midnight 
were  a  wcHrse  peril  than  my  disease ! — Basil  1  had 
yoQ  ever  experienced  the  heart-choking  that  sus- 
p«ads  the  impulses  of  life,  under  a  sense  of  the  con- 
tamdy  of  those  youlove, — ^had  you  everfeltthefever 
that  Uirobs  in  the  burning  veins,  when  disparaged 
by  the  idol  of  your  tenderness, — ^the  woman  for 
whom  you  would  have  perilled  every  hope  of  your 
8oal,  in  this  world,  and  the  world  to  come, — ^had 
yon  aeen  the  fools,  the  knaves,  whom  you  despise 
with  the  full  force  of  your  vigorous  intellect — the 
wann  fervour  of  your  generous  heart,  triumphing 
over  your  defeat,  and  asking  how  you  presume 
to  form  pretensions  to  the  smiles  of  beauty ;  you-— 
jm, — with  nothing  to  reconmiend  you  but  the 
possession  of  youUi,  ardour,  mind,  cultivation, 
honour,  truth, — and  treble   the   earthly   enjoy- 
ments of  the  lordly  home  from  which  you  desire 
to  remove  her  to  the  temple  of  wedded  love  where 
you  would  have  served  her  as  a  slave ; — ^had  you 
known  all  this,  Basil  Annesley, — ^had  you  felt  those 
contemptuous  looks  eating  like  caustic  into  your 
flesh, — had  you  heard  those  insulting  words  pierc- 
ing like  pdsoned  arrows  into  the  marrow  of  your 
bones^— you  would  have  been  content  to  live  as  I 
do,  apart  from  the  titled  herd,  apart  from  the  ra- 
pacious crew,  despising  alike  ihe  hirelings  for 
bread,  and  the  hirelings  for  vanity ; — alone, — inde- 
pendent,— ^brooding  over  the  sense  of  a  mighty 
"^^Tong,  and  anticipating  the  triumph  of  a  mighty 
revenge!" — 

**  Ail  this  I  could  perfectly  understand,"  replied 
young  Annesley,  steeling  himself  against  the  awe 
with  which  he  was  beginning  to  listen  to  what  ap- 
peared to  be  the  rhapsodies  of  a  lunatic, — **  provided 
your  privation  tended  towards  the  accomplishment 
of  aught  beyond  your  personal  inconvenience. 
Bnt  what  enemy  of  yours  will  be  the  worse  for 
your  mnaining  this  bitter  night  destitute  of  at- 
tendance and  medicaments  1" — 

**  They  will  be  the  worse  for  the  results  of  a  sys- 
^  of  which  these  hardships  form  a  part ! "  re- 
phed  Abednego,  in  a  grufier  voice,  as  if  exhausted 
^y  his  recent  outburst.  "  I  discern,  by  the 
glowing  superiority  of  your  glance,  young  man, 
^  contempt  kindling  in  your  soul  towards  my 


shortsightedness! — ^You  recall  to  yourself  the  words 
of  the  Psalmist — \  He  heapeth  up  riches,  and  can- 
not tell  who  shall  gather  theml'  /  know — I 
know,  Basil  Annesley, — and  I  glory  in  knowing ! 
He  who  gathers  them  will  shed  coals  of  fii«  upon 

those  who ^But  no  matter !    What  care  y<m  fer 

the  burning  injuries  or  burning  revenge  of  the  old 
Money-lender  1"— 

^  I  shall  care  much  more.  Sir,  to  know  that  you 
are  lying  here  devoid  of  the  necessaries  of  life, 
while  m^  pillow  has  been  smoothed  by  your  kind- 
ness," replied  Basil  mUdly  ;  "  but  I  cannot  offer 
you  my  aid.  I  cannot  now  ask  you  to  accept  the 
services  of  a  faithful  servant  of  my  own  ;  because, 
in  the  instance  of  others^  you  have  shown  me  that 
you  consider  such  acts  of  kindness  to  be  interested 
and  mercenary." 

^^  Not  from  one  so  young  and  guileless  asyoti  /" 
burst  in  a  hoarse  murmur  from  the  parched  lips 
of  Abednego.  **  Be  satisfied ! — It  would  make  me 
far  more  uncomfortable  to  have  my  poor  old 
dwelling  ransacked  by  the  curiosity  of  strangers, 
than  to  lie  here  conscious  that  the  javelin  of  death 
is  at  my  breast,  and  that  there  is  none  to  dose 
my  eyes  if  the  grim  One  gets  the  best  of  it  I — I 
want  no  prying  Jacks  to  spy  out  the  naked- 
ness of  the  land,  or  into  its  abundance ;  to  exult 
over  my  empty  cellar,  or  covet  my  brinmiing 
coffers.  There  is  less  peril,  Basil  Annesley,  in  the 
quinsy  which,  as  you  perceive,  is  gradually  thick- 
ening my  voice  and  filming  my  eyes,  than  in  the 
malice  of  the  out-throats  with  whom  your  rasoal  in 
livery  might  league  himself,  on  the  temptation  of 
the  wealth  that  lies  ensconced  in  this  old  seeming 
rat-hole,  richer  <^  contents  than  the  palace  of 
Aladdin ! — But  you  pretend  a  desire  to  do  me  ser- 
vice ?"  said  he,  half-interrogatively. 

Annesley  answered  not  a  word  ;  and  the  Money- 
lender was  forced  to  reiterate  his  question; 

"  I  pretend  nothing,"  replied  Basil,  coldly. 

"  I  pity  your  infatuation — I  pity  your  abandon- 
ment ; — and  would  fain  induce  you  to  take  pity 
on  yourself ! " 

'^  I  repeat  that  you  just  now  tendered  me  ofiers 
of  service.  If  sincere,  and  your  goodwill  be  not  a 
mere  pretence,  confer  an  obligation  on  me  by  giv- 
ing me  this  volimie !"  said  Abednego,  striking  his 
bony  hand  on  the  copy  of  Hollar  lying  on  the 
table. 

**  I  cannot  do  that !"  replied  Basil,  in  a  decided 
tone ;  **  for  it  is  not  mine  to  give.  It  is  the  pro- 
perty of  my  mother !" 

The  piercing  glance  of  Abedn^o  peered  from 
under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  and  fixed  itself  scrutin- 
izingly  on  his  face. 

**  How  comes  it,  then,  in  your  possession  T  said 
he. 

^  I  arrived  yesterday  morning  from  Barlingham 
Grange,  where  she  resides,"  replied  Annesley,  firm- 
ly, "  and  brought  it  with  me"— 

"  Without  her  knowledge?"— 

"  Without  her  knowledge !"  replied  the  young 
man,  in  a  less  assured  voice.  But  the  admission 
appeared  less  to  provoke  the  contempt  than  the  sa- 
tisfaction of  his  singular  companion. — A  ray  of 
joy  twinkled  in  his  deep-set  eyes. 


356 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


**  And  what  tempted  you  to  bring  it  with  jou  ?" 
— inquired  Abedncgo,  with  peraevering  curiosity. 

**  I  wished  to  show  it  to  a  friend,  to  whom,  as  a 
curious  work  of  art,  I  thought  the  sight  might  be 
advantageous,"  replied  the  harassed  guest. 

**  Ttiat  is,  you  wanted  to  conciliate  the  blind  old 
father  of  Esther  Verelst!" — added  the  Money- 
lender, while  the  colour  mounted  to  the  temples 
of  the  astonished  Basil. 

^  Do  you  mean  me  to  belieye  you  in  league  with 
Satan,  as  well  as  the  comptroller  of  half  the  des- 
tinies of  London  ?"— <;ried  he,  losing  all  self-posses- 
sion. 

Abednego  laughed  aloud  at  this  apostrophe  ;  and 
the  huskinese  of  his  voice  was  now  painful  to  hear. 

**  You  go  far  out  of  your  way,  young  Sir,"  said 
he,  ^  to  account  for  my  participation  in  the  house- 
hold secrets  of  a  needy  artist ! — Is  it  so  very  mar- 
vellous that  I — A.  0.  the  Money-lender — should 
be  aware  that  the  sum  of  money  you  raised  so 
rashly  at  my  hands,  was  devoted  to  meet  accep- 
tances which  had  their  origin  in  the  embarrass- 
ments of  that  wrong-headed  ass — ^Verelst  the 
painter  V* — 

Basil  Annesley  now  fairly  started  from  his  seat. 

**  Somewhat  an  onerous  requital,"  persisted 
Abednego,  with  a  sneer,  **  for  a  few  cups  of  linden- 
water,  bestowed  upon  you  during  your  illness  at 
Heidelbei^,  and  a  few  lessons  in  crayons !" — 

"  Mr.  Oaalez," — Basil  was  beginning, — ^but  Abed- 
nego persevered  in  a  louder  key — 

"  You  fancy,"  he  continued,  "  that  it  would  go 
to  the  stubborn  heart  of  Lady  Annesley,  to  know 
that  a  book  of  hers  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  an 
obscure,  money-lending,  miserly,  contemned,  and 
outcast  Jew  ! — But  I  tell  you,  young  gentleman, 
that^  haughty  as  she  is,  her  blood  would  rise  to 


fever-heat,  did  she  know  that  her  only  son,-— the 
son  of  her  pride,  if  not  of  her  alivction, — had 
pledged  his  heart,  and  meditated  pledging  his  hand, 
to  the  daughter  of  a  starring  artist,  and  the  grand- 
daughter of ^But  no  matter  I — ^Her  scorn  and 

her  humiliation  are  no  affair  of  mine  ! — But  here 
comes  my  brew  of  diet-drink!"  cried  he,  as  the 
dirty  urchin,  carrying  a  jug  of  hot  water,  peeped 
into  the  room ;  ^^  and  the  more  welcome,  that  mj 
throat  is  parched  with  talking. — So  no  more  to- 
day, Mr.  Annesley ! — Untempting  as  my  bed  may 
look  to  yoHy  I  am  cowardly  enough  to  fciel  that  my 
old  bones  will  be  the  better  for  it. — Farewell  !— 
If  you  have  consistency  enough,  to  care  two  days 
hence  for  the  ailment  that  paints  such  compassion 
in  your  looks  at  this  moment,  pr'ythee  come  and 
see  whether  death  or  A.  O.  have  fought  the  better 
fight ! — Till  then,  surely,  you  will  entrust  to  my 
hands  a  volume  so  replete  witii  instruction  as 
this  r  said  he,  again  laying  his  hand  upon  the 
book,  which  Annesley  had  no  pretext  for  refanng 
as  a  loan.  And  almost  before  he  knew  what  he 
was  about,  he  had  been  unconsciously  dismiseed 
by  the  Money-lender ;  and  was  standing  on  the 
pavement  of  Delahaye  Street, — ^list^ung  to  the 
bolting,  and  barring,  and  putting  up  of  the  rusty 
chain  within,  by  Bill  the  sweeper. 

Basil  had  not  resisted  Abednego*s  commands, 
that  the  boy  should  follow  him  down  to  open  the 
door ;  for  he  thus  secured  an  opportunity  to  enforce, 
by  a  second  bribe,  his  charge  to  the  unconth  page 
on  no  account  to  leave  the  invalid  that  night ;  but 
to  be  in  readiness  to  receive  the  medicines  and 
instructions  he  was  proceeding  to  despatch  from 
the  nearest  chemist's,  for  the  aUeviation  of  the 
alarming  malady  of  A.  O. 

(To  be  continued, J 


THE  SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS. 


NO.  VI. — ^THE  SONO  OF  JUNB. 


1. 


Night's  conqueror  I :  on  his  ebon  roof-tree 
My  mantle  of  twilight  hangs  haughtily. 
The  glistering  stars  from  ^ir  temples  of  space 
Look  down  and  grow  dim  o'er  the  Isles  I  embrace  ; 
For  my  chariot  wheels  carry  sunlight  afar, 
And  my  oriflamme,  lightning,  aye  challenges  war. 
Till  hill  calls  to  valley,  and  mountains  reply, 
With  the  thunder  I  wield  while  I  traverse  the  sky. 
But  conclude  not  my  life  passeth  drearily  : 
Though  I  frown,  and  have  shadows, 

While  the  bee  winds  his  horn, 
1  ring  scythes  in  the  meadows. 
With  the  whetstone  at  mom, 
And  at  night  send  the  mower  home  wearily. 
Al^ut  the  green  hedges, 
I  convolvulus  twine ; 
Drive  kine  to  the  sedges  ; 
Give  bloom  to  the  vine  ; 
In  the  brook  plunge  the  peasant-boy  cheerily. 
I  canopy  lanes  for  young  lovers  to  stroll 
In  the  dimness  of  eve,  by  the  light  of  the  soul ; 
Where  the  glow  of  my  roses 

Illumines  the  shade, 
Yet  vainly  opposes 
The  blush  of  a  maid  ! 
Ah,  lovers  I  fond  lovers  !  you  ne'er  can  commune 
With  a  sensitive  confidant  secret  as  June. 


Age  blesses  my  feet ;  for  I  bring  him  the  joy 
Which  surrounded  his  thoughts  and  his  heart  whenaboy: 
He  shall  dream  in  his  porch  of  fhU  fifty  years  gone, 
When  he  loitered  a  listener  in  woods,  not  alone- 
No  ;  a  face  that  was  furer,  with  soul  insincere, 
Poured  its  poisonous  balm  in  the  coquetting  ear 
Of  her  he  adored,  till  fire  flashed  from  his  eyes, 
And  he  thrashed  the  intruder,  and  bore  off  the  priie  ^ 
My  sweet  magic  his  dreamy  thoughts  brightening. 
I  have  flowers  for  rough  brambles ; 

Gild  the  broom  in  the  wild*; 

I  dry  meads  for  the  gambols 

Of  each  dear  happy  child  ; 

The  bonds  of  all  Nature's  love  tightening. 

My  bloom-pencil  streaking 

Full  orchards,  I  ply, 
While  hay-wains  are  creaking 
To  homesteads  hard  by  ; 
The  fawn  and  the  leveret  frightening. 
I  will  fill  the  warm  air  with  a  myriad  hum, 
And  the  dragon-fly  bold,  to  your  horse-fold  shaU  come . 
Where  nightingale  pineth, 

And  young  squirrels  grow, 
And  brown  glow-worm  shineth 
'Midst  foxgloves  below. 
Oh,  citizens  !  citizens !  come  and  attune 
Your  dull  souls  in  the  forests  and  pastures  of  Jn"^- 

J,  A*  "• 


35T 


i3r 


A  LECTURE  ON  COWPER  AND  BURNS,  THE  TWO  EARLIEST  GREAT 
POETS  OF  THE  MODERN  SCHOOL. 


,).^v^ 


Written  for  the  Sheffield  Mechamics'  Institution,  by  Ebenezer  Elliott. 


Young  Men  I — ^Ib  it  truly  said  that  the  age  we 
lire  in  is  very  impoetical  ?  I  think  not.  Never 
was  the  hest  poetry  better  appreciated  in  this 
eonntry  than  at  present ;  for  even  in'the  Eliza- 
bethan period  of  our  literature,  the  best  poetry  was 
not  always  best  appreciated.  Perhaps  there  is 
more  poetry  in  the  **  Bride  of  Lammermoor/'  or  in 
the  mere  conc<>ption  of  the  character  of  the  Master 
of  Rarenswood,  than  in  all  the  poets  of  the  fifty 
years  that  immediately  preceded  the  Modem  school 
of  poetry.  Cowper  and  Bums  were  the  earliest 
great  poets  of  that  school ;  and  of  them  I  proceed 
toq>eak. 

Cowper,  you  are  aware,  was  highly  educated  ; 
and  Boms  was  better  educated  thaji  nineteen- 
twentieths  of  Englishmen  are.  But  Bums  was 
self-taught,  we  are  told.  So  was  Cowper.  So  is 
edery  man  of  genius.  It  is  in  being  self-taught, 
that  men  of  genius  differ  ^m  other  men ;  or  how 
happened  Cowper,  in  his  writings,  to  oppose  total- 
ly the  approved  standards  of  his  day  ?  Perhaps 
the  productions  of  that  power  which  is  called 
genius,  are  not  results  of  qualities  inherent  in  their 
authon,  but  of  fortunate  circumstances,  or  even  of 
dlsadrantages  conquered  :  for  instance,  a  man  may 
conquer  the  disadvantages  of  a  good  education,  as 
Milton  did ;  or  convert  a  bad  one  into  the  best,  as 
^kspeare  did.  I  know  a  man  who  has  obtained 
some  literary  notoriety  in  consequence  of  having 
a  defective  memory,  which  retains  nothing  but 
leading  facts  and  principles :  like  the  shark  de- 
scribed by  Cobbett^  whidi  swallowed  hundreds  of 
cod  fish  and  millions  of  keplins,  but  only  felt  the 
cod  fish.  Now,  Bums,  when  quite  a  youth,  living 
onaix  pounds  twelve  shillings  a-y ear,  had  the  hon- 
^9  it  is  said,  to  establish  one  of  the  earliest  sub- 
scription libraries  in  Scotland— a  glory  worth  liv- 
ing for.  The  funds  of  the  subscribers  would  not 
allow  them  to  buy  many  books,  but  the  books  they 
<iid  buy  were  good  ones.  Burns,  then,  could  not 
Wnic  an  indiscriminate  reader,  or  he  might  pos- 
wWy  have  formed  his  taste  on  worse  models  than 
^  "Letters  of  Junius."  Six  pounds  twelve  shil- 
lings a-year,  is  a  small  sum  for  a  hungry  youth  to 
live  upon  ;  but  if  Bums  had  not  known  what  po- 
^rty  is,  would  he  have  written  his  "  Cottar's 
Saturday  Night?"  And  if  he  had  not  had  the 
niisfortune  to  be  a  gauger — ^too  well  acquainted 
^th  alehouse  doings— could  he  have  written  his 

Tarn  0'  Shanter?"  It  is  more  than  probable, 
wen,  that  he  owed  much  of  his  literary  success  to 
ttwfortunes— vanquished,  and  converted  into  their 
^ppoaites.  It  is  certain  that  Cowper  did  :  he  de- 
ji^ed  strength  from  his  weakness :  he  had  to  fight 
Battles  with  his  miserable  constitution,  and  he 
fk*^  glorious  victories  over  it.  His  works  are 
I^P*  victories.  How  good,  then,  is  Grod,  even  in 
^^  he  denies !  and  how  thankless  are  they  who 
^  not  use  what  he  gives  J    The  dullest  mechanic, 


by  merely  reading  what  is  excellent  in  our  lan- 
guage— ^the  masterpieces  alone,  might,  in  a  few 
months,  become  allied  to  the  highest  minds — a  co- 
partner in  excellence  ;  and,  if  thought  is  eternal,  a 
shareholder  with  immortality.  Think  of  this. 
Young  Men  !  for  you  cannot  win  the  race  of 
knowledge  (which  is  virtue)  by  lagging  behind 
the  age  in  which  you  live  ;  and  if  you  cannot  an- 
swer Time — the  great  questioner  here — ^how  will 
you  answer  God,  when  he  asks  you,  not  if  you 
won  the  race,  but  why  you  stood  still  ? 

It  is  not  easy  to  conceive  any  two  men  more  un- 
like each  other,  than  Cowper  and  Buhis  were ; 
and  yet,  in  their  genius,  there  is  much  similarity. 
Bums,  perhaps,  was  twice  as  much  a  man  as  Cow- 
per, and  the  tenth  part  of  the  tithe  as  much  a 
poet  as  Shakspeare  or  Scott:  he  was  a  giant, 
nevertheless.  His  Muse  was  manliness  :  he  was 
honest  and  fearless.  The  Muse  of  Cowper  was 
conscience :  he  was  honest  but  not  fearless :  he 
trembled,  and  a  shadow  overthrew  him — ^but  it 
was  a  shadow  darker  than  the  shadow  of  death. 
He  would  have  been  a  far  greater  poet  than  he 
was,  if  disease  had  not  made  him  a  coward.  Not 
that  he  was  insincere :  oh  no  !  and  yet  he  dared 
not  whisper  to  his  poor  heart  that  God  is  merciful. 
Nor  was  his  despair  unpoetical ;  but  the  hope  of 
Bums  is  more  poetical  than  Cowper's  despair; 
and  Bums  had  this  further  advantage,  that  he 
neither  despaired  of  man  as  he  is,  nor  of  his  ulti- 
mate destiny.  How  much  more  respectable  human 
nature  appears  in  our  eyes  after  reading  Bums, 
than  after  reading  Byron ! 

The  language  of  Bums  is  frequently  as  con- 
densed as  that  of  Pope.  Some  of  his  lines  contain 
as  many  thoughts  as  words.  I  will  quote  one  of 
these  :  "his locked,  letter'd,  braw  brass  collar:" 
here  are  six  thoughts  in  six  words.  Never,  per- 
haps, was  there  a  more  pregnant  style.  And  he  is 
the  most  unsophisticated  of  poets.  He  is  earnest 
as  Milton,  earnest  as  Cromwell,  earnest  as  the  Pil- 
grim Fathers,  who,  seeking  the  free  worship  of 
God  on  the  shores  of  America,  planted  the  world's 
political  redemption  in  a  wUdemess  of  wants.  His 
readers  never  mistrust  him.  It  is  not  the  poetry 
that  we  like,  but  the  man.  He  has  stamped  his 
honest,  fearless,  individuality  upon  his  writings : 
they  are  all  marked  "  Robert  Bums." 

If  you  doubt  the  similarity  of  the  minds  of  these 
two  men,  compare  any  one  of  the  rhymed  epistles 
of  Bums,  with  the  rhymed  epistle  of  Cowper  to 
Joseph  Hill  :— 

*^  An  honest  man,  dose-bnttoned  to  the  ohin, 
Broad  cloth  without,  and  a  warm  heart  within." 

Bums,  however,  had  a  great  advantage  over 
Cowper,  in  his  option  of  rhyming  either  in  Eng- 
lish, or  in  his  sweet  native  Doric.  Bums  knew 
this  welL  No  man  ever  understood  better  his 
powers,  or  his  position.    I,  therefore,  venture  to 

2Cr 


358 


A  LECTURE  ON  COWPER  AND  BURNS, 


predict,  that  the  rhymed  epistles  of  Burns  will 
never  be  excelled  ;  nay,  so  unsurpassable  is  their 
ezcellende,  that  (if  genius  supposes  judgment)  few 
men  of  genius  would  attempt  to  imitate  them.  He 
was  wanied,  indeed,  that  his  truthfulness  (hb  yuI- 
garity  it  was  called)  would  be  fatal  to  the  longev- 
ity of  his  writings.  Wordsworth  has  had  similar 
warnings ;  but  if  he  fail  to  become  permanently 
popular,  he  will  not  fail  because  his  subjects  are 
mean,  but  because  what  is  called  his  simpliciiy, 
is  that  worst  of  all  afieotatlons^  the  afiectation  of 
unaffectedness. 

It  would  be  preposterous  to  class  such  writers 
as  Cowper,  our  bc^t  ethic  poet,  and  Bums,  our 
best  sentimental  poet,  with  such  writers  (there  are 
none  such)  as  Shakspeare  and  Soott ;  but  it  can- 
not be  denied  that  they  are,  though  not  greatest, 
great.  Cowper,  in  fourteen  of  the  noblest  lines  ever 
written,  enumerates  some  of  the  qualities  which,  in 
his  opinion,  are  requisite  to  constitute  the  chanc- 
ter  of  a  great  poet  :— 

**  Fervency,  freedom,  flaeucy  of  tboaght : 
Harmony,  strength,  words  exquisitely  sought ; 
Fancy,  which  fi^m  the  bow  that  spans  the  sky 
Brings  colours  dipp'd  in  heaven,  that  never  die  ; 
A  soul  exalted  above  earth  ;  a  nund 
Skill'd  in  the  characters  that  form  mankind  ; 
And  as  the  sun,  in  rising  beauty  dressM, 
Looks  to  the  westward  from  the  dappled  east. 
And  marks,  (whatever  elouds  may  laterpoee,) 
Ere  yet  his  race  begins,  its  glorious  dose ; 
An  eye  like  his,  to  catch  tiie  distant  goal. 
Or,  ere  the  wheels  of  verse  begin  to  roll, 
Like  his,  to  shed  illuminating  rays 
On  every  scene  and  subject  it  surveys.'* 

Both  these  poets  combined,  do  not  possess  all  the 
requisites  to  form  a  Shakspeare  or  a  Scott ;  and  it 

s  remarkable,  that  Cowper,  in  his  enumeration, 
leaves  unmentioned  the  quality  in  which  himself 
and  Bums  were  most  deficient,  Montgomery, 
rich  in  heavenly  thoughti^  ^and  that  sweet  peace 
which  goodnesss  bosoms  ever" — Montgomeiy,  who 
has  been  called  our  second  Cowper,  and  our  minia- 
ture Milton,  unlike  them  both,  abounds  in  tender- 
ness ;  but  if  I  have  been  able  to  £nd  only  one 

eeply  pathetic  passage  in  the  writings  of  Cowper, 
you  will  perhaps  say  the  fault  is  mine.  The  lines 
I  allude  to,  are  called  '^  The  Castaway :"  they  are 
a  narrative  of  the  death  of  a  sailor  who  was  washed 
from  the  wreck  of  Admiral  Anson's  ship ;  and  they 
conclude  with  this  dismal  stanza : — 

No  voice  divine  the  storm  allay'd. 

No  light  propitious  shone, 
When,  snatch'd  from  all  e^etual  aid, 

Wc  perished,  each  alone  ; 
But  I  beneath  a  rougher  sea, 
And  whelmed  in  cU^er  gulphs  than  he. 

Few  as  are  the  pathetic  passages  in  the  works 
•f  Burns,  they  are  sufficiently  numerous  to  show, 
that  ^'the  weeping  blood  of  woman's  heart"  was 
not  unknown  to  him :  how  oculd  it  be  unknown 
to  one  of  the  warmest  hearts  that  ever  beat? 
Perhaps  he  was  too  manly  to  weep  often ;  but,  if 
so,  his  tears  are  not  the  less  affecting  on  that  ac- 
count. Is  it  possible  for  words  to  exc^d  in  pathos 
the  apostrophe  of  the  captive  Queen  of  Scots  to  her 
absent  son  ? 


God  shield  thee  frae  thy  mother's  foes. 

Or  turn  their  hearts  to  thee ! 
But  if  thou  meet  thy  mother's  yrwiii, 

Remember  Aim  fbr  me  ! 

How  plain,  how  true  are  these  words !  Bums 
was  too  honest  to  sacrifice  sense  to  sound :  in  some 
of  his  tenderest  verses,  he  can  scarcely  be  said  to 
rhyme  at  all.  I  will  try,  by  a  very  short  ex- 
tract from  one  of  the  finest  of  his  poems,  to  illus- 
trate the  single-heartedness  of  his  character. 

Oh,  paJe,  pale,  now  those  rosy  lips 

1  oft  kcie  kin*d  sae  fondly  1 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  hm  sae  kindly  ! 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust 

The  heart  that  lo'ed  ne  dearly  I 
But  still,  within  my  bosom's  core. 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary  ! 

Here  is  no  sophistication.  The  pale  lips  were 
the  lips  that  he  had  kissed  ;  the  closed  eyes  were  the 
eyes  that  had  looked  on  him  with  fondness ;  the 
mouldering  heart  was  the  heart  that  laved  him. 
He  was  not  afraid  to  be  told  that  his  love  was 
selfish ;  it  was  enough  for  him  that  it  was  the 
love  that  God  made. 

With  similar  honesty,  and  with  true  piety,  he 
calls  the  mouse  '^  his  fellow-mortal  ;"  for,  says 
Coleridge, 

He  prayeth  best,  who  2ow(A  beet 
All  things,  both  great  and  small. 

For  the  dear  Crod  who  loveth  us. 
He  made,  and  loveth  all. 

Bums  having  been  called  the  Camoens  of  Scot- 
land, I  will  recite  a  sonnet  of  the  Portuguese  bard, 
on  Uie  death  of  his  mistress : — 

That  gentle,  bounteous  hand  ;  that  heart  siBoere ; 
Those  locks  of  light,  that  shamed  the  beams  of  day ; 
Those  charming  eyes,  within  whose  starry  sphere 
Love,  turned  from  Heaven,  charmed  all  my  cares  away; 
Are  changed,  for  ever  chaiiged,  and  turned  to  day. 
Death  !  thou  hast  torn,  in  one  unpitying  hour. 
The  plant  to  which,  er^  scarce  it  bore  a  flower,^ 
The  mellower  fruitage  of  its  prime  was  given ; 
Love  saw  the  deed,  and  as  he  lingered  near, 
Sigh'd  o'er  the  ruin,  and  retum'd  to  Heav'n. 

The  author,  in  every  fibre  of  his  Ihime,  felt  this 
to  be  true  poetry  ;  yet  it  wants  the  heartiness,  the 
downright  sincerity  of  our  northern  Camoens. 
The  literature  of  the  last  sixty  years  can  boast, 
at  least,  two  truth-tellers, — Rousseau  and  Bums ; 
but  Rousseau  told  the  tmth  of  himself  as  a  duty, 
Bums  unconsciously,  as  a  flower  unfolds  its  petals, 
— and  the  latter  revelation  is  likeliest  to  be  the 
tmeone* 

There  are  thoughts  which,  generally,  it  would 
be  in  the  highest  degree  improper  to  divulge  to 
others^  but  which  we  whisper  to  our  hearts  in  spite 
of  ourselves.  They  are  often  read  in  us  by  others, 
when  we  would  not  utter  them  for  worlds.  Tk^ 
are  poetry  in  the  highesty  revelations  of  the  past 
of  thought,  warnings^ — sent  of  God,  lest  they  be- 
come the  past  of  action  also  ;  and  i^  after  having 
become  the  past  of  action,  they  should  happ^  to 
be  revealed  by  accident,  or  by  the  agonies  of  a 
guilty  conscience,  they  are  then  terribly  sublime. 
Whoever  thou  art.  Poet  of  the  Future  I — ^if  such  a 
being  is  now  addressed  by  me, — Glisten,  with  trem- 
bling, to  the  first  warnings  of  guilty  thought ;  but 


THE  TWO  EARLIEST  GREAT  POETS  OF  THE  MODERN  SCHOOL. 


359 


if  thou  shouldst  be  so  unhappy  as  to  seek  an  excuse 
for  evil  thoughta  in  the  e^  deeds  of  Bums,  ask 
thyself — ^before  thou  belieye  all  the  eril  that  has 
been  imputed  to  him— -whether  he  might  not  pos- 
sibly have  been  justified  in  saying  to  himself,  what 
few  can  say  with  truth,  tkat  he  was  better  than  his 
reputation  ?  for,  in  speaking  to  his  own  heart,  he 
has  laid  it,  with  unexampled  manliness,  naked  be- 
fore thine.  Was  he  not,  then,  a  man  and  a 
brother!  Compare  his  revealed  secrets  with  that 
frightful  revelation  of  Cardinal  Beaufort  in  Shak- 
speare — that  terrible  poetry  of  silence — when  **  he 
died,  and  made  no  sign.'* 

If  Cowper  had  written  songs,  such  was  the 
honesty  of  his  nature,  that  he  would  probably  have 
equalled  Bums,  great  as  are  the ,  disaidvantages 
under  which  onr  language  would  have  laid  him. 
For  Bums  was  not  the  prototype  of  the  truthful- 
ness of  Scottish  song ;  the  ancient  minstrels  of 
Scotland  did  not  forget  to  avail  themselves  of  the 
marvellous  facilities  which  the  dialect  of  their 
country  affords  to  the  poet ;  but  Bums  has  ex- 
celled their  best  productions.  See  his  **Anna,'' 
that  sweetest  of  lyrics ;  or  see  his  **  Banks  and 
Braes  o'  Bonny  Boon,"  the  hacknled  thought  ex- 
pressed in  which  is,  in  other  writers,  a  mere  con- 
ceit ;  but  in  Bums,  a  sentiment,  solemn,  moum- 
fol,  almost  sublime.  At  Doncaster,  when  I  was 
lecturing  there,  I  met  with  one  of  those  intima- 
tions of  a  better  world,  which  give  us,  in  this,  a 
presage  of  Heaven, — a  lady,  beautiful,  good,  and 
all-aocomplished,  who  asked  me  if  I  could  sing? 
I  answered,  "that  I  was  passionately  fond  of 
mnsic,  but  that  my  wife  had  been  more  than 
thirty  years  vainly  trying  to  teach  me  the  Hun- 
^leth  psalm  tune,  — ^there  being  a  note  toward  the 
dose  of  the  third  line  which  I  cannot  leam.  She 
then  sdd  that,  justice,  she  thought,  could  not  be 
done  to  Bums,  as  a  lyric  poet,  if  his  songs  were 
^vorced  from  their  appropriate  times.  I  thought 
differently ;  but  mentally  resolved  that  I  would 
**Jig,  and  also  recite,  as  I  have  now  done,  one  of 
his  best  songs ;  for  I  knew  that  my  bad  singing 
would,  at  least,  seem  to  help  my  theory, — that  good 
^ging  is  to  good  recitation  what  a  sliver  chain 
is  to  the  lark's  wing,  or  a  parrot  learning  language 
to  the  flower  whose  silence  slngeth. 

^^o^^r  does  not,  like  Bums,  Write  the  history 
of  the  poor  In  every  page  of  his  works,  but  his 
heart  was  with  them ;  witness  his  description  of 
the  street-imprisoned  mechanic,  and  his  miserable 
attempt  at  a  garden,  "  A  sprig  of  mint,  set  In  a 
spoutless  teapot."  They  were  both  patriots,  both 
honest  men ;  but  the  expression  of  their  sentiments 
Was  remarkably  modified  by  their  physical  condi- 
gn* Bums  speaks  with  the  animal  courage  of 
^th,— Cowper,  with  the  faltering  of  incipient 
jjsease^  or  the  energy  of  fever.  "  Is  there,"  says 
Burns,— 

Is  there  for  honest  poverty, 
That  hatiM  his  head,  and  a*  thaty— 

The  coward  loon !  we  pass  him  by ;  | 
And  due  be  poor  for  a'  that. 

**  He,"  says  Cowper,  "  who  finds  one  drop  of 
'heaven's  sweet  mercy  in  his  cup,  can  dig,  beg,  rot, 
^  perish,  wen  content  so  he  may  wrap  himself 


in  honest  rags  at  his  last  gasp ;  but  could  not,  for 
a  world,  fish  up  his  dirty  and  dependent  bread  from 
pools  aiMi  ditches  of  the  commonwealth,  sordid  and 
sickening  at  his  own  success." 

If  Cowper  had  been  blessed  with  the  physical 
strength  of  Burns,  he  might  have  been, — but  I 
don't  say  he  would  have  been, — at  once,  one  of  the 
greatest  of  poets  and  ablest  of  active  men.  As  it  is, 
I  am  unable  to  name  a  poet  whose  writings,  page 
for  page,  can  boast  an  equal  amount  of  original 
thought  and  sterling  common  sense. 

In  nothing  did  Cowper  and  Bums  resemble  each 
other  more  than  in  their  power  of  comic  delinea- 
tion :  had  they  written  for  the  stage,  we  should 
have  had  three  Sheridans— alike,  yet  how  different ! 
Here  is  one  of  Cowper  s  pictures,  finished  with 
minute  touches  of  the  pencil : — 

Yon  ancient  prude,  whose  withered  features  show 
She  might  be  young  some  forty  years  ago. 
Her  el^ws  pinionM  close  upon  her  hips. 
Her  head  erect,  her  fan  upon  her  lips. 
Her  eye-brows  arched,  her  eyes  both  gone  astray 
To  watch  yon  amorous  couple  in  their  play. 
With  bony  and  unkerchief 'd  neck,  defies 
The  rude  inclemency  of  wintry  skies, 
And  sails,  with  lappet  head  and  mincing  airs. 
Duly,  at  clink  of  bell,  to  morning  prayers. 
To  thrift  and  parsimony  much  inclined. 
She  yet  allows  herself  that  boy  behind. 
The  shivering  urchin,  bending  as  he  goes. 
With  slip-shoid  heels,  and  dewdrop  at  his  nose ; 
His  predecessor's  coat  advanced  to  wear, 
Which  future  pages  yet  are  doomed  to  share ; 
Carries  her  Bible,  tucked  beneath  his  arm. 
And  hides  his  hands  to  keep  his  fingers  warm. 
She,  half  an  angel  in  her  own  account, 
Boubts  not  hereafter  with  the  saints  to  mount. 
Though  not  a  grace  appears,  on  strictest  search. 
But  £at  she  DEists,  and,  item,  goes  to  church. 

But  Bums  could  dash  ofiF  a  character  ^th  a 
stroke  of  his  pen.  Premising  that  my  ignorance 
of  the  Scottish  dialect  will  prevent  me  from  doing 
him  anything  like  justice,  I  will  prove  both  the^ 
assertions  by  reading  a  few  lines  from  a  poem, 
which  he  alone  of  all  mankind  oould  have  written. 
Study  it,  young  men,  if  you  would  know  what  a 
power  lai^^uage  is : — 

TAM  0*  SRAMTSft. 

When  chapman  billies  leave  the  street, 
And  drouUiy  neebors  neebors  meet. 
As  market-days  are  wearing  late, 
And  folk  begin  to  tak'  the  gate; 
While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy, 
And  getting  fon  and  unco'  happy, 
We  think  na'  on  the  hing  Scots  miles, 
The  mosses,  waters,  slaps,  an  stiles. 
That  lie  between  us  and  our  hame. 
Where  sits  our  sulky,  sullen  dame. 
Gathering  her  brows,  like  gathering  storm, 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm. 
This  truth  fand  honest  Tarn  o'  Shanter^ 
As  he  frae  Ayr  ae  night  did  canter. 
Oh,  Tam,  hadst  thou  but  been  sae  wise 
As  ta'en  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice  t 
She  tauld  thee  weel  thou  wast  a  skellnm, 
A  blethering,  blustering^  drunken  blellum ; 
That  fiM  NoDsmber  till  October, 
Ae  market-day  thou  wasna  sober  ; 
That  tUea  melder  wi*  the  miller 
Thou  sate  as  lang  as  thou  had  siller  ; 
That  every  naig  was  ca'd  a  shoe  on. 
The  smith  and  thee  gat  roaring  fon  «i ,- 


360 


A  LECTURE  ON  GOWPER  AND  BVRSS, 


That  at  the  Lord's  house  ev'n  on  Sunday 

Thou  drank  wi'  Kirton  Jean  till  Monday. 

She  prophesied,  that  late  or  soon, 

Thou  would  be  found  deep  drown'd  in  Doon ; 

Or  catch'd  wi'  warlocks  in  the  mirky 

By  Alloway's  anld  haunted  kirk. 

Ah,  gentle  dames  I  it  gars  me  greet. 
To  think  how  mony  counsels-sweet — 
How  mony  prudent  sage  advices 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises  ! 

But  to  our  tale.    Ae  market-night 
Tam  had  got  planted  unco  right. 
Fast  by  an  ingle,  bleezing  finely, 
Wi'  reaming  swats,  that  drank  dirinely  ; 
And  at  his  elbow  Souter  Johnny, 
His  ancient,  trusty,  drouthy  crony : 
Tam  lo'ed  him  like  a  vera  orither, 
They  had  been  fou  for  wek$  thegither. 
The  night  drove  on  wi*  sangs  an'  clatter. 
And  aye  the  ale  was  growing  better ; 
The  Souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories  ; 
The  landlord's  laugh  was  ready  chorus  ; 
The  storm  without  might  rain  and  rustle, 
Tam  didna  mind  the  storm  a  whistle. 

Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy. 
E'en  drowu'd  hinud*  amang  the  nappy  ; 
As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure. 
The  minutes  winged  their  way  wi'  pleasure  ; 
Kings  may  be  bU$t^d,  but  Tam  was  gloriout, 
O'er  a'  the  cares  o'  life  victorious. 

But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread. 
We  seize  the  flower,  its  bloom  is  shed  ; 
Or  like  the  snow-tkUs  in  the  river, 
A  moment  white-— then  gone  for  ever. 

I  hold  in  my  hand  some  verses  which  hare  not 
appeared  in  any  collection  of  the  works  of  Bums. 
They  want  his  terseness  and  condensation ;  but 
may  be  his  notwithstanding ; — if  they  are— and  I 
do  not  know  who  else  could  have  written  them, — 
they  show  that  he,  too,  could,  when  he  chose, 
finish  a  portrait  with  minute  touches  of  the  comic 
penciL 

THE  MINISTEA. 

Our  gudewife  she  keeps  beef  and  ale. 

And  tea,  to  treat  the  Minister, 
While  I,  if  hungry,  sup  the  kale  ; 

The  beef  is  for  the  Minister  t 
Besides,  a  bottle  she  keeps  by, 
To  warm  his  heart  when  he's  no  dry, 
While  I  the  water-pail  maun  try ; 

May  the  deil  burst  the  Minister  I 

Our  Minister  he  has  nae  pride. 

Not  a  bit  the  Minister ; 
He  just  sits  down  by  our  fireside 

As  he  were  no'  our  Minister ; 
He  taks  our  gudewife  by  the  huid. 
Says,  John,  man,  sit,  what  maks  ye  stand  t 
He  has  the  bairns  a'  at  command  : 

They  a'  ken  the  Minister. 

But  still  he's  usefdl  in  his  place. 

He's  a  braw  man  the  Bikiister  ; 
At  ilka  feast  he  says  the  grace, 

Nane  fitter  than  the  Minister  ; 
And  when  the  glasses  come  in  view. 
He  says.  We'll  drink,  but  na'  get  fbn 
Sic  things  the  Lord  doth  not  illow  : 

Yet  fou  gets  the  Minister. 

Our  Minister  he's  now  fall'n  sick, 

Waes  me,  the  Minister  ; 
Wha'  now  shall  keep  us  frae  auld  Nick, 

If  the  Lord  tak  our  Minister  f 
Left  to  oursels,  he  kens  Ai'  weel. 
The  brent  up  stain  we  canna  spieL 
We  maun  ev'n  turn  back  and  face  the  deil,] 

If  the  Lord  tak  our  Minister, 


He  preaches  loud,  does  saftly  pray — 

Thus  says  our  Minister, 
**  Ye  will  be  sure  to  find  the  way. 

If  ye  are  like  your  Minister ; 
Yell  get  a  place,  ye  needna  fear  ; 
Be  sure  that  after  him  ye  spier." 
But  faith,  I  doubt,  when  we  get  there, 

We'll  no  see  the  Minister. 

I  must  now  conclude,  with  a  few  observations 
on  the  lives  and  characters  of  the  two  great  foun- 
ders of  the  Modem  School  of  Poetry.  Perhaps 
no  falsehood  has  been  more  frequently  repeated 
than  that  men  of  genius  are  less  fortunate  and  les 
virtuous  than  other  men ;  but  the  obvious  truth 
that  they  who  attempt  little  are  less  liable  to 
failure  than  they  who  attempt  much,  will  account 
for  the  proverbial  good  luck  of  fools.  In  our 
estimate  of  the  sorrows  and  failings  of  Utenry 
men,  we  forget  that  sorrow  is  the  common  lot ;  we 
forget,  too,  that  the  misfortunes  and  the  enon  of 
men  of  genius  are  recorded ;  and  that,  although 
their  virtues  may  be  utterly  forgotten,  their  mi- 
nutest faults  will  be  sure  to  find  zealous  historians. 
And  this  is  as  it  should  be.  Let  the  dead  instmet 
us.  But  slanderers  blame,  in  individuals,  what 
belongs  to  the  species.  "  We  women,"  says  Cly- 
temnestra  in  Eschylus,  when  meditating  the  mur- 
der of  her  husband,  and  in  reply  to  an  attendant 
who  was  praising  the  gentleness  of  the  sex,  ^  We 
women  are — what  we  are."  So  is  it  with  us  all. 
Then,  let  every  fault  of  men  of  genius  be  known ; 
but  let  not  hypocrisy  come  with  a  sponge,  and 
wipe  away  their  virtues. 

Of  the  misfortunes  of  Cowper,  we  have  all  heard, 
and  certainly  he  was  unfortunate,  for  he  was  lia- 
ble to  fits  of  insanity.  But  it  might  be  said  of 
him,  that  he  was  tended  through  life  by  weeping 
angels.  Warm-heartedfriends  watched  and  guard- 
ed him  with  intense  and  unwearied  solicitude ;  the 
kindest  hearted  of  the  softer  sex,  the  best  of  the 
best,  seem  to  have  been  bom  only  to  anticipate  hit 
wants.  A  glance  at  the  world,  will  show  us  that 
his  fate,  though  sad,  was  not  saddest :  for  how 
many  madmen  are  there,  and  how  many  men  still 
more  unfortunate  than  madmen,  who  have  no  liv- 
ing creature  to  aid,  or  soothe,  or  pity  them !  Think 
of  Milton — ^*  blind  among  enemies !" 

But  the  saddest  incident  in  the  life  of  Cowper 
remains  to  be  told.  In  his  latter  days,  he  was  pen 
sioned  by  the  crown — amisfortune  which  I  canfor- 
give  to  him,  but  not  to  destiny.  It  is  consoling  to 
think,  that  he  was  not  long  conscious  of  his  degra- 
dation after  the  cruel  kindness  was  inflicted  on 
hun.  But  why  did  not  hb  friendfr-if  weary  of 
sustaining  their  kinsman  stricken  by  the  arrows 
of  the  Almighty,  suffer  him  to  perish  in  a  he(/g(Brt 
madhouse  ?  Would  he  had  died  in  a  ditch,  rather 
than  this  shadow  had  darkened  over  hia  g»^- 
Bums  was  more  fortunate  in  his  death  than  O)"*- 
per :  he  lived  self-supported  to  the  end.  Glorioos 
hearted  Bums  I     Noble,  hut  unfortunate  Co^' 

Bums  was  one  of  the  few  poets  fit  to  be  seen. 
It  has  been  asserted  that  genius  is  a  disew^--*'"* 
malady  of  physical  inferiority.  It  is  certain,  tto 
we  have  heard  of  Pope,  the  hunchback :  of  Scott 
and  Byron,  the  jBripples :  of  the  epileptic  Ju^ 
Cajsar,  who,  it  ji  said,  never  planned  a  great  »^ 

i 


THE  TWO  EARLIEST  GREAT  POETS  OF  THE  MODERN  SCHOOL. 


361 


without  going  into  fits  ;  and  of  Napoleon,  whom  a 
few  years  of  trouble  killed:  where  Cobbett  (a 
man  of  talent,  not  of  genius)  would  have  melted 
St.  Helena,  rather  than  have  given  up  the  ghost 
with  a  fiill  belly.  If  Pope  could  have  leaped  over 
five-barred  gates,  he  probably  would  not  have 
written  his  inimitable  sofa-and-lap-dog  poetry ; 
but  it  does  not  follow,  that  he  would  not  have 
written  the  "  Essay  on  Man  ;"  and  they  who  as- 
sert that  genius  is  a  physical  disease,  should  re- 
member that,  as  true  critics  are  more  rare  than 
true  poets,  we  having  only  one  in  our  language, 
William  Hazlitt — so,  very  tall  and  complete  men  are 
as  rare  as  genius  itself,  a  fact  well  known  to  per- 
sons who  have  the  appointment  of  constables. 
And  if  it  is  undeniable  that  God  wastes  nothing, 
and  that  we,  therefore,  perhaps  seldom  find  a 
gigantic  body  combined  with  a  soul  of  iEolian 
tones :  it  is  equally  undeniable,  that  Bums  was  an 
exception  to  the  rule— a  man  of  genius,  tall,  strong, 
and  handsome,  as  any  man  that  could  be  picked 
out  of  a  thousand  at  a  country  fair. 

But  he  was  unfortunate,  we  are  told.  Unfortu- 
nate !  He  was  a  tow-heckler  who  cleared  six 
hundred  pounds  by  the  sale  of  his  poems:  of 
which  sum  he  left  two  hundred  pounds  behind 
him,  in  the  hands  of  his  brother  Gilbert :  two 
facts  which  prove  that  he  could  neither  be  so  un- 
fortunate, nor  so  imprudent,  as  we  are  told  he 
was.  If  he  had  been  a  mere  tow-heckler,  I  sus- 
pect he  would  never  have  possessed  six  hundred 
shillings. 

But  he  was  imprudent  it  is  said.  Now,  he  is  a 
wise  man  who  has  done  one  act  that  influences 
beneficiaUy  his  whole  life.  Bums  did  three  such 
acts — ^he  wrote  poetry — ^he  published  it ;  and,  de- 
spairing of  his  farm,  he  became  an  exciseman*  li 
is  trae  he  did  one  impmdent  act ;  and,  I  hope,  the 
young  persons  around  me  will  be  warned  by  it : 
he  took  a  farm,  without  thoroughly  understanding 
the  business  of  farming.  It  does  not  appear  that 
he  wasted  or  lost  any  capital,  except  what  he  threw 
away  in  his  farm.  He  was  unlucky,  but  not  im- 
prudent in  giving  it  up  when  he  did.  Had  he 
held  it  a  little  longer,  the  Bank  Restriction  Act 
would  have  enriched  him  at  the  expense  of  his 
landlord;  but  Bums  was  an  honest  man,  and, 
therefore,  alike  incapable  of  desiring  and  foreseeing 
that  enormous  viUany. 

But  he  was  neglected,  we  are  told.  Neglected  ? 
No  strong  man,  in  good  health,  can  be  neglected, 
if  he  is  tme  to  himself.  For  the  benefit  of  the 
joung,  I  wish  we  had  a  correct  account  of  the 
number  of  persons  who  fail  of  success,  in  a  thou- 
sand that  resolutely  strive  to  do  well.  I  do  not 
think  it  exceeds  one  per  cent.  By  whom  was 
Bums  neglected  ?  Certainly  not  by  the  people  of 
Scotland  :  for  they  paid  him  the  highest  compli- 
ment that  can  be  paid  to  an  author  :  they  bought 
his  book !  Oh,  but  he  ought  to  have  been  pension- 
ed. Pensioned  ?  Cannot  we  think  of  poets  with- 
out thinking  of  pensions?  Are  they  such  poor 
creatures,  that  they  cannot  earn  an  honest  living  ? 
Let  us  hear  no  more  of  such  degrading  and  inso- 
lent nonsense. 
But  he  was  a  drunkard,  it  is  said*    I  do  not 


mean  to  exculpate  him,  when  I  say,  tliat  he  was, 
probably,  no  worse  in  that  respect  than  his  neigh- 
bours ;  for  he  vku  worse  if  he  was  not  better  than 
they,  the  balance  being  against  him  ;  and  his  Al- 
mighty Father  would  not  fail  to  say  to  him,  ''What 
didst  thou  with  the  lent  talent?"  But  drunken- 
ness, in  his  time,  was  the  vice  of  his  country — it  is 
so  still ;  and  if  the  traditions  of  Dumfries  are  to  be 
depended  on,  there  are  allurements  which  Bums 
was  much  less  able  to  resist  than  those  of  the  bot- 
tle ;  and  the  supposition  of  his  frequent  indul- 
gence in  the  crimes  to  which  those  allurements 
lead,  is  incompatible  with  that  of  his  habitual 
drunkenness. 

When  I  was  a  lad,  one  of  my  father's  workmen 
sometimes  sent  me  early  in  Uie  morning  with  a 
quart  potto  a  neighbouring  alehouse,  for  a  jack  of 
what  he  called  ''purl ;"  and  later  in  the  forenoon, 
for  a  pint  of  ale.  Finding,  by  dipping  my  finger 
into  it,  that  the  "purl"  had  a  bitter  taste,  and 
nasty  yellow  shake-up,  I  never  tolled  it;  and 
I  observed  that  my  employer  drank  it  without 
raising  his  eyes  ;  but  always,  before  he  drank  his 
ale,  he  looked  at  me,  suspecting  that  I  had  some  of 
it  in  me.  The  Com  Law  Rhymer,  then,  was  a 
rogue  from  the  beginning  ?  Yes.  But  the  Com 
Law  Rhymer  is  not  a  poet ;  and  if  the  slanderers 
of  genius  would  consider,  that,  although  they  can 
place  no  Hamlets  or  Tam  o'  Shanters  to  the  credit 
of  their  account,  they  certainly  share  with  Shak- 
speare  and  Bums  their  full  proportion  of  the  fault* 
and  failings  of  our  common  humanity,  we  should 
hear  less  about  0x9  Dumfries  Exciseman's  drunk- 
enness, and  the  wrongs  of  the  dowered  Ann  Hatha- 
way. 

But  Bums,  it  is  said,  was  ungrateful  to  his  pa- 
trons. Who  were  they?  The  Tories  of  his  time, 
the  fathers  of  men  who  must  be  clever,  for,  in  our 
days,  they  have  invented  a  new  name  for  rascality, 
calling  themselves  Conservatives.  But  what  did 
those  lords  and  squires  for  him  ?  They  gave  him 
a  job,  a  nasty  one  ;  he  did  the  work,  and  got  the 
wages — with  an  early  grave  in  at  the  bargain.  No, 
no !  He  and  they  understood  each  o^er  right 
well.  He  knew,  and  th^  knew,  that  men  like  them 
are  as  fond  of  men  like  him,  as  robbers  are  of  the 
hangman. 

But  he  was  poUticalfy  imprudent,  we  are  told. 
Now,  I  do  not  Uiink  that  any  man  ought  to  become 
a  martyr,  unless  he  likes  martyrdom  for  its  own 
sake ;  but  they  who  accuse  Bums  of  political  im- 
prudence, take  a  bat's  view  of  Ms  case — he  took 
an  eagle's.  What  should  we  now  care  for  Bums, 
the  honest,  fearless  exciseman,  had  he  been  a 
rhyming  sycophant?  His  family,  I  suspect,  are 
at  this  moment  more  prosperous,  in  the  worldly 
sense  of  the  term,  than  if  he  had  died  a  collector ; 
and  it  is  plain  he  could  not  have  become  one,  with- 
out forfeiting  that  independence  which  binds  our 
hearts  to  him. 

But  I  shall  not  do  justice  to  him,  if  I  do  not  give 
you  his  picture  of  himself,  from  his  letter  to  J.  F. 
Erskine,  Esq.,  written  Idth  April,  I7d3,  just  after 
he  had  narrowly  escaped  being  mined,  by  the  ar- 
bitrary wantonness  of  power ;  especiiJly  as  it  has 
been  blamed  as  mere  bravado  on  the  part  of  Bum^ 


362 


A  LECTURE  ON  COWPER  AND  BURNS, 


by  a  patrician  critic,  who  having  fonnd  himself 
mistaken  and  ridiculous  in  his  infallible  decisions 
on  modem  poetry,  determined  to  try  his  hand  on 
a  poet's  prose.  "  Bums,"  says  the  bard  of  himself, 
'^  was  a  poor  man  from  birth,  and  an  exciseman 
from  necessity ;  but  the  sterling  ore  of  his  worth  no 
poverty  could  debase  ;  and  his  independent  mind 
oppression  might  bend,  but  could  not  subdue. 
Have  not  I,  in  my  children,  a  more  precious  stake 
in  my  country's  welfare,  than  the  richest  dukedom 
in  it  ?  Can  I  look  tamely  on,  and  see  any  machin- 
ation wrest  from  my  boys  their  birthright  ?  Does 
any  man  teU  me,  that  my  efforts  can  be  of  no  ser- 
vice ?  I  tell  him,  that  it  is  on  men  like  me  that  a 
nation  has  to  rest — ^men  who  are  elevated  enough 
to  reason  and  reflect,  yet  low  enough  to  keep  clear 
of  venal  contagion.  I  have  now  drawn  Bums  as 
he  is ;  but  should  any  of  the  persons  in  whose 
hands  is  the  bread  he  eats  get  the  least  knowledge 
of  the  picture,  it  would  ruin  the  poor  bard  for 
ever.'' 

Let  us  now  compare  Bums  and  his  prose,  with 
Dante's  prose,  and  the  writer  of  it.  Dante — some 
of  you  know — a  senator  of  Florence,  corraptly 
driven  from  his  country,  and  robbed  of  his  ample 
possessions,  lived  long  in  banishment,  and  died  in 
exile.  About  the  year  1316,  his  friends  obtained 
his  restoration  to  his  country  and  his  possessions, 
on  condition  that  he  should  pay  a  sum  of  money, 
avow  himself  guilty,  and;ask  pardon  of  his  oppres- 
sors. This  is  his  answer  on  the  occasion,  to  an 
aged  kinsman  whom  he  calls  "  Father."  "  From 
your  letter  I  observe  how  much  you  have  at  heart 
my  welfaro,  and  I  am  bound  to  you  the  more,  be- 
cause an  exile  rarely  finds  a  ^end.  But  I  must, 
by  my  answer,  disappoint  some  little  minds.  Your 
nephew  has  written  to  me,  that  I  am  allowed  to 
return  to  Florence  on  certain  conditions ;  wherein, 
my  Father,  I  see  two  conditions  that  are  ridiculous 
and  impertinent.  I  speak  of  the  impertinence  of 
those  who  mention  such  conditions  to  me ;  for  in 
y<mr  letter  thero  is  no  such  thing.  Is  such  an  in- 
vitation glorious  for  Dante,  after  suffering  in  exile 
almost  fifteen  years  ?  Is  it  thus,  then,  they  would 
recompense  innocence,  labour,  and  unromitting 
study?  Far  from  me  be  the  senseless  baseness  of 
a  beast  of  earth,  that  could  offer  himself  up,  as  it 
wero,  in  chains.  Far  from  the  man  who  cries 
aloud  for  justice,  this  compromise  with  his  perse- 
outors.  No,  my  Father,  this  is  not  the  way  that 
shall  lead  me  back  to  my  country.  But  I  shall 
return  with  hasty  steps,  if  you  can  open  to  me  a 
way  that  shall  not  derogate  from  the  fame  and 
honour  of  Dante ;  but  if  by  no  such  way  Florence 
can  be  entered,  then  shall  I  never  enter  Florence. 
What !  can  I  not  everywhere  enjoy  the  sight  of 
the  sun  and  stars  ?  Can  I  not  contemplate,  in  any 
comer  of  the  earth  under  the  canopy  of  heaven, 
consoling  and  delightful  truths,  without  rendering 
myself  infamous?  Bread,  I  hope,  will  not  fail 
me."  But  bread  did  fail  him.  Every  reader  of 
his  works  must  know,  by  heart,  the  prediction  ad- 
dressed to  him  by  the  shade  of  his  ancestors : — 
"  Thou  shalt  prove  how  bitter  is  the  taste  of  the 
bread  of  others,  how  hard  the  road  up  and  down 
Strangers'  stairs,"    But  there  is  another  passage 


in  which  he  makes  his  readers  shudder,  disoovering 
an  exact  portrait  of  himself  in  a  man,  *'*'  who,  strip- 
ping himself  of  all  shame,  and  trembling  in  Ua 
very  vitals,  places  himself  in  the  public  way,  and 
stretches  out  his  hand  for  charity."  **  By  such 
sacrifices,"  says  the  reviewer,  "he  preserved  hia 
principles,  and  sustained  the  magnanimity  of  his 
character ;"  and  such  are  the  rewards  which,  in  all 
ages,  have  been  paid  to  them  "  who  are  not  of  the 
wretches  who  may  be  said  never  to  have  lived, 
whom  Grod's  justice  disdains  to  punish,  and  his 
merey  to  pardon."  Such,  perhaps,  vnll  mwt  be  the 
rewi^  of  the  prophetic  honesty  of  genius.  Whf 
were  Dante  and  Bums  persecuted  ?  Because  th€j 
saw  farther  than  others ;  and  what  avails  it  to 
them,  if  the|sons  of  their  persecutors  are  instructed 
by  their  graves? 

It  is  melancholy  to  reflect,  that  Bums  died  ftA 
in  time  to  prevent  the  blackness  of  darimess  hom 
receiving  its  foulest  blot — ^he  did  not  live  to  be  fisd 
on  alms,  or  stamped  into  a  dungeon  for  the  erizne 
of  honesty.  But  the  rules  of  this  Institution  pre- 
vent me  from  saying  more,  than  that  he  was  one 
of  the  first  victims  of  the  English  reign  of  terror. 
Merciful  death  would  not  allow  the  merciless  to 
persecute  him  actually  into  the  workhouse;  but 
they  applied  to  him  an  epithet /btoJ  in  those  days, 
and  not  safe  in  these — ^they  proclaimed  him  an 
honest  man!  They  forbade  him  to  hope.  Thej 
appointed  despair  and  wounded  pride  his  Gany- 
mede and  Hebe  ;  and  when  a  man  has  su^  cup- 
bearersy  we  need  not  ask  if  the  liquor  they  fill  is 
poison. 

But  was  there  no  meanness  in  the  pride  of 
Bums  ?  "  Give  me  wit,"  said  he,  "  and  I  am  con- 
tented." The  boon  was  his  in  superabundance,  snd 
he  was  not  contented.  "  Had  I  but  hearkened  to 
good  advice,"  said  he,  **  I  might  by  this  time  hare 
led  a  market."  I  doubt  whether  the  advice  was 
good,  but  if  it  was,  why  did  he  not  lead  a  market  ? 
They  who  lead  markets,  take  the  means.  Instead, 
then,  of  striking  dewdrops  from  the  daisies,  he 
should  have  covered  himself  with'  rust  and  dost,  as 
they  do.  But  why  could  he  not  be  satisfied  with 
the  Muse,  and  poverty,  her  dower  ?  True,  he  did 
not  turn  his  back  on  the  angel  of  his  life  ;  but  he 
repined  because  she  had  not  brought  with  her  from 
heaven — a  clod  of  clay.  Out  of  more  than  two 
hundred  thousand  millions  of  human  beings,  he 
was  an  individual  of  the  few  hundreds  who  ha?e 
won  for  themselves  an  earthly  immortality--«nd 
he  was  dissatisfied  !  Surely,  then,  his  light  was 
not  all  "light  from  heaven."  I  can  imagine  the 
Father  of  Mereies  looking  down  on  him  in  stem 

Whatever  his  faults  might  be,  he  paid  the 
penalty  of  them,  and  left  the  benefit  to  us.  The 
most  valuable  bequest  which  a  man  of  genius  can 
leave  to  posterity,  is  the  legacy  of  his  faults.  G<^ 
I  have  said,  wastes  nothing — no,  not  even  the  efil 
that  men  do.  His  eternal  finger  writes  their  lir^ 
in  their  deeds,  that  we  may  emulate  the  goo^  ^^ 
be  instmcted  by  the  evil.  Bums  was  a  poet,  and 
a  man.  «  The  poet  "—if  I  may  use  the  words  of 
Madame  de  Stael,  the  greatest  man  that  ever^wore 
petticoats — **the  poet  lives  in  his  vorki;*  ^^^ 


THE  TWO  EARLIEST  GREAT  POETS  OP  THE  MODERN  SCHOOL. 


663 


wliere,  in  this  world,  is  the  man  to  be  found,  if  not 
in  our  affectionate  remembrance,  or  in  onr  just  and 
benevolent  appreciation?  Is  he  not  defenceless? 
Hath  he  not  said  to  us,  ^'  Forget  me  not  ?  "  If  the 
Hie  of  the  slandered,  like  Rel^on  itself,  is  a  poem 
which  prosers  have  coyered  with  blots— let  us  not 
foiget  that  the  blots  are  no  part  of  the  poem. 
Whoeyer  thou  art,  then,  that  in  thy  purity  judgest 
thy  brother,  reflect  that  all  other  virtues  in  titiee 
are  worthless,  if  thou  hast  not  charity.  Bums  lies 
before  thee — helphas  and  teif -condemned.  With  the 
manlineiB  which  was  the  comer-stone  of  his  charac* 
ter,  ht  wiote  a  troe  inscription  for  his  own  grave : — 


The  poor  inhabitant  below, 

Was  quick  to  learn,  and  wise  to  know, . 

And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow, 

And  softer  flame  ; 
Bot  thooghtless  folly  laid  him  low, 

And  itained  his  name. 

If,  then,  his  failings  are  recorded  for  eternity,  while 
those  of  other  men  are  written  in  water — ^if  to  err 
is  human — if  the  angels  fell — '^  speak  of  him  as 
he  was,  set  down  nought  in  malice ; "  *^  and  let 
him  who  is  without  sin  among  you,  cast  the  first 
stbne  '*  at  the  grave  of  Robbbt  Bubks. 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES  IN  1841* 


Tms  new  work  of  the  philanthropic  Quaker 
comes  before  the  public  with  the  special  reconpnen- 
dation  that,  in  advocating  the  emancipation  of  the 
blacks,  its  author,  as  is  now  well  known,  does  not 
OTerlook  the  rights  of  the  whites ;  that  he  contends 
for  Tmiyersal  sufirage,  for  equality  of  civil  rights, 
as  well  as  the  abolition  of  slavery.  This  is  only 
eonaiitenoy ;  yet  in  a  member  of  his  quiet  sect,  it 
is  a  great  step  in  advance ;  for  we  would  fain  hope 
that  the  decided  line  of  conduct  taken  by  Joseph 
Stvge  is  an  augury  of  the  opinions  of  nearly  iJie 
whole  body  of  the  Friends,  and  that  his  next  work 
may  be  a  report  of  the  progress  of  Associations 
formed  m  Great  Britain  for  obtaining  the  suffrage. 

With  Mr.  Sturge's  Visit  to  the  West  Indies  many 
of  our  readers  must  be  familiar.  His  recent  visit 
to  the  United  States  had  the  same  object,  **  the 
mverul  dbcUtum  of  slavery ;"  and  one  scarcely 
kas  important  to  mankind,  **  the  promotion  of  per- 
manent intematumal  Peace,"  The  second  object, 
though  never  lost  sight  o^  was  kept  subordinate 
to  the  abolition  mission. 

Arguments  against  the  principle,  and  expositions 
of  the  moral  and  even  economical  ill  consequences  of 
slavery,  are  no  longer  needed  in  Great  Britain ; 
and  even  in  the  United  States,  slavery  is  rarely  now 
tended  on  other  than  narrow,  selfidi,  and  passion- 
ate grounds,  save  as  a  necessary  evil ;  which,  like 
lesser  abuses  in  this  country,  has  grow^  ""  such  a 
magnitude,  and  has  so  intertwined  itself  with  all 
uistitutions  and  interests,  that  it  is  dangerous  to 
touch  it  or  tamper  with  it.  Mr.  Sturge's  work,  there- 
fore, is  necessarily  rather  an  account  of  the  present 
^te  of  opinion  in  America  regarding  slavery,  and 
of  the  leading  abolitionists  and  the  prospects  of 
^^  great  labour,  than  an  argument  against 
slavery  or  an  illustration  of  its  horrible  tendencies, 
^hich  has  surely  become  superfluous. 

Mr.  Sturge  s^ed  in  the  British  Queen  in  March 
1B41.  He  is  a  Tee-totaller,  as  well  as  an  abolition- 
^  and  advocate  of  the  sufirage ;  and  he  notices 
^th  approbation  a  usefol  change  in  the  economy  of 
the  steamers,  by  which  passengers  need  not  pay 
m  more  wine  and  spirits  than  they  choose  to 
^twk;  instead  of  being  tempted  to  drink  to  excess^ 
oecauae  the  liquor  costs  notliing,  its  price  being  in- 

*  By  Joseph  Sturge.  1  vol.  8to.  pp.  215.  Hamilton 
»a  Adams.  .    ^ 


duded  in  the  passage  money.  One  of  the  passen- 
gersy  who  was  the  reverse  of  a  Teetotaller,  addressed 
the  intelligent  black  steward  of  the  vessel  as 
"  Blacky."  "  My  name  is  Robert,"  replied  the 
man.  "  And  when  you  want  anything  from  me, 
please  to  address  me  by  name  :  we  are  all  the  same 
flesh  and  blood ;  I  did  not  make  myself ;  God 
made  me."  The  rebuke  was  felt  by  all  present. 
Mr.  Sturge  found  native  American  slaveholders 
less  bigoted  and  benighted  than  those  Europeans 
who  had  been  inured  to  slavery  by  participating  in 
its  gains,  or  by  a  residence  in  the  slave  States.  A 
French  merchant  of  New  Orleans,  a  passenger  in 
the  steamer,  said,  ''  It  would  be  as  reasonable  to 
class  negroes  with  monkeys  as  to  place  them  on  an 
equality  with  whites." 

Tianding  at  New  York,  the  missionary  proceeded 
from  town  to  town,  indefatigably  pursuing  the 
objects  which  had  taken  him  from  home.  He  went 
as  far  south  as  Washington,  and^  in  the  other 
direction,  he  visited  the  Falls  of  Niagara ;  some- 
times returning  to  places  he  had  already  visited, 
and  often  addressing  public  meetings.  Among  the 
first  persons  he  saw  on  landing  were  Arthur  Tap- 
pan  and  his  brother  Lewis  ;  the  former  said  to  be 
the  most  obnoxious  individual  to  the  pro-slavery 
party  throughout  the  union.  By  this  party  he  is 
regarded  as  Abolition  personified.  And  never  did 
goodness  take  a  more  attractive  form,  if  he  merits 
the  character  here  given  of  him.  These  noble 
brothers  have  lavished  their  ample  resources  in 
promoting  the  cause  of  Abolition,  with  a  munifi- 
cence which,  when  the  ends  in  view  are  compared, 
may  well  put  the  vulgar  magnificence  of  the 
princes  and  magnates  of  Europe  to  shame.  And 
their  personal  labours  seem  to  have  been  as  freely 
given  as  their  money.  Some  yeai*s  since,  Lewis 
Tappan  had  the  ear  of  a  negro  sent  him  by  the 
post,  in  an  insulting  anonymous  letter.  Now,  in 
the  words  of  a  countryman  and  fellow-labourer, 
'^  Lewis  Tappan  has  made  the  whole  nation  look 
the  captives  in  the  fisuse." 

Mr.  Sturge,  besides  giving  the  individuals  whom 
he  saw  face  to  face  the  praise  which  is  their  due, 
adverts  affectionately  to  the  old  abolitionists ;  to 
John  Woolman  and  Anthony  Benbzbt,  those  early 
labourers  who  broke  up  the  fallow-ground,  and 
bore  the  burthen  in  the  heat  of  the  day. 


364 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES  IN  1841. 


From  New  York,  the  missionary  and  his  friend, 
Mr.  Whittier,  went  to  Philadelphia,  where  they 
daily  received  the  supporters  of  the  Anti-Slavery 
cause  at  their  hotel.  Among  other  persons,  they 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Jambs  Forten,  an 
opulent  man  of  colour,  whom  our  readers  may  re- 
member in  Mr.  Ahdy's  Narrative.  Anecdotes  like 
the  following,  should  set  people's  mind  at  rest  on 
the  question  of  the  capture  of  The  Creole.  Surely 
British  authorities,  and  British  subjects  in  a  British 
port,  may  be  justified  in  doing  what  American 
subjects  do  every  day,  namely,  connive  at,  or  assist 
the  escape  of  slaves  to  a  free  country : — 

I  returned  to  New  York  on  the  15th,  in  company  with 
several  anti-slavery  friends.  One  of  these,  Dr.  Bartholo- 
mew Fassell,  resided  on  the  borders  of  the  State  of 
Maryland,  and  had  afforded  relief  and  aid  to  many 
negroes  escaping  from  slavery.  He  had  kept  no  account 
of  the  numbor  thas  assisted  till  last  year,  when  there 
were  thirty-four,  being  fewer  he  thought  than  the  average 
of  several  years  preceding. 

A  sketch  is  given  of  the  rise,  through  many  diffi- 
culties, of  the  Anti-Slavery  party,  and  of  its  various 
Societies ;  and  also  of  the  late  unhappy  dissensions 
which  have  crept  into  it.  One  of  the  causes  of 
difference  is,  the  claim  of  the  women  to  act  pro- 
minently in  the  Associations,  and  to  speak  and 
vote.  George  Fox  seems  to  have  recognised  the 
perfect  equality  of  the  sexes  in  religious,  and  also 
in  civil  matters,  connected  with  church-fellowship 
and  discipline  ;  but  some  of  his  descendants  do  not 
go  so  far,  while  persons  belonging  to  other  sects 
are  openly  opposed  to  what  are  called  "the  women's 
rights."  Now,  the  American  ladies,  and  their  male 
advocates  and  auxiliaries,  appear  to  follow  a  policy 
somewhat  similar  to  that  of  the  English  Chartists. 
They  wish  that  the  Abolition  cause  and  their  rights 
should  advance  hand  in  hand.  They  do  not  choose 
to  be  mere  tools  in  the  hands  of  the  Abolitionists, 
for  any  purpose  however  good.  They  insbt  upon 
independent  action ;  a  direct  voice  in  affairs. 
Whether  the  American  women  and  the  English 
Chartists  have  chosen  their  time  ill,  we  do  not  pre- 
tend to  say.  Many  condemn  both  the  time  chosen 
and  the  objects  sought.  We  are  more  at  liberty 
to  decide  against  the  paltering,  hypocritical  evasion, 
by  which  religious  professors  ensnare  their  own 
souls,  while  they  practise  cruelty  and  injustice. 
Their  sneaking  course  is  contemptible  even  when 
compared  with  the  open,  bold-faced  conduct  of 
the  planters  and  slave-dealers : — 

In  some  of  the  Southern  States  there  are  professing 
Christian  churches  who  permit  slave-holding,  but  dis- 
allow the  selling  of  slaves,  except  with  their  own  con- 
sent. Dr.  Fussell  informed  me  how  this  fair-seeming 
rule  of  discipline  was  frequently  evaded.  First,  a  church 
member  willing  to  turn  his  negroes  into  cash,  begins  by 
making  their  yoke  heavier,  and  their  life  a  burden. 
Next  they  are  thrown  in  the  way  of  decoy  slaves,  be- 
longing to  Woolfolk,  or  some  other  dealer,  who  introduce 
tliemselves  to  the  intended  victims,  for  the  purpose  of 
expatiating  on  the  privileges  enjoyed  by  the  slaves  of 
so  indulgent  a  master  as  theirs  ;  and  thus  the  poor  un- 
happy dupes  would  be  persuaded  to  go  and  petition  to 
be  sold,  and  so  the  rule  of  discipline,  above  cited,  would 
be  literally  complied  with. 

What  the  Tappans  are  to  New  York,  is  Samuel 
Webb  to  Philadelphia.  Nor  do  these  benevolent 
individuals  and  their  fellow  Christians  limit  their 


exertions  to  the  emancipation  of  the  black  race. 
At  the  Yearly  Meeting  in  Philadelphia,  Mr.  Stui^ 
relates — 

I  was  deeply  interested  in  the  statements  made  rela- 
tive to  the  wicked  expatriation  of  the  Indians  liTing 
within  this  Yearly  Meeting's  limits,  by  the  United  States' 
Grovemment,  from  lands  which  had  been  secured  to  them 
by  treaty  in  the  most  solemn  manner,  to  the  Western 
wilderness,  under  plea  of  a  fraudulently-obtained  ceanon 
of  their  lands  by  a  few  of  their  number.  What  greaUj 
aggravates  the  case  is  the  fact,  that  these  Indians  were 
making  rapid  progress  in  civilisation,  and  from  a  nation 
of  hunters  had  generally  become  an  agricultural  people. 
Their  whole  history  is  areproach  and  blot  on  the  American 
Government,  and  shows  either  that  public  and  private 
virtue  amongst  the  people  is  at  a  low  ebb,  or  that  ''the 
wicked  bear  rule."  On  behalf  of  this  ii^ured  people, 
^^  Friends  "  appear  to  have  made  strenuous  efforts,  bat 
have  &iled  in  producing  any  decidedly  favourable  im- 
pression on  the  Government.  The  report  on  this  snbject, 
embodied  a  very  affecting  letter  from  the  chiefs  of  thii 
tribe,  describing  their  grief  and  distress  at  the  prospeet 
of  a  cruel  removal  from  the  homes  of  their  anceston. 

The  appeals  of  the  Indians  are  heart-rending. 
Their  lost  hope  seems  to  be  placed  in  the  followers 
of  the  faith  of  William  Penn.  One  of  their  com- 
munications states : — 

**  Although  the  information  of  the  ratification  of  the 
treaty  is  distressing  to  us,  yet  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  hear 
from  you,  and  to  learn  that  you  still  remember  us  in  our 
troubles,  and  are  disposed  to  advise  and  assist  us.  The 
intelligence  of  the  confirmation  of  the  treaty,  caiued 
many  of  our  women  to  shed  tears  of  sorrow.  We  are 
sensible  that  we  stand  in  need  of  the  advice  of  onr 
friends.  Our  minds  are  unaltered  on  the  subject  of  emi- 
gration." Another,  dated  Cold  Spring,  Twelfth  Month, 
8th,  1840,  holds  this  language  :  ^  Brothers,  we  cratinue 
to  feel,  relative  to  the  treaty,  as  we  have  ever  felt.  We 
cannot  regard  it  as  an  act  of  our  nation,  or  hold  it  to  he 
binding  on  us.  We  still  consider,  tha^  in  justice,  the 
land  is  at  this  time  as  much  our  own  as  ever  it  was. 
We  have  done  nothing  to  forfeit  our  right  to  it ;  and 
have  come  to  a  conclusion,  to  remain  upon  it  as  long  as 
we  can  enjoy  it  in  peace."  "  We  trust  in  the  Great 
Spirit :  to  Him  we  submit  our  cause." 

A  letter  from  the  Senecas  residing  at  Tonawanda,was 
addressed  to  the  Committee,  fh>m  which  the  following 
extracts  are  taken  : — 

*'  It  is  known  to  you,  brothers,  that  at  different  times 
our  people  have  been  induced  to  cede,  by  stipalated 
treaties,  to  the  government  of  the  United  States,  varioos 
tracts  of  our  territory,  until  it  is  so  reduced,  that  it 
barely  affords  us  a  home.  We  had  hoped  by  these 
liberal  concessions  to  secure  the  quiet  and  unmolested 
possession  of  this  small  residue,  but  we  have  abundant 
reason  to  fear  that  we  have  been  mistaken.  The  agent 
and  surveyor  of  a  company  of  land  speculators,  known 
as  the  Ogden  Company,  have  been  on  here  to  lay  ont 
our  land  into  lots,  to  be  sold  f^m  us  to  the  whites.  We 
have  protested  against  it,  and  have  forbidden  their  pro- 
ceeding  The  friends  who  have 

for  several  years  resided  at  Tunesassah,  still  continue  to 
occupy  the  farm,  and  have  charge  of  the  saw  and  grist 
mills,  and  other  improvements.  The  fkrm  during  the 
past  year,  has  yielded  about  thirty-five  tons  of  bay,  two 
hundred  bushels  of  potatoes,  one  hundred  bushels  of 
oats,  and  one  hundred  bushels  of  apples.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  unsettlement  produced  by  the  treaty  daring  the 
past  season,  the  Indians  have  raised  an  adequate  sap- 
ply  of  provisions  to  keep  them  comfortably  during  the 
year  ;  and  they  manifest  an  increased  desire  to  avoid  the 
use  of  ardent  spirits,  and  to  have  their  children  edu- 
cated. 

It  is  of  no  arail.  The  decree  has  gone  forth. 
Near  Philadelphia,  Mr.  Stui^  saw  a  mansion 
which  should  act  as  a  warning-post  to  slaTe- 
owners ;— • 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES  IN  1841. 


365 


My  kind  host,  Samnel  Webb,  who  accompanied  me, 
pointed  ont  a  plot  of  land,  presented  by  William  Penn 
to  a  friend,  to  enable  him  to  keep  a  cow,  which  is  now 
worth  many  hundred  thousand  dollars  for  building  pur- 
poses. He  also  showed  me  a  mansion,  the  late  proprietor 
of  which  had  receiTed  a  large  accession  of  wealth  from 
the  qnantities  of  plate  which  had  been  shipped  to  him  in 
cofee  barrels  from  St.  I>omingo,  on  the  eve  of  the  reyolu- 
tion  in  that  Island,  and  whose  owners  are  supposed  to 
hare  sobseqaently  perished,  as  they  neyer  appeared,  with 
one  solitary  exception,  to  claim  their  property. 

Besides  actual  slayery,  the  illegal  seizure  and 
detention  of  free  people  of  colonr  as  slaves,  is  of 
frequent  occnrrence  in  all  the  Slave  States.  While 
Mr.  Stm^  was  at  Baltimore,  one  of  these  flagrant 
cases  was  of  recent  occurrence  : — 

A  woman,  who  was  the  wife  of  a  tree  man,  and  the 
Bother  of  four  children,  and  who  had  long  believed  her- 
self legally  free,  was  claimed  by  the  heir  of  her  former 
Btster.  Tk<)  case  was  tried,  and  his  right  of  property 
ia  her  and  i  er  chfldren  affirmed.  He  then  sold  the 
ftmOy  to  a  sU.ye  dealer  for  a  thousand  doUars  ;  of  whom 
the  hnsband  of  the  woman  re-purchased  them,  (his  own 
wife  and  children,)  for  eleven  hundred  dollars,  to  repay 
which  he  bound  himself  to  labour  for  the  person  from 
whom  it  was  borrowed,  for  tweke  years.  Yet  this  is 
but  a  mitigated  instuice  of  oppression  in  this  Ckrittian 
eoontry. 

In  the  same  city,  the  Roman  Catholics,  who, 
as  a  secty  are  less  tainted  with  the  crime  of  slave- 
holding  than  any  of  the  other  religious  denomina- 
tions, with  the  exception  of  the  Quakers,  sold 
wreitd  of  their  fellow  church-members,  and 
piously  applied  the  proceeds  to  the  erection  of  a 
chapel ;  the  end,  perhaps,  justifying  the  means, 
b  this  State,  Maryland,  the  Quakers  scarcely 
form  an  exception.  They  have  left  off  petitioning 
the  Legislature  for  the  abolition  of  the  internal 
ttade,  and  the  Yearly  Meeting  advises  **  Friends" 
to  keep  aloof  from  the  Anti-slavery  societies.  They 
aw,  in  fact,  overborne  by  the  tyranny  of  opinion. 
It  is  not  to  the  honour  of  the  New  Light  Quakers, 
the  Hicksites,  that  they  are  not  found  so  active 
as  abolitionists  as  the  old  Orthodox  Friends. 

In  the  Philadelphia  societies,  the  women  have 
trimnphantly  carried  their  point,  and  now  act  the 
same  part  as  the  men  in  all  public  discussions,  and 
Tote  with  them, — a  woman's  vote  having  the  same 
weight  as  aman's.  These  societies  have  openly  con- 
demned the  ungallant  conduct  of  the  late  London 
Anti-slavery  Convention,  which  refused  to  receive 
the  female  American  delegates.    Those  members 
of  the  House  of  Commons  who  resisted  Mr.  Grant- 
^y  Berkeley's  motion  for  admitting  ladies  to  be 
spectators  at  the  debates,  were  in  Qie  right.    If 
the  women  had  once  been  allowed  to  listen,  their 
next  daim  would  have  been  the  liberty  of  speech, 
*nd  the  right  of  voting.    Mr.  Sturge,  whom  some 
Joay  charge  with  being  scrupulous  overmuch,  with 
"^^^uiing  at  gnats,  would  not  even  witness  the 
proceedings  of  any  of  the  societies  where  the 
women  play  the  same  part  as  the  men  ;  and  all 
^^  of  Philadelphia  are  now  of  the  mixed  sort, 
>gauist  whom  Mr.  Stuige  felt  it  his  duty  to  silently 
testify. 

^^^iile  he  was  in  America,  the  Mendian  negroes, 
^^^  on  hoard  the  Amistad  were,  under  the 
JJJ^c«B  of  the  abolitionists,  making  a  progress 
™tt  place  to  place  to  forward  the  good  cau»e» 


The  account  given  of  these  untutored  and  unde* 
based  Africans  is  replete  with  interest  and  beauty. 
Many  of  the  traits  of  native  character  revealed  are 
indeed  noble. 

One  of  the  most  pleasing  of  the  incidents  during 
the  residence  in  Philadelphia  is  the  following : — 

One  evening  during  my  stay,  I  took  tea  with  twelve 
or  fifteen  coloured  gentlemen,  at  the  house  of  a  coloured 
fkmily.  The  refined  manners  and  great  intelligence  of 
many  of  them  wonld  have  done  credit  to  any  society. 
The  whites  have  a  monopoly  of  prejudice,  but  not  a 
monopoly  of  intellect ;  nor  of  education  and  accomplish- 
ments ;  nor  even  of  those  more  trivial,  yet  fascinating 
graces  which  throw  the  charm  of  elegance  and  refine- 
ment over  social  life.  I  found  from  the  conversation  I 
had  with  my  coloured  friends,  on  different  occasions, 
that  the  prejudice  against  them  was  steadily,  and  not 
very  slowly,  giving  way;  yet  several  instances  were 
mentioned,  of  recent  occurrence,  which  show  that  it  is 
still  strong.  ....  A  lady,  not  of  the  proscribed 
class,  who  has  long  resided  in  New  York,  mentioned  to 
me  as  a  marked  indication  of  a  favourable  change  in  re- 
gard to  colonr,  the  holding  of  such  meetings  as  those  at 
which  the  Amitkid  captives  were  introduced.  Such  an 
exhibition,  instead  of  causing  a  display  of  benevolent 
interest  among  all  classes,  would,  some  years  ago,  have 
excited  tiie  malignant  passions  of  the  multitude,  and  pro- 
bably caused  a  popular  out-break.  Another  sign  of  the 
times  was,  that  white  and  coloured  children  might  be 
seen  walking  in  procession  without  distinction,  on  the 
anniversaries  of  the  charity  schools. 

In  going,  by  steam,  up  the  Hudson  from  New 
York  to  Albany,  Mr.  Sturge  met  with  a  couple 
whose  history,  without  the  fraud  practised  upon 
them,  is,  we  hope,  that  of  thousands  in  every 
year: — 

As  night  drew  on,  and  the  deck  began  to  be  cleared, 
I  observed  a  well-dressed  black  man  and  woman  sitting 
apart,  and  supposing  they  could  not  obtain  berths  on  ac- 
count of  their  colour,  I  went  and  spoke  to  them.  I  told 
them  I  and  several  others  on  board  were  abolitionistp* 
The  man  then  informed  us  they  were  escaping  from 
slavery,  and  had  left  their  homes  little  more  than  two 
days  before.  They  appeared  very  intelligept,  though 
they  could  neither  read  nor  write,  and  described  to  us 
how  they  had  effected  their  escape.  They  had  obtained 
leave  to  go  to  a  wedding,  from  which  they  were  not  ex- 
pected to  return  till  the  evening  of  the  day  following. 
Having  procured  forged  certificates  of  Aceedom,  for  which 
they  paid  twenty-five  dollars  each,they  came  forward  with 
expedition  by  railway  and  steam-boat.  They  had  heard 
of  emancipation  in  the  British  West  Indies,  and  the 
efforts  of  the  abolitiomsts  in  the  States,  but  they  were 
unacquainted  with  the  existence  of  vigilance  committees, 
to  fikcilitate  the  escape  of  runaway  slaves.  We  assisted 
them  to  proceed  to  the  house  of  a  relative  of  one  of  our 
party,  out  of  the  tract  of  the  pursuer,  should  they  be  fol- 
lowed. There  is  Uttle  doubt  that  they  have  safely 
readied  Canada,  for  I  was  told  at  Albany,  public  opinion 
had  become  so  strong  in  favour  of  self-emancipation, 
that  if  a  runaway  were  seized  in  the  city,  it  is  probable 
he  would  be  rescued  by  the  people. 

And  the  Americans  will  vapour  about  ne  Creole  ! 

In  the  different  towns  which  Mr.  Sturge  vi8ite<?, 
there  were  usually  either  great  private  tea-drinkisg 
parties  to  meet  him,  or  formal  assemblies,  which 
he  generally  addreraed  in  advocacy  of  the  cause 
which  had  brought  him  across  the  Atlantic.  He 
lifts  up  his  testimony  against  Henry  Clay,  con« 
eluding  with  a  very  severe  remark.  It  was  to 
Mr.  Clay  that  J.  J.  Gumey  addressed  his  late 
work,  a  series  of  letters  on  the  West  Indies. 
Of  that  work  the  great  argument  is^  that  the  pnn 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  tNITED  STATES  IN  1841. 


sperity  of  the  planters  themselyes  has  been  pro- 
moted by  emancipation.]  Mr.  Sturge  concludes : — 

If  J.  J.  Gamey  could  hare  shown  that  abolitioa  would 
soon  be  the  high  road  to  the  President's  chair,  it  is  not 
Improbable  that  he  would  haye  made  an  illustrious  con- 
Tert  to  anti-slayery  principles. 

If  Clay  acted  from  motiyes  of  unworthy  ambi- 
tion, and  against  his  own  conyictions,  he  richly 
deseryed  the  fate  he  met, — that  fall  between  two 
stools,  which  he  will  neyer,  in  all  likelihood^  re- 
coyer. 

The  Temperance  cause  has  made  such  progress 
in  the  Northern  States,  that  at  some  of  the  princi- 
pal hotels  no  fermented  liquors  are  now  to  be  ob- 
tained. Nay,  in  some  places,  mistaking  the  reyerse 
of  wrong  for  right,  no  person  is  allowed  to  seU 
wine  or  spirits ;  the  objects  of  persecution  not 
being  now  in  New  England,  alleged  witches  and 
(iui^ers,  but  people  of  colour  and  beer-sellers. 
This  is  an  improyement.  Mr.  Sturge  bears  testi- 
mony to  the  complete  efficacy  of  fiie  Voluntary 
principle,  in  fully  proyiding  the  means  of  religious 
instructbn.     Of  Worcester  he  remarks : — 

In  common  with  the  rest  of  New  England,  this  town 
is  remarkable  fbr  the  number,  size,  and  beauty  of  its 
places  of  worship.  I  calculated,  with  the  aid  of  a  well- 
informed  inhabitant,  that  if  the  entire  population  were 
to  go  to  a  place  of  worship,  at  the  same  hour,  in  the  same 
day,  there  would  be  ample  accommodation,  and  room  to 
spare.  Yet  here  there  is  no  compulsory  tax  to  build 
diurches  and  maintain  ministers.  By  the  efficacy  of 
the  yoluntary  principle  alone  is  this  state  of  things  pro- 
duced. 

Some  of  the  tee-totallers  of  America  now  go 
much  fEuiher  than  Te^-totalism.  The  eloquent 
sisters,  Angelina  and  Sarah  Grimke,  are  well 
known  in  the  history  of  the  Abolition  Moyement. 
Angelina  has  married  Theodore  Weld,  who  was  an 
Abolition  Missionary  until  he  lost  his  yoioe,  and  is 
a  writer  against  slayery.  Mr.  Sturge  yisited  this 
£&mily,  who  liye  on  a  small  farm  near  Newark,  in 
the  State  of  New  York,  and  of  Mr.  Weld  he  re- 
ites: — 

He  has  found  seyere  manual  labour  essential  fbr  the 
recoyery  of  health,  broken  by  labour  of  another  kind.  I 
foond  him  at  work  on  his  farm,  driring  his  own  waggon 
and  oxen,  with  a  load  of  rails.  When  he  had  disposed 
of  his  freight,  we  mounted  the  waggon,  and  droye  to  his 
home.  Two  or  three  of  his  fellow-students  at  the  Lane 
Seminary  arriyed  about  the  same  time,  and  we  spent  the 
day  in  agreeable,  and,  I  trust,  profitable  intercourse.  In 
the  household  arrangements  of  this  distinguished  fiunily. 
Dr.  Graham's  dietetic  system  is  rigidly  adopted,  which 
excludes  meat,  butter,  ooffBC,  tea,  and  all  intoxicating 
beyerages.  I  can  assure  all  who  may  be  interested  to 
know,  that  this  Roman  simplicity  of  Uying  does  not  for- 
bid enjoyment,  when  the  guest  can  sha^  with  it  the 
affluence  of  such  minds  as  daily  meet  at  their  table. 
The  ^  Graham  system,"  as  it  is  called,  numbers  many 
adherents  in  America,  who  are  decided  in  its  praise. 

My  friends,  Theodore  D.  and  Angelhia  Weld,  and 
Sarah  Grimke,  sympathise,  to  a  considerable  extent,  with 
the  yiews  on ''  women's  rights,"  held  by  one  section  of 
abolitionists ;  yet  they  deeply  regret  Uiat  this,  or  any 
other  extraneous  doctrine,  should  have  been  made  an 
a^le  of  discord. 

Where  is  ascetism  to  stop?  Temperance,  nay. 
Total  Abstinence,  will  soon  be  so  common  as  to 

afford  no  mark  of  distinction. While  trayelling 

to  Auburn  by  the  railroad,  one  of  Mr.  Sturge's 


fellow-passengers  chanced  to  be  a  soldier,  who  had 
volunteered  to  serye  in  the  reyolt  of  the  Texians  : — 

He  stated  that  some  planters  were  emigrating  firom 
Mississippi,  with  as  many  as  two  hundred  ^  hands,"  (tiiat 
is,  slaves,)  and  plainly  said  it  was  intended  to  pluit  the 
Anglo-Saxon  flag  on  the  walls  of  Mexico.  If  half  what 
he  asserted  was  true,  the  worst  apprehensions  of  the 
abolitionists  are  too  likely  to  be  realized  by  the  Texian 
revolution,  and  the  establishment  of  a  new  slave-holdfaig 
power  on  the  vast  territory,  claimed  by  that  piratical 
band  of  robbers,  and  forming  the  Sonth-westem  frontier 
of  the  United  States. 

Of  this  young  Republic  yery  severe  things  mre 
said;  and,  we  are  sorry  to  think,  with  but  too 
much  apparent  justice. 

The  people  of  England  haye  been  accustomed 
to  hear  the  praises  of  Sing  Sing  prison,  and  its 
wonderful  modes  of  reforming  discipline,  eyer  since 
we  can  remember.  Now  Sing  Sing  seems  to  be 
at  length  approximating  to  what  it  has  long  pre- 
tended to  be,  a  well-conducted  penitentiary  : — 

I  gathered  firom  the  prisoners  themselves  that  a  great 
change  had  been  introduced,  both  in  the  sAurs  and  in 
the  management  of  the  prison,  within  the  last  eighteen 
months,by  the  present  excellent  superintendent  and  chap- 
lain and  tiieir  coa4Jutors,  and  with  the  happiest  eflbcta. 
The  former  system  was  one  of  brutal  severity;  now, 
without  any  relaxation  of  discipline,  needless  severity  is 
discarded,  and  the  floggings  have  been  reduced  nine- 
tenths,  the  great  object  l^ing  the  relbrmation  of  the 
prisoners.  <^e  of  these  speaking  of  the  superintendent 
and  chaplain,  said — ^  There  was  not  a  prisoner  in  the 
jail,  but  rejoiced  to  hear  the  sound  of  their  feet." 

The  dietary  of  this  prison  may  well  make  the 
mouths  of  our  home-labourers  water.  This  ac- 
count of  one  day,  which  represents  eyery  day, 
all  being  alike  monotonous,  was  given  to  3ir. 
Sturge  by  <ui  Englishman,  whom  he  found  a 
prisoner : — 

^  Monday  morning  the  large  prison  bell  rings  at  fire 
o'clock,  when  we  all  rise ;  ha&  an  hour  alter,  we  all  go 
out  to  work  to  our  respective  shops,  till  breakfast;  the 
keepers  all  the  time  seated  upon  a  high  seat,  overlooking 
— seemg  that  everything  is  ordered  and  going  cm  is  a 
proper  manner :  no  talldng  allowed  npon  any  occasion, 
or  under  any  pretence  whatever. — ^When  the  breakfast* 
bell  rings,  we  all  go  in  to  breakfast,  each  one  to  a  separate 
room,  (which  are  all  numbered,  one  thousand  in  all ;) 
every  man's  breakfiist  is  ready  for  him  in  his  room,— 
one  pint  of  eoSse,  with  plenty  of  meat,  potatoes,  and  rye 
bread.  After  one  hour,  the  prison  opens  again,  and  we 
work  in  a  similar  manner  till  twelve — dinner  hour — when 
we  go  in  again.  Dinner  is  set  ready  as  before— an 
ample  quantity  of  meat,  potatoes,  and  bread,  with  a  cup 
of  water  (the  best  beterage  in  the  world — wonld  to  God 
I  had  never  drank  anyth&g  else,  and  I  should  not  have  { 
been  here :)  one  hour  allowed  for  dinner,  when  we  go 
out  and  work  again  till  six  o'clock,  when  we  come  in 
and  are  locked  up  for  the  night,  with  a  large  bowl  of 
mush,  (hasty  pudding  with  molasses,)  the  finest  fbod  in 
the  world,  made  firom  Indian  meal.  Thus  passes  ea«b 
day  of  the  week.  Sundays  we  rise  at  the  same  boor; 
each  man  has  a  dean  shirt  given  him  in  his  room,  tbea 
goes  to  the  kitchen,  brings  his  breakfast  in  with  him, 
the  same  as  before,  and  is  locked  up  till  eight,  when 
Divine  service  is  performed  by  a  most  worthy  and  able 
chaplain.  After  service,  through  the  pious  and  bencto- 
lent  efforts  of  Mr.  Seymour,  we  have  an  exoeUeat  Sab- 
bath School.  Bible  classes,  where  fW>m  three  to  fenr 
hundred  attend,  about  half  to  learn  to  read,  and  the 
others  to  receive  instruction  in  the  way  to  attafai  c^«r" 
lasting  lifb,  under  the  immediate  inspection  of  Mr.  Sey- 
mour; and  I  am  happy  to  say,  that  the  greatest  atten- 
tion is  paid  by  scholars  of  both  classes :  Biany,  "fJ 
many>  know  how  to  appreciate  the  yalue  of  these  priTi- 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES  IN  1841. 


367 


leges,  and  benefit  by  them  apcordingly.  Mr.  Seymour 
htf  obtained  a  large  library  for  us,  and  one  of  the  pri- 
soners is  librarian.  At  eleven  o'clock  we  are  locked  np  for 
the  day,  with  an  extra  allowance  of  food  and  water  suf- 
ficient The  Ubiarian  and  an  assistant  are  left  open,  to 
distribute  the  books ;  that  is  to  go  to  each  man's  cell, 
get  the  book  he  had  the  preyious  Sunday,  and  giro  him 
another  in  exchange^  generally  supplying  them  with  a 
snuill  tract.  .  .  .  A  number  of  the  female  domestics 
in  different  fiamilies  in  the  village  of  Sing  Sing  have  been 
priMners,  and  are  now  reformed  and  generally  conduct- 
ing themseWes  to  the  entire  satisfiftction  of  their  em- 
ployers. 

Mr.  StoTge  limited  himself  so  strictly  to  the 
objects  of  his  mission,  that  we  find  few  obserra- 
lions  on  general  topics  or  passing  events  ;  but  the 
few  that  occur  are  valuable,  either  from  relating  to 
objects  of  utility,  or  containing  hints  for  social  im- 
prorements.  Among  these  are  his  remarks  on  the 
management  of  Railways  in  the  United  States. 
In  one  place  he  says  : — 

Salem  is  a  town  of  about  fourteen  thousand  inhabi- 
tuta,  and  I  was  told  that  the  number  of  its  population 
who  went  and  returned  to  and  fh>m  Boston,  a  distanee 
of  fourteen  miles,  weekly,  was  about  flve  hundred — a 
striking  proof  of  the  loeomotiye  energy  of  the  Americans. 
Their  gratilleation,  in  this  respeot,  has  been  much  ftieili- 
tated  of  late  by  the  rapid  extension  of  railways.  These, 
with  few  exceptions,  are  by  no  means  so  completely  oon- 
Btnicted  as  in  England  ;  but,  owing  to  the  cheapness 
of  land,  timber,  ^.,  and  by  making  the  lines  generally 
nngle,and,  on  the  average,  the  speed  of  travellmg  being 
about  one-fourth  leas  thui  is  common  in  England,  they 
snswer  the  purpose  of  rapid  transit,  while  the  outlay  is 
about  as  many  dollars  per  mile,  as  it  is  sovereigns  vrith 
OS.  On  this  railway,  and  some  others  in  New  England, 
the  lines  are  double,  and  the  construction  and  speed  is 
neariy  equal  to  ours. 

I  was  informed  the  proportion  of  severe  accidents  is 
not  larger  than  in  Great  Britain.  The  carriages  are 
generally  built  to  hold  sixty  or  seventy  persons,  who  are 
•eated  two  and  two,  one  behind  another,  on  double  rows 
jf  wats,  ranged  across  the  carriage,  with  room  to  walk 
between,  along  the  centre.  The  carriage  in  which  we 
returned  firom  Salem,  had  twenty-two  seats  on  each 
nde,  to  contain  two  each,  or,  in  the  whole,  eighty-eight 
P^nengers.  Yet  the  weight  of  this  machine  would  be 
little  more  than  that  of  an  English  fixyt-claas  carriage,  to 
bold  eighteen  persons,  and  its  cost  probably  less.  Their 
^vriages  are  well  ventilated  in  summer,  and  warmed  by 
a  stove  in  winter.  Locomotive  engines  approach  Bos- 
ton near  enough  to  prevent  the  use  of  horses  ;  but,  on 
^▼ing  at  the  distance  of  a  mile  or  two  from  New 
J^ork,  Philadelphia,  and  Baltimore,  the  oariages  and 
^^Bengersare  drawn  in  by  horses.  One  carriage  is 
often  specially  reserved  for  the  ladies  on  the  principal 
unes,  into  which  gentlemen  do  not  usually  intrude,  un- 
J^  they  have  la^es  under  their  care.  It  is  common, 
bowever,  for  the  latter  to  take  their  seats  in  any  of  the 
^^''i^es.  There  is  no  distinction  of  price,  and  none  of 
^^^^^^Bunodation,  except  that  an  inferior  and  more  expos- 
ed carriage,  at  the  tame  fare,  is  purposely  provided  for 
P^wons  of  colour ;  but  this  disgraceful  relic  of  past  times 
^*w»ot  sorvive  long. 

In  the  obeeryatums  upon  the  highly  comfortable 
physical  condition  of  the  manufacturers  of  Lawell, 
and  their  moral  and  intellectual  superiority,  this 
P*M«ge  occurs : — 

Bendes  the  general  prosperity  of  the  operatives,  the 
"nueholders  in  the  different  corporations,  divide  from 
^pt  to  fifteen  per  cent,  per  annum  on  their  capitaL 
rhe  inquiry  naturally  suggests  itself,  why  the  state  of 
tmngs  in  the  manufacturing  districts  of  Great  Britain 
^^beso  widely  different  from  this  I  Some  may 
■^M^r  themselves  by  recollecting,  that  England  is 
*n  eld  and  America  a  young  country ;  though,  to  my 


mind,  this  affords  no  reasonable  explanation  of  the  con- 
trast— since,  from  the  possession  of  surplus  capital,  com- 
plete machinery,  and  facility  of  communication,  &c., 
the  advocates  for  eommeroe  and  manufaeturei,  under  a 
system  of  perfectly  unrestricted  exchange,  must  pre- 
ponderate greatly  in  favour  of  the  former.  But  what- 
ever the  solution  of  the  difficulty,  it  is  quite  evident  that 
the  statesman  who  would  elevate  the  moraJ  standard  of 
our  working  population,  must  begin  by  removing  the 
physical  depression  and  destitution  in  which  a  large 
proportion  of  them,  without  any  fault  of  their  own,  are 
compelled  to  drag  out  a  weary  and  almost  hopeless  ex- 
istence. To  some  peculiarly  constituted  minds,  "  over- 
production'* is  the  explanation  of  the  present  appalling 
distresses  of  this  country  ;  and  what  they  are  pleased  to 
consider  a  healthy  state  of  things,  is  to  be  restored  by  a 
diminution  of  production  ^— yet  nothing  is  more  certain, 
than  that  the  largest  amount  of  production  which  has 
ever  been  reached,  is  not  more  than  adequate  to  supply 
our  increasing  population  with  the  necessaries  of  life,  on 
even  a  very  limited  scale  of  comfort.  A  diminished  pro- 
duction implies  the  starving  down  of  the  population  to 
such  a  diminished  number,  as  may  obtain  leave  to  toil, 
and  leave  to  subsist,  from  legislators,  who,  either  in 
ignorance  or  selfishness,  set  aside  nature's  laws,  and 
disregard  the  plainly  legible  ordinances  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence. If  we  reflect  on  the  part  which  commerce  is 
made  to  perform  in  the  moral  government  of  the  world, — 
on  the  one  hand  as  the  bond  of  peace  between  poweifhl 
nations,  by  creating  a  perpetual  interchange  of  temporal 
benefits  ;  and,  on  the  other,  as  the  channel  for  the  diffu- 
sion of  blessings  of  an  intellectual  and  spiritual  kind  ; 
we  are  conducted  irresistibly  to  the  conclusion,  that  any 
arbitrary  intervention  of  its  free  course,  must  draw  down 
its  own  punishment. 

Though  the  lavfs  of  nature  may  not  permit  the  limited 
soil  of  this  country  to  grow  food  enough  for  its  teeming 
population,  yet,  while  Great  Britain  possesses  minenS 
wealth,  abundant  capital,  and  the  largest  amount  of 
skilled  industry  of  any  nation  in  the  worldJHhe  tributary 
supplies  of  other  countries  would  not  only  satisfy  our 
present  wants,  but  would,  1  firmly  believe,  with  an  un- 
fettered commerce,  raise  our  working  population,  the 
most  numerous  and  by  far  the  most  important  psLrt  of 
the  community,  to  the  same  level  of  prosperity  as  the 
same  class  in  the  United  States.  Then  would  there  be 
more  hope  for  the  success  of  efforts  to  elevate  the  stan- 
dard of  moral  and  intellectual  cultivation  among  them, 
for,  as  an  improveable  material,  they  are  no  way  infe- 
rior to  any  population  upon  earth. 

What  obstructs  this  ? 

We  may  infer,  that  Mr.  Stuige  saw  nothing  to 
alarm  him  at  the  extension  of  the  suffrage  in 
America ;  but  the  very  reverse,  since  his  active 
advocacy  of  Complete  Suffrage  takes  date  from  the 
period  of  his  return  to  England.  May  it  go  on 
and  prosper  unto  the  end  I  And  can  the  working 
people  of  this  country  hear  this  excellent  man's 
testimony  to  the  happiness  enjoyed  by  their  brethren 
in  America,  without  striving,  with  the  most  earnest 
endeavours,  to  better  their  own  condition  ? 

From  the  summing  up  of  Mr.  Stuige's  report,  we 
shall  copy  a  paragraph  or  two,  commending  them 
to  the  best  attention  of  those  who  may  not  be  able 
to  procure  a  sight  of  the  original  work. 

Whether  I  consider  the  religious,  the  benevolent,  or 
tiie  literary  institutions  of  the  Northern  States — ^whe- 
ther I  contemplate  the  beauty  of  their  cities,  or  the  ge- 
neral aspect  of  their  fine  country,  in  which  nature 
everywhere  is  seen  rendering  her  rich  and  free  tribute 
to  industry  and  skill— H>r  whether  I  regard  the  general 
comfort  and  prosperity  of  the  labouring  population — my 
admiration  is  strongly  excited,  and,  to  do  justice  to  my 
feelings,  must  be  strongly  expressed.  Probably  there 
is  no  country  where  the  means  of  temporal  happiness 
are  so  generally  diifhsed,  notwithstanding  the  constant 


368 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES  IN  1841. 


flow  of  emigrants  from  the  old  world  ;  and,  I  believe 
tiiere  is  no  country  where  the  means  of  religions  and 
moral  improvement  are  so  abundantly  provided — where 
facilities  of  education  are  more  within  the  reach  of  all — 
or  where  there  is  less  of  extreme  poverty  and  destitution. 
As  morals  have  an  intimate  connexion  with  politics, 
I  do  not  think  it  out  of  place  here  to  record  my  convic- 
tion, that  the  great  principle  of  popular  control,  which 
is  carried  out  almost  to  its  full  extent  in  the  f^eo  States, 
is  not  only  beautiful  in  theory,  but  that  it  is  found  to 
work  well  in  practice.  It  is  true,  that  disgraceful 
scenes  of  mob  violence  and  Lynch-law  have  occurred  ; 
but  perhaps  not  more  frequently  than  popular  outbreaks 
in  Great  Britain  ;  while,  generally,  the  supremacy  of 
law  and  order  have  been  restored,  without  troops,  or 
special  commissions,  or  capital  punishments.  It  is  also 
true,  that  these  occurrences  are,  for  the  most  part,  di- 
rectly traceable,  not  to  the  celebrated  declaration  of  the 
equal  and  inalienable  right  of  all  men  to  life,  liberty, 
and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  which  is  the  fundamental 
principle  of  the  constitution ;  but  to  the  flagrant  viola- 
tion of  that  principle  in  the  persons  of  the  coloured  popu- 
lation  On  the  subject  of 

peace,  my  inquiries  elicited  an  almost  uniformly  favour- 
able response.  If  we  except  those  who  would  encourage 
the  war  spirit,  firom  hopes  of  sharing  in  the  plunder,  or 
those  to  whom  it  would  open  up  the  path  to  distinction 
and  emolument,  there  are  very  few  comparatively  who 
do  not  desire  the  maintenance  of  peace.  In  the  religious 
part  of  the  community,  there  is  a  rapidly  spreading  con- 
viction of  the  unchristian  character  of  war,  in  every 
shape  ;  and  the  President,  in  his  late  Message  to  Con- 


gress, in  stating  that  "  the  time  ought  to  be  regarded  as 
having  gone  by,  when  a  resort  to  arms  is  to  be  esteemed 
as  the  only  proper  arbiter  of  national  differences/'  hu 
expressed  the  sentiments  of  the  great  bulk  of  intelligent 
Americans.  I  believe,  also,  that  they  are  very  ready  to 
assent  to  any  reasonable  and  practical  measure,  thai 
should  preclude  the  probability  of  an  appeal  to  arms,  or 
of  keeping  up  what  are  absurdly  called  **  peace  estab- 
lishments*' of  standing  armies  and  appointed  fleets  for 
the  protection  of  the  national  safety  or  honour.  The 
late  excitements  on  the  Boundary  and  M'Leod  qaes- 
tions,  were  confined  to  comparatively  flew  of  the  popula- 
tion, and  the  report  of  them  was  magnified  by  distance. 
But  a  far  stronger  guarantee  for  the  permanence  of 
international  peace  than  any  treaties,  will  be  found  in 
the  interchange  of  the  mutual  benefits  of  commerce. 
And  for  this  reason,  he  who  is  successful  in  promoting 
a  f^ree  and  unchecked  commerce,  is  the  benefoctor,  not 
of  his  own  country  alone,  but  ii  the  world  at  large. 
There  are  few  countries,  where,  in  practice,  free  trade  ii 
more  fUlly  carried  out  than  in  the  United  States ;  bat  in 
theory  its  doctrines  are  only  in  part  adopted  by  her 
statesmen  and  leading  minds.  They  are  willing  to  trade 
on  equal  terms,  but  will  meet  prohibition  with  prohibi- 
tion. Here,  undoubtedly,  they  mistake  their  true  inter- 
ests ;  but  though  this  policy  will  not  advance  the  pro- 
sperity of  America,  it  will  inflict  tremendous  andUsting 
injury  on  Great  Britain.  Whatever  may  be  the  event, 
ic«  cannot  complain.  The  terms  offered  by  the  United 
States,  though  not  wise,  on  an  enlarged  view  of  their 
own  interests,  are  yet  reciprocal,  and  therefore  fiur  be- 
tween nation  and  nation. 


THE  REMONSTRANCE  OF  THE  LOWLY, 

**  They  smite  in  vain  who  smite  with  swords. 
And  Bcourgo  with  vollied  tire  ; 
Our  weapon  \fi  the  whip  of  words, 
And  Truih^t  all-teaching  ire.** 

Com  Law  Bhymet, 


*Tis  not  for  us— the  poor  and  lowly  bom — 
That  iu  a  thousand  valleys  waves  the  com  ; 
'Tis  not  for  us,  that  on  a  tliousand  hills 

The  kine  axe  lowing, 
Or  that  the  sheep  are  feeding  by  the  nils 

Through  meadows  flowing  ; 
Upon  the  teeming  earth  God  sendeth  rain, 
And  the  germ  swelleth,  and  the  green  blades  spring, 

In  vain,  for  us,  in  vain  ! 
We,  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  perishing, 

Sigh  out,  alas  !  in  vain. 
'TIS  not  for  us— the  abject  sons  of  toil — 
To  feast  upon  the  riches  of  the  soil ; 
Tis  not  for  us  to  touch  the  garnered  store, 

The  rich  man's  treasure ; 
While  to  increase  his  wealth  still  more  and  more, 

Doth  yield  him  pleasure  : 
What  though  our  wants  we  may  not  satisfy. 
Nor  cheer  our  sinking  hearts  with  needful  food  I 
What  though  we're  all  of  one  great  brotherhood  ! 

He  disregards  our  cry. 
Out  pleadings  are,  if  heard,  not  understood  ; 

We  faint,  we  faint,  we  die  ! 
Huddled  together  in  our  wretched  homes 
Foodless  and  flreless,  still  we  cry,  «  Why  comes 
No  vessel  laden  or  with  meat,  or  grain. 

The  bounteous  Giver 
Hath  herds  of  cattle  upon  many  a  plain,— 

And  many  a  river 
Flows,  fertilizing,  through  the  cultured  lands. 
Whose  owners  have  a  plentiful  supply. 
And  turn  their  gaze  on  us,  and  wonder  why 

We  take  not  from  their  hands 


The  IVeely  proffered  food  !"— Oh,  misery  ! 
How  galling  are  thy  bands. 

They  ask,  ^  Why  closed  is  now  the  factory  door  ? 
Why  bales  of  goods  lie  rotting  on  the  floor ! 
Why  men  want  that  which  thev,  in  fair  exchange, 

Would  give  right  gladly  I'' 
And  "oh  !"  they  cry,  **  infatuation  strange  ! 

When  ralers  madly 
Urge  a  great  nation  unto  ruin's  brink. 
And  render  a  strong  people  desperate. 
To  please  and  serve  a  party  in  the  State  ; 

May  it  be  theirs  to  drmk 
The  vfaters  of  repentance — ere  too  late ; 

Yet  may  they  pause  and  think." 
We  are  the  nation's  sinews,  and  if  they 
Suffer  a  waste  and  premature  decay. 
Will  not  her  frame  of  all  its  strength  be  shorn  ? 


Long  have  we  waited,  hoping  ibr  redress  ; 
Long  have  we  sought  relief  in  our  distress, 
Bearing  our  burthens  meek  and  patiently. 

But  can  no  longer : 
Then  listen  to  our  pleading  voices,  ye 

Who  are  the  stronger, — 
Stronger  to  succour,  comfort,  or  uphold — 
Stronger  to  iigure,  punish,  or  oppress  ^ 
God  gave  ye  power  your  fellow-men  to  bless 

With  blessings  manifold  ; 
Have  ye  not  eyes  to  see  our  wretchedness, 

0>r  have  ye  hearts  stone-cold  ! 

H.G.A. 


360 


IRISH  TREASON  IN  PARIS. 

{G<mHnuedfr<mp<ige  292  ofcur  Ma^  No.) 


**At  iMsty  Sip,**  h6  said,  on  a  subsequent  visit, 
when  I  recurred  to  the  subject  of  the  advertise- 
ments in  the  publicans'  newspaper,  "at  last.  Sir, 
some  notice  was  taken  of  my  public  applications 
for  employment.  Two  answers  appeared  together 
for  me :  the  first  from  a  schoolmaster,  the  second 
from  the  head  of  a  private  family.  They  were 
80-80  people  enough,  particularly  the  schoolmaster ; 
but  I  cared  little  about  that.  Of  course,  I  called 
on  the  private  gentleman  first.  His  survey  of  my 
attire,  and  his  scrutiny  of  my  forbidding  and 
wantp-wasted  features,  was  ominous  enough.  But 
I  opened  my  nK>uth,  Sir,  and  spoke  about  six 
words ;  and,  even  before  entering  on  preliminaries, 
our  negotiation  quickly  ended.  The  brogue.  Sir, 
did  my  business,  at  a  blow.  *  Can  anything  good 
come  out  of  Nazareth  T  I  heard  him  say,  as  I 
dowly  descended  the  stairs,  leaning  for  support  on 
the  balustrades,  for  I  was  very  feeble.  I  forgot  to 
ay  that  he  was  a  clergyman  of  some  dissenting 
«ect  or  other.  So,  God  bless  him.  But  I  hav  n't 
forgotten  since  the  text  he  quoted  for  me ;  and 
perbaps  I  sometimes  make  use  of  it  myself  now 
»nd  then.  Well,  Sir,  I  crept  to  the  schoolmaster's 
hoaae  after  this  ;  and  the  instant  my  brogue  was 
hftwd  there  too,  he,  and  two  parlour  boarders,  who 
^<rere  sitting  with  him  at  the  time,  fairly  laughed 
loe  off  the  premises. 

"He  lived  in  one  of  the  environs  of  London.    I 
^M  reentering  the  great  Babel  in  the  dusk  of  the 
evening,  and  was  in  the  act  of  approaching  one  of 
""^y  only  constant  friends,  a  pump.  Sir,  when  I  fell 
h««d  foremost  cm  the  pavement, — having  fainted. 
Sir,  from  sheer  starvation.    I  half  came  back  to 
ay  senses,  from  the  effects  of  a  dash  of  water  on 
B»y  face,  and  confusedly  heard  one  of  the  crowd, 
^bo  had  gathered  round  me,  say — 
]|* Drunk,  dead  drunk.' 
*  Drunk  V  questioned  another  voice,  of  a  more 
charitable  sound ;  *no,  he  a'int— not  a  bit  of  it- 
only  look  at  the  poor  lad.' 
'*  No,  he  be  not  drunk,'  said  a  third  individual, 

t  woman ;  *no,  he  be  not  drunk,  but  he  be  a  him- 

porater,  what  can  take  on  them  'ere  fits  whenever 

he  chooses.    I  know  him  well.' 
**  I  here  opened  my  eyes,  and  looking  up  at  my 

w  eulogist,  was  just  able  to  articulate,  *  God 

«)igive  you,  ma'am!'" 
**  *  Oh !  Hoirish  too  ? '  queried  many. 
*  And  if  he  be  ?'  demanded  the  person  who  had 

spoken  the  first  good-natured  word  in  my  favour. 

I  now  glanced  at  him.    He  was  a  little  fattish 

^J*n,  with  a  round,  red  face ;  wearing  black— all 

'^^•ck,^— coat,  waistcoat,  knee-breeches,  and  gaiters ; 

*na  with  light-blue,  good-natured  eyes,  and  some 

^itions  of  fair  hair  scantily  clinging  to  his  head. 

«w  manner  was  eager  and  earnest. 
^  And  if  he  be  1 '  he  said  ;  then  running  to  me 

"7  y^  hand,  my  lad ;  let's  help  you  up  into  my 

^S ;  't  isn't  a  step  off ;  take  you  home ;  not  able 


to  get  there  yourself,  eh  ?— Live  out  of  town  a 
few  miles,  and  was  going  fast  towards  old  dulce 
damum  when  I  saw  you  fall ;  no  matter ;  can  turn 
back  with  you,  wherever  you  like ;  so  come,  step 
up,  and  sit  at  offside.' 

"  I  mechanically  did  as  I  was  bid.  A  few  seconds 
afterwards  he  was  driving  me  with  some  ostenta- 
tion of  whip-skill  along  the  street. 

^  *  Dulce  domumf*  I  repeated  his  little  school- 
boy scrap  of  Latin  ;  and  then,  in  a  flourish  of  my 
own  egotism,  gasped  out  a  sentence  from  an  an- 
cient author,  the  meaning  of  which,  in  English, 
was,  that  I  had  no  home ;  nor  kith,  nor  kin,  to 
receive  me  in  one.  He  looked  earnestly  at  me, 
and  said,  *  Hold  the  reins  a  moment ;  able, 
—eh?' — and  without  waiting  an  answer,  threw 
them  to  me,  jumped  out  of  the  gig,  ran,  or  rather 
trotted,  a  little  way,  darted  into  a  cook's  shop, 
soon  reappeared  with  a  brown-paper  parcel  in  his 
hand,  reassumed  his  seat  at  my  side,  placed  the 
parcel  on  my  knees,  took  the  reins  again,  turned 
the  horse's  head,  and,  without  uttering  a  word, 
drove  almost  furiously  towards  the  country.  I 
aptly  understood  him.  The  very  smell  that  reached 
my  nose,  mixed  up  with  the  smell  of  the  brown 
paper,  made  me  comprehend.  I  undid  the  parcel, 
and  soon  began  an  attack  upon  the  breast  of  a  cold 
fowl,  a  lump  of  bread,  and  thin  slices  of  ham.  Sir, 
— ^Yorkshire  ham.  Sir ;  and  such  ham.  Sir !  the 
wide  world  cannot  match  a  Yorkshire  ham." 

"What,"  I  cried,  smiling  at  my  narrator,  "and 
can  anything  good  come  out  of  Nazareth  ?  " 

He  laughed  his  low  laugh, and  answered,  "Hams, 
Sir — I  admit  hams." 

"  And  wives,"  I  continued. 

He  laughed  even  cheerfully  now.  "  I  own.  Sir, 
you  hit  me  there  ;  and  I  congratulate  you  on  your 
reviving  good  spirits  this  morning.  But  I  will  go 
on.  Sir.  You  remember  how  quickly  the  shilling 
loaf  disappeared  in  Little  Windmill  Street  ?  The 
breast  of  the  fowl,  the  ham,  and  the  bread.  Sir, 
now  vanished  from  sight  quite  as  rapidly.  I  had 
noticed  my  companion  glance  sideways  at  me 
more  than  once  during  my  repast.  When  I  had 
quitedone,  *Godblessyou,Sir,'saidI,  *foryouhave 
thb  day  fed  the  hungry,— the  really  hungry.' 

"  *  Bad  case,  bad  case,'  the  short  gentleman  re- 
plied; *  looked  at  you  once  or  twice  while  you 
were  taking  your  luncheon, — ^beg  pardon,  feared 
you  might  do  yourself  a  harm  swallowing  it  so 
quickly,  having  no  drink  to  it  either, — ^pint  of 
porter,  ehl'  He  pointed  with  his  whip  towards 
a  public-house, — a  bating-house,  I  well  remember, 
for  one  of  the  short  stages,  with  a  sign-board  over 
the  door,  having  on  it,  *  Meux's  Entire,'  and  then 
underneath— 

«<The  Admiral  Keppel.' 

*<*JonN  HUGOIT.' 

*«  <  Stop,  my  lads,  and  quench  your  thirst, 
And  if  you  don't,  your  horses  must.' 


S70 


IRISH  TREASON  IN  PARIS. 


*^  As  he  spoke,  he  pulled  np.  Mine  host  appeared 
instantly  at  the  gig  side.  The  next  instant  the 
pint  of  porter  was  in  my  clutch.  Oh,  that  draught ! 
Joye's  nectar,  Odin's  mead,  the  Mussulman's  sher* 
bet,  Byron's  lB>ck  and  soda-water ! — ^they  were  all 
bracket -water  to  it.  I  was  on  Olympus'  top— I 
was  in  the  haUs  of  Valhalla — I  was  among  Ma- 
homet's houris  ;  in  fact,  Sir,  I  did  not  know  where 
1  was, — ^for,  along  with  my  luncheon,  as  the  gen- 
tleman had  called  it,  'Meux's  Entire,'  quickly 
mounted  into  my  brain,  and  in  less  than  fire 
minutes  I  was  fast  asleep. 

**  I  awoke  by  the  gig  stopping.  I  looked  round 
me  in  stupified  surprise.  The  moon  was  shining 
brightly.  I  was  before  a  large  iron  gate,  from 
which  swept  a  broad,  gravelled  way,  up  to  a  very 
good-sized  red  brick  house,  with  a  lawn  of  some 
extent  before  it. 

'^  ^  Quite  awake  now,  eh  V  said  my  companion ; 
'  able  to  sit  up  without  wavering  to  and  fro  T  I 
found  he  had  passed  his  left  arm  through  my  right 
one,  to  keep  me  steady  during  my  doze.  *  Yes  ; 
see  you  are  ;  hold  the  reins  again,  pray.' 

**  He  jumped  down,  and  rang  a  bell  at  one  of  the 
gate  piers,  which  sounded  so  loud  and  so  near  us 
as  to  startle  me.  A  lad,  in  a  modest,  shy  livery, 
directly  appeared,  running  from  the  back  of  the 
house,  and,  at  the  same  time,  its  hall  door  in  front 
must  have  opened,  for  there  came  through  it  a 
dash  of  red  light  across  the  shining  gravel  which 
edged  its  steps,  and  I  heard  an  outbreak  of  little 
shrill  voices  dbeerily  ringing  together  in  the  hall. 

**  He  had  scarcely  pulled  the  bell  when  he  stept 
into  the  gig  again.  Our  footman,  porter,  and  idl, 
unlocked  the  gate.  We  soon  arrived  spankily  at 
the  open  hall  door.  It  was  choked  up,  first  by  a 
matronly  little  woman,  having  a  nice  apron  on, 
and  even  less  for  a  woman  than  her  husband  was 
for  a  man ;  and  next,  by  a  number  of  small 
Christians,  Uie  smallest  of  whom  held  by  her  skirts 
and  apron,  or  were  kept  back  from  the  night  air 
by  her  outstretched  arms ;  and  over  their  heads,  I 
oould  see  others  of  different  sizes,  while  others  still 
jumped  high  in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  or  hopped 
about  on  one  leg,  all  in  great  jubilation. 

^^  My  new  friend  said  to  me,  as  he  prepared  to 
descend, — *  Must  ask  you  to  wait  a  moment  in  the 
gig  here— have  business  below  before  I  can  get 
you  in.  Sir — ^hav'n't  I,  eh  1'  He  pointed  at  the  hu- 
man barricade  across  the  doorway,  laughing  chuck- 
lingly  and  happily. 

^  As  he  alighted  on  the  steps,  his  wife  tripped  for- 
ward to  meet  him,  and  there  was  the  sound  of  a 
very  smacking  and  sincere  kiss  between  them. 
During  the  ceremony,  the  good  little  gentlewoman 
had  not  observed  me  in  the  sig.  Now  she  glanced 
«p,  saw  me,  uttered  a  small  low  scream,  and  re- 
treated into  the  hall.  The  boy  at  the  horse's  head 
had  been  looking  on  indeed,  but  she  was  used  to  him. 

**  Her  husband  had  first  to  kiss  all  the  boys  and 
girls  at  the  door,  before  he  could  enter ;  then  all  the 
dancing  performers  in  the  middle  of  the  hall ;  and 
lastly,  ere  they  would  permit  him  to  proceed  a  step 
further  into  his  own  house,  he  was  obliged  to  dis- 
tribute among  them  certain  London  gifts,  for  which, 
in  promises,  he  was  their  debtor  :  so,  in  and  out  of 


the  stuffed  pockets  of  the  skirts  of  his  eoat,  his 
hands  moved  rapidly,  and  a  prodigious  number  of 
things  he  did  indeed  dispose  of.  There  was  con- 
fectionary and  penny  Dutch  dolls  for  the  reiy 
youngest  of  the  female  children ;  penny  meUl 
watches,  and  penny  whistles,  for  their  compeen 
of  the  worthier  sex ;  larger  dolls  and  spinaing- 
tops,  peg-tops,  humming-tops,  and  drama,— bnt 
Some  of  these  articles  came  out  of  the  locker  under 
the  gig's  seat, — ^for  the  next  in  growth  of  both 
sexes ;  and  a  big  drum,  and  a  fus^  with  a  tin 
barrel,  and  a  stock  painted  with  red  lead,  for  the 
eldest  and  second  eldest  boys  ;  and  two  lai^  wax 
doUs,  warranted  French,  with  glass  eyes,  which 
could  be  made  to  move  by  pulling  a  wire  under 
their  gold-edged  frocks,  between  their  heels,  for 
the  eldest  and  second  eldest  girls. 

**  Nor  was  this  all  my  energetic  patron  had  to 
undergo.  Little  squeaks  and  cries  of  ecstasy,  m 
different  keys,  as  they  surveyed  their  presents, 
escaped  all  the  girls ;  roughet'  sounds  the  boys ; 
while  the  whole  crowd  jumped,  or  danced,  or 
hopped,  again  round  him,  in  gratitude  and  thanks- 
giving ;  and  he  was  pulled  down  by  the  skirts,  by 
the  deeves,  and  by  the  coat  coUar,  to  be  kissed 
over  and  over  agaiu. 

**  *  Away  with  you  now,  you  husffles  and  mon- 
keys ;  and  harkye;  kissed  for  aU  night,  now;  re- 
member, for  going  to  bed  and  all, — take  them 
away,  mistress,— had  their  suppers,  eh  ?  To  be 
sure  they  have, — and  the  boys  above  of  course ; 
tell  Mr.  Jones,  my  dear,  to  read  nightly  prayers 
for  them  to-night, — have  a  young  man  here  in  the 
gig  on  business  with  me  ;  and  see,  my  dear,  let's 
have  a  cup  of  tea  together  in  the  back  pariour,  him 
and  me, — ^you  will  tea  alone,  please, — any  appli- 
cation for  the  school  vacancy  to-day  ?  No.  Glad 
of  that,  for  reasons.  How's  poor  little  White,  my 
dear  ?  any  worse  since  I  went  out  to-day  l-nnust 
keep  that  little  fellow  quite  with  youreelf  inthe 
parlour,  and  not  let  him  up  to  lessons  at  aD  for 
some  time, — so,  that's  aU, — ^no, — ^wait,— yes,— go 
along,  the  whole  noisy  set  of  you !  * 

"As  the  still  ecstatic  children  vanished  with  their 
mother  upstairs,  he  ran  back  to  the  gig, — 

"  *  Now,  Sir,— your  hand,  please,— hard  enoqgh 
to  get  into  my  own  house  sometimes,— isn't  it  ? 

**He  again  laughed  chuckllngly,  and  in  «  ^^ 
seconds  we  sat  together  in  the  back  parlonr.  I 
had  ahnost  a  certainty  of  what  was  eoming. 
While  sittmg  outside  the  hall  door  in  the  gig,  1 
had  noticed,  between  the  windows  of  the  first 
story,  a  kind  of  semicircular  sign-board  wiA  a 
blue  ground,  and  large  gQt  letters  thereon ;  tod  it 
was  very  like  one  over  the  hall  door  of  the  second 
house  which  1  had  visited  that  day. 

« ^Hungry  enough  for  tea,  yet,  eh  ?*  he  arfced, 
as  a  tray  was  brought  in  perfuming  the  whole 
room,  and  with  two  piles  of  home-msoe  brtw  m 
butter  substantially  ornamenting  it.  '^'^"^ 
enough  for  tea  ? '  I  repeated  to  myself.  Ah,  God 
bless  the  little  man  ;  he  little  suspected  as  yet  my 
powers  in  that  way.  Sir,  1  was  hungry  cnong«i 
to  remain  so  for  a  fortnight,  notwithstanding^^ 
ample  b«ard,  every  day  in  the  week,  and  his  W* 
beef  and  plum-pudding  every  Sunday. 


IRIflH  TREASON  IN  PARIS 


sri 


•*  And  so,  Sir,  you  beg^n  to  perceive  that  I  be- 
eame  an  inmate  of  that  good  man's  honse.  Yes, 
%r  ;  he  took  me  in,  and  gave  me  a  home  when  I 
had  no  home  *  fed  me  when  I  was  hungry ;  and 
clotlied  me  when,  if  not  naked,  I  was  fast  ap- 
proaching to  that  condition. ^I  should  hare  told 

yon.  Sir,  that  I  had  been  ejected  from  my  apart- 
ment undet  the  shites,  in  Little  Windmill  Street, 
that  Tery  morning,  for  a  long  arrear  of  debt  for 
rent,  at  two  shillings  a-week.  Yes,  Sir,  he  brought 
me  s  Latin  book,  and  a  Greek  book,  while  we  were 
at  tea,  and  tried  me  in  a  few  passages  in  each,  and 
our  barg^n  was  soon  completed.  And  then,  Sii*, 
he  took  a  fistful  of  new  bank  notes  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  paid  me  a  *  quarter  in  advance.' — 
Oh,  the  melody  of  the  sharp,  crisp,  crumpling  of 
my  present  share  of  those  notes  as  tiiey  settled  out 
of  my  clutch  into  my  own  waistcoat  pocket ! 

***  Might  want  a  Uttle  ready  caah,'  he  said,  *to 
complete  my  arrangements  before  coming  back 
&mi  town  the  next  day  to  my  new  appointment 
— adding  to  wardrobe,  and  such  like--and  now 
would  take  a  small  liberty  with  me — ^but  meant 
well — ^no  offence-— ought  to  get  back  to  town  soon 
as  possible— last  short  stage  for  the  night  would 
pass  his  gate  in  a  few  minutes.'  He  rang  a  bell ; 
the  youne  footman  entered.  ^Here,  John,  run 
and  watch  for  the  stage,  and — ' 

•*  *  Here  it  comes.  Sir,'  said  John,  as  a  horn  on 
the  road  abtoad  sounded  at  a  little  distance. 

*•  I  hastily  bade  my  new  principal  farewell ;  and 
the  next  moment  was  whirled  towards  London  ob 
the  loof  of  the  stage. 

•  1  understood  Wm,  Sir.  I  understood  his  gettmg 
me  out  of  the  house  in  the  dark,  that  I  might 
moult  and  become  new-feathered  before  returning 
next  day,  and  before  the  other  teacher,  or  any  of 
the  boys  could  see  me.  But  this,  although  pru- 
dential on  his  own  account,  might  also  have  been 
well  meant  for  my  particular  respectability  and 
influence  in  his  establishment.  At  aU  events.  Sir, 
he  had  trusted  me ;  trusted  my  story — ^I  told  him 
cvety  Word  of  it.  Sir— and  trusted  me  with  un- 
earned money ;  and  the  gratitude  and  love  of  my 
heart  rose  Up  to  him  in  vows  of  constant  service 
and  attachment.  Well,  Sir,  I  went  early  that 
night  to  the  public-house  in  Little  Windmill  Street, 
and  called  for  a  glass  of  gin  and  bitters,  in  the 
finest  room  ih  their  caravansary.  And  they  scarce 
knew  me.  Sir, — ^fSftith,  1  scarce  knew  myself,  for  I 
was  cUd  ffom  head  to  foot  in  a  suit  of  professional 
black,  and  a  round-crowned,  broad-brimmed  bea- 
ver, such  as  I  wear  to  the  present  day, — (pointing 
to  that  which  now  hiy  at  his  feet  on  the  floor,)— 
and  then.  Sir,  I  paid  them  for  their  lodgings,  and 
for  their  gin  and  bitters,  and  ordered  my  things 
down  stairs.  My  things !  They  consisted.  Sir, 
of  one  pocket  volume  of  Sallust,  and— don't  laugh 
at  me.  Sir— a  miserable  creature  of  a  kitten  which 
I  had  snatched  up  off  the  hearthstone,  jnst  before 
qoitting  the  desolate  ruins  of  my  father's  house, 
and  had  continued  to  take  about  the  world  with 
me  till  that  moment.  I  used  to  carry  it  in  a  little 
old  bird-cage  in  my  hand.  Sir ;  and  it  shared  my 
starvation.  Sir,  with  the  frisky  resignation  that 
ndne  but  an  Irish  kitten  could  hftve  shown. 


**  On  being  paraded  before  me  this  night,  h6W« 
ever,  the  kitten  appeared  very  desponding,  though 
it  purred  to  me  the  moment  it  saw  my  face.  So, 
I  ordered  it  a  good  supper,  on  the  table  to  my 
hand ;  and,  while  enjoying  the  feast,  its  exampk 
so  moved  my  own  stomach  with  a  spirit  of  emula« 
tion,  that,  notwithstanding  the  fowl,  ham,  and 
bread,  the  Meux's  Entire,  the  tea,  and  bread  and 
butter,  and  penny  buns  tui  MHtum,  while  I  was 
walking  about  the  streets,  pleasing  my  fancy  iA 
the  choice  of  my  new  dothes,  I  could  not  stir  out 
of  the  public-house  till  I  had  ordered  supper  fot 
myself  too.  And  this  supper  was  huge.  Sir !  an 
incoherent  mass,  I  remember,  of  plate  after  plate 
of  boiled  beef,  coarse  pickles — sudi  as  onions  and 
red  cabbage,  and  then  a  great  big  dish  of  hot 
stewed  oysters,  with  about  half  a  gallon  of  porter 
and  ale,  taken  from  time  to  time  to  lull  all  to  rest* 

^But  next  morning,  Sir,  after  breakfast,  I  was  at 
my  post  at  the  rund  academy,  and  almost  ln« 
stanUy  began  my  trade.  I  worked  hard  and  dili- 
gently. Sir,  and  gave  satisfaction  to  my  master 
Night  as  weU  as  day.  Sir,  I  worked  hard,  perfect- 
ing my  own  knowledge  of  languages,  that  I  might 
stand  prepared  for  more  perfectly  instructing  those 
committed  to  my  charge. — You  remember  the  vow 
I  told  you  I  had  taken.  Sir.  And  I  have  good 
reason  to  know.  Sir,  that  I  did  some  service  to  my 
patron's  establishment.  It  got  a  name.  Sir,  fyt 
making  good  classical  scholars ;  and  its  boarders 
increased  in  number,  came  from  amongst  a  better 
order  of  society,  and  paid  more  liberal  pensions. 
Nor  did  the  good-hearted  principal  seek  to  disguise 
ftt)m  any  one,  that  this  was  mainly  attributable  to 
the  poor  young  Irish  lad,  his  assistant ;  nor  did 
he  fsdl  to  increase  my  salary  as  his  own  fortunes 
augmented. 

**  In  six  or  seven  years.  Sir,  he  grew  rich — ^rich 
enough  to  purchase  an  independence,  ^nd  retire 
from  business,  to  live  upon  it.  I  was  rich  too. 
Sir,  in  my  own  way.  At  ahy  rate,  I  had  enough 
to  give  him  a  sum  in  hand  for  his  good-will  of  the 
academy,  a  legal  undertaking  for  the  payment  of 
much  more,  together  with  an  annuity  from  the 
current  proceeds  of  the  school.  In  fact.  Sir,  he* 
hold  the  Irish  rebel,  and  refugee,  and  beggar,  now 
well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  superintending  the 
education  of  youth  in — abote  all  other  parts  of 
that  world — England  itself. 

^  The  sons  and  other  near  relations  of  Irish 
Members  of  Parliament— of  the  new  Union  Par- 
liament, Sir — honourables  too,  began  to  be  sent  to 
me  from  London ;  and,  in  some  time,  it  happened 
that  the  greater  number  of  my  pupils  were  Irish 
boys — at  least  so  they  called  themselves ; — and  I 
was  often  entertained,  and  kindly  entertained,  at 
the  houses  of  their  fathers,  their  uncles,  and  so 
forth.  Yes,  Sir,  all  this,  too,  came  to  pass.  I 
lived.  Sir,  to  earn  my  bread,  nay,  to  arrive  at 
worldly  wealth,  by  levying  heavy  contributions  on 
the  purses  of  some  of  the  very  kind  of  men  who 
had  sent  me,  a  pennyless  vagabond  out  of  the 
wretched  land  of  my  birth ;  and  I  lived  to  sit  at 
their  costly  boards.  Sir,  and  to  interchange  opimons 
with  them ;  ay,  and  to  let  them  know,  in  some  of 
those  opinions,  the  degradation,  the  ruin,  and  the 


\ 


/ 


/ 


IRISH  TREASON  IN  PARIS. 


y^ss  which  they  themselves  had  inflicted  on  that 

/  "Indeed!"  said  L  «I  thought  that  to  keep 
friends  with  those  individuals,  you  must  have 
avoided  all  such  topics  in  their  company." 
.  **  Avoided !"  he  repeated.  "  Sir,  they  had  my 
inmost  experience,  and  thoughts,  and  feelings,  and 
my  fullest  commentaries  on  the  whole  suhject — 
my  hatreds,  my  undying  hostilities,  my  never- 
ceasing  talk,  talk,  talk  :  and  still  I  kept  friends 
with  those  individuals,  Sir.  Pursuing  the  same 
course,  I  keep  friends  with  them  to  this  day.  The 
Castlereaghan  used  to  listen  to  the  declamations  of 
the  Irish  Repuhlican,  and  the  English  hater  and 
demolisher,  and  yet  send  his  son  to  learn  Greek 
and  Latin  of  him ;  and  the  Irish  Tory  does  the 
same  thing  at  the  present  hour :  they  have  even 
followed  him  here  to  Paris,  Sir.  There  are  some 
dozens  of  their  sons,  nephews,  and  cousins,  this 
moment  under  his  roof  in  the  B(as  <2#  Botdogne^ 

"And  have  you  never  had  a  falling  out  with 
any  of  them?" 

"  Never  with  a  single  one  of  the  fathers  or  other 
relations  of  my  hoys.  Sir ;  hut  with  one  of  the 
boys  themselves  I  have  indeed  had  a  little  misun- 
derstanding. He  was  a  great  big  boy.  Sir — as  big 
as  myself-^bout  eighteen  ;  and  one  day,  while  I 
reprdiended  him  in  class  for  some  glaring  fault, 
he  called  me  an  old  Irish  rebel.  Sir,  to  the  face  of 
my  whole  assembled  subjects.  It  wasn't  the  cat- 
o'-nine-tails,  or  the  birch,  I  took  to  him.  Sir ;  no. 
Sir,  but  I  laid  my  hand  on  what  a  great  tall  fel- 
low like  him  would  feel,  Sir.  I  laid  my  hand  on 
a  smart  bit  of  hazel.  Sir,  fresh  cut  in  the  wood, 
something  between  a  riding-switch  and  a  walking- 
stick,  and  I  laid  that  on  the  young  gentleman. 
Sir,  from  shoulder  to  flank,  until  I  had  given  him 
such  a  drubbing  as  he  will  remember  to  his  dying 
day.  I  drubbed  him  out  of  our  study.  Sir ;  I  drub- 
bed him  out  of  my  house.  Sir ;  and  then  I  shut  the 
door  in  his  face.  Sir,  and  let  him  get  home  as  well  as 
he  could  to  his  father ;  and  none  of  them  ever  called 
me  an  old  Irish  rebel  after  that.  Sir. 

"Good  by.  Sir,"-— we  shook  hands — "I  have 
staid  with  you  an  unconscionable  time  to-day, 
Sir, — good  by."  He  left  the  room,  suddenly  re- 
turned to  the  door,  thrust  in  his  head,  and  adding, 
"  The  Doctor  is  in  town.  Sir,"  Anally  disappeared. 

"The  Doctor!  what  Doctor?"  I  asked  of  my- 
self. "Or  which  Doctor?"— for  I  knew  a  good 
many  doctors  ;  doctors  of  Medicine,  French,  Eng- 
lish, Irish,  and  Scotch,  without  number — ^they 
were  quite  in  my  way,  unfortunately ;  doctors  of 
laws,  from  Cambridge,  Ck)rk,  and  Mullinahone ; 
more  than  one  doctor  of  music — essentially  my 
horrors;  besides  a  little  doctor  of  I  know  not 
what,  who  came  to  me  one  day  with  a  French 
gentleman,  both  speaking  Parisian  French  in  its 
very  perfection,  and  going  through  French  man- 
ners to  their  utmost  verge  of  refinement ;  and  the 
little  old  man  was  librarian  to  some  important 
public  institution  l)e8ides;  and  yet  he  bid  me 
g-oo/^-^v    '^^  »>'M-^inir.  in  Fin^M''^">.  wn-^  wi^b  pxich  a 


tor"  alluded  to  by  my  friend.  The  genteel  Mr. 
Murray  of  Albemarle  Street,  had  for  some  time 
been  announcing  for  publication,  a  new  novel 
called  *•  The  Doctor ;'  and  I  wondered  could  it  be 
the  book,  and  not  any  living  doctor,  which  was 
meant.  The  mystery  quite  engrossed  me;  bat 
the  propounder  of  it  soon  came  to  solve  it  himselL 
In  fact,  it  was  my  excellent  and  respected  fiiend, 
Dr.  B— *,  who  had  arrived  in  Paris,  to  foUow  up 
his  ofi&cial  care  of  a  certain  international  question 
of  great  importance  between  France  and  England 
And  why  was  my  old  visiter  so  much  interested 
with  his  coming  to  Paris  ?  Because  the  question 
at  issue  proposed  certain  results,  which,  if  accom- 
plished, must,  as  a  good  many  people  thoughtybepro* 
ductive  of  much  commercial  prosperity,and,indeed, 
social  comfort,  to  England ;  and  this  prospect  set  m j 
old  Irish  rebel  almost  mad ;  so  that  he  nearly  foamed 
at  the  mouth  about  it.  He  had  made  himself  perfect 
master  of  the  subject.  During  the  last  vacation  at 
his  academy,  he  had  travelled  north,  south,  east, 
and  west,  in  its  pursuit.  He  had  hunted  it  down 
in  the  great  manufacturing  cities,  and  in  the 
agricultural  districts  ;  he  had  attended  meetings, 
and  amassed  reports  of  committees  upon  it ;  he 
had  got  himself  introduced  to  all  members  of  the 
Chainbres  des  DepuUsy  as  well  as  to  all  official 
persons  who  might  be  supposed  in  any  way  hostile 
to  the  measure,  in  consequence  of  their  own  pri- 
vate interests,  or  particular  prejudices  and  riews; 
and  talked,  and  memorialed,  and  argued  them  to 
death ;  and,  to  crown  all,  he  had  just  completed  a 
brochure^  concentrating  his  whole  knowledge,  and 
his  whole  argument,  and  his  whole  venom,  upon 
the  question ;  and  a  copy  of  this  pamphlet  he 
handed  to  me  on  the  present  occasion ;  and  he  was 
to  distribute  an  edition  of  fifteen  hundred  copies 
of  it,  gratis,  through  the*  length  and  breadth  of  the 
land.  And  the  negotiation  between  the  two  coun- 
tries was  to  fail  and  fall  into  dust  and  ashes; 
"And,  inch  by  inch.  Sir,  their  commercial  monopoly 
and  tyranny  shall  crumble  away,  Sir ;  inch  by 
inch,  and  time  after  time ;  until  there  shall  be 
a  want  of  bread  in  their  houses,  and  a  wolf-howl 
for  it  m  their  street* ;  and  then,  Sir^  thai  other 
cotmtfy  shall  begin  to  taste  its  revenge." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  I  said,  "  that  Dr.  B- — >"  oi 
whom,  during  his  outbreak,  he  had  spoken  very 
bitterly,  "  should  have  incurred  your  displeawre 
on  this  or  any  other  subject ;  for  he  is  a  very  good 
man,  as  well  as  a  distinguished  one ;  and,  more- 
over, he  has  just  done  me  a  vital  service.  Becom- 
ing acquainted  with  my  embarrassments,  resulting 
from  my  long  illness,  he  has  just  obtained  for  me, 
from  Lord  Grey's  Government,  assistance  to  a 
very  considerable  extent." 

The  droopmg  eyes  of  my  visiter  shot  one  power- 
ful glance  at  me,  and  again  bent  to  the  carpet 
saw  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  move  a  little,   l^^ 
perhaps  moisture  on  his  eyelashes.    He  was  w^ 
for  some  time.  . .  . 

"Give  me  back  that  brochure.  Sir,"  he  said  at 
Inst  ;  "  tlieie  is  a  pa^e  or  two  in  it  about  yo^r 


determme,  among  tins  array  ot  doctors,  'Uhe  doc-  I  which  contams  it,  and  have  it  expunij^ 


to  tti^ 


IRISH  TREASON  IN  PARIS. 


073 


hst  Ifctter.  And  may  God  bless  jonr  Mend,  Sir. 
Give  him  my  respects  and  regards  when  you  see 
him  next,  if  he  will  let  you." 

I  gare  him  back  the  pamphlet ;  he  stufied  it 
mto  his  pocket,  suddenly  arose,  and  suddenly  took 
his  leave,  as  he  had  done  upon  a  last  visit ;  and 
then,  as  if  in  prepense  imitation  of  himself,  he  also 
letomed  to  the  half-opened  door,  poked  in  his 
head  and  shoulders,  and  said — ^^  Reynolds  is  in 
town  this  time.  Sir." 

Reynolds!  I  was  in  still  greater  perplexity 
aboat  this  ^Reynolds"  than  I  had  been  about 
"  the  Doctor.**  It  has  been  seen  I  knew  a  great 
many  doctors  ;  but  there  were  very  few  Reynolds' 
of  my  acquaintance.  One  was  the  worthy  Mr. 
Jolm  Reynolds,  bookseller  and  stationer  in  my 
na^Te  town,  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  a  good  many 
yean;  and  it  was  very  improbable  that  he  had 
come  to  Paris,  or  that  even  if  he  had,  any  one 
wnld  hare  known  anything  about  the  unpretend- 
ing event,  or  about  the  unpretending  causes  of  it 
either :  and  the  other  was  Mr.  Mansell  Reynolds, 
the  accomplished  editor  of  **  The  Keepsake,"  who 
had  patronised,  by  inserting  them  in  his  aristocra- 
tic annual,  some  of  my  "  contributions."  Could 
it  be  he? 

"  Come  over  with  me,  Sir,  to  the  Clumps  Elys^e^^ 
said  my  old  friend,  when  he  visited  me  the  follow- 
ing Sonday.  By  the  way,  he  almost  always 
odled  on  Sundays ;  it  was  his  habit  to  convey  his 
Wrders,  who  were  exclusively  Protestant,  to  the 
door  of  the  Church  of  England  place  of  worship 
in  the  quarter  mentioned,  and  see  them  carefully 
stowed  into  the  building,  though  he  never  crossed 
its  threshold  after  them.  "  Come  over  with  me 
to  the  Champs  Efys^e^  Sir,  and  I  will  tell  you,  and 
I  will  show  you  too,  who  this  Reynolds  is.  I 
have  met  the  carriage  at  your  gate,  Sir,  to  take 
.vou  out  for  your  daily  drive  ;  so  only  give  me  a 
*&t  in  it  with  you,  and  let  me  tell  the  cocker 
where  to  go,  and  you  shall  speedily  be  satisfied.'* 

**  Almost  as  soon  as  I  heard  Reynolds  was  in 
town,  Sir,'*  he  resumed,  as  we  sat  in  the  voiture 
together,  "I  went  to  look  after  him.  They  gave 
me  the  name  of  his  hotel  at  Galignani's,  and  I 
walked  np  and  down  opposite  the  hotel.  Sir,  until 
J^t  last  I  saw  him  come  out  in  hb  fine  new  car- 
'^ ;  and  then.  Sir,  I  followed  him  the  whole  way 
he  drove,  and  back  again  to  the  hotel,  sometimes 
^king,  indeed,  almost  running  at  the  side  of  the 
^Jj[nage — ^it  was  an  open  one.  Sir — ^and  sometimes 
^ore  it,  that  I  might  have  a  good  look  at  him. 
^»  Sir,  I  have  studied  him  well  for  you.  Stop 
^j  monsieur  le  cocker,'*  he  added,  pointing  to 
the  Engliali  house  of  worship  in  the  Ckamps 
^9^.  He  was  obeyed ;  and  our  vehicle  stood 
'^'^  iii  a  certain  position  appointed  by  my  com- 
panion. 

People  were  going  into  the  church  one  by  one, 
'^r  m  groups.  Several  carriages  stopped,  delivered 
t*^  company,  and  drove  up  or  down  the  spacious 
^'^  arenne.  There  was  a  fine  boy  of  about 
^**?f*^n  standing  with  his  back  against  a  tree,  at 
*  *^ttle  distance  from  us.  Our  master  of  the  cere- 
monies beckoned  to  this  boy,  who  immediately 
'^atohirn. 


«  What  I"  I  asked,  «  and  is  this  tke  Reynolds?" 

"  Not  quite.  Sir,"  said  my  friend  smiling ;  "  one 
of  my  thi-ee  sons,  Sir — a  fellow,  who  this  moment 
has  an  appointment  as  midshipman  on  board  an 
American  ship;  and  who,  please  God,  will  help  his 
father,  and  brotheiv,  and  sisters,  when  they  have 
all  become  Americans, — ^for  Americans  we  are  all 
to  be.  Sir,  and  to  America  we  have  all  been  pre- 
paring to  go  for  the  last  three  months.  Sir, — ^who, 
I  say,  will  yet  help  all  the  rest  of  his  fiunily, 

please  Grod,  to *'   But  I  dare  not  utter  what 

he  added,  Barnes ;  'twas  veritable,  deadly  treason^ 
against  somebody,  his  crown  and  dignity. 

*^  WiU,"  he  went  on,  addressing  his  young  son, 
"  I  brought  you  here  to-day  to  see  a  remarkable 
countryman  of  your  father ;  but  before  I  bring 
you  acquainted  with  him,  make  your  bow  to  this 
gentleman,  Sir," — and  thereupon  he  broke  into 
a  high-flown,  though  crabbed  eulogy  upon  poor 
me;  and  the  future  young  American  midshipman 
pulled  off  his  cap,  and  blushed,  stanmiered,  and 
bowed ; — "  and  stand  back  now.  Will,  but  stand 
near  us,  for  here  he  comes !  And  say  nothing, 
but  listen  to  me  ;  I'll  describe  him  for  you."  He 
stood  straight  upright  in  the  open  voiture,  fixed  his 
hat  steadily  upon  his  head,  fixed  his  eyes  as  stead- 
ily upon  a  carriage  which  drove  towards  us  from 
the  direction  of  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  hugged  his 
arms  hard  across  his  breast,  pushed  lids  lips  in  and 
out  two  or  three  times,  and  continued-— 

''The  handsome  new  carriage,  open,  like  our 
own,  to  give  him  air — ^why  not?— with  the  new 
horses,  new  harness,  new  coachman,  in  the  new 
cocked  hat  and  in  the  white  gloves,  and  white 
ribbons  to  his  reins,  and  with  the  dashing  chasseur 
sitting  behind — ^that's  his  carriage.  Will — ^that's 
his  carriage.  Sir ;  and  as  it  comes  nearer  to  you 
now,  look  closer :  that's  himself  sitting  in  it — ^that 
large,  bloated  man,  about  seventy  years  of  age, 
dressed  out  like  a  prince  ;  that's  Thomas  Reynolds, 
the  Irish  Informer  of '98." 

I  started,  and  I  believe  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  great  surprise. 

"Yes,  Sir ;  yes.  Will,  that's  tke  Reynolds." 
People  began  to  look  up  at  the  public  showman, 
and  then  towards  the  Lion  he  was  exhibiting  and 
describing.  Upon  this^  my  good  friend  raised  his 
voice,  and  went  on. 

"  Ay,  that's  Thomas  Reynolds,  first  an  Irish 
rebel,  sworn,  and  the  swearer  in  of  many  other 
Irish  rebels  against  his  Majesty  King  George  the 
Third,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  ninety-eight ;  in  which  character, 
mind  you,  Will,  he  was  as  poor  as  a  beggar- 
man;  but  then.  Will,  he  turned  informer,  and 
sold  the  blood  of  his  brother  rebels  for  money ; 
and  then,  Will,  he  became  rich,  and  has  been 
going  about  the  world  ever  since  as  fine  as 
you  see  him  to-day."  A  crowd  of  English  had 
now  collected  round  our  voiture,  and  Reynolds 
elegant  new  turnout  was  passing  their  outskirts. 
«  Thomas  Reynolds,  Will ;  don't  forget  the  name." 
The  unhappy  man  was  now  so  dose  to  the  orator 
that,  if  not  very  deaf,  he  must  have  heard  every 
word  he  said.  "Tho-mas  Rey-nolds.  And  now 
he's  going  to  church,  Will,  to  pray  to  a  God  who 


•r4 


miSH  TREASON  IN  PARIS. 


has  said  that  th«  iac^Bse  of  blood  reeking  up  to 
HU  throne  is  an  abomination  to  him ;  and  yet, 
Will^  the  coat  on  that  man's  back,  the  shirt  on 
that  man's  back)  the  shoes  on  his  feet,  the  hat  on 
his  head,  the  breathing  of  his  lungs,  are  all  bought 
w  j^rdoDged  with  blood-money."  Reynolds*  car- 
liage  here  passed  us  as  close  as  it  could,  without 
coming  in  contact  with  us;  his  eyes  and  the 
q»eaker  s  eyes  met ;  the  expression  of  those  of  the 
former  was  baleful,  that  of  the  other  blasting,  al- 
though firownlees.  **  Ay,  Will,  my  boy,  and  the 
luxurious  carriage  he  sits  in  is  psid  for  with  the 
price  of  blood — b  but  another  shape  or  mode  of 
blood-money  ;  and  his  fine  horses,  WiU,  and  their 
fine  housings  and  trappings ;  and  his  fine  foreign 
seiyants,  bediazened  with  gold-lace,  and  the  gold- 
lace  round  the  grand  cloth  of  his  coachman's  seat ; 
and  the  white  gloves  and  the  white  ribbons — 
tYerything^-«Terything  behmging  to  him  and 
about  him»  comes  from  bleed— from  blood— from 
blood!" 


Reynolds'  carriage  stoj^ied.  The 
jumped  down,  pulled  open  its  door^  unfolded  its 
steps,  and  the  aged  and  feeble-limbed  man  wai 
assisted  by  the  gewgaw  servant  into  t^e  ehiuth. 
My  companion  kept  his  €yee  fixed  en  him  imtil 
he  had  completely  disappeared  through  the  dog^ 
way.  We  then  dirove  away  up  the  Chomfi  E^/tk^ 
towards  the  vast  and  magnificent  edifice  atits^Sfw 
<fc  Boulogne  termination. 

With  such  feelings  stored  up  in  his  own  boson, 
(und  well  wrought  into  the  minds  and  hearts  of  all 
his  fSunily,  the  old  Irish  rebel,  with  his  exceUeai 
wife,  his  three  sons,  and — including  the  poor 
moping  innocent — his  five  daughters,  aeeompeaied 
by  three  grand  pianos,  two  double-action  iurpi) 
imd  a  descendant  of  the  Irish  kitten,  ennobled  hj 
an  Angola  cross,  sailed  from  Havre  for  Ameries^ 
But  before  he  sailed,  I  received  from  him  the 
following  lines,  commemorating)  as  he  e^remd 
it,  one  remarkable  Sunday  in  the  Ch4mp9  E^ 


THE  SPY-INFORMER, 


Lolling  at  his  vile  esse  in  chariot  gay, 
His  fiMe — nay,  even  his  fearfdl  name  unbidden — 
Unoloaked^-abroad  I— 'neath  all  the  eyes  of  day, 
( Whieh,  as  %•  passeth,  dose,  while  breath  is  hnshed) 
Unspat  upon— untrampled  down — ^oncrushed — 
I've  met  the  seyen-fold  traitor ! 

Wretch  corse-ridden 
By  a  whole  nation's  eurse— and  a  world's  seora 
Alped  upon  that  I 

And,  God,  he  hath  npbome 
For  nearly  forty  years,  on  the  broad  back 
Of  his  strong  sconndrel  mind,  without  or  crack 
Or  eringe,  the  Atlas  bnrthen ! 

Lookl'tishe— 
Who  Ibr  the  gold  that,  yields  his  loxnry, 
Sold  all ! — ^friends,  honor,  household  hea^— the  child. 
The  lisping,  trusting  child  upon  his  knee. 
Who  looked  into  his  horrid  eyes  and  smiled, 
While  he  its  unsuspecting  sire  beguiled 
Of  words  to  make  an  orphan  of  ikkX  child  I 
Devil !  who  sold  its  little  smile  1  and  sold 
Unto  the  gallows,  scourge,  or  dungeon-hold, 
The  young,  the  noble,  the  high-hearted  bold. 
And  with  them  humbler  thousands  ten  times  told  ! 

And  thb  of  his  own  choice  !    Not  even  led 
By  the  detected  craven's  shivering  dread — 
Ko — ^this  of  his  own  free  eool-weighing  choice. 
9is  ear  still  ringing  to  the  trumpet-voiee 
Of  youthful  ardour  on  its  council  day, 
Stealthily,  serpently,  he  slimed  his  way 
Unto  the  pay-master — and  back  again 
Unto  those  fearless  and  uncrafty  men, 
Till,  drop  by  drop,  he  mariceted  away. 
At  cantious  pricing — ^for  no  blood  no  par, 
£2u;h  vein  which  in  their  gallant  hearts  had  sway. 
With  all  that  through  a  nation's  bosom  play  1 
Yea  1  till  from  lordly  castle,  to  the  cot 
Of  the  starved  peasant,  reigned  one  common  lot 
Of  eanage,  and  of  tortnre,  and  of  woe ; — 
Yea — till  the  household  blood  so  fast  did  flow, 
That,  helped  by  women's  and  by  children's  tears. 
The  household  hearth  it  slaked  down  for  years  ! 

Again  look  on  him  !    To  Qod's  house  to-day, — 
(For  he  dares  kneel,  and  he  pretends  to  pray,) 
Now  hath  he  come.    O'erfed,  on  bloated  limbs 
Seavse  ftrom  his  ehariot-eteps  can  he  descend, 

?ho'  nought, — ^remorse,  nor  age,  nor  shame  yet  diias 
hat  cool  hyena-eye,  which  round  him  lowered. 
Hopeless  of  fellow  glance  from  fellow  friend, 
^d  yet  so  quiet-cruel  to  the  end, 
Might  almost  chill  a  brave  man  into  eoward  t 


Say  I  that  hi  God's  house  he  should  not  kneels 
And  pray  I — and  be  forgiven — if  he.^  f 
That  scarlet-red  as  are  his  sins  and  woe 
True  sorrow  may  not  **  wash  them  white  ss  now  T 
I've  said— I've  thought  it  not ;  but  this  I  say- 
That  even  his  Master,  Judas,  flung  away 
The  blood-money,  in  penitence  and  dread — 
But  that  this  traitor  of  the  hoary  head 
Hath  clutched  it  hard,  and  kept  it— and  I  say, 
That  if  unto  God's  house  he  come  to-day 
He  should  not  come  in  all  the  base  display 
Which  it  doth  purchase — ^in  that  chariot  gay, 
And  charioteered  by  liveried  slaves  (whose  pay 
Ccui  reconeile  them  to  sudi  odious  sway)— 
But  that  unto  God's  house  he  ought  to  creep, 
The  **  thirtv  pieces  "  given  back,  and  weep— 
Ay,  as  a  pilgrim — on  his  knees — if  God 
Hath  touched  his  feet  with  a  chastising  rod- 
Ay,  and  in  rags,  if  robe  he  caanot  buy, 
Without  the  wages  of  his  infiuny  1 

But,  thus  decked  out  within  the  holy  plsee. 
He  but  bla^hemes  to  Heaven's  averted  Um  ; 
And  for  each  prayer  he  cants,  on  high  is  writi 
In  the  dread  book  of  doomsday— <<  Hypocrite  l" 

And  sometimes  as  I  see  him  whisked  along 
To  join  the  swell  of  sacred  words  or  song, 
I  have  a  feeling — vague  though  understood — 
That  in  his  lack  of  kindly,  human  blood. 
Venom  of  reptiles  crawleUi  lastly, 
nurough  leprous  breast,  and  bnin,  and  sftery— 
And  that  the  cushions  of  hie  chariot  gay, 
And  all  his  pillows,  or  by  night  or  day. 
Are  soft  for  him,  vrith  pulpy  hearts  which  he 
Trucked  for  the  mammon  of  impurity ! 

And  this  man  lives  1 — Olives  on  h|f  Judas  pelf- 
He  neither  will  refund  nor  hang  himself  I   ^_ 
He  lives  on  those  who  would  not  Uve  as  slavfS— 
A  ftingus  sucking  aliment  firom  graves  1 

He  lives,  too,  on  his  name — his  putrid  nsae— 
Immortal  rascal !  let  him  have  that  feme  1 

And  on.  still  let  him  live  ! — in  luxury  I 
Here  in  the  capitol  of  Liberty  ! 
Ay,  here  or  anywhere  1— or  let  him  resm  . 

North,  south,  east,  west — to  any  point  botr— ■•■•' 
For  should  he  place  upon  that  widowed  iho'e 
His  loathsome  foot— oh,  it  would  shudder  o'ep 
Through  victim-bones  a  stirring  there  would  M 
'Neath  all  the  land,  of  him  that  land  to  f^' 
Heaving  him  back  again  nnto  the  sea  ( 


a7* 


^77 


COLLIERS  AND  COLLIERIES. 


Tbb  Whig  appetite  for  Inquiiy  by  Commission 
WM  well  nigh  wtiated,— Colonel  Sibthorp's  oc- 
AiMtion  was  almost  gone^-— <3haiitie8y  factories, 
prisons,  poor-rates,  oonstabl^  eorponti(»is^  churoh 
rerennes,  and  weavers*  wages,  had  all  been  duly 
ciaminecl^ — inyestigation  was  dying  of  inanition, 
tbere  being  little  on  earth  left  unexplored ;  when 
Lord  Ashley  luckily  bethought  himself  of  subter- 
raneous employment;  and  a  Royal  Commission 
WW  forthwith  launched  at  the  coal  pits,  and  in- 
qoiiy  dived  underground*  Now  this  is  just  where 
inquiry  ought  to  have  begun.  It  is  out  <^  sight 
that  ^usee  usually  exist ;  and  that  which  is  least 
■ccswible  to  observation,  is  generally  most  in  need 
of  it.    So  it  has  proved  in  this  case  at  least* 

The  Children's  Employment  Commission  has 
jut  issued  its  Reports  on  Mines. 

These  reports  ^diume  a  mass  of  mental,  moral, 
and  physical  degradation,  which  cannot  be  too 
generally  known  and  denounced.    They  form,  as 
usoal,  a  pile  of  blue  folios,  the  very  sight  of  which 
Kts  condensation  at  defiance ;  and  though  the 
Central  Commissioners  have  meritoriously  com- 
piled a  digest,  compressed  into  something  under  the 
compass  of  three  hundred  foUo  pages^  we  must 
•'•''^  confine   our   gatherings  to  that  portion 
1  relates  to  Scotlimd,  whiliier  Messrs.  Tancred 
Franks  were  deputed  to  execute  the  inquiry ; 
they  have  discharged  their  laborious  office 
^jh  no  mean  amount  of  diligence  and  ability.  To 

t.  Tancred  was  assigned  ^e  West  of  Scotland 
M  district,  and  to  Mr.  Franks  that  of  Fife  and 
Ae  Lothians,  The  inquiry  they  were  commis- 
ioned  to  execute  extended  to  all  points  afiecting 
the  ages,  hours  of  work,  nature  of  employment, 
place  of  work,  treatment,  health,  wages,  morals, 
and  educatbn  of  the  young  persons  and  children 
•aployed. 

Centuries  after  actual  feudalism  had  disappeared 
in  Great  Britain,  serf dom  lingered  in  the  collieries 
of  Scotland ;  and  not  till  ITI6  was  its  abolition 
provided  for  in  an  act  whose  preamble  ran  thus ; — 
^Whereas  by  the  statute  law  of  Scotland,  as  explained 
^  the  judges  ef  tiie  courts  ef  law  there,  many  eolUen 
jjd  aoeZ-feoivn  and  salters  are  in  a  state  of  dattrff  and 
f^ondage,  bound  to  the  oollieriea  or  saltworks  where  they 
^«k  for  l\f4,  tramferahle  with  the  collieries  and  salt- 
^^^  ftt. ;  be  It  enaeted,  *<  that  all  those  who  were 
*^ih*rB  at  the  passmg  of  the  Act  should  become  free  on 
^^'^  eonditioBs,  and  under  certain  regulations,  at 
Pttiedi  varying  from  three  to  ten  years,"  &o. 

Such  being  the  case,  and  the  provisions  of  the 
^  not  having  been  fully  eflfected  for  some  years 
•'^^'^'wls,  we  can  readily  understand  how  a 
patient  endurance  of  d^:rading  and  oppressive  toil 
^y  be  evinced  by  those  who  are  themselves  the 
*^  and  daughters  of  slaves.  It  will  require  no 
"i^t  effort  to  remove  a  system  which  seems  to  be  re- 
^^'^with  the  submission  due  to  a  decree  of  nature. 

*^e  shall,  before  indulging  in  any  further  com- 
Qieats  en  the  subject,  endeavour  to  cull  from  the 
'^P^ts  of  the  afsistant  Commissioners  for  Scot- 
**^  *  bri^f  b«l  fu£lciently  comprehensiTe  descrip- 


tion of  the  actual  condition  of  the  obj  ects  of  th 
inquiry,  under  the  various  heads  we  have  above 
enumerated. 

In  factories, — ^visited,  ventilated,  whitewashed, 
warmed,  regulated,  boxed,  inspected,  and  medically 
superintended,  by  act  of  Parliament, — where  the 
labour  is  anything  but  fatiguing,  children  are  not 
admitted  till  they  are  nine  years  old,  and  must 
not  be  worked  more  than  eight  hours  per  diem. 
In  collieries  where  the  labour,  dirt,  confinement, 
and  foulness  of  air,  are  limited  alone  by  the  mercy 
of  the  workmen,  or  the  benevolence  of  the  over- 
looks, children  begin  work  at  seven  and  eight 
years  oldy  and  the  duratbn  of  work  is  generaJly 
for  eletfen  heurSy  and  fireqttenify  longer  ;  sometimes 
continuing  through  the  night ;  especially  in  the 
East  of  Scotland.    This  is  attested  by  a  number 
of  credible  witnesses. 

The  employment  in  all  ooUieries  is  divisible  inte 
two  main  branches, — that  of  hewing  the  coal,  and 
that  of  conveying  it  out  when  hewed.  The  former 
is  properly  the  province  of  the  adult  collier,  and 
the  latter  of  women  and  children. 

In  the  Western  district,  where  the  labour  seems 
in  every  respect  mitigated,  the  youngest  children 
are  employed  only  in  opening  and  shutting  the 
doors,  which  regulate  the  draft  of  air,  as  the 
whirleys  or  wagons  of  coal  pass.  The  solitude 
and  darkness  constitute  the  only  physical  evil  of 
the  employment ;  though  to  entomb  a  young  child 
all  day  long,  in  a  dark  and  dismal  passage  under- 
ground, would  be  deemed  a  fearful  cruelty,  were  it 
resorted  to  even  as  punishment  in  a  prison.  The 
next  occupation  is  that  of  putting  or  pushing  the 
whirley  f  idl  of  coal  along  thepassages  in  the  pit.  Mr. 
Tancred  speaks  favourably  of  it  in  Lanarkshire  : — 
Any  one  who  has  seen  the  children  at  work  can  hare 
no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  physical  exertion  neces- 
sary in  drawing  is  occasionally  considerable.  This  exer- 
tion, however,  u  bv  no  means  continuous.  .  .  .  The 
whirley,  being  loaded  and  started  on  the  tramway,  runs 
pretty  easily  till  perchance  it  gets  off  the  rails  at  a  sud- 
den turn,  or  where  another  railway  joins  in.  Then  the 
drawer  and  his  assistant,  sometimes  called  the  ^  putter,** 
must  put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel  to  lift  or  drag  it 
upon  the  rails  again.  After  this  they  can  take  a  little 
rest.  Once  more  they  start,  and  perhaps  hear  a  rattling, 
and  see  a  light  in  the  distance ;  this  is  another  pair  or 
children  trotting  along  with  an  empty  whirley  towards 
the  face  of  the  coal.  .  .  .  Now,  we  will  suppose  they 
come  to  a  part  of  the  road  where  there  is  a  slip  in  the 
strata,  sometimes  called  *^  a  trouble."  Here  the  road 
rises  pretty  steeply  for  a  short  distance ;  and  now  comes 
the  tug  of  war.  The  drawer,  throwing  his  whole  weight 
upon  the  chain,  and  leaning  his  body  so  forward  that  his 
hands  touch  the  rails,  whilst  the  putter  pushes  with 
might  and  main  behind,  with  many  a  puff  they  urge  the 
load  to  the  top  of  the  ascent.  Here  they  sit  awhile,  till 
they  have  recovered  their  wind;  after  which,  they  soon 
see  the  lights  dancing  about  a-head,  and  hear  the  hub- 
bub at  the  pit  bottom. 

The  work  b  not  unhealthy  when  not  carried  to 
excess,  and  few  fbmales,  Mr.  Tancied  reports,  are 
to  be  found  in  the  collieries  in  his  district.  Far 
otherwise  is  the  case  in  many  parts  of  Yorkshire 
and  Lancashire,  where  Bfr.  J§ymon%  Mr.  Scriven, 


•r4 


COLUERS  AND  COLLIERIES. 


]^d  Mr.  Kennedy,  bear  fearful  teBtimony  to  the 
7  degrading  nature  of  the  employment  to  which  fe- 
males are  subjected ;  and  where  they  are  habitually 
harnessed  to  the  coal-wagons,  draggmg  them  on 
all  fours,  like  animals,  along  passages  which  are 
often  under  a  yard  in  height. 

Mr.  Franks  details  similar  abuses  in  the  Western 
coal  districts  of  Scotland.  '^  Females,"  he  states, 
**  haye  to  crawl  backwards  and  forwards  with  their 
small  carts,  in  seams,  in  many  cases,  not  exceeding 
twenty-two  to  twenty-eight  inches  in  height." 
This  operation,  called  "putting,"  prevails  in  Fife- 
shire,  Clackmannan,  Stirlingshire,  and  in  parts  of 
the  Lothians. 

The  danger  and  difficulties,  (saya  Mr.  Franks,)  of 
dragging  on  roads  dipping  fh>m  one  foot  in  three  to  one 
foot  in  six  may  be  more  easily  conceived  than  explained; 
and  the  state  which  females  are  in,  after  pulling  like 
horses  through  these  holes — their  perspiration,  their 
exhaustion,  and  very  ftequently  even  their  tears,  it  is 
painfull  in  the  extreme  to  witness;  yet,  when  the  work 
is  done,  they  return  to  it  with  a  vigour  which  is  surpris- 
ing, considering  how  they  inwardly  hate  it.  The  busi- 
ness of  these  females  is  to  remove  the  coals  from  the 
hewer,  who  has  picked  them  Arom  the  wall-flEice,  and 
placing  them  either  on  their  backs,  which  they  invari- 
ably do  when  working  in  edge  seams,  or  in  little  carts 
when  on  levels,  &c.,  to  carry  them  to  the  main-road, 
whence  they  are  conveyed  to  the  pit  bottom,  where,  being 
emptied  into  the  ascending  basket  of  the  shaft,  they  are 
wound  up  by  machinery  to  the  pit's  mouth,  where  they 
lie  heaped  for  further  distribution. 

This  horrible  work  varies  in  different  districts. 
In  Fife  and  Clackmannan,  the  carts  or  "hutchies" 
are  oblong,  square-sided  boxes,  on  four  wheels, 
which  run  on  railways.  Frequently,  however, 
where  the  declivities  are  great,  or  the  roads  are 
very  soft,  slypes  are  used,  without  Vheels.  The 
children,  both  nude  and  female,  are  literally  har- 
nessed to  these  carts  by  a  broad  belt  round  the 
body,  whence  a  chain  passes  either  between  their 
legs  or  over  their  backs.  We  shall  cull  a  few  ex- 
tracts, however,  irom  among  the  evidence  of  429 
witnesses  examined  by  the  Commissioner,  premis- 
ing that  the  floor  of  these  passages  is  "usuaUy  wet 
and  slushy,  and  not  unfrequently  dripping  with 
water." 

Katherine  Logan,  sixteen  years  old,  coal-putter,  exa- 
mined at  Vogrie  Colliery,  Borthwick,  says-—'*  Began  to 
work  at  coal-carrying  more  than  five  years  since;  works 
in  hameu  now;  draws  backwards,  with  fwoe  to  tubs; 
the  ropes  and  chains  go  under  pit-clothes;  it  is  o'er  sair 
work,  especially  when  we  crawl." 

Elizabeth  Dickson,  twelve  years  old,  draws  ooals  at 
Edgehead  Colliery,  Cranston—**  I  draw  with  the  ropes 
and  chain,  and  often  fall  and  get  crushed  as  the  hurly 
comes  down  the  brae :  never  off  work  long  from  the 
hurts.  I  am  wrought  with  two  brothers  and  two  sisters 
below;  we  takes  pieces  of  bread,  and  get  nothing  more 
till  work  is  done;  am  never  wrought  less  than  twelve 
and  fourteen  hours;  work  about;  we  work  all  night. 
Many  of  the  lassies  get  crushed,  and  lose  their  fingers; 
have  often  lost  my  inger  nails.  Always  change  my  pit 
clothes  when  home ;  am  obliged  to  do,  for  they  are  so 
wet.  I  bend  nearly  double  while  at  work,  as  all  the 
roads  are  very  low.  I  can  read  a  little ;  not  learned 
much,  as  have  been  three  years  below,  and  not  at  school 
since." 

Janet  Selkirk,  at  Preston-hall  Colliery,  Cranston, 
eighteen  years  of  age,  draws  coal—**  Begun  to  work  at 
ten  years  of  age;  did  so,  as  hard  work  below  had  made 
mother  blind.  I  cannot  read,  as  family  expenses  are 
heavy.    Am  obliged  to  like  the  work,  as  all  the  lassies 


are.  It  would  no  be  possible  for  men  to  do  the  work 
we  are  forced  to  do.  Men  only  marry  us  early  bec&ase 
we  are  of  advantage  to  them." 

Elizabeth  Selkirk,  Haugh  Lynn  Colliery,  parisli  of 
Cranston,  eleven  years  old,  coal-drawer — **  Works  from 
three  in  the  morning  till  four  and  five  in  the  afbemoon, 
and  fluently  all  night.  The  work  is  so  sore  that  can- 
na  help  goiro^  to  sleep  when  waiting  for  tiie  gig  to  draw:. 
I  do  not  always  change  mysel,  as  I'm  o'er&tigaed.  We 
have  had  much  trouble  (sickness.)  My  work  causes  me 
to  stoop  double;  and  when  I  draw,  I  crawl  on  all-foiirs^ 
like  the  cuddies," — [Very  sickly,  emaciated  child^  sub- 
ject to  severe  pains  in  limbs  and  bowels,  arisini^y  no 
doubt,  Arom  overwork  and  want  of  food.  Her  parental 
with  seven  children,  live  in  a  wretched  hovel  at  Path- 
head;  the  room  not  more  than  ten  feet  by  fourteen;  the 
furniture  consisted  of  two  old  bedsteads,  nearly  desti- 
tute of  covering,  a  few  old  stools,  and  bits  of  broken 
crockery.] 

In  East  Lothian,  thai  still  more  oppressiire  la* 
hour  imposed  on  females,  termed  **  codlrbeciring^* 
attracted  the  indignant  notice  of  the  Commissioner. 

The  abuses  we  have  above  alluded  to  are  com- 
mon to  Yorkshire  and  Lancashire ;  but  coal-bear- 
ing is  peculiar,  it  seems,  to  the  Lothians.  In 
many  collieries  women  bear  the  coal  in  baskets  on 
their  backs  up  ladders. 

Agnes   Moffatt,  at    Edmonston   Colliery,  Newton, 
seventeenyearsof  age,  coal-bearer,8ays : — *^  Works  twelve 
and  fourteen  hours  daily  ;  can  earn  12s.  in  the  fortnight, 
if  work  be  not  stopped  by  bad  air  or  otherwise.     I  fill 
five  baskets ;  the  weight  is  more  than  22  cwt. ;  it  takes 
me  twenty  journeys.    The  work  is  o'er  sair  for  females; 
had  my  shoulder  knocked  out  a  short  time  ago,  and  laid 
idle  some  time.    It  is  no  uncommon  for  women  to  lose 
their  burthen,  and  drop  off  the  ladder  down  the  dyke 
below  ;  Margaret  M'Neildid  a  few  weeks  since,  and  in- 
jured both  legs.    When  the  tugs  which  pass  over  the 
forehead  break,  which  they  firequently  do,  it  is  very 
dangerous  to  be  under  vrith  a  load.    The  lassies  hate 
the  work  altogether,  but  they  canna  run  away  f^m  it" 
**  I  have  wrought,"  says  Jane  Watson,  **  thirty-three 
years.    Have  had  two  dead  bom  ;  thinks  they  were  so 
from  the  oppressive  work ;  a  vast  of  women  have  dead 
children  and  false  births,  which  are  worse,  as  they  are  no 
able  to  work  after  the  latter.   I  have  always  been  obliged 
to  work  below  till  forced  to  go  home  to  bear  the  bairn, 
and  so  have  all  other  women.    We  return  as  soon  as  we 
are  able  ;  never  longer  than  ten  or  twelve  days  ;  many 
less,  if  they  are  needed.    It  is  only  horse-work,  and  ruins 
the  women :  it  crushes  their  haunches,  bends  their  ancles, 
and  makes  them  old  women  at  forty." 

Numbers  bear  testimony  to  the  same  facts. 
Some  with  a  philosophical  fortitude,  which  is  al- 
most ludicrous.  Mrs.  Isabel  Wilson,  thirty-eight 
years  old,  says  :— 

**When  women  have  children  thick  (&st)  they  are 
compelled  to  take  them  down  early  ;  I  have  been  mar- 
ried nineteen  years,  and  have  had  ten  balms  ;  seven  are 
in  life.  When  on  Sir  John's  work,  was  a  carrier  of  coals, 
which  caused  me  to  miscarry  five  times  from  the  strains, 
and  was  gai  ill  after  each.  PnUing  is  no  to  opprettkt; 
last  child  was  bom  on  Saturday  morning,  and  I  was  at 
work  on  the  Friday  night." 

It  is  here  worthy  of  remark,  (adds  Mr.  FranksJ 
that  to  this  hibour,  which  is  at  onoe  so  repulsive  and 
severe,  the  girls  are  invariably  set  at  an  earlier  age  than 
boys  are  to  their  peculiar  labour,  from  a  notion  very 
generally  entertained  amongst  the  parents  themselves, 
that  girls  are  more  acute,  and  capable  of  making  then* 
selves  nsefbl  at  an  earlier  age  thui  boys. 

The  Commissioner,  in  his  investigation  into  Mrt. 
Wilson's  domestic  arrangements  and  househola 
goods,  finds  that  nine  sleep  in  two  bedsteads  witk- 


COLLIERS  AND  COLLIERIES. 


377 


nt  l>ed8,  ihe  entire  farnitare  consisting  of  two 
ihmirsy  three  stools,  a  table,  a  kail  pot,  and  a  few 
irolcen  basins  and  onps.  On  the  subject  of  fiimi- 
nre  Mrs.  Wilson,  however,  supplied  the  Commis- 
ooner  with  a  few  new  ideas  : — 

'^  Upon  my  asking  if  the  famiture  was  all  they  had, 
the  gvAd  wife  said,  Auniture  was  of  no  nse/^  it  wss  so 
troublesome  to  flit  with  !  *' 

Tlie  general  opinion,  however,  among  the  gude- 
wivefl  seems  to  have  been  one  of  less  satisfaction 
witli  the  luxuries  of  their  lot : — 

^  You  must  jnst  tell  the  <^een  Victoria,''  says  Mrs. 
Ho£^  of  Gladsmoirtoher  Biigesty's  Commissioner,  ^  that 
we  are  gnid  loyal  subjects  ;  women-people  here  don't 
mind  work,  btU  they  object  to  kone-^tork ;  and  that  she 
would  have  the  blessings  of  all  the  Scotch  coal- women 
if  she  wonld  get  them  ont  of  the  pits,  and  $end  them  to 
other  labour." 

**  In  fikct,"  says  Mr.  William  Hunter,  mining  overs- 
man  of  Arniston  Colliery,  ^  women  always  did  the  lifting 
or  heavy  part  of  the  work,  and  neither  they  nor  the 
children  were  treated  like  human  beings,  nor  are  they 
where  they  are  employed.  Females  submit  to  work  in 
places  when  no  man  or  even  lad  could  be  got  to  labour 
in  :  they  work  in  bad  roads,  up  to  their  knees  in  water, 
in  a  posture  nearly  double  :  they  are  below  till  last  hour 
of  piregnancy  :  they  have  swelled  haunches  and  ancles, 
and  are  prematurely  brought  to  the  grave,  or,  what  is 
worse,  lingering  existence." 

The  hewing  of  the  coal  by  the  colliers  is  extreme- 
ly hard  work,  often  performed  whilst  lying  at  full 
length,  or  crouched  up  in  an  uneasy  posture. 

In  ihe  East  of  Scotland,  boys  are  actually  em- 
ployed in  this  dangerous  and  oppressive  labour  ! 

Alexander  Reid,  aged  twelve  years,  (in  the  Duke  of 
Baocleugh's  works  at  Dalkeith,)  says : — ^  I  have  worked 
two  years  at  Sheriff-hall,  and  go  below  at  two  or  three 
in  the  morning,  and  hew  till  six  at  night ;  after  that  I 
fill  and  put  £e  carts  on  the  rails  to  pit-bottom.  The 
pit  I  work  in  is  very  wet ;  we  often  work  in  slush  over 
our  shoe-tops.  When  first  below  I  used  to  fall  asleep  ; 
am  kept  awake  now.  It  is  moet  terrible  work ;  I  am 
wrought  in  a  30-inoh  seam,  and  am  obliged  to  twitt  my- 
uLf  up  to  work  on  my  side  ;  this  is  my  every-day  work 
except  Friday,  when  I  go  down  at  twelre  at  night,  and 
come  up  at  twelve  at  noon,"  &e. 

This,  and  similar  evidence  which  abounds 
throughout  the  Report,  amply  justifies  the  desire 
that  Scotland  may  ere  long  be  freed  from  what 
Mr.  Franks  justly  terms  ^Hhe  remnant  of  the 
ilaTery  of  a  degraded  age." 

The  assisting  of  the  wagons  up  the  inclines,  the 


craning  of  the  wagons  off  the  small  trains  on  to 
the  main  road,  constitute  the  remaining  occupa- 
tions of  children  in  collieries. 

On  the  subject  of  wages  Mr.  Tancred  gives  a  de- 
plorable account  of  the  prevalence  of  the  Truck 
System.  In  the  Airdrie  district,  there  is,  it  seems,  a 
regular  pewter  coinage,  bearing  on  it  the  name  of  ihe 
store  where  the  coin  is  payable,  with  the  amount 
it  passes  for.    The  usual  system,  however,  is  for— < 

A  woman  to  go  to  the  store,  and  say  she  wants  so 
many  ounces  of  soap,  tea,  sugar,  so  much  meal,  potatoes, 
bacon,  &c.  These  articles  are  entered  by  the  store-keeper 
in  her  pass-book,  with  the  price  of  each,  and  she  goes  to 
the  pay-office,  close  to  the  store  door  perhaps,  and  shows 
the  book,  upon  which  the  clerk  reckons  up  the  amount, 
pays  her  the  money,  and  back  she  goes  to  the  store,  and 
procures  the  articles.  Another  plan  is  this :  the  wife 
goes  to  the  store,  takes  what  articles  she  wants,  and 
leaves  it  to  the  store-keeper  to  set  the  amount  against 
her,  having  ^  a  line"  from  the  master  to  say  what  the 
wages  of  herself  or  husband  are.  On  the  pay-day  the 
store-keeper  sends  in  his  books  to  the  clerk,  and  the 
amount  of  each  person's  advances  is  deducted  from  the  pay. 

In  few  instances  do  the  people  receive  the  real 
value  of  their  wages ;  besides  it  encourages  them 
to  run  into  debt.  The  remedy  proposed  by  Mr. 
Tancred  is,  that  the  Inspectors,  to  whom  he  pre- 
sumes the  Report  will  give  birth,  shall  have  power 
to  ascertain  the  terms  upon  which  stores  are  rented ; 
the  prices  and  qualities  of  the  articles  sold,  and  to 
prevent  the  sale  of  spirits  at  them. 

There  is  a  page  wanting  in  Mr.  Tancred's  in- 
dustrial economy.  He  must  hit  at  the  root  as  well 
as  the  branches  of  the  evil ;  whilst  trade  continues 
to  be  crippled  for  the  sake  of  a  cormorant  monopoly, 
both  masters  and  men  are  driven,  the  one  to  re- 
sort to,  and  the  other  to  submit  to  resources,  which 
could  not  live  a  day  were  the  vast  capacities  of  our 
industry  released  from  the  shackles  of  restrictions 
on  trade,  and  the  palsying  effect  of  scarcity  of  food. 

The  actual  wages  professed  to  be  paid  to  colliers 
in  the  West  of  Scotland  is,  for  colliers  under 
eighteen,  128.  to  24s.  per  week.  Putters  and 
drawers,  4s.  to  9s.  Trappers,  4s.  Horse-driven 
ds.  to  6s.    Engine-boys,  6s.  to  13s. 

Mr.  Franks  gives  a  more  detailed  statement  in 
the  East  of  Scotland. 

In  the  East  of  Scotland,  wages  of  colliers  aver- 
age as  follows : — 


SLranfflTON  COLLIBAY. 

Eloin  Collisrucs. 

Yctf. 

WMkly  EwningB. 

ATonge 
CoDienwork. 

- 

At«nn 
FortnigfatiyEamingi. 

AVWAgt 

No.  or  Days 

OoUienwoiiLin 

Fortnight 

Avtnge 

Avtnm 
No-ofDiji 

CoUlenwork. 

H«w«i. 

Patten. 

Hewen. 

Pntten. 

Htwin. 

Pntttn. 

«.     d. 

t.    d. 

DVi. 

i.      d. 

«.     d. 

Dnyi. 

i.    d. 

t.    d. 

Di^ 

1612 

20    0 

8    0 

55    0 

16     6 

11 

3    3 

1     6 

10 

1814 

20    0 

8    0 

5 

55    0 

16     6 

•  •• 

3    3 

1     6 

10 

1822 

25     0 

9    0 

5 

27    6 

11     0 

•  •• 

3    9 

1    3 

10 

1823 

25     0 

9    0 

5 

27    6 

11     0 

... 

3    9 

1    !: 

10 

1831 

18    0 

9    0 

5 

27    6 

11     0 

... 

4    6 

10 

1832 

18    0 

7    0 

5 

27    6 

11     0 

»•• 

4    0 

10 

1834 

18    0 

7    0 

5 

27    6 

11     0 

•  •• 

3    9 

1836 

16     0 

5  10 

5 

33    0 

11  11 

... 

3    9 

1838 

16    0 

5  10 

5 

49    6 

14     8 

... 

3    9 

1840 

16    0 

5  10 

5 

42    0 

12  10 

••• 

8    9 

1841 

16    0 

5  10 

5 

42    0 

12  10 

•  •• 

3    9 

?7« 


COLLI£RS  AND  COLLI£RX£$* 


Aocidentf  are  stated  to  be  of  Arequent  occurrence 
in  both  districte;  and  as  there  are,  says  Mr, 
Franks,  no  Coroners  in  Scotknd,  "  no  notice  ap- 
pears to  be  taken  of  them."  They  arise  chiefly 
from  the  falling  of  the  roof,  or  ropes  breaking. 

Dr.  S.  S.  Alison*  remarkji^  in  reference  to  this 
subject  :— 

I  am  pretty  sue  about  50  people  under  my  care,  and 
oonnected  with  coUieries,  have  lost  their  lives  in  conse- 
quence of  accidents  occurring  in  the  works  around  Tra- 
nent, and  tdontft  remember  of  an  intuHgation  having 
been  made  by  (ke  Jier\f  in  more  than  one  indanoe. 

The  care  taken  of  the  children  appears  to  be 
slight.  They  are  generally  employed,  and  paid 
by  the  coal  hewers ;  and  do  not  fall  under  the 
cognizance  of  the  master.  This  seems  to  prevail 
almost  everywhere  throughout  Great  Britain. 
Their  food  consists  seldom  of  aught  else  than  kail, 
porridge,  and  bread,  in  East  Scotland ;  and  the 
homes  of  colliers  are  represented  by  Mr.  Franks  as 
"  deplorable  pictures  of  filth  and  poverty."  It  is 
otherwise  in  England.  Both  in  food  and  houses  the 
colliers  appear  to  be  comfortably  provided  there, 
in  most  instances.  In  the  East  of  Scotland,  in 
point  of  household  and  personal'  cleanliness,  the 
condition  of  the  collier  community,  struck  Mr. 
Franks  as  that  of  a  population  abandoned  to  a 
course  of  life,  which  has  blunted  the  commonest 
perceptions  of  human  comfort. 

But  give  the  collier  (adds  Mr.  Franks)  the  comforts 
of  a  clean  and  cheerM  home,  and  the  companionship 
ef  a  sober  and  decently-educated  female,  not  degraded 
to  brute  labour  by  working  in  the  pits ;  let  her  attend 
to  a  mother's  and  housewife's  duties :  and  you  will  soon 
change  tiie  moral  condition  of  the  collier. 

The  following  is  so  graphic  and  terse  a  sketch 
of  the  collier  character,  and  one  so  well  borne  out 
by  other  evidence,  that  we  must  add  it  to  our  ex- 
tracts :— 

Mr.  Alexander  Nimmo,  innkeeper,  Tranent,  states 
that  he  has  been  some  years  resident  in  Tranent,  and 
had  frequent  opportunities  of  witnessing  the  conduct  of 
the  collier  people.  They  are  very  clannish,  and  hold 
very  little  intercourse  with  other  tradesmen.  They  ara 
quite  as  singular  in  their  marriages  as  they  are  in  their 
friendships — so  entirely  ezclusive.  They  may  well  be 
so,  for  no  working  man  would  marry  a  collier's  daughter, 
so  little  do  they  know  of  domestic  duty.  Colliers  drink 
very  hard,  and  rarely  anything  but  whisky,  which  they 
subscribe  for  amongst  themselves  and  purchase  by  the 
botUe  or  gallon.  t£i  bad  custom  of  taking  wives  below 
causes  them  to  neglect  homes  and  carry  down  their 
children  idmost  before  they  can  walk,  and  they  get  little 
or  no  education;  most  of  the  children  here  are  very 
ignorant.  •  Sometime  since  Mr.  Cadell  had  a  schooKhouse 
buflt ;  he  engaged  a  teacher ;  the  fees  were  fixed  very 
low,  so  as  to  induce  colliers  to  send  their  oflkpring ;  few 
attended  regularly^  and  the  school  was  closed  after  a 
few  months;  it  was  a  voluntary  schooL  The  collier 
people  in  this  town  are  dirty  to  extreme  ;  their  houses 
are  not  such  as  I  should  like  to  fMd  pigs  in.  Most  keep 
fowls  and  ducks,  and  many  pigs  are  kept  in  the  houses. 
In  eonsequence  of  the  filthy  state  of  the  wynds  and  closes 
where  the  colliers  stop,  a  neighbouring  fkrmer  lately 
went  to  a  considerable  expense  in  erecting  a  public  privy, 
with  separate  partitions  and  apparatus  to  keep  it  well 
cleansed:  but  they  took  umbrage  at  being  so  provided  for, 
and,  thinking  it  an  innovation  upon  their  rights,  they 
pulled  the  privy  down,  and  burnt  the  wood  of  which  it 
was  composed.    In  this  town  there  are  some  few  colliers 


*  In  the  Appendix  to  the  Report,  there  is  an  eUbonte  and 
valuable  Theiit,  by  Dr.  Alison,  on  the  phyncal  condition  and 
diiesses  of  the  oolutr  population. 


who  are  natives,  and  keep  attached  to  the  place,  bat  tiM 
majority  are  changeable ;  they  are  apt  to  run  in  debt 
and  then  flit. 

They  are  in  knowledge,  (says  Mr.  Ross,  of  the  Loan- 
head  Colliery,)  both  reUgious  and  intellectual,  greatly 
inferior  to  all  other  classes ;  in  moral  eoursge  and  eater- 
prise  inferior ;  in  taste  for  comforts,  even  of  a  domeetio 
nature,  inferior ;  and  yet,  abject  as  their  conditioa  is,  U 
presents  some  favourable  features  of  comparison  with 
others,  whose  condition,  as  moral  and  intellectual  beings, 
is  undoubtedly  superior.  They  are  always  respeotfUl, 
and  sometimes  wsjrmly  attached  te  their  employers,  and 
exhibit  none  of  the  p^  and  discourteous  behaviour  of 
the  manufacturer;  they  listen  with  cheerfolness  and 
much  seriousness  to  the  ministers  of  the  gospel  who  ooaw 
among  them ;  they  show,  and  probably  feel,  less  jealously 
of  their  superiors  in  rank  and  fortune  than  is  generally 
shown  by  other  artisans,  and  they  intermeddle  le|s  wita 
politics. 

The  diseases  to  which  colliers  are  most  liabk^ 
appear  to  be  astluna,  riieumatism,  irregular  action, 
of  the  bowels,  and  bronchitis.  Scarcely  any  colHers 
are  to  be  found,  (says  Dr,  Alison  in  his  evidenoe,) 
above  twenty  years  of  age,  who  are  firee  from 
disease  in  the  pectoral  organs.  Diseases  of  the 
spinal  column,  and  fevers  prevaiL  ^  Black  spit,** 
is  the  common  term  for  the  disease  of  the  lungs; 
which  aptly  indicates  its  attendant  symptonu 
^^  After  death,"  says  Dr.  Mackellar,— 

On  examining  the  ckett,  the  longs  are  found  mea9ai$d, 
and  the  cavities  filled  with  a  fbiSd  or  solid  substaaea 
— apparently  pure  carbon. 

This  disease  may  be  wholly  obviated  by  a  better 
ventilation,  ei^»ecially  where  gunpowder  is  iisedL 
for  blasting. 

The  physical  condition,  as  regards  health,  it 
rather  favourably  reported  on  than  otherwise, 
by  Mr.  Tancred,  in  the  West  of  Seotland.  No 
disease,  save  asthma,  seems  to  have  attracted  his 
attention.  Nutritious  diet  he  deems  to  be  common 
among  colliers. 

The  morals  of  the  Eastern  pitmen  are,  with  the 
exception  of  the  prevalence  of  intoxication,  hr 
&om  depraved.  They  appear,  in  fact^  too  griev- 
ously over- wrought  to  be  very  vicious.  They  have 
no  time  for  crime.  Their  leisure  is  necessarily 
devoted  to  rest.  In  education,  not  only  are  the 
present  generation  all  but  destitute  of  the  com- 
monest information  ;  but  the  children  are  growing 
up  in  similar  ignorance. 

Mr.  Franks  says  ; — 

I  carefolly  examined  the  children  on  the  spot,  as 
well  as  the  signatures  to  the  returns  which  I  had  receiv- 
ed ;  and  I  find,  that  out  of  8886  children  and  young 
persons  included  in  such  returns,  only  866  pretend  to 
write  their  names,  out  of  which  number,  I  might  venture 
to  aflirm,  that  it  would  require  a  well-practised  eye  to 
decipher  even  1 50 ;  and  of  those  whose  names  are  tolerably 
legible,  I  believe  that  not  a  couple  of  dozen  could  be 
found  to  write  a  dozen  consecutive  lines  on  any  given 
subject,  capable  of  being  read  and  understeod. 

In  scriptural  and  common  secular  knowledge, 
he  found  a  **  miserable  deficiency." 

He  found  the  females,  as  might  be  expected, 
ignorant  of  ordinary  household  capacity.  They 
knew  nothing  of  housewifery.  ^  How/'  the  Com- 
missioner  asks,  **  should  they  ?  Are  they  to  leiurn 
it  in  the  pit  ?* 

Mr.  Wright,  the  Manager  of  the  Duke  of  BUc- 
deugh's  mines,  in  speaking  of  the  improvement 
there  created  by  the  exclusion  of  females,  says  H- 


COLLIERS  AND  COLLIERIES. 


979 


1  Ibel  MBidtni,  tlu4  tlie  exolnuon  of  femalM  will 
idvmatftge  the  colliers  in  a  physical  point  of  Tiew>  and 
that  it  will  force  the  alteration  of  the  economy  of  the 
mines.  Owners  wiU  be  compelled  to  alter  their  system; 
tiMy  will  ?«ntilate  better,  make  better  roads,  and  so 
change  the  system,  as  to  enable  men  who  now  work  only 
three  or  fonr  days  a-week,  to  discorer  their  own  interest 
in  legvlftriy  employing  themselres.  Since  yonng  ohil- 
dxta  taid  females  hare  been  excluded  from  his  Grace^s 
■dnee,  we  hare  ne^er  had  occasion  to  increase  the  price 
efeeftl. 

The  desire  for  legialnUve  Interference  to  check 
the  eyiU  of  tho  exlBting  fystem,  both  as  to  the  age 
•f  the  children^  and  the  employment  of  females^ 
appears  to  have  been  generally  expressed  by  the 
more  intelligeiit,  both  of  the  workmen  and  the 
employers^  when  questioned  on  the  subject. 

The  apathy  of  the  great  mass  of  this  peculiar 
•ommnaity,  presoits  a  painful  theme  of  reflection. 
The  spirit  of  serfdom  is  evidently  rife  among  them 
still ;  and  they  exist,  a  singular  and  almost  an 
isolated  living  instance,  of  what  feudalism  was, 
and  of  the  effects  of  passive  submis^n  on  the 
mond  dignity  of  man,  and  the  attributes  of  hu- 
manity itsel£  Mr.  Franks  rightly  characterizes 
them  as 

A  population,  including  7000  to  8000  heads  of  fa- 
milies, leading  a  mere  animal  existence,  without  religious 
dmraoter,  without  political  bias,  without  political  repre- 
seatation — in  short,  without  any  political  status  ndiat- 
ever  j — eaeh,  and  so  simple  is  the  character  of  the  people 
amongst  whom  my  labours  have  been  pursued  ;  and  to 
many,  therefore,  it  was  but  too  obvious  that  the  visit  of 
the  Commissioners  bore  the  appearance  of  an  obtrusive 
sad  iaiqnisitorial  visit,  rather  than  the  anxiety  of  a 
fUlanthiepy  idneh  needed  no  solicitation. 


It  is  not  undeserving  of  remar)c,  (he  adds)  that  this 
is  the  same  people,  who,  wedded  to  ancient  customs, 
and  unaccustomed  to  the  exercise  of  thought  beyond  the 
necessities  of  the  morrow,  were  so  totally  ignorant  of 
the  boon  conferred  upon  them  by  the  Legislature  in 
1775,  that  they  eontenttdly  lived  on  in  their  Unthge,  and 
retained  their  old  custom  of  '^arleing  ;''  and  tl^e  then 
tacksmen  of  the  mines,  togetner  with  their  ignorant  de- 
pendents, continued  their  voluntary  slavery,  till  the 
voice  of  we  Legislature  in  1799,  again  commanded  them 
to  be  free. 

He  recommends  as  remedies, 

1st.  The  exclusion  of  females  and  young  children  altoge- 
ther from  the  mines. 

3dly.  The  widest  possible  extension  of  the  benefits  of 
wholesome  and  sound  instraotaoB,  and  moral  and 
religious  training. 

The  Greneral  Report  of  the  Commission  for  the 
United  Kingdom,  has  been  drawn  up  by  Thomas 
Tooke,  Esq.,  and  Dr.  Southwood  Smith,  with  the 
aid  of  Messrs.  Homer  and  Saunders,  as  a  Central 
Board,  and  twenty  visiting  Commissionera^  of 
whose  Reports,  their  own  is  little  else  than  a  digest. 

It  draws  a  frightful  picture  of  the  character  of 
pit-labour  in  all  its  aspects ;  one  which  may  well 
cause  the  philanthropist  to  look  back  with  regret 
on  the  time,  labour,  and  money,  spent  on  objects 
of  infinitely  inferior  claim  on  the  activity  of  bene- 
volence. Our  charities  have  roamed  far  and  wide 
in  search  of  food  for  compassion ;  and  we  have 
left  unheeded  at  home  beneath  our  feet,  sufiering 
of  body,  and  heathenism  of  mind  and  morals, 
tenfold  greater  than  we  have  traversed  the  globe  in 
search  of. 


HYDROPATHY,  OR  THE  COLD  WATER  CURE.* 


Hbxb  Is  a  new,  or  resuscitated,  system  of  curing 
all  niABiier  of  diseases,  which  bids  fair,  for  a  season, 
to  edipas  Morrison's  pills,  Homosopathy,  and  even 
Biandy  and  Salt.  Its  author  is  neither  physician, 
surgeon,  nor  apothecary.  He  has  studied  at  no 
University,  received  i^>  diploma.  He  is  even  more 
untutored  than  the  first  of  the  Whitworth  Doctors, 
whom  our  readers  may  remember  in  our  pages ; 
and  yet  upon  what  appears  veiy  credible  testimony, 
he  has  performed  many  notable,  if  not  wonderful, 
cures,  after  the  faculty  had  fairly  given  the  pa- 
ttSBts  up.  There  is  this  to  be  said  for  the  system  of 
Priessnitc,  that  he  rejects  all  quack  medicines  and 
all  drugs  whatever ;  and  wisely  trusts  a  great  deal  to 
such  potent  remedies  and  auxiliaries  as  air,  exercise, 
c  h  erfulnees,  and  very  homely  and  moderate,  if 
not  abstemious,  living*  These  agencies,  with  un- 
bounded hiih  in  the  treatment,  migh^  produce 
greater  wonders  than  are  performed  at  Gr&efen- 
beig,  independently  of  the  grand  specific,  cold  water* 

Among  the  grateful  patients  who  have  recently 
bssn  cuj«d  at  that  celebrated  place,  is  Mr.  Claridge, 
the  compiler  and  translator  of  the  various  papers 
whic^  form  this  singular  volume.  Mr.  Claridge 
was  sufiisring  severely  from  a  complication  of 

♦  **  Hydropathy,  or  the  Cold  Water  Cure,  as  practised  by 
TiasMt  Priesnits,  at  OrKefenberg,  SUena,  Austria  ;**  by  B. 
VkQIsri^Ei^.    Madden  A  Co.,  London, 


headache,  tic-doloureux,  and  rheumatism,  when, 
by  the  advice  of  a  friend  at  Gratz,  and  the  recom- 
mendation of  an  eminent  medic^  man  whom  he 
met  in  Venice^  he  was  led  to  become  a  pilgrim  to  the 
new  Temple  of  Hygeia,  at  Graefenberg,  in  Silesia. 
He  has  reason  to  bless  the  day  when  he  took  that 
resolution.  Several  Grerman  physicians,  whom  he 
accidentally  saw,  or  consulted,  instead  of  treating 
Priessnitz  as  &Q  empiric,  had  sent  their  own  pa- 
tients to  be  cured ;  by  swallowing  copious  draughts 
of  the  coldest  spring  water  and  using  constant  ex- 
ternal ablutions  of  the  same  icy  fluid.  Mr.  Cla- 
ridge appears  to  be  now  in  England :  nor  can  we 
imagine  any  motive  for  his  intense  admiration  of  the 
water  cure,  save  the  benefits  which  he  believes  he 
has  derived  from  it,  and  his  desire  to  make  generally 
known  what  he  conceives  to  be  a  discovery  fraught 
with  inmieasurable  benefit  to  the  tortured,  drug- 
consuming,  suffering,  and  short-lived  human  race. 
It  is,  however,  somewhat  disheartening  to  find 
him  asserting  that  it  is  believed  the  system  must 
decay  with  its  inventor  or  discoverer ;  and  that,  if 
Providence  should  be  pleased  to  remove  the  second 
Hippocrates,  Hydropathy  will  again  fall  into  a 
dormant  state,  if  not  into  total  disuse— ^^  not  that  he 
(Priessnits)  will  want  numerous  imitators,  but 
because  it  is  doubtful  if  the  present,  or  any  future 
generation  will  ever  look  upon  his  like  again." 


38(1 


THE  COLD  WATER  CURE. 


This  is  rather  regarding  Priessnitz  as  a  worker  of 
miracles,  than  a  sagacious,  self-taught  physician, 
accomplishing  cures  hy  apparently  very  simple 
means.  Priessnitz  is  by  no  means  the  first  cold- 
water  doctor  of  whom  the  world  has  heard  ; 
though  he  is  certainly  the  first  that  *^  was  never 
known  to  fail."  And  all  diseases,  acute  or  chronic, 
recent  or  of  long  standing,  come  alike  to  him : 
Dropsy,  cancer,  feyer,  rheumatism,  gout,  scrofula, 
consumption, — tender  infancy,  and  extreme  old  age, 
it  is  all  the  same. 

The  father  of  this  wonderful  personage  was  a 
peasant  proprietor  at  Grdefenbeig.  He,  conse* 
quently,  received  little,  if  any  education ;  and  his 
skill  in  curing  disease  originated  in  mere  accident. 
He  was  one  day,  while  engaged  in  agricultural 
labour,  severely  kicked  by  a  horse ;  and  the  surgeon 
called  in  said,  that  he  would  be  disabled  for  life. 
The  young  man  was,  naturally,  very  unwilling  to 
acquiesce  in  this  opinion,  and  he  cured  himself  of 
his  wounds,  and  their  consequences,  by  cold 
water  and  spare  diet  alone.  He  afterwards  per- 
formed several  cures  both  on  men  and  animals ; 
and  as  he  became  better  acquainted  with  the 
virtues  of  water,  hb  knowledge  of  disease  and 
his  renown  gradually  increased.  A  little  opportune 
professbnal  persecution  confirmed  his  reputation. 
The  jealous  Austrian  government  interfered,  but 
this  only  further  spread  the  reputation  of  Priessnitz, 
who,  after  minute  investigation,  could  not,  it  was 
imagined,  with  only  cold  water,  homely  diet,  and 
severe  exercise,  do  much  injury  to  the  lieges.  And 
now  the  water  doctor  of  Grftefenberg  is  as  high  in 
favour  with  the  fashionable  world  of  Austria,  Prus- 
sia, and  Bavaria,  as  is  Sir  James  Clarke  in  London, 
or  Dr.  Jephsott  at  Leamington.  Between  1829, 
when  he  began  to  practise  as  a  regular  physician, 
and  1842,  he  has  been  consulted  by  7000  persons  ; 
and,  of  course,  has  cured  as  many  of  them  as  were 
willing  to  be  cured.  Their  patience  may  fail, 
though  the  cures  seem  accomplished  with  wonder- 
ful rapidity,  but  never  once  does  the  treatment 
faiL  The  number  of  patients  increases  every  year. 
Nor  have  his  labours  been  without  their  reward. 
He  is  little  more  than  forty  years  of  age — though, 
in  spite  of  cold  water,  he  is  said  to  look  older  than 

-  he  is — and  his  fortune  is  already  £50,000.  But 
the  water  doctor  has  other  means  of  increasing  his 
income  besides  fees.  These  are,  in  reality,  very 
moderate, — ^though  rich  and  grateful  patients 
often  load  him  with  presents.  He  lodges  and 
boards  four  or  five  hundred  of  his  patients  ;  and 
in  the  season,  his  extensive  establishment,  and  the 
adjoining  town  of  Freiwaldau,  are  crowded  like 
an  American  watering-place.  The  cure  of  the 
patients  is  not  obstructed  by  enervating  indolence, 
luxurious  accommodation,  or  sumptuous  fare. 
Priessnitz  does  not  wish  to  tempt  them  to  loll  in  soft 
beds,  remain  in  snug,  neat  chambers,  or  loiter  at 
the  table  cCh^te  ;  and  therefore  the  beds  are  bad, 
and  the  table  coarsely,  though  plentifully  supplied. 
As  we  can  perceive  no  reason  why  the  water" 
cure  may  not  be  accomplished  quite  as  success- 
fully in  some  secluded  Welsh,  Highland,  or  other 
Northern  valley,  as  at  Grftefenberg,  and  have 

(^  great  faith  in  the  sldU,  sagacity,  and  enterprise  of 


our  own  countrymen,  medical  and  non-meilical, 
it  may  be  interesting  to  give  some  account  of  Mr. 
Priessuitz's  establishment,  as  the  book  is  still  com- 
paratively rare,  and  the  season  for  watering-places 
just  approaching  :— 

GrHefenberg  is  a  colony  of  about  twenty  houses,  placed 
about  half-way  up  one  of  the  mountains  of  the  Sndatea, 
forming  part  of  the  small  town  of  Freiwaldau,  in  Silesia, 
Austria,  about  18  English  miles  from  Neiss^,  70  ftt>m 
Breslau,  260  from  Berlin,  200  from  Dresden,  160  frooi 
Prague,  63  from  Olmutz,  and  175  from  Vienna. 

The  town  of  Freiwaldau  contains  about  3000  iiihabi-> 
tants,  most  of  whom  are  engaged  in  agriculture  or  th» 
manufibcture  of  linen.  As  the  accommodations  at  Grilef- 
enberg  are  not  adapted  to  families,  fVeiwaldau  is  the 
resort  of  the  fashionable  world  who  have  occasion  to 
undergo  the  water  cure,  the  upper  part  of  most  of  the 
houses  being  let  out  as  lodgings. 

The  establishment  of  Ghrilefenberg  is  most  agreeably 
placed  on  a  long  slope,  which  extends  from  the  valley 
to  the  top  of  the  mountain.  The  views  from  it  are  mag- 
nificent, particularly  in  one  direction,  in  which  the  plains 
of  Prussia  are  seen  in  the  distance.  The  highest  houses 
chiefly  belong  to  Mr.  Priessnitz. 

A  number  of  irregular  buildings  can,  at  a  pinch, 
accommodate  from  five  to  six  hundred  persons^ 
besides  containing  the  baths.  The  air  is  cold  and 
bracing  ;  and  the  presiding  Hippocrates  seems 
wisely  to  make  fully  as  much  use  of  the  mountain 
breeze,  as  of  cold  water.  At  daybreak,  the  patients 
quit  their  comfortless  chambers,  setting  weather 
at  defiance,  and  drink  the  water,  or  take  the  baths 
prescribed  for  them. 

At  breakAtst  the  table  is  supplied  with  brown  bread, 
and  most  excellent  milk  and  butter  from  Mr.  Priessnits's 
dairy  :  the  same  may  be  said  of  supper.  At  dinner 
there  is  soup,  and  beef  boiled  in  it,  a  fiimous  dish  with 
Germans.  After  this,  one  occasionally  sees  pork,  veal, 
beef,  ducks,  geese,  potatoes,  sour  croute,gerkins,  cucum- 
bers, pastry,  &c. :  these  are  named  to  show  the  nature 
of  the  things  which  invalids  are  allowed  to  partake  of, 
not  that  they  all  appear  at  one  time,  for  in  general  it  is 
complained  that,  though  plentiful,  the  food  is  coarse. 
Mr.  Priessnitz,  when  any  allusion  is  made  to  this  si^ 
jeot,  says,  ^  that  the  cure  would  progress  quicker  if  the 
table  were  much  worse  served  than  at  present ;  he  has 
no  objection  to  people  eating  heartily,  but  he  insists  on 
it  that  the  food  ought  not  to  partake  of  those  solid 
nourishing  qualities  which  we  are  accustomed  to  in  Eng- 
land.'' When  it  has  been  remarked  to  him  that  ceitain 
invalids  appeared  to  overload  their  stomachs,  he  replied, 
^  that  they  might  go  on  as  they  would,  that  water  sooner 
or  later  would  find  its  own  level,  and  that  as  they  pro- 
gressed towards  a  healthy  state,  their  appetites  would 
become  more  moderate  f  a  fact  which  observation  fully 
confirms.  At  the  same  time  that  I  admit  this,  if  allowed 
to  differ  from  such  high  authority,  I  should  say  that  if 
more  attention  were  paid  to  diet,  cures  would  be  effected 
in  a  much  shorter  time  than  they  are.  Mr.  Priessnitz 
says  that  people  must  eat  to  acquire  and  keep  up  their 
strength  ;  and  in  this  I  perfectly  agree  vrith  him,  all  I 
would  suggest  is,  a  little  more  regard  to  the  quality  of 
the  substances  which  individuals  partake  of. 

In  an  Englishman  one  can  understand  the  foi^oe 
of  this  objection.  The  breakfast  costs  about  two* 
pence  halfpenny,  the  dinner  one  shilling,  English 
money.  Though  the  guests  are  not  regaled  with 
dainty  fare,  little  or  no  restriction  is  laid  upon 
them  in  regard  to  quantity,  so  that  they  drink 
plentifully  of  cold  water — **  which  digests  every- 
thing," and  which  is  taken  to  the  extent  of  from 
ten  and  twelve  to  twenty  glasses  a-day.  The  sixe 
of  the  glass  we  do  not  learn.  If  an  ordinary  wine« 


THE  COLD  WATER  CURE. 


381 


glass  is  mesnt,  the  quantity  to  people  taking  abun- 
dant exercise  does  not  seem  excessive. 

Though  the  medical  faculty  were  at  first  jealous 
of  Priessnitz,  some  of  them  now  seem  the  most  ac- 
tiYe  of  his  trumpeters  ;  and  there  are  already  forty- 
£Te  r^ular  Hydropathic  Establishments  in  Aus- 
tria, Prussia,  Hungary,  Bavaria,  and  other  parts 
of  Germany.  There  is  also  one  in  St.  Peters- 
burgy  one  in  Ghent,  and  one  in  Strasburg.  The 
treatment,  in  its  leading  features,  closely  resembles, 
as  we  understand  it,  the  methods  of  training  long 
practised  by  the  New-Market,  and  other  trainers ; 
though  9weatingy  and  violent  transitions  from  hot  to 
cold,  and  the  reverse,  are  more  decidedly  practised. 
Yet  these  violent  changes,  though  boldly  spoken 
of,  are  not  used  without  some  discretion.  In  short, 
tlKHigh  swelling  language  is  employed,  the  actual 
treatment  is  prudent  and  guarded.  One  great  se- 
cret of  the  success  of  Priessnitz  seems  to  be,  refus- 
ing to  undertake  any  hopeless  or  very  bad  case.  To 
some  patients  he  says  at  once,  "  I  can  do  nothing 
for  you  ;"  but  if  they,  animated  by  hope  and  lively 
faith,  insist  upon  remaining  under  his  care,  they 
often  partially  recover.  Sweating^  and  to  excess, 
appears  with  Priessnitz  to  supply  the  place  of  all 
the  evacuations  usually  employed  by  medical  men 
in  effecting  cures.  No  grain  of  even  the  simplest  < 
medicine  is  ever  used,  nor  are  leeches,  the  lancet, 
or  cupping-glasses  known ;  and  all  mineral  waters 
are  considered  poison.  The  only  remedies  em- 
ployed by  Priessnitz,  in  common  with  ordinary 
physicians,  are  the  bath  in  all  its  forms  and  modifi- 
cations, and  clysters  of  cold  water. 

Many  persons  had  cautioned  Mr.  Claridge  against 
going  to  Graefenberg;  but  pain — severe  bodily 
suffering,  from  which  he  could  find  no  relief, — urged 
him  on  ;  and  the  personal  narrative  of  hb  sojourn 
affords  to  Englbhmen  a  better  account  of  the 
place,  and  its  presiding  genius,  than  the  various 
papers  he  has  translated  from  other  sources,  though 
these  strongly  confirm  his  testimony. 

On  arriving  at  the  establishment  at  GrUefenberg,  and 
finding  all  the  rooms  engaged,  I  was  compelled  to  de- 
scend to  the  town  of  Freiwaldan,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
mountain,  where  strangers  are  sure  of  finding  acoommo- 
datioo.  The  arrival  of  an  English  carriage  and  family, 
probablj  for  the  first  time,  was  too  important  an  event 
not  to  be  immediately  known  to  everybody.  Conse- 
qnently,  early  the  following  morning,  our  countrymen, 
whom  I  had  persuaded  to  go  ;  one,  a  medical  man,  who 
had  been  there  two  months,  the  other  one  month,  called 
upon  me  to  invite  my  fiunily  up  to  the  establishment  that 
day  to  dinner.  These  gentlemen,  on  our  meeting,  de- 
eluned  that  they  owed  me  an  eternal  debt  of  gratitude, 
for  having  directed  their  attention  to  Grttefenberg,  adding, 
**  when  we  came  here  we  were  encased  in  flannel,  to  which 
we  have  said  adieu  for  ever :  our  appetites  are  excellent  ;^ 
and  above  all,  we  sleep  well,  and  exercise  never  tires  us. 
We  have  now  acquired  a  buoyancy  of  spirits  quite  in- 
credible :  had  any  one  told  us  three  months  ago  it  was 
possible  to  attain  it,  we  should  have  treated  the  idea  as 
chimerical.''  They  then  expressed  an  opinion  that  it^ 
was  flannel,  abstaining  from  drinking  water,  and  igno- 
rance of  its  value  in  ablutions,  and  not  the  damps  of 
England,  that  caused  so  many  to  seek  health  in  other 
climes,  to  the  evident  disadvantage  of  our  own  country. 

At  dinner  there  were  between  200  and  300  persons, 
of  all  a^es  and  all  ranks  in  society,  who,  with  perhaps 

^      -  •    n     ox  ejtious,  were  invalids,  a  circumstance 

.     -  „  .^uainted  with  the  fact  would  have 

suspected ;  for  I  could  not  help  remarking  the  happy, 


healthy-looking  countenances  of  all  around,  and  the 
merry  laugh  and  mirth  which  burst  from  every  part  of 
the  large  saloon.  On  expressing  my  surprise  to  the 
English  doctor,  he  said,  ^  You  will  find  dif&onlty,  no 
doubt,  in  believing  that  there  are,  to  my  knowledge, 
forty  or  fifty  persons  here,  who,  but  for  Priessnitz,  would 
have  been  consigned  to  their  tombs,  and  not  have  been 
living  here  to-day  to  tell  their  tales ;  and  that  there 
are,  perhaps,  twice  as  many  more  who,  under  any  other 
treatment,  would  have  been  confined  to  their  beds.  On 
looking  at  these  people,  you  must  bear  in  mind  that  they 
are  not  on  a  par  with  the  casual  occupants  of  an  hospi- 
tal; for  the  minority  of  them  have  come  here  after 
having  consulted  all  the  celebrated  doctors  within  their 
reach,  and  tried  the  mineral  waters  in  Grermany  in  vain : 
that  tiiey  are  people  who  only  abandoned  their  medical 
advisers  when  it  became  too  apparent  that  they  could 
receive  no  assistance  from  them,  or  when  they  could  no 
longer  be  induced  to  follow  their  prescriptions  ;  there- 
fore, the  majority  of  these  cases  may  be  considered  more 
advanced  and  confirmed  than  the  common  run  of  an 
hospital ;  that  disease  is  too  firmly  rooted  in  their 
systems  to  be  reUeved  by  the  ordinary  practice  of  the 
faculty,  most  of  them  being  considered  incurable."  The 
doctor  added,  ^  If  anything  could  be  adduced  to  show 
that  invalids  can  live,  digest,  and  become  strong  without 
the  aid  of  drugs,  it  would  be  the  fact,  that  amongst  the 
large  number  of  people,  both  here  and  at  Freiwaldan, 
some  of  whom  have  been  many  months  under  the  treat- 
ment, not  a  grain  of  medicine  has  been  taken  by  any  one 
of  them  since  their  arrival ;  notwithstanding  they  eat 
with  appetites  that,  but  for  the  dissolving  power  of 
water,  would  cause  them  to  die  of  indigestion.  As 
there  is  no  wine,  mustard,  or  pepper  on  the  table,  people  « 
think  no  more  of  such  things,  than  if  they  were  not."      ^ 

One  can  easily  imagine  much  gaiety  and  cheerfiilness 
to  exist  at  the  public  tables  of  the  different  Spas,  or  at 
other  watering-places,  as  they  are  devoted  to  recreation 
and  amusement ;  but  in  an  hospital,  where  almost  every 
disease  known  in  Europe  is  to  be  found,  the  existence 
of  such  gaiety  appears  incomprehensible  except  to  those 
who  have  been  some  time  at  Grilefenberg,  and  have  wit- 
nessed the  soothing  power  of  water  in  the  alleviation  of 
pain,  and  the  buoyancy  of  spirits  which  it  promotes,  by^ 
regulating  the  digestive  powers. 

^  Look  at  your  neighbour  to  the  right,"  said  the  doc- 
tor; ^  he  came  here  twelve  months  ago  on  crutches, 
having  previously  been  a  year  in  bed.  His  disease,  the 
gout,  being  an  old  hereditary  complaint,  he  is  not  yet 
cured  ;  but  one  thing  he  will  tell  you,  that  though  in 
pain  when  he  first  came,  it  soon  ceased,  and  he  has  never 
been  confined  to  his  room  an  hour  since,  nor  did  he  ever 
enjoy  finer  health.  Then  look  at  that  young  lady  oppo- 
site. From  childhood  she  had  scroftiUb  in  her  face  and 
neck  to  such  an  extent,  that  she  was  an  object  of  pity  to 
all  who  saw  her :  she  has  been  here  nine  months,  and 
is  now  so  completely  recovered,  that  she  is  considered 
the  beauty  of  the  room.  That  officer  near  her  is  suffer- 
ing from  a  wound  in  his  leg.  At  first  it  vrithered  away 
until  it  became  no  larger  than  a  man's  vmst ;  the  sur- 
geons said,  nothing  but  amputation  remained.  Upon 
which  he  came  here,  and  now  his  limb  has  resumed  its 
fiesh,  and  will  shortly  be  perfectly  restored.  Yonder 
female  walking  with  a  stick  was  brought  here  six  weeks 
ago  in  wet  sheets.  She  had  been  confined  to  her  bed  and 
room  until  she  lost  the  use  of  her  Umbs,  and  so  became 
a  perfect  skeleton  ;  she  now  walks  tolerably  well  vrith  a 
stick,  and  in  a  fortnight,  it  is  expected,  she  will  do  with- 
out it." 

He  then  pointed  out  a  child  who  had  lost  the  use  of 
his  legs  from  scrofula,  but  now  perfectly  recovered. 
Another  person  was  tormented  for  years  with  tic-dolour- 
eux,  who,  after  remaining  here  a  few  months,  became 
perfectly  cured.  There  is  an  officer  now  recovered  ttom 
hernia,  and  there  several  others  f^om  rheumatism. 
<<  That  gentleman,"  said  he,  **  is  a  field-marshal  in  the 
Prussian  service ;  eighty-seven  years  old :  he  came  here 
on  crutches,  with  the  gout,  two  months  ago.  He  is  de- 
lighted with  the  treatment,  and  now  walks  about  these 
mountains  with  the  use  only  of  a  stick.  He  intends  stoy- 


dS2 


THE  COLD  WATER  CURE. 


ing  here  ibreii|h  the  winter.  Thai  lady  firom  Moscow 
has  a  child  omj  three  years  eld,  distorted  by  a  spinal 
complaint ;  fonr  months  aco  the  poor  infant  could  not 
stand  erect;  now  it  plays  about,  and  is  as  happy  as  the 
other  children  :  in  six  months'  time  it  will  be  perfectly 
cured."  In  f^t,  such  a  number  ef  singular  and  extra- 
ordinary cases  were  pointed  out  to  me  by  my  friend, 
whose  knowledge  of  the  foots  and  Teracity  could  be  de- 
pended upon,  that  I  no  longer  doubted  the  astounding 
accounts  I  had  so  frequently  helkrd  ef  the  cures  eflbeted 
at  GrSefenberg. 

The  faith  of  Mr,  Claridge  became  stronger  every 
moment ;  and  in  this  favourable  state  of  mental 
predisposition  his  core  was  eommentsed. 

Having  at  last  made  up  my  mind  to  become  one  of 
Priessnitz's  patients,  I  was  prepared  for  his  coming  in 
the  morning.  The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  request 
me  to  strip  and  go  into  the  large  cold-bath,  where  I  re- 
mained two  or  t^ee  minutes.  On  coming  out  he  gave 
me  instructions,  which  I  pursued  as  fbllows : — At  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  my  servant  fblded  me  in  a  large 
blanket,  over  which  he  placed  as  many  things  as  I  could 
conveniently  bear ;  so  that  no  external  air  could  penetrate. 
After  perspiration  commenced,  it  was  allowed  to  con- 
tinue for  an  hour ;  he  then  brought  a  pair  of  straw 
shoes.  Wound  the  blanket  close  about  my  bodyj  and  in 
this  state  of  perspiration  I  descended  to  a  large  cold- 
bath,  in  which  I  remained  three,  minutes  ;  then  dressed 
and  walked  until  breakfast,  which  was  composed  of 
milk,  bread,  butter,  and  strawberries,  (the  wild  straw- 
berry in  this  country  grows  in  abundance  from  the  latter 
end  of  May  until  late  in  October  ;)  at  ten  o'clock  I  pro- 
ceeded to  the  douche,  under  which  I  remained  fbur 
minutes,  returned  home,  and  took  a  sitz  and  foot-bath, 
each  fbr  fifteen  minutes  ;  dined  at  one  o'clock  ;  at  fbur 
proceeded  again  to  the  douche  ;  at  seven  repeated  the 
sitz  and  fbot-baths ;  retired  to  bed  at  half-past  nine, 
previously  having  my  fbet  and  legs  bound  up  in  cold 
wet  bandaffcs.  I  continued  this  treatment  for  three 
months,  and,  during  that  time,  walked  about  1000  miles. 
Whilst  thus  subjected  to  the  treatment,  I  eigoyed  more 
robust  health  that  I  had  ever  done  before  ;  the  only 
visible  eflbct  that  I  experienced  was  an  eruption  on  both 
my  legs,  but  which,  on  account  of  the  bandages,  produced 
no  pain.  It  is  to  these  bandages,  the  perspirations,  and 
the  baths,  that  I  am  indebted  fbr  the  total  departure  of 
my  rheumatism. 

Whilst  thus  near  Priessnitz,  and  when  consequently  I 
had  no  fear  of  the  result,  by  way  of  eiperiment  I  deter- 
mined, one  thorough  wet  day,  not  to  change  my  clothes, 
which  were  completely  saturated,  and  in  this  state  I  sat 
until  they  were  completely  d^  :  the  consequence  was, 
that  in  the  night  I  awoke  with  a  distracting  head-ache, 
parched  tongue,a  slight  sore  throat,  and  the  next  morning 
felt  no  appetite,  but  a  general  languor  of  body.  By  the 
following  detail  of  this  case,  the  reader  will  judge  how 
easily  a  cold  of  this  nature  is  generally  cured  by  Hydro- 
pathy. I  laid  in  the  kotz,  or  blanket,  went  into  the 
cold-bath  as  usual,  and  in  the  afternoon  was  enveloped 
in  a  wet  sheet  for  an  hour,  until  perspiration  commenced, 
then  sat  in  the  half-bath,  (not  quite  cold,)  and  was  rub- 
bed all  over  by  two  men  for  twenty  minutes ;  walked 
out  as  ustial ;  at  night,  on  going  to  bed,  wore  the  band- 
ages, or  umschlags,  on  my  breast  and  back  of  the  neck  ; 
next  day  repeated  the  same,  and  the  third  day  was  per- 
fectly recovered. 

My  fkmily  have  all  proved  the  beneficial  effects  of 
Mr.  Priessnitz's  treatment.  The  night  before  our  de- 
parture, the  patients  gave  their  annual  ball,  in  the  great 
room  of  the  establishment,  in  commemoration  of  Mr. 
Priessnitz's  birthday.  The  whole  of  the  buildings  be- 
longing to  him  were  illuminated,  both  inside  and  out,  at 
their  expense.  In  this  assembly,  consisting  of  about 
500  persons,  no  stranger  would  have  believed,  had  he 
been  unacquainted  with  the  f^t,  that  its  members  were 
chiefly  composed  of  invalids.  Tears  were  frequently 
observed  to  steal  ftrom  the  eyes  of  many  who  blessed  the 
great  man  for  their  restoration  to  health  ;  and  I  do  not 
knew  a  jh^nte  tovidhbg  scene  than  seeing  invalids,  who, 


by  his  means,  had  Mgained  ib«  oie  ef  tMr  Umjbt,  ap* 
proach  him,  throw  their  crutches  at  his  feet^  and  ^in  in 
the  maze  of  the  waltz.  Monarohs  might  have  envied  him 
his  feelings  on  such  occasions. 


When  to  this  testimony,  which  may  be 
what  impugnable  from  the  patient's  prepoaseaiions, 
is  added  that  of  many  respectable,  and  evea  eminent 
Grerman  physicians,  and  of  the  oondoctora  of  Medi- 
oal  Journals,  the  Wat^  Cu&b  surely  becomes 
worthy  of  examination.  Mr.  Claridge  has  giren  the 
following  account  of  the  theory  or  principle  of  Prieis- 
nitas's  curative  system — a  system  which  that  saga- 
cious person  has  been  able  to  form,  though  be  pro- 
bably could  not  put  his  ideas  of  it  into  language  i — 

I.  Health  is  the  natural  state  of  the  body. 

II.  The  causes  of  bodily  disease,  which  de  nerft  pteeeed 
from  external  injury,  are  material,  and  consist  of  fMeign 
matter  introduced  into  the  infected  ^stem. 

III.  This  foreign  matter  is  dirided  into  four  parts : — 

1.  Bodily  substances  which  ought  to  be  carried  dt, 
but  have  not  been  evaporated  in  proper  time. 

2.  Substances  whichj  according  to  their  natoiea  caimot 
be  assimilated  with  the  human  body,  and,  sotwithstaad- 
ing,  have  got  into  the  stomach,  or  the  skin,  or  have  pene- 
trated into  the  interior. 

3.  Contagious  ulcers. 

4.  Ck>rruption  of  the  elements,  Water  and  Har ;  epide- 
mical diseases. 

IV.  Every  acute  disease  is  an  attempt  ni  the  system 
to  dispel  diseased  matter. 

V.  Fever  is  not  the  disease  itself^  but  the  conseqiienee 
of  it ;  it  is  an  effect  of  an  exertion  greater  thab  the  power 
of  the  system. 

y  I.  The  rascal  healing  of  acute  diseases  it  oaly  pos- 
sible byj  separating  the  diseased  matter  by  means  of 
water,  an  agent  wUch  invariably  effects  its  object,  and 
that  always  in  a  manner  perceptible  to  the  senses. 

VII.  By  means  of  physio  and  bleeding  acute  diseases 
become  clu'onic  )  the  system,  medically  treated,  seldom 
attains  a  partial,  but  never  a  total  ejectioB  of  diseased 
matter ;  therefore,  physicians  never  get  a  sensitive  per- 
ception of  the  causes  of  disease. 

VIII.  As  sooner  or  later  a  body  must  yield  to  the 
effects  of  drugs,  it  is  quite  impossible  that  any  cite  suf- 
fering from  chronic  disease  should  die  a  natonl  death, 
unless  he  be  healed  by  Hydropathy. 

IX.  Chronic  disease  cannot  be  permanently  cored  by 
drugs :  Hydropathy  alone  will  eilbct  this,  hf  changing 
the  chronic  evil  to  acute  eruptions,  -Whith  are  cored  in 
the  same  way  in  which  first  acute  diseases  are  cured, 
vis.,  by  the  water  treatment 

X.  Mankind,  like  other  organic  beings,  ought  to  live 
according  to  nature's  laws,|without  pain,  and  die  a  natural 
death,  that  is  to  say,  vrithout  illness  or  suflRering.  6at 
with  us  almost  everybody  dies  fVoin  the  effects  of  poison- 
ous drugs,  intoxicating  liqdors,  adulterated  food,  want  of 
water,  air,  add  exercise.  To  this  rule  there  are  but  t#e 
exceptions.  First,  if  the  elements,  air  or  water,  or  both, 
be  deteriorated,  the  two  principal  requisites  of  health 
disappear,  and  epidemics  are  the  inevii^ble  coneequenee, 
to  which  men  as  well  as  animals  are  exposed.  Secondly, 
men  are  exposed  to  contagious  diseases,  but,  except  fh)m 
epidemics  and  contagious  disease,  no  one  who  has  grown 
up  in  a  natural  water  regime  can  be  attacked  by  illness, 
(outer  hurts  or  hereditary  complaints  excepted,)  and  of 
these  two  diseases  he  can  be  generally  speedily  enred, 
and  after  the  cure  will  always  retain  his  health. 

XI.  To  think  of  curing  disease  with  the  poison  com- 
monly called  physic,  must,  to  the  reflective  mind,  appear 
paradoxical,  because  it  is.impossible  to  brine  the  physie 
to  bear  upon  the  dispersed  and  deeply-hidden  diseased 
matter ;  and  even  if  this  could  be  done,  it  is  quite  impos- 
sible, as  every  chemist  knows,  that  the  morbid  matter 
and  physic  should  mntuallv  dissolve  each  other  into  no- 
thing. The  consequence  of  such  treatment  with  physic 
is,  that  to  the  old  evil,  a  new  stimulus  is  added,  weuc  or 
Strong,  aeeording  to  the  dote  and  qnality.-^^  What  is  in- 


THE  COLD  WATER  CUlRE. 


888 


I  liayB  in  tiie  Uoed,  and  aHenrards  affects  the 
Inram.*' — A&buthiiot. 

XII.  No  effectiye  oore,  whether  of  men,  animals,  or 
plants,  can  be  made  from  the  ejection  of  the  diseased 
matter  bj  means  of  their  own  organic  strength,  unless 
aided  by  the  dissolTing  elements,  air  and  water. 

XIII.  This  is  the  treatment  which  nature  bestows 
9pett  all  ber  creatures,  and  it  may  be  asserted  without 
fnir  of  contradiction,  Uiat  without  internal  and  external 
water  diet,  there  can  be  no  health  for  life.  We  must  not 
look  befbre  ns  into  the  grey  mysteries  and  doctrines  of 
tbe  ftittire,  ftv  the  true  mode  of  curing  disease,  but  fkr 
behind  us,  on  the  green  plains  of  nature,  and  of  Uie  timet 
which  are  past 

Such  18  the  hard  outline  of  the  theory.  The  illos- 
tnti^e  lemarkBy  and  the  endless  list  of  oases  sue- 
eessfdUy  treated,  hi  exoeed  our  limits.  But  if 
we  eannot  adrert  to  these  really  extraordinary  eases, 
or  to  the  long  catalogue  of  curable  diseases,  we  may 
mention  those  which  are  not  curable,  the  excep- 
tions tending  to  establish  the  rule.  The  incurable 
diseaaet  are  thus  stated  by  Rausse,  the  author  of 
one  of  the  many  late  essays  on  ^dropatfy  :— 

All  chronic  diseases  of  the  lungs ;  all  organic  defects, 
and  all  diseases  in  people  whose  muscles  and  sinews  are 
past  all  power  of  action,  and  fh>m  whom  the  vital  prin- 
ciple has  passed  beyond  reooyery :  and  he  adds,  ^  the  cure 
of  all  acute  diseases  to  Priessniti  is  mere  cMld's  play, 
and  in  no  instance  of  nervous  feven  or  inflammations,  in 
any  stage,  was  he  ever  known  to  lose  a  patient ;  and  what 
is  still  more  worthy  of  remark,  a  radical  cure  is  effected 
in  a  ftw  days,  without  the  subsequent  debility  which 
would  result  from  any  other  treatment.  Hy<m>pathy 
completely  supersedes  the  dreadftal  necessity  of  cutting 
nen*8  flesh,  or  amputating  their  limbs.  In  chronic  dis- 
eases, it  may  especially  be  remarked,  that  all  persons 
suffering  from  the  effect  of  mercury,  in  its  manifold  and 
dangerous  forms,  will  derive  instantaneous  benefit,  and, 
in  the  end,  perftict  health  ftt>m  Priessnitt's  water  cure. 
I  can  aflirm  that  half  Priessnits's  patients  are  under  the 
infiaenee  of  this  pernicious  drug.  Then  follow  tiiose 
obstinate  complaints,  goat,  rheumatism,  hemorrhoids,  ob- 
Btmction  of  the  bowels,  and  their  concomitant  ills ;  also 
Bcrolhla,  syphilis,  in  Ikct,  all  diseases  known  by  the  term 
dumdc,  or  connected  with  the  nerves. 

**  Fir$t. — By  this  treatment  the  bad  juices  are  brought 
to  diacharce  themselves  from  the  drin. 

*  Seconalp. — A  fresh  or  new  circulation  is  given  to  the 
diseased  or  inactive  organs,  and  better  juices  are  infhsed 
into  them  daUy. 

**  Thirdly, — All  thefhnctions  of  the  body  are  brought 
into  their  original  healthy  state,  not  by  operating  upon 
anyparticular  fhnction,  but  upon  the  whole  system." 

^nbese  opinions  of  Rausse  are  supported  by  another 
author,  Mr.  Raven,  who  vrrites  as  follows  : — 

**  The  groundwork  of  the  water  cure  is  to  warm  the 
body  by  Missive  means  only,  fto  that  an  active  beat  may 
proceed  ftt>m  the  system ;  and  to  prodnce  this  desired 
effbct,  cold  water  is  used  in  an  infinity  of  ways.  This  is 
net  effected  bv  weakening  the  body,  or  by  any  deprivation 
of  food ;  no  bleeding ;  no  surgical  operations  are  resorted 
to,  nor  any  description  of  medicine  ever  employed ;  but 
the  great  secret  is,  to  subdue  disease,  and  cleanse  the 
system  of  all  medicine,  in  a  way  dictated  by  nature,  and 
not  by  art.  The  cure  is  only  to  be  effected  by  great  per- 
severance, a  constant  internal  and  external  application 
of  cold  water,  and  by  plain  living.  By  the  means  of  these 
necessary  agents,  strength  is  restored,  and  the  system 
tranquiUized. 

Professor  Mund^,  who  was  perfectly  cured  of  a  pain- 
ftil  complaint  during  his  residence  at  Grftefenberg,  col- 
lected sufficient  fS&cts  to  form  a  most  interesting  work 
upon  the  system  there  adopted,  on  which  we  have  drawn 
largely  in  the  following  pages.  He  enumerates  a  great 
number  of  diseases,  the  cure  of  which  he  witnessed  him- 
self; amongst  them  are,  gout,  rheumatism,  tic-doloureuz, 
hernia,  syphilis,  piles,  hypochondria,  fevers  of  all  kinds, 
ations,  cholera,  tiie  gripes,  &c. :  and  adds,  that 


in  all  ailments,  in  the  eradication  of  whicli  medicine  is 
known  to  be  mere  or  less  powerless,  the  treatment  at 
Graefenberg  triumphs  dally.  The  following  are  Profes* 
sor  Mund^s  views  of  the  water  cure  i — 

^  Priessnitz  contends  that  all  diseases  which  are  not 
oc<»sioned  by  accidents,  arise  from  vicious  humours, 
which  he  calls  bad  juices ;  from  these  result  either  gener- 
al derangement  of  the  system,  or  disorder  of  some  of  the 
organs.  Consequently,  the  object  of  his  curative  method 
is  to  expel  the  bad  juices,  and  replace  them  by  good. 
The  means  which  Priessnitz  employs  to  attain  this  end, 
are  water,  air,  exercise,  and  diet.  Is  he  right  in  looking 
for  the  diseases,  or,  at  least,  their  causes,  in  the  hu- 
mours V*  This  is  a  question  which  (says  Mr.  Claridge)  I  do 
not  pretend  to  decide ;  but  if  we  judge  by  the  success 
which  attends  his  method,  when  followed  up  with  con- 
stancy, we  should  say  he  must  be  right  |  for,  generally 
speaking,  with  the  aid  of  the  above  fbur  means,  he  cures 
all  diseases  which  professional  men  acknowledge  to  be 
the  result  of  drugs ;  nay,  more,  this  view  of  things  agrees 
vrith  the  opinion  of  some  of  the  most  celebrated  doctors 
of  the  last  century,  to  whose  practice  Priessniti's  treat- 
ment bears  a  great  resemblance. 

PriessnitE  does  not  now  employ  steeatin^y  his  most 
powerful  active  remedy,  in  abore  one-haJf  of  the 
cases  which  he  treats. 

Some  people  are  made  to  perspire  every  day,  every 
other  day,  or  every  third  day,  whilst  perhaps,  for  at  least 
one-half  of  his  patients,  he  never  prescribes  perspiration 
at  aU,  but  most  judiciously  subjects  them  to  treatment, 
that  whilst  it  brings  about  a  cure,  has  the  effect  of 
strengthening  and  invigorating  the  system. 

Priessnitz  does  not,  of  course,  employ  medieinei 
nor  eren  hot  diluents,  to  induce  sweat.  His  me- 
thod is  peculiar,  and  disagreeable,  but  it  seems 
effective. 

All  afi^Bctions  caused  by  the  bad  juiees  are  submitted 
te  this  process,  which  is  conducted  in  the  following  man- 
ner:— 

The  invalid  is  enveloped,  naked,  in  a  large  coarse 
blanket,  the  legs  extended,  and  the  arms  kept  close  to 
the  body ;  the  blanket  is  then  wound  round  it,  as  tight 
as  possible,  turning  it  well  under  at  the  feet :  over  this 
is  placed,  and  well  tucked  in,  a  small  feather  bed,  some- 
times two,  such  as  are  usually  employed  in  Germany, 
instead  of  a  number  of  blankets ;  finally,  a  counterpane 
and  a  sheet  are  spread  over  all :  thus  hermetically  enve- 
loped, the  patient  exactly  resembles  a  mummy :  some- 
times, when  perspiration  is  difficult,  the  head,  with  the 
exception  of  the  foce,  is  also  covered ;  but  this  expedient 
is  not  resorted  to  in  the  case  of  persons  who  have  a  ten- 
dency of  blood  to  the  head :  the  irritation  caused  by  the 
blanket,  and  the  closeness  and  duration  of  the  confine- 
ment, render  this  operation  disagreeable,  especially,  as 
I  have  already  observed,  until  perspiration  commences, 
which,  in  some  cases,  takes  place  in  half-an-hoor,  in 
others  in  an  hour,  or  even  only  two  hours.  After  this, 
the  patient  sweats  according  to  the  orders  of  Mr.  Priess- 
niti, for  from  half-an-hour  to*  two  hours.  Previous  te 
this  packing  up  the  patient,  a  urinal  is  placed  between 
his  legs,  and  any  diseased  part  is  bandaged  with  a  damp 
doth.  When  accustomed  to  this  operation,  the  patient 
will  be  able  to  sleep,  until  awakened  by  his  attendant ; 
thoee  who  perspire  with  difficulty,  are  requested  to  move 
their  legs,  rub  the  body  with  their  hands,  and  make  all 
the  movement  that  their  close  confinement  will  admit  of.  , 
This  little  movement  accelerates  perspiration,  which  is 
always  more  tardy  in  summer  than  in  winter:  but,  it 
should  be  observed,  that  if  perspiration  can  be  easily 
promoted  without  any  exertion  whatever,  it  is  much 
more  desirable. 

As  soon  as  perspiration  commences,  the  vrindows  are 
opened,  and  the  patient,  if  he  wishes  it,  is  allowed  to 
drink  a  glass  of  cold  vrater  every  half-hour ;  this  is  not 
only  found  extremely  refreshing,  but  aids  the  sweating. 

If,  during  the  process  of  perspiration,  the  patient 
shoidd  experience  any  headache,  he  may  bandage  the 


884 


THE  COLD  WATER  CURE. 


head  with  ft  damp  eloth,  an  expedient  which  almost  in- 
▼ariably  sacoeeds  in  attaining  its  object.  The  duration 
of  the  sweating  depends  much  upon  the  nature  of  the 
disease,  the  indiTidual,&c. ;  in  deciding  this,  Mr.  Priess- 
nits  shows  his  great  skill:  there  are  some  who  sweat 
eyery  day,  others  CTory  other  day,  or  erery  second  or 
third  day  only. 

One  would  imagine  that  so  much  and  such  constant 
sweating  most  hare  the  effect  of  weakening  patients  and 
making  them  thin;  but  at  Gitefenberg  the  contrary 
effBct  is  obserred. 

The  sweating  which  precedes  the  bath  not  only  makes 
a  powerful  impression  upon,  and  attracts  the  morbid  hu- 
mours to  the  skin,  but  it  contributes  again  to  engender 
ft  more  intense  heat  in  the  system ;  this  heat  is  of  im- 
portance eren  in  the  bath,  as  it  enables  the  body  to  sup- 
port, for  a  longer  time,  the  effect  of  oold  water,  which 
assists  the  more  the  longer  it  is  continued.  It  is  to  be 
obserred,  that  the  longer  the  exterior  cold  and  the  re- 
action ftre  kept  up,  the  more  the  morbid  humours  are 
pressed  to  the  skin,  but  the  surplus  of  the  internal  heat 
ought  not  to  be  exceeded,  for  fear  of  producing  congela- 
tion. Spontaneous  nocturnal  perspirations,  which  are 
called  at  GrUefenberg  weakening  sweats,  ought  to  be 
avoided ;  this  is  to  be  done  by  covering  the  body  very 
lightly,  and  by  washing  it  at  night  with  cold  water.  It 
is  sometimes  necessary  when  the  skin  is  attacked  by 
fttony,  to  euTelope  the'UiTftlid  in  &  wet  sheet,  in  order  to 
give  it  ft  tone  before  he  is  covered  up  for  sweating. 

The  general  practioe  of  Priessnitz  is  said  to  have 
become  milder  of  late.  He  does  not  sweat  his  pa- 
tients either  so  profusely  or  so  frequently  as  he 
once  did.  He  treats  animals,  and  in  particular  the 
horse,  exactly  as  he  does  human  beings,  by  sweating, 
baths,  and  oold  water,  and  it  would  appear  with 
equal  success. 

Mr.  Claridge  has  interspersed  his  various  trans- 
lations, with  pertinent  original  remarks,  replete 
with  that  good  sense  which  is  at  all  times  an  ex- 
cellent ingredient  in  works  of  this  nature,  whether 
the  authors  be  medical  or  non-medical.  Nor  can 
it  be  doubted  that  there  is  much  to  be  commended 
in  the  basis  of  that  theory  which,  with  certain  alter- 
ations and  improvements,  Priessnitz  has  revived  in 
Germany,  and  with  such  remarkable  success.  His 
great  success  he  owes,  according  to  Mr.  Claridge,  to 
his  entire  ignorance  of  medicine  as  a  science ;  for — 

What  does  the  history  of  medicine  offer,  but  the  dis- 
couraging picture  of  Uie  instability  of  principles,  and  a 
series  of  theories  succeeding  each  other,  without  any  one 
of  them  being  able  to  content  an  upright  spirit,  or  satisfy 
an  inquiring  mind  %  We  can  hardly  expect,  however, 
that  Mr.  Priessnitz  will  ever  attempt  to  give  the  world 
any  medical  or  systematic  details.  This  is  only  left  to 
intelligent  persons  and  young  medical  practitioners,  who 
should  observe  all  that  is  observable,  and  communicate 
their  observations,  so  as  to  form  a  idiole  of  that  which 
is  most  important.  Fortune  and  fame  wiU  be  the  reward 
of  any  of  our  st\^dents  who  may  go  to  Giriiefenberg,  and 
study  the  proceedings  of  this  extraordinary  man.  To  do 
tlus  effectually  they  must  be  possessed  of  patience,  as  it 
can  only  be  studied  on  the  spot;  nothing  but  danger 
would  result  from  acting  on  the  dicta  of  tK>oks,  as  will 
be  shown  by  the  following  case  whilst  the  author  was 
t  at  Grftefenberg. 


This  case,  and  .others  detailed,  certainly  show 
great  self-possession  and  decision  in  Priessnitz. 
Some  old-fashioned  treatises  upon  the  universal  vir- 
tues of  cold  water  in  the  cure  and  prevention  of 
disease,  were,  in  the  last  century,  known  in  Ger- 
many, though  it  is  not  imagined  that  Vincent 
Priessnitz,  a  man  whollyunlettered,  could  have  been 
familiar  with  them.  There  was,  however,  an  old 
peasant  in  the  neighbourhood  who  had  sucoessfuUy 
cured  animals  by  the  cold-water  treatment^  and 
this  may  have  afforded  him  the  first  hintr— which, 
to  a  man  of  genius  and  sagacity,  is  often  all  that 
is  required.  In  England,  John  Wesley,  the  foun- 
der of  the  Methodists,  was  distinguished  as  the 
apostle  of  temperance  and  cold  water»  In  a  tract 
of  his,  entitled  *^  Primitive  Physic^  or  the  Natural 
Method  of  Curing  Diseases,**  which  is  still  circu- 
lated among  the  Methodist  body,  the  virtues  and 
healing  powers  of  the  native  element  are  highly 
extolled,  and  the  use  of  drugs  is  strongly  depre- 
cated. Wesley  asserts  that  the  compounding  and  de- 
compounding medicines  can  never  be  reconciled  to 
common  sense.  "Experience," he  avers,  "shows  that 
one  thing  will  cure  most  disorders,  at  least  as  well 
as  twenty  put  t(^[ether.  Then  why  do  you  add  the 
other  nineteen  ?— only  to  swell  tiie  apothecary's 
bill ! — ^nay,  possibly  on  purpose  to  prolong  the  is- 
temper,  that  the  doctor  and  he  may  divide  the^U." 

In  conclusion : — ^Very  few  ailing  or  sick  people 
can  go  to  Grfiefenberg ;  nor  is  this  so  much  to  be 
regretted,  while  it  is  in  the  power  of  every  one  to 
bring  Graefenberg  to  his  own  home.  We  have, 
indeed^  reason  to  believe  that  frequent  cold  ablu- 
tions, and  sponging  with  cold  water,  are  much 
more  commonly  practised  among  the  middle  and 
higher  classes  in  this  country  ^an  Mr.  Claridge 
seems  to  imagine,  though  we  are  all  very  sparing 
drinkers  of  cold  water.  Nor  can  these  simple  pre- 
ventives of  disease,  (and  absolute  comforts  or  en- 
joyments, when  once  made  habitual,)  be  too  gener- 
al in  practice.  The  rules  and  remarks  of  Mr. 
Claridge  on  this  topic  are  therefore  useful  and 
judicious.  We  copy  one  of  them,  hoping  the  ex- 
hortation will  have  due  effect. 

Two  things  all  people,  whether  strong  or  weak,  can 
do  with  perfect  safety,  and  vrithout  these,  hei^th,  for  any 
length  of  time,  cannot  reasonably  be  eiqpected ;  and  those 
are,  to  drink  plentifhlly  of  cold  water,  particulariy  be- 
fore breakfast,  and  to  rub  the  body  all  over  every  morn- 
ing with  a  cold  wet  cloth,  or  take  a  cold  bath.  These 
simple  measures  will  prevent  and  cure  disease.  Where- 
ever  pain  exists,  apply  the  healing  bandage ;  that  ii,  a 
cold  wet  cloth  with  a  dry  one  over  it,  ftud  its  effect  will 
prove  miraculous. 

If  our  readers  would  know  more,  they  mast 
consult  Mr.  Claridge's  book ;  which,  both  to  those 
seeking  to  regain  or  to  preserve  health,  ofiers  many 
excellent  suggestions. 


BSH 


MISS  BURNBrS  DIARY  AND  tBTTEBS-* 


ii  BOW  for  •T^r  eoUpa»d !-— ibe  spiril  of  her  life  bM 
•▼•porated ! — ehe  is  alternately  at  Windier,  or  St. 
JameiT ;  or  elae  on  the  road  between  those  places, 
eoU  bliMPt«  blowing  upon  her,  and  inflaming  at  once 
be?  t«mper  and  her  eyes.  Too  just  was  the  pre- 
saatimnit  with  whieh  she  entered  upon  her  splen- 
did bondage  hi  the  serviee  ci  Queen  Chariotte.  It 
was  the  feeling  of  a  davegoingto  the  galleys.  Yet 
the  (^oeen,  the  **  sweet  Queen,"  appears  to  have 
been  a  g<K)d,  and  even  a  considerate  mistress; 
whieh  is  new  thaii  can  idways  be  said  for  ladies 
of  Tery  infcrior  rank.  It  is  the  institution  that 
was  iu  fliult,  It  ia  monarchy  which  makes  the 
Quoen  berfelf  a  more  complete  thrall  to  cere^ 
flMBial  ihim  her  hnmblsit  attendant  But  leavi- 
isg  to  others  to  balaaoe  the  advantages  agidnst 
the  disadrantages  of  monarchy,  we  must  be  con- 
tent, like  Miss  Bumey,  to  make  the  best  of  things. 
6bs^  pe(^  y<mng  w<»nan,  frequently  says,  that  in 
ttie  serrice  of  the  Queen  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
oonsider  herself  as  **  momei,"— and  unhappily 
married,— or  else  Hiss  Bumey  must  have  had  very 
dismal  notions  of  the  holy  state.  In  the  condition 
to  whieh  she  had  wedded  herself  everything  like 
^MBtaneous  or  independent  aetion,  firee  social  in- 
teroourse,  or  even  unhroken,  uninyaded  solitude, 
was  for  ever  placed  beyond  her  reach.  Her  condne- 
rnent  wasmuch  more  irksome,  atalltimes»  than  that 
oi  a  fliaid><tf«all«work  ;  and  she  had  not  ihe  poorest 
dnidge'sprivil^edholiday,her  ^Sunday out."  And 
eoQcdTe  the  admired  auUior  of  (JMlia,  the  bosom 
friend  of  the  brilliant  Mrs.  Thrale,  the  favourite  of 
JohneoQ,  summoned  to  her  duties  by  sound  of  bell ! 
*-*«ud  receiviug  a  present  of  a  new  gown  from  her 
mistress^  through  tbe  hands  of  the  o^ier  servants-^ 
as  if  she  had  been  a  young  housemaid,  and  Mrs. 
Schwellenberg  the  houeekeeper.  One  can  sympa- 
thi^in  her  distressev^  and  yet  like  her  better,  that 
though  abundautly  dis^:eet  and  submieeive,  her 
nurit  revolted  at  the  indignities  to  which  her  po- 
sttioB,  and  the  mean  and  jealous  temper  of  the 
Queen's  countrywoman  and  favourite  attendant 
mbjeeted  her.  There  must  have  been  one  iudivi^ 
dod  who,  iu  aA«r  yean^  xeceived  great  pleasure 
firom  the  lampoons  and  satires  of  Peter  Pindar, 
who  no  more  spared  Madame  flehwellenberg  than 
her  royal  master  and  mistress. 

Wemust  not»  all  circumstances  couddered,  blame 
Miss  Bun^y,  if  the  present  volume  of  her  Diary, 
takan  as  a  whole,  is  somewhat  dull  and  tiresome. 
Her  powers  isit  wit  and  observation  might  not  have 
been  impaired  in  these  weary  years,  but  she  had 
no  scope  for  the  exercise  of  her  lively  faculties. 
The  little  which  her  duties  permitted  her  to  see  of 

*  THMf  aadl  ]>tton  ^  MsduM  D^ArbUj,  Author  of 
«  Evduus"  "  Cf^lHs,"  Ac,  Edited  hy  her  Nie<5o,  Vol.  III., 
oomprtlMndiiic  b«r  Diary  wliUo  tA  the  Court  of  Geoige  the 
Third,  ii  tht  ynn  17M  lud  1787,  pp.  473,  with  s  portnwt  of 
Qneoi  Charlotte.    London :  Colhuin. 

MO.  aid — VOL.  iz. 


a  dull  court  was  not  on  its  brightest  slde«  Hie  old 
adam  trulv  says,— -^  No  making  a  silk  purse  of  a 
sow*s  ear.  The  most  dexterous  sempstress  eeuld 
not  perform  such  a  feat. 

Miss  Bumey  had  had  nothing  to  regret  in  leaving 
her  paternal  home,  save  leaving  her  father  himself 
Her  sisters  were  all  married ;  her  brothers  were 
away ;  and  to  her  step-mother  she  appears  to  have 
been  at  least  indiflferent ;  but  in  entering  upon  her 
new  way  of  lifs,  she  was  foregoing  all  her  cherished 
hopes  and  favourite  schemes.  ^  Every  dear  expeo- 
tatiou  fuioy  had  ever  indulged  of  happiness  adapt- 
ed to  its  taster-all  was  now  to  be  given  un.**  ^Hiie 
pang  was  severe ;  nor  were  its  causes  soon  foigotteu. 
She  compares  herself  tp  a  girl  who  has  married 
against  her  inclinations,  to  please  her  Mends,  aud 
who  must  make  the  best  of  hor  bard  lot ;  bear 
without  repining,  and  make  the  best  wife  pcissiblf. 
The  condition  of  a  nun,— of  one  who  has  for  ever 
renounced  the  world,— ^mlght  be  tbe  better  com- 
parison, save  that  she  eigoyed  uothiug  of  the  nun's 
tranquillity.    She  says  in  one  place  to  her  sister : 

I  am  married,  mj  dearest  Susan^^I  look  upoii  it  in 
that  light — I  was  averse  to  fbrmiiig  the  union,  and  I 
endeavoured  to  escape  it ;  but  my  friends  interrered— 
they  prevailed— apd  the  knot  is  tied.  What  then  new 
remaps  but  to  make  the  best  wilb  in  my  power  t  I  am 
bound  to  it  in  duty,  and  I  will  strain  every  nerve  to  mo* 
ceed. 

With  kind  mapagemeut  ou  the  part  of  Mn* 
I>eUuiy,  the  Q^een,  Miss  Bumey  r^tea,  on  bar 
arrival  with  her  father  at  Windsor,— 

Beceived  me  with  a  most  graeious  bow  of  the  head, 
and  a  smile  that  was  all  sweetness.  She  saw  me  mudi 
agitated,  and  attributed  it  no  doubt,  to  the  awe  of  her 
presence.  0,  she  little  kntow  my  mind  had  no  room  ia 
it  for  feelings  of  that  sort ! 

She  dined  at  Mrs,  Scbwellenb^rg'f  tiiUe,  $,i 
which  stray  guests  to  the  Lodge  often  dined.  With 
this  lady  the  Equerries  in  attendance  on  the  King 
regularly  drank  tea.  On  the  first  day  the  new  at- 
tendant's spirits  had  not  quite  deserted  her,  and  we 
have  this  lively  though  brief  sketch^  Tht  suoking 
in  of  the  cheeks  is  an  inimitable  stroke. 

I  was  offered  the  seat  of  Bfrs,  Haggerdom,  whieh 
was  at  the  head  of  the  table  ;  but  that  was  an  undmr- 
taking  I  could  not  bear.  I  begged  leave  to  decline  it ; 
and  as  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  left  me  at  my  own  choicCi  I 
planted  myself  quietly  at  one  side. 

€k>lonel  Poller,  though  a  German  offlcer,  is  of  a  Swiss 
fHmily.  He  is  a  fkt,  ffood-bumoured  man,  excessiTely 
fbnd  of  eating  and  drinking.  His  eidoyment  of  seme  ef 
the  fkre,  and  especiallv  of  the  dessert,  was  really  UiajA" 
able  :  he  could  never  finish  a  speech  he  had  begun,  S  a 
new  dish  made  its  appearance,  without  stopping  to  feast 
his  eyes  upon  it,  exclaim  soniething  in  German,  and 
suck  the  inside  of  his  mouth ;  but  all  so  openly,  and 
with  sueh  perfbct  good  humour,  that  it  was  diverting 

without  anything  distastefhl At  dinner 

we — I  mean  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  and  myself— had  Miss 
Planta  and  Colonel  Poller;  and  I  was  happy  to  be 
again  diverted  with  the  excess  of  his  satisfaction  at 
sight  of  turtle  upon  the  table. 

Mi«8  Burney  mads  this  jovial  gourmaud  Cqloael 

91 


386 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


teach  her  a  few  Crerman  phrases,  all  of  which  he 
contriyed  should  relate  to  the  main  husiness  of  his 
own  life,  eating  and  drinking. 

Thenewattendant  had  entertained  an  idea  that  the 
Queen  meant  to  make  her  her  English  reader ;  an 
office  much  more  suitahle  to  Miss  Bumey  than  the 
'<me  of  dresser,  for  which  a  hetter  qualified,  though 
yery  inferior  person  might  easily  haye  heen  se- 
lected* But  the  Queen,  whateyer  were  her  original 
intentions,  neyer  employed  her  in  this  way,  saye 
-onoe  or  twice.  Those  who  haye  any  curiosity  to 
know  the  ways  of  a  soher  court,  the  daily  bed- 
chamher  life  of  a  Queen  and  her  attendants,  may 
read  here*    The  season  was  summer. 

I  rise  at  six  o'clock,  dress  in  a  moming  gown  and 
cap,  and  wait  my  first  summons,  which  is  at  all  times 
from  seren  to  near  eight,  bnt  commonly  in  the  exact  half 
hoar  between  them. 

The  Queen  neyer  sends  for  me  till  her  hair  is  dressed. 
This,  in  a  morning,  is  always  done  by  her  wardrobe- 
woman,  Mrs.  Thielky,  a  German,  but  who  speaks  Eng- 
lish perfectly  welL 

Bin.  Schwellenberg,  since  the  first  week,  has  never 
oome  down  in  a  moming  at  all.  The  Queen's  dress  is 
finished  by  Mrs.  Thielky  and  myself.  No  maid  oyer 
enters  the  room  while  the  Queen  is  in  it.  Mrs.  Thielky 
hands  the  things  to  me,  and  I  put  them  on.  'Tis  fortu- 
nate for  me  I  haye  not  the  handing  them  !  I  should 
neyer  know  which  to  take  first,  embarrassed  as  I  am, 
and  should  run  a  prodigious  risk  of  giying  the  gown 
.before  the  hoop,  and  the  flm  before  tiie  neck-kerchief. 

By  eight  o'clock,  or  a  little  after,  for  she  is  extremely 
expeditioas,  she  is  dressed.  She  tiien  goes  out  to  join 
the  King,  and  be  joined  by  the  Princesses,  and  they  all 
proceed  to  the  King's  chspel  in  the  Castle,  to  prayers, 
attended  by  the  governesses  of  the  Princesses,  and  the 
King's  equerry.  Various  others  at  times  attend  ;  but 
only  these  indispensably. 

I  then  return  to  my  own  room  to  breakfast.  I  make 
this  meal  the  most  pleasant  part  of  the  day  ;  I  have  a 
book  for  my  companion,  and  I  allow  myself  an  hour  for 

it.    .  At  nine  o'clock  I  send  off  my 

breakfkst  things,  and  relinquish  my  book,  to  mske  a 
serious  and  steady  examination  of  everything  I  have 
upon  my  hands  in  the  way  of  business — ^in  which  pre- 
parations for  dress  are  always  included,  not  for  the  pre- 
sent day  alone,  but  for  the  court-days,  which  require  a 
particular  dress ;  for  the  next  arriving  birth-day  of  any 
of  the  Royal  Funily,  every  one  of  which  requires  new 
apparel ;  for  Kew,  where  the  dress  is  plainest ;  and  for 
going  on  here,  where  the  dress  is  very  pleasant  to  me, 
.requiring  no  show  nor  finery,  but  merely  to  be  neat,  not 
inelegant,  and  moderately  ftuhionable. 

That  over,  I  have  my  time  at  my  own  disposal  till 
a  quarter  before  twelve,  except  on  Wednesdays  and 
Saturdays,  when  I  have  it  only  to  a  quarter  before 
jeleven. 

My  rummages  and  business  sometimes  occupy  me  un- 
interruptedly to  those  hours.  When  they  do  not,  I 
give  till  ten  to  necessary  letters  of  duty,  ceremony,  or 
long  arrears  ;— and  now,  from  ten  to  the  times  I  have 
mentioned,  I  devote  to  walking. 

These  times  mentioned,  caU  me  to  the  irksome  and 
quick-returning  labours  of  tiie  toilette. .  The  hour  ad- 
vanced on  the  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays  is  for  curling 
and  craping  the  hair,  which  it  now  requires  twice  a-wee£ 

A  quarter  before  one  is  the  usual  time  for  the  Queen 
to  begin  dressing  for  the  day.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  then 
constantly  attends  ;  so  do  I ;  Mrs.  Thielky,  of  course, 
at  all  times.  We  help  her  off  with  her  gown,  and  on 
with  her  powdering  things,  and  then  the  hair-dresser  is 
admitted.  She  gisnerally  reads  the  newspapers  during 
that  operation. 

When  she  observes  that  I  have  run  to  her  but  half- 
dressed,  she  constantly  gives  me  leave  to  return  and 
finish  as  soon  as  she  is  seated.  If  she  is  grave,  and  reads 
steadily  on,  she  dismisses  me,  whether  I  am  dressed  or 


not ;  but  at  all  times  she  never  forgets  to  send  me  awsy 
while  she  is  powdering,  with  a  consideration  not  to  spoil 
my  clothes,  that  one  would  not  expect  belonged  to  her 
high  station.  Neither  does  she  ever  detain  me  without 
making  a  point  of  reading  here  and  there  some  little 

paragraph  aloud. I  find  her  then 

always  removed  to  her  state  dressing-room,  if  any  room 
in  this  private  mansion  can  have  the  epithet  of  state. 
There,  in  a  very  short  time,  her  dress  is  finished.  She 
then  says  she  won't  detain  me,  and  I  hear  and  see  bo 
more  of  her  till  bed-time. 

It  is  oommonly  three  o'clock  when  I  mm  thns  set  it 
large.  And  I  have  then  two  hours  quite  at  my  own 
di^sal :  but,  in  the  natural  course  of  things,  not  a  mo- 
ment after ! At  ftvef  we  have  dinner. 

Mrs.  Schwellenberg  and  I  meet  in  the  eatinc -room.  We 
are  commonly  tlto-44^.-  when  there  is  anybody  added, 
it  is  from  her  invitation  only.  Whatever  n^t  my 
place  might  afford  me  of  also  inviting  my  friends  to  the 
table  I  have  now  totally  lost,  by  want  of  oonrage  aod 
spirits  to  claim  it  originally. 

When  we  have  dined,  we  go  opstairs  to  her  apsrt- 
ment,  which  is  directly  over  mine.  Here  we  have  oofiee 
till  the  terracing*  is  over :  this  is  at  about  eight  o'clock. 
Our  teU'eL-tete  then  finishes,  and  we  oome  down  agunto 
the  eating-room.  There  the  equerry,  whoever  he  is, 
oomes  to  tea  constantly,  and  with  him  any  gentlemin 
that  the  King  or  Queen  may  have  invited  for  the  even- 
ing ;  and  when  tea  is  over,  he  conducts  them,  and  goes 
himself  to  the  concert-room. 

This  is  commonly  about  nine  o'clock. 

From  that  time,  if  Mrs.  Schwellenbeig  is  alone,  I 
never  quit  her  for  a  minute,  till  I  come  to  my  little  sup- 
per at  near  eleven. 

Between  eleven  and  twelve  my  last  summons  usually 
takes  place,  earlier  and  later  occasionally.  Twenty 
minutes  is  the  customary  time  then  spent  with  the 
Queen  :  half  an  hour,  I  believe,  is  seldom  exceeded. 

I  then  come  back,  and  after  doing  ^iiatever  I  can  to 
forward  my  dress  for  the  next  moming,  I  go  to  bed— 
and  to  sleep  too,  beb'eve  me  :  the  early  rising,  and  a 
long  day's  attention  to  new  affairs  and  occupations, 
cause  a  fatigue  so  bodily,  that  nothing  mental  stands 
against  it,  and  to  sleep  I  fall  the  moment  I  have  put 
out  my  candle  and  laid  down  my  head. 

Sudi  is  the  day  to  your  F.  B.  in  her  new  situation  at 
Windsor  ;  such  I  mean,  is  its  usual  destination,  and  its 
intended  course. 

On  public  or  state  days,  the  etiquette  was,  and 
probably  still  is,  that  some  <^  the  women  of  the 
bed-chamber  should  finish  the  dressing.  Thewome^ 
and  the  ladies  have  their  different  duties,  but  the 
women  are  all  persons  of  family. 

When  the  Queen  returned,  the  beU  vras  rung  for  the 
bedchamber  woman ;  the  etiquette  of  court-days  requir- 
ing that  one  of  them  should  finish  her  dress. 

It  happened  now  to  be  my  acquaintance,  Mrs.  FieW- 
ing.  She  only  tied  on  the  necklace,  and  handed  the  £ui 
Mid  gloves.  The  Queen  then  leaves  the  dressing-room, 
her  train  being  carried  by  the  bedchamber  women.  The 
Princesses  follow.  She  goes  to  the  ante-room,  where  tte 
sends  for  the  Lady  of  the  Bedchamber  in  waitinft^ 
then  becomes  the  first  train-bearer,  and  they  all  proceed 
to  the  drawing-room.  We  returned  to  Kew  to  dinner 
very  late.  M.  Poller  and  Miss  Planta  dined  inw  ^  > 
and  at  the  dessert  I  was  very  agreeably  surprisedoy 
the  entrance  of  Sir  Richard  Jebb,  who  stayed  oa»e. 
It  seems  so  odd  to  me  to  see  an  old  acquaintance  m  uus 
new  place  and  new  situation,  that  I  hardly  feel  as  ii  i 
knew  Uiem. 

One  of  the  most  mortifying  circumstances  to 
Miss  Bumey,  at  the  outset,  was  being  summoiwd 
by  a  bell. 
A  beU  Wt  seemed  so  mortifying  a  mark  of  serrltude, 

♦  The  King,  Queen,  and  aU  the  Royal  FamOy  ^""J^^ 
the  Castle  Terrace,  to  be  admired  by  their  loyiJ  «w>jec». 
E.T.M. 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DURY  AND  LETTERS. 


887 


klwmjB  feU  Bjself  blnah^  ilKmgh  alone,  with  consoiooB 
iiiaiB«  mi  my  own  stnuige  degr»d*tioii.  But  I  hare  phi- 
lom^iiied,  myself  now  into  some  reoonoilement  with 
this  Buuuier  of  enmmonsy  by  reflecting  that  to  haTe  eome 
person  always  sent  would  be  often  Tory  inoonyenient, 
and  that  this  meUiod  is  certainly  less  an  interruption  to 
mnj  ooeopation  I  maybe  employed  in, than  the  entrance 
of  maaeagers  so  many  times  in  the  day.  It  is,  besides, 
leoa  liable  to  mistakes.  So  I  hare  made  up  my  mind  to 
H  as  irell  as  I  can  ;  and  now  I  only  feel  that  proud 
blit^  when  somebody  is  by  to  roTive  my  original  dislike 
•fit. 

But  ladies  of  quality,  the  bed-chamber  wbmen, 
and  the  very  mistress  of  the  robes,  countesses  and 
dueheasesy  were  all  summoned  in  exactly  the  same 
•mMJMwwp ;  which  was  some  sort  of  consolation.  An- 
other awkwardness  was  finding  herself  obliged 
**  to  ask  leave  out."  However,  Miss  Bumey  proved 
a  very  tolerable  courtier  for  her  brief  standing ; 
aad  by  the  friendly  hints  and  suggestions  of  Mrs. 
Delany  and  others,  got  on  wonderfully  well  Queen- 
ward,  whatever  her  personal  feelings  may  have 
been.  The  elder  Princesses  seem  to  have  been 
really  amiable,  and  not  merely  good-natured  but 
considerate  for  her ;  and  the  younger  ones  were 
not  very  much  spoilt.  Yet  the  author  of  Evelina 
was  sadly  out  of  her  true  place.  How  happier  far 
had  the  old  rumbling  chateau  at  Chesington,  the 
head-quarters  of  her  Daddy  Crisp,  been  to  her !  One 
day  she  was  graciously  permitted,  nay  sent^  by  the 
<lneen  to  visit  her  father  there ;  and  her  heart  led 
her  pen  when  she  wrote : 

My  break&st  was  short,  the  chaise  was  soon  ready, 
and  fordi  I  sallied  for  dear— once  how  dear  !— old  Che- 
ungUfn  I  £?ery  step  of  the  road  brought  back  to  my 
mimd.  the  first  and  most  loved  and  honoured  friend  of 
my  earliest  years,  aad  I  felt  a  melancholy  almost  like 
my  first  regret  for  him,  when  I  considered  what  joy, 
what  happiness  I  lost,  in  missing  his  congratulations  on 
a  titiiation  so  much  what  he  woidd  have  chosen  for  me — 
congratolations  which,  flowing  from  a  mind  such  as  his, 
10  wke,  so  sealotts,  so  sincere,  might  almost  have  recon- 
ciled me  to  it  myself— I  mean  even  then — for  now  the 
struggle  is  over,  and  I  am  content  enough. 

Here  is  a  full  repord  of  one  of  her  earliest  affllc- 


At  the  second  toilette  to-day,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg, 
who  left  the  dressing-room  before  me,  called  out  at  the 
door,  *  Miss  Bemar,  when  you  have  done  from  the 
Qneen,  come  to  my  room." 

l^ere  was  something  rather  more  peremptory  in  the 
order  than  was  quite  pleasant  to  me,  and  I  rather  drily 
answered,  *  Very  weU,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg." 

The  Queen  was  even  uncommonly  sweet  and  gracious 
in  her  manner  after  this  lady's  departure,  and  kept  me 
with  her  some  time  after  she  was  dressed 

When  I  went  to  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  she  said,  **  You 
might  know  I  had  something  to  say  to  you,  by  my  call- 
hig  you  before  the  Queen."  She  then  proceeded  to  a 
long  prelude,  which  I  could  but  ill  comprehend,  save 
that  it  conveyed  much  of  obligation  on  my  part,  and 
Ikvonr  on  hers ;  and  then  ended  with,  ^  I  might  tell 
you  now,  the  Queen  is  going  to  Oxford,  and  you  might 
CO  with  her ;  it  is  a  secret — ^you  might  not  tell  it  no- 
body. But  I  tell  you  once,  I  shall  do  for  you  what  I 
eaa ;  you  are  to  have  a  gown." 

I  stared,  and  drew  back,  with  a  look  so  undisguis- 
ed of  wonder  and  displeasure  at  this  extraordinary 
■peedi,  that  I  saw  it  was  understood,  and  she  then 
thought  it  time,  therefore,  to  name  her  authority,  which, 
with  great  emphasis  die  did  thus :  "  The  Queen  will 
giTC  you  a  gown !    The  Queen  says  you  are  not  rich," 

There  was  something  in  the  manner  of  this  quite  in- 


tolerable to  me ;  and  I  hastily  interrupted  her  with 
''^^yhig,  **  I  have  two  new  gowns  by  me,  and  therefore 
do  not  require  another." 

Perhaps  a  proposed  present  from  her  Majesty  was 
never  so  received  before  ;  but  the  grosaness  of  the  man- 
ner of  the  messenger  swallowed  up  the  graciousness  of 
the  design  in  the  principal ;  and  I  had  not  even  a  widi 
toconcMl  how  little  it  was  to  my  taste. 

The  highest  surprise  sat  upon  her  brow :  she  had 
imagined  that  a  gown — that  any  present — ^would  have 
been  caught  at  with  obsequious  aridity  ;  but  indeed  she 
was  mistaken. 

Seeing  the  wonder  and  displeasure  now  hers,  I  calmly 
added,  **  The  Queen  is  very  good,  and  I  am  very  sensi- 
ble of  her  Mijesty*8  graciousness  ;  but  there  is  not,  in 
this  instance,  the  least  occasion  for  it." 

**  Miss  Bemar,"  cried  she,  quite  angrily,  ^  I  tell  you 
once,  when  the  Queen  will  give  you  a  gown,  you  must 
be  humble,  thankful,  when  you  are  Duchess  of  Anoas- 
ter!" 

She  then  enumerated  various  ladies  to  whom  her  Ma- 
jesty had  made  the  same  present,  many  of  them  of  the 
first  distinction,  and  all,  she  said,  great  secrets.  Still  1 
only  repeated  again  the  same  speech. 

I  can  bear  to  be  checked  and  curbed  in  discourse, 
and  would  rather  be  subdued  into  silence— and  even,  if 
that  proves  a  gratification  that  secures  peace  and  gives 
pleasure,  into  apparent  insensibility ;  but  to  receive  a 
favour  through  the  vehicle  of  insokat  ostentatioik— no  ! 
no  I  To  submit  to  ill-humour  rather  than  argue  and 
dispute,  I  think  an  exercise  of  patience,  and  I  encourage 
myself  all  I  can  to  practise  it :  but  to  accept  even  a 
shadow  of  an  obligation  upon  such  terms,  I  should 
think  mean  and  unworthy ;  and  therefore  I  mean  always, 
in  a  Court  as  I  would  elsewhere,  to  be  open  and  fear- 
less in  declining  such  subjection. 

When  she  had  finished  her  list  of  secret  ladies,  I  told 
her  I  must  beg  to  speak  to  the  Queen,  and  make  my 
own  acknowledgments  for  her  .gracious  intention. 

This  she  positively  forbid ;  and  said  it  must  only  pass 
through  her  hands.  **  When  I  give  you  the  gown,  she 
added,  ^  I  will  tell  you  when  you  may  make  your 
curtsey." 

I  was  not  vexed  at  this  prohibition,  not  knowing  what 
etiquette  I  might  offend  by  breaking  it ;  and  the  con- 
versation concluded  with  nothing  being  settled.    .    .    . 

How  little  did  the  sweet  Queen  imagine  that  this  her 
first  marie  of  favour  should  so  be  offered  me  as  to  raise 
in  me  my  first  spirit  of  resistance  I  How  differently 
would  she  have  executed  her  own  commission  herself ! 
To  avoid  exciting  jealousy,  was,  I  doubt  not,  her  motive 
for  employing  another. 

At  nij^t,  however,  this  poor  woman  was  so  iU,  so 
lost  for  want  of  her  party  at  cards,  and  so  frightened 
with  apprehensions  of  the  return  of  some  dreadful  spas- 
modic complaints,  from  which  she  has  many  years  suf- 
fered the  severest  pain,  that  I  was  induced  to  do  a  thing 
you  will  wonder  a^  and  against  which  I  had  resolved  to 
struggle  unrelentingly.  This  was  to  play  at  cards  with 
her. 

In  short,  Mrs.  Schwellenberg  proved  poor  Miss 
Bumey's  hite  noir  throughout.  N.B.,  the  gifted 
gown,  was  a  **  lilac  tMy^  whatever  sort  of  silken 
fabric  that  may  have  been,  and  was  first  worn  on 
the  birth-day  of  one  of  the  Princesses ;  for  on  birth- 
days it  was  the  etiquette  for  all  Uie  household 
to  appear  in  new  dresses,  both  in  the  morning 
and  evening ;  a  rather  heavy  tax  on  the  atten- 
dants»  where  the  family  is  as  numerous  as  was  that 
of  George  the  Third*  The  excursion  to  Oxford  is 
graphically  narrated.  It  was  replete  with  annoy- 
ances of  ail  kinds.  The  head-quarters  of  the  royal 
party  was  Nuneham,  the  residence  of  Lord  Har- 
court;  and  the  confusion  of  the  establishment, 
during  the  royal  visitation^  resembled  that  of  an 
ill-oiiganized  inn^  in  a  race-week. 


888 


MISS  BURNErS  DURY  AND  LETTERS, 


When  Miss  Bvoey  had  been  a  hw  months  In 
her  new  office,  we  find  a  gentleman,  who  alter- 
wwrda  makes  a  oonsidtFabla  firu^'  ^  ^  Piary, 
under  the  nom  tU  fmrr^  of  Mr.  TmMmU.  thus 
moralizinif  on  the  Q,ueen'8  birih-day,  which  was 
approaching : — 

He  inquired  of  »•  hew  I  ehevld  like  the  etate 
business  of  that  day  t 

I  told  bim  I  knew  notbing  of  wbat  I  had  to  ezpeet 
from  it.  He  undertook  readily  to  inform  me.  He  eaid 
I  was  to  be  sumptuonsl J  arrayed,  te  sit  in  one  of  tbe 
best  rooms  at  St.  James's,  and  there  te  reeeive  all  the 
ladies  of  the  ^neen  in  partienlar,  and  te  do  the  hoaonrs 
to  all  the  gentlemen  also,  belonging  to  the  establishment. 

I  laughed,  and  told  him  he  had  painted  te  me  asoene 
of  happiness  peeuliarly  adapted  to  my  taste  ! 

He  did  not  oonoem  himself  to  examine  whether  or 
not  I  was  serious,  but  said  he  supposed,  of  course,  the 
dignity  of  such  a  matter  of  state  eould  net  be  disagree- 
able to  me,  and  added,  he  should  take  the  liberty  to 
wish  me  Joy  of  the  day,  among  the  rest,  when  it  arriTod, 
and  to  see  me  in  my  gloir. 

After  this  he  said,  •  You  have  now  oeariy  seen  the 
whole  of  oTerytbing  that  will  eome  before  you  e  in  a  Terr 
short  time  you  will  hare  passed  six  months  here,  and 
then  you  will  know  your  lii^  ibr  as  many,  and  twice 
and  thriee  as  many  years.  You  will  have  seeu  every- 
body and  everything,  and  the  same  round  will  still  be 
the  same,  year  aiter  year,  without  Intermission  or  altera- 
tion." 

This  gtntlemaOf  a  married  man^  in  orders,  and 
FMnch  reader  to  tbe  (lueen  and  the  Princesses, 
with  all  of  whom  he  seems  to  have  bean  a  favourite, 
must  have  been  a  rather  dangerous  inmate  in  any 
female  household.  Miss  Bumey  was  guarded  by 
ft  seven-fold  panoply  of  prudence  and  discretion ; 
yet  she  seems  to  have  suffired  net  a  little  firom 
his  alternate  audadous,  or  insidious  advances. 
How  would  Queen  Charlotte,  the  pattern  of  all 
virtue,  decorum,  and  rigid  propriety,  have  been 
shocked  to  bear  the  free  opinions  of  the  maa  in 
whom  she  placed  so  much  confidence  that  he  was  the 
literary  caterer  for  herself  and  for  daughters  just 
dawning  into  womanhood !  The  MIm  Planta  of 
the  following  diabgue,  was  the  governess  and  at- 
tendant  of  the  elder  Princesses  j-* 

The  dinner  was  enlivened  with  very  animated  oonver* 
sation,  in  which  this  gentleman  took  a  part  so  principal 
that  I  now  begau  to  attend,  and  now,  Urst,  to  be  su^ 
prised  by  him. 

The  subject  was  female  character.  Miss  Planta  de- 
clared her  opinion  that  it  was  so  indispensable  to  have 
it  without  blemish,  that  nothing  upon  earth  could  com" 
pensate,  or  make  it  possible  to  countenance  one  who 
wanted  it.  Mrs.  Smelt  agreed  that  oompaasiea  alone 
was  all  that  could  be  afwrded  upon  sueh  an  oocasioQy 
not  countenance,  acquaintsnoe,  nor  intercourse.  Mr. 
de  Luc  gave  an  opinion  so  long  and  conftised,  that  I 
could  not  sufUciently  attend  to  make  it  out.  Mr.  Smelt 
spoke  with  mingled  gentleness  and  irony,  upon  the  nature 
of  the  debate.  I  said  Uttle,  but  that  Uttle  was,  to  give 
every  eaeoaragemeAt  to  peaiteaee*  and  no  countenance 
to  error. 

The  hero,  however,  of  the  discourse  was  Mr.  Turbu- 
lent. With  a  warmth  and  finrvour  that  broke  fbrth  into 
ezelamations  the  most  vehement,  and  reflections  the  most 
poignant,  he  pretested  that  many  of  the  women  we  were 
proscribing  were  amongst  the  most  amiable  of  the  sex-^ 
that  the  ISttftidiousness  we  recommended  was  never  prac- 
tised by  even  the  best  part  of  the  world— and  that  we 
ourselves,  individually,  whUe  we  spoke  with  so  much 
disdain,  never  acted  up  to  our  doctrines,  by  using,  to* 
wards  all  fair  failers,  such  severity* 

This  brought  me  forth.    I  love  not  to  be  attacked  for 


making  prefhssieas  beyead  my  praetiee ;  and  I  ( 
him,  very  seriously,  that  I  had  net  one  veluntaiy  ae- 
^uaintanee,  nor  one  with  whom  I  kept  up  the  f  aJlast 
intercourse  of  my  own  seekiqg  er  wilftu  uenenini 
that  had  any  stain  in  their  ^mraeteie  that  had< 
reached  my  ears. 

^  Pardon  me,  ma'^un,*'  cried  he,  warmly,  ^  there  aie 
amongst  your  acquaintance,  and  amongst  eveiybodyls, 
many  of  these  the  most  admired,  and  most  chef  i^ 
that  have  neither  been  spared  by  calumny,  aer  been 
able  to  avoid  reproach  and  suspicien.** 

I  assured  him  he  was  mistaken ;  and  Mrs.  Smell  and 
Miss  Flanta  protested  he  was  wholly  in  an  error. 

He  grew  but  the  more  earnest,  and  opened,  in  vindi- 
cation of  his  assertions  and  his  opinions,  a  flow  of  lan- 
guage that  amased  me,  and  a  stoain  of  argnment  ikU 
struck  and  perplexed  us  all.  He  Ihlt  tiw  gensrasi^  ef 
the  side  he  undertook,  and  he  could  net  have  bewi  move 
eager  nor  more  animated  had  the  &ir  dames  in  whoee 
cause  he  battled  been  present  to  reward  him  with  their 
smiles. 

In  the  end,  flnding  himself  aloae,  and  hard  pMsssi, 
he  very  significantly  exelaimed  '<  Be  net  too  triumphant, 
ladies  l~.^f  must  flght  yeu  with  weapons  ef  year  own 
making  for  me.  There  is  a  lady,  a  lady  whom  you  aQ 
know,  and  are  proud  to  know,  that  stands  exactly  In  the 
place  I  speak  of." 

« I'm  sure  I  dcnH  knew  whom  yon  mevi  I"  oM  Miss 
Piaota, 

«  You  know  her  ym  weUr^  leaet,  as  well  as  you 
can,"  answered  he,  druy. 

Mrs.  Smelt,  laughing,  said  she  might  know  many 
unfortunate  objects,  but  she  was  uneenseleus  ef  her 
knowledge. 

I  boldly  pvoteeted  I  knew  not,  as  an  aetwiiitanea  of 
my  own,  a  single  person  his  description  suited. 

After  along  series  of  protestationn  of  igooftuce 
and  eager  inquiries,  Ifr.  I^irMsiK  still  hung  hack; 
and  poor  Miss  Bumey,  what  was  her  oonoem  U- 

He  hung  back,  but  we  all  called  upon  bim.  and  I  de- 
clared I  f  neuld  regard  the  description  as  f^uleus  unless 
he  spoke  oat,  and  this  piqued  him  to  be  categorical ;  but 
what  was  my  coucem  to  hear  bim  then  name^almest 
whispering  with  his  own  reluctaoMH-Madame  de  Oon- 
lis  I  X  was  quite  thunderstruck,  and  everybody  was 
silent. 

He  was  then  for  dosing  the  discourse,  but  I  coold  not 
consent  to  it.  I  told  him  that  I  pretended  not  to  say 
the  character  of  that  lady  had  never,  in  my  hearing,  been 
attacked  ;  but  that  I  could,  and  would,  and  hoped  I  ever 
should,  saylbelieved  her  p^fectly  innocent  of  the  ehaiges 
brought  against  her. 

He  smiled  a  little  provokingly,  and  said,  ^We  ofree 
here,  ma'am,— I  think  her  innocent  toOf** 

^|«o.  Sir,  we  do  not  agrn  l-*^l  ^euld  not  tbiak  her 
innocent  if  I  believed  the  charge  1" 

^Circumstances,*'  cried  be,  ^may  laake  her  mind 
innocent'* 

I  could  say  nothing  to  thiSi  I  think  it  so  true  i  bnt  I 
would  pot  venture  such  a  concession,  where  my  wiehes 
led  me  to  aim  at  a  Am  delbnce.  Accordingly,  with  all 
the  energy  in  my  power,  I  attempted  it ;  assuring  him 
that  there  was  an  evidence  ef  her  untainted  worth  in 
her  very  countenance,  and  written  there  so  stroa|^y, 
that  to  mistake  the  character  was  impessihle, 

^True.**  cried  he,  again  smiling,  ^tbe  ecmteaanee 

rj(s  all  that  captivating  sweetness  that  belonfs«-if 
has  them— to  the  very  nsilties  of  her  ebarader*'* 

This  is  enough.  The  Queen  directed  M{se  9ur- 
ney  to  accommodate  t^  man  in  her  camaga ;  la 
returning  to  Windsor  after  the  hirth-digr,  ioA  on 
other  journeys;  and  ^to  hear  was  to  obey,  hot,**.— 

The  Journey  was  rather  awkward.  To  be  three  heuis 
and  a  naif  tae-a-tiu  with  a  person  so  litUe  known  to 
me,  and  of  whom  I  had  been  unable  to  form  any  pre- 
cise epiniou,  while  still  in  a  feeble  state  of  bealtbtand 
still  feebler  of  spirits,  was  by  no  means  desirable ;  and 


MISS  BURNET'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


S80 


yet  Am  k«  M  ih«n  vna  someihing  in  the  nneertainty 
«r  ny  noiioiifl  fhat  led  me  to  fear  him,  though  I  knew 
not  ezaetlj  whj. 

The  oooYenation  that  ensued  did  not  remoye  these 
difievUies  :  wholly  brought  on  and  sapported  by  him- 
self, ^  sobjects  were  jost  snch  as  I  least  wish  to  dis- 
CBfis  with  AtM — ^religion  and  morality. 

With  respeet  to  morality,  his  opinions  seemed  npon 
rtther  too  Urge  a  scale  fbr  that  perfect  measurement 
which  suited  my  more  oircumscribed  ideas.  Nothing 
hu]tj  fell  from  him,  but  much  was  thrown  out  that, 
ibongh  not  poeitirely  censurable,  had  far  better  neyer 
be  ittered.  He  again  revived  the  subject  of  Madame 
de  Gealis  ;  again  I  defended  her,  and  again,  while  he 
pslBUed  all  the  wrong  with  which  he  charged  her,  he 
ttieee  to  disbelieve  the  seriousness  of  my  assertions  in 
her  ikvour.  True,  however,  it  is,  I  do  believe  her  inno- 
cert  of  all  eiime  but  indiscretion,  and  of  that  I  know  not 
Ww  to  dear  her,  sinee  to  nothing  softer  can  I  attribute 
tbe  grounds  npon  which  so  much  calumny  has  been 
~~''^^     I  imagine  her,  and  so  I  told  him,  to  have  fallen 


tt  in  early  and  inexperienced  period  into  designing 
lad  depraved  hands,  and  not  to  have  been  able,  from 
cnul  and  distressed  circumstances,  to  give  up  the  un- 
wwUiy  protection  of  a  profligate  patron,  thou|^  her 
eontinoing  under  it  has  stained  her  fair  fame  for  ever- 
more !  Pexhaps  her  husband,  himself  worthless,  would 
Mt  permit  her->perhap8  she  feared  the  future  ruin  of 
her  two  children — ^perhaps,  in  a  country  such  as  France, 
Bhe  did  not,  in  that  first  youth,  dare  even  to  think  of 
nliKtuishing  the  protection  of  a  Prince  of  the  blood. 
S^  was  only  fifteen  when  she  vras  married — she  told 
ae  thtt  herself:  How  hard  do  I  think  her  lot,  to  fall 
uto  hands  she  must  ever  have  despised,  and  so  to  be 
crtiQgled  in  them  as  not  to  dare  show  to  the  world,  in 
we  only  way  the  world  would  believe  her,  the  abhor- 
nMeef  her  mind  to  the  character  of  her  patron,  by  quit- 
tinganef  under  which  she  could  not  live  without  censure  I 
^^The  subject,  however,  was  so  nice,  it  was  difficult  to 
««ws8,  and  I  wished  much  to  avoid  it,  since  there  was 
N  onieh  that  I  could  not  explain  vrithout  apparent  con- 
ctnioiis  against  my  own  ease,  which  he  instantly  seized, 
*BA  treated  as  actual  cononriences.  He  praised  her  as 
jnchas  I  praised  her  myself,  and  I  found  he  admired 
Jer  with  as  sineere  a  warmth :  but  though  we  a^preed 
«n  ftr,  and  yet  fiurther,  in  thinking  all  ttat  might  be 
^vong  hi  her  was  venial,  we  difibred  most  essentially 
jBovr  opfanona  of  what  that  wrong  might  be.  He 
^«^  her  positively  fallen,  yet  with  circumstances 
'"^ig  ev^  indulgence.  I  thought  her  positively 
"*^  yet  with  ciroumstances  anthoriiing  suspicion. 
,  *  {'jd  what  was  possible  to  fly  finom  this  disquisition, 
wt  I  fbund  1  had  one  to  deal  with  not  easy  to  control. 

iii?***  *^  '*P>  forcibly  and  steadily,  tiU  I  was  oom- 
P«J|w  to  be  sdent  to  his  assertions,  from  want  of  proof 
i^nd  opinion  fbr  answering  them. 

He  then  proceeded  to  a  general  vindication  of  the 
'*«■»«  to  such  sort  of  situations,  in  which  I  could  by 
BO  Beans  concur ;  but  when  I  resisted  he  startled  me 
^l^^aoimg  as  individuals  amongst  them  some  charac- 
SLi  v''^*^**  I  had  conceived  far  superior  notions.  I 
wd  hhn  quite  with  grie^  and  I  will  not  imte  their 
"*■•*•  I  cannot  look  i^n  him  as  a  detractor,  and  I 
»^lnm  by  no  means  severe  m  his  exactions  from  female 
T^^  ••  I  gave,  therefore,  and  give^implicit  credit  to  his 
^»»hon,  though  I  gave  not,  and  give  not,  any  to  his 
"T^Jcw  and  general  comments. 
IB*  '*"*^  npon  it,"  said  he,  "with  whatever  pre- 
tW«S?^  «▼«  jnet  prejudice,  you  may  look  upon 
"wi*  alien  characters  at  large,  and  considered  in  a 
^  Jon  will  generally  find  them,  individually,  amongst 
2  ■JJJ'J  liable  of  your  sex :  I  had  almost  said  amongst 
^^^  ^irtnons ;  but  amongst  those  who  possess  the 
S^T*  T^tues,  though  not  every  virtue,  undoubtedly. 

"»»  jwn  sweetness  and  sensibility  will  generally  have 
"^  we  sole  sonree  of  their  misconduct.'' 
^«oiud  neither  agree  nor  dispute  upon  such  a  subject 
•^mich  an  antagonist,  and  I  took  my  usual  resource, 
whSw* ^ Mgwwnt  die  away  fbr  vrant  of  food  with 
»tach  to  nourish  it. 

^ClI.— V0L.IX. 


I  did  not  fare  the  better,  however,  by  the  next  theme, 
to  which  the  death  of  this  led  us  :  Religion. 

There  is  no  topic  in  the  world  up<m  which  I  am  so 
carefbl  how  I  speak  serictfUy  as  this.  By  "  seriously'^ 
I  do  not  mean  gTavely,>Dt  with  earnestness  ;  mischief 
here  is  so  easily  done^te  difficultly  reformed.  I  have 
made  it,  therefbre,  a  inle  through  my  life  never  to  talk 
in  detail  upon  UPgious  opinions,  but  wiUi  those  of 
whose  principWlhave  the  fullest  conviction  and  high- 
est respect.  ^Tt  is  therefore  very,  very  rarely  I  have  ever 
entered  nntfn  the  subject  but  witii  female  fHends  or  ac- 
quaintauMS,  whose  hearts  I  have  well  known,  and  who 
would/iM  as  unlikely  to  ^veas  to  receive  any  perplexity 
from  Aht  diseourse.  But  with  regard  to  men,  I  have 
known  none  vrith  whom  I  have  wilUngly  conferrod  upon 
them,  except  Dr.  Johnson,  Mr.  Locke,  and  Mr.  Smelt,  and 
one  more. 

My  companion  was  urgent  to  enter  into  a  controversy 
which  I  was  equally  urgent  to  avoid  ;  and  I  knew  not 
whether  most  to  admire  or  to  dread  the  skill  and  capa- 
city with  which  he  pursued  his  purpose,  in  defiance  of 
my  constant  retreat.  When,  in  order  to  escape,  I 
made  only  light  and  slight  answers  to  his  queries 
and  remarks,  he  gravely  said  I  led  him  into  "strange 
suspicions"  concerning  my  religious  tenets  ;  and  when 
I  made  to  this  some  rallying  reply,  he  solemnly  de- 
clared he  feared  I  was  a  "mere  philosopher"  on  these 
subjects,  and  totally  incredulous  vrith,  regard  to  all  re- 
vealed religion. 

This  vras  an  attack  which  even  in  pleasantry  I  liked 
not,  as  the  very  vrords  gave  me  a  secret  shock.  I  there- 
fore then  spoke  to  the  point,  and  frankly  told  him  tiiat 
subjects  w^ch  I  held  to  be  so  sacred,  I  made  it  an  in- 
variable rule  never  to  discuss  in  casual  conversions. 

"And  how,  ma'am,"  said  he,  suddenly  assuming  the 
authoritative  seriousness  of  his  proftBssional  character 
and  di|^ty,  "  and  how,  ma'am,  can  you  better  discuss 
matters  of  this  solemn  natnre  than  now,  with  a  man  to 
whom  their  consideration  peculiarly  belongs !— vrith  a 
clergyman  I" 

True,  thought  I ;  but  I  must  better  be  apprised  of 
your  principles,  ere  I  trust  you  vnth  debathig  mine  ! 

Again'we  repeat,  that  Queen  Cliarlotte  had  a  reiy 
equivocal  character  in  her  service.  After  a  good 
deal  of  annoyance.  Miss  Bumey  resolved  to  apply 
to  the  Queen  for  lbavb  for  Mr.  Turbulent  to  travel 
with  the  Equerries :— - 

She  seemed  to  think  it  quite  strange  that  I  should  be 
content  to  part  vrith  him,  and  spoke  of  his  agreeable  and 
entertaining  fiMSulties  in  conversation  vrith  very  partial 
admiration.  I  concurred  in  allowing  them,  but  accepted 
her  tacit  consent  to  the  occasional  separation.  I  had 
now  something  to  say  to  my  knight  that  I  knew  would 
keep  him  in  some  order, 

llie  instant  I  was  left  alone  with  Mr.  Turbulent  he 
demanded  to  know  my  **  project  for  kithajapinen  ;^  and 
he  made  his  claim  in  a  tone  so  determined,  that  I  saw  it 
would  be  firuiUess  to  attempt  evasion  or  delay. 

"  Your  captivity,  then,  Sir/'  cried  I—**  ^^  ^^  I  Jn'irt 
call  your  regarding  your  attendance  to  be  indispensable 
— is  at  an  end :  ^  JSquerry-coach  is  now  wholly  in  your 
power.  I  have  spoken  myself  upon  the  subject  to  the 
Queen,  as  you  bid— at  least,  braved  me  to  do ;  and  I 
have  now  her  consent  to  discharging  you  fh>m  all  ne- 
cessity of  travelling  in  our  coach." 

He  looked  extremely  provoked,  and  asked  if  I  really 
meant  to  inform  him  I  did  not  choose  his  company  t 

I  laughed  the  question  of^  and  used  a  world  of  civil 
argument  to  persuade  him  I  had  only  done  him  a  good 
of^DO  :  but  I  vras  £un  to  make  the  whole  debate  as 
sportive  as  possible,  as  I  saw  him  disposed  to  be  seri- 
ously aflfVonted. 

A  long  debate  ensued.  I  had  been,  he  protested, 
excessively  ill-natured  to  him.  "  What  an  impression," 
cried  he,  "  must  this  make  upon  the  Queen  I  After 
travelling,  with  apparent  content,  six  years  with  that 
oyster  ifii.  Haggerdom— now— now  that  travelling  is 
become  really  agreeable— in  that  coach— I  am  to  be 

2  lei. 


> 


sao 


mSS  BURNETS  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


tuned  <mi  ef  it  (     How  ftnft  it  diignoe  me  in  her 
opinion ! "  \ 

She  wae  too  partial,  I  eiid,  to  ''thai  oftier;'  to  look 
upon  the  matter  in  enoh  a  ddnading  light ;  nor  would 
the  think  of  it  at  all,  hot  as  anV<^<^^^  matter* 

I  then  added,  that  the  rea80l^±e  had  hitherto  been 
destined  to  the  flBmale  coaoh  wa^^at  Mrs.  Sehwellen- 
berg  and  Mrs.  Haggerdom  were  al#|^s  afraid  of  tra- 
relling  by  themselTes  ;  bat  that  as  I  ha^rore  oonrage, 
there  was  no  need  of  snch  slaTsry.  ^ 

'^SlaTorj  I  "—repeated  he,  with  an  emi^Mwis  that 
almost  startled  me,-^  SlaTery  is  pleasure— isli^ppiness 
—when  directed  by  our  wishes  1 ''  ^ 

And  then,  with  a  sadden  motion  that  made  mevqaite 
Jump,  he  oast  himself  at  my  feet,  on  both  his  kneee-=^^ 

"  Year  slare,"  he  cried,  **  I  am  oontent  to  be  I  year 
slave  I  am  ready  to  live  and  die  1 " 

I  begged  him  to  rise,  and  be  a  little  leas  rhapsodic. 
^  I  hare  emancipated  yoa,**  I  cried  t  "  do  not,  therefore, 
throw  away  the  freedom  yoa  hare  oeen  six  years  sigh- 
ing to  obtain.  Yoa  are  now  yoor  own  agent-Hk  Tolon- 
teer— " 

^If  I  am,**  cried  he,  impetnoosly,  ^I  dedicate  my- 
self to  yoa  1 — A  Tolonteer,  ma'am,  remember  that !  I 
dedicate  myself  to  yoa,  therefore,  of  my  own  accord, 
Ibr  every  joomey  I  Yoa  shall  not  get  rid  of  me  these 
twenty  years." 

I  tried  to  get  away  myself— bat  be  weald  not  let  me 
move  ;  and  he  began,  with  still  increasing  Tiolence  of 
manner,  a  most  fbrrent  protestotion  that  he  would  not 
be  set  aside,  and  that  he  deroted  himself  to  me  entirely. 
Axkdy  to  say  the  simple  truth,  ridiculous  as  all  this  was, 
I  really  began  to  grow  a  little  frightened  by  his  yehe- 
mence  and  his  posture ;  till,  at  last,  in  the  midst  of  an 
almost  fririous  vow,  in  which  he  dedicated  himself  to  me 
for  ever,  he  relieved  me,  by  suddenly  oalling  i^Mm  Jupi- 
ter, Juno,  Mars,  and  Hercules,  and  every  god,  and  every 
coddesB,  to  witness  his  oath.  And  then,  oontent  with 
nis  sublimity,  he  arose* 

Was  it  not  a  carious  scene  t  and  have  I  not  a  eurioos 
fsllow-traveller  Ibr  my  little  journeys  1 

This  sample  of  his  behavour  in  a  ttU-^^-tki  will  not 
invite  me  to  another  vrith  him :  for  though  I  think  his 
rhodomontading  as  innocent  as  that  of  our  cousin 
Richard,  there  is  something  in  it  now  and  then  a  little 
more  violent  than  suite  either  my  taste  or  my  nerves. 

Thus,  between  jest  and  earnest,  Mr.  Turbulent 
felt  his  way.  He  was,  however,  very  capable  of 
friendly  actions,  and  a  henrty  hater  of  Mrs.  Schwel- 
lenberg,  so  **  here  was  sympathy."  One  day  he 
had  been  an  unnoticed  witness  of  Miss  Bumey's 
sufierings  from  this  mean-minded  woman,  of  whom 
most  of  the  household  stood  in  such  awe,  from  her 
powers  of  making  mischief  with  the  Q;ueen^  that 
when  before  her,  they  deemed  it  prudent  to  slight 
the  new  intruder.  On  the  day  Mr.  Turbulent 
had  witnessed  her  ill-usage,-— 

He  put  aside  all  his  flifhte  and  his  vi<^enees,  and 
seemed  hurt  for  me  more  than  I  could  have  supposed. 
I  passed  it  all  olf  as  gaily  as  I  could,  but  he  touched  me, 
I  own,  when  in  a  tone  of  the  most  compassionate  regret 
at  my  lot,  he  exclaimed,  **  This,  ma^am)  is  your  col- 
league ! — Who  ooold  ever  have  imagined  it  would  have 
been  MIbs  Barney's  fate  to  be  so  coupled  f  Could  yoa 
ever,  ma'am,  foresee,  or  suspect,  or  beliere  you  should 
be  linked  to  such  a  companion  %** 

No,  thought  I,  indeed  did  I  not  I  But  to  recover  my- 
self from  the  trahi  of  thoughto  to  vrhieh  so  home  a  ques- 
tion led,  I  fhmkly  narrated  some  small  droumstances, 
of  a  ludicrous  and  unimportant  naturS)  whi<^  regarded 
this  lady,  vrith  some  of  her  domestics. 

They  were  almost  in  fits  of  laughter  ;  and  Mr.  Tur- 
bulent's  compassion  so  fleeted  away  from  the  diversion 
of  tUs  recital,  that  he  now  only  lamented  I  had  not  also 
known  the  other  original  colleague,  that  she  too  might 
have  lived  in  mv  memorr.    I  thuik  him  mnch  I 

He  had  lately,  he  teid  me,  had  much  oottTenatioa 


eoncemiaf  me  with  Mr.  Beswell.  I  feel  sonj  io  be 
named  or  remembeied  by  that  biographical,  anacdotical 
memorandummer,  till  his  book  of  poor  Pr.  Johnson's 
lift  is  finished  and  pubUshed.  What  an  anecdoto,how- 
ever,  did  he  tell  me  of  that  most  extraordinary  charae- 
ter  !  He  is  now  an  actual  admirer  sadfollower  of  Mn» 
Rudd  !--and  avows  it»  and  praises  her  extraordiaaiy 
attractions  aloud  t 

But  a  little  more  of  Mr.  Turbulentand  the  strait- 
laced  Court  of  Queen  Charlotte,  whom  it  was  possi- 
ble to  deceive,  much  like  uiferior  pattern  women : 

BfiBCH  IsT^— With  all  the  various  humours  in  whish 
I  had  abeady  seen  Mr.  Turbulenti  he  gave  me  this 
evening  a  surprise,  by  hisbeharioar  to  one  of  the  Prin- 
eesses,  neariy  the  same  that  I  had  experienced  from  him 
myself.  The  Princess  Augusto  came,  during  ooAm,  (br 
a  knotting  shuttle  of  the  Queen's.  While  she  was  speak- 
faig  to  me,  he  stood  behind  and  exdaimad,  A  dm»i  wk*, 
as  if  to  himself,  **  Comme  eUs  mtjolie  m  sinr,  son  Alimu 
Royals  !**  And  then,  seeing  her  blush  extremely,  hs 
clasped  his  hands,  in  high  pretended  oonfhaion,  and 
hiding  his.head,  called  out, ''  QtM/dfoi^?  Tha  Prinsssi 
has  heard  me  1" 

«  Pray,  Mr.  Turbulent,"  cried  she,  haetfly,  «  whit 
play  are  yon  to  read  to-night t"  ''You  shaU  choose^ 
ma'am  |  either  La  Coquetu  corrigh^  or—"  [he  named 
another  I  have  fbrgotten.]  <*  O  no  1"  cried  she,  '^  that 
last  is  shocking !  dont  let  me  hear  that  1"— *"  I  nndsr 
stand  you,  ma'am.  Yon  fix,  then,  upon  La  Copumi 
La  CoqudU  is  your  Royal  Highness's  taste  t"  <"  No, 
indeed,  I  am  sure  I  did  not  say  that."—*'  Yes,  ma'am, 
by  imtOication.  And  certainly,  therefore,  I  wiU  read  it, 
to  please  your  Royal  Highness  I "  «  No,  pray  dont; 
for  I  like  none  of  them  r— ^  None  of  them,  aa'amP 
**  No,  none  »-«o  Frsn^hplayt  at  all !" 

And  away  she  was  running,  vrith  a  droU  air,  Umi  as* 
knowledged  she  had  said  something  to  provoke  him. 

"^  This  is  a  deoh^ration,  ma'am.  I  must  beg  yoa  to 
explain  I"  cried  he,  gliding  adroitly  between  the  Prin* 
cess  and  the  door,  and  shutting  it  vrith  his  bade.  ''No, 
no,  I  can't  ezplaia  it;  so  pray,  Mr.  Turbnlenti  do  oM 
the  door."  •*  Not  for  the  worid,  ma'am,  with  such  a 
stain  uncleared  i^n  your  Royal  Highness's  taste  and 
ibellng!" 

She  told  him  rim  positively  eould  not  staji  mid  bsg* 
ged  him  to  let  her  pass  histantly. 

But  he  vrould  hear  her  no  mors  than  he  has  liegd  me, 
protesting  he  was  too  much  diocked  fbr  her,  to  solkr  htr 
to  depart  without  clearing  her  own  credit  1 

He  conquered  at  last,  and  thus  ibrced  to  speak,  oa 
turned  round  to  us  and  sMd,"  WeU— if  I  must  then--I 
vrill  appeal  to  these  ladies,  vrko  understand  such  tkiagi 
fttf  bettor  than  I  do,  and  ask  them  if  it  is  not  true  about 
tiiese  French  plays,  that  thev  are  aU  so  like  one  to  aa. 
other,  that  to  hear  them  in  tftis  maimer  every  night  ii 
enoujditotireonet'' 

"Pray,  then,  madam,"  cried  he,  «if  Pfeach  pl^ 
have  the  misfortune  to  displease  yon,  what  N<i^i»9$i 
Plays  have  the  honour  of  your  preforenee  f " 

I  saw  he  meant  something  that  she  undentM>d  bettsr 
than  me,  for  she  blushed  a§^  and  called  out,  "^  Pi^ 
open  the  door  at  once  I  I  can  stay  no  tonger ;  deJM 
me  go,  Mr.  Turii)ulettt.''  «  Not  tttl  you  have  ansnew* 
that  question,  ma'am  1  what  CoaiKry  has  plays  to  y^ 
Royal  Highness's  tasto  1"— «  Miss  Bumey,"  cried  shi 
impatiently,  yet  laughing,  •*  pray  do  you  taka  Urn  away  i 
*-.Pull  him  1^  ^  - 

He  bowed  to  me  very  hivitingly  for  tiie  ofilee ;  but  i 
frankly  answered  her,  "<  Indeed,  ma'am,  I  dars  uot  un- 
dertake hhn  1    I  cannot  manage  him  at  alL"       

«  The  Cbwilry/  the  GmUfyl  Princess  Aug»»* 
name  the  happy  Ckmn^r*  was  all  she  eeuW  |«»* 
"  Ortf«»him  away.  Miss  Bumey,*' cried  she;  «  tlsyow 
room :  order  him  away  from  the  door."—*'  NamoJ^ 
ma'am,  name  it  1"  ezcldmed  he ;  name  but  the  lM«f* 
iMrtloa/"  And  then,  firing  her  with  the  most  prf  •l^- 
ingeyes,«JBi«-wi«J)rtiNniwfef  hecried^-fihecolwtf^ 
ed  violently,a&d  quite  angry  with  him,  called  oaty "  Miw 

Turbulent,  how  can  you  be  such  a  fool  1" 


MISS  BURNET'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


891 


And  BHT  I  fomkl  ...  the  Prince  Royftl  of  Denmftric 
WM  in  hii  mftMiiiif ,  Aid  in  her  vndentanding ! 

He  bowed  to  the  ground,  in  gratitude  for  the  term 
ftoif  b«t  Mlded)  with  pretended  fubmiesion  to  her  will, 
"Very  well,  ma'un,  t'U  n$  faui  Urt  que  Im  wmidU$ 

""  Do  let  me  go  r  eried  she,  eerioualy;  and  then  he 
Bftde  way,  with  %  profound  bow  as  ihe  pMied,  laying, 
";y«J  well,  ma'am,  La  Coqfutu^  then !  your  Royal 
Highaeei  ehooeee  Iai  CbywMe  0dfr^  r ' 

•  Cortigiet  That  neter  waa  done  I"  cried  she,  with 
all  her  eweet  gfkKl  humour,  the  moment  she  got  out ; 
andeCshe rai^ like  lightnhig,  to  the  i^een'e apartmenti. 

What  eay  you  to  Mr.  Turbulent  now  1 

For  my  part,  I  was  greatly  furprised.  I  had  not 
hnfined  any  man,  but  the  Kmg  or  Prince  of  Wales, 
had  even  Tentured  at  a  hadinage  of  this  sort  with  any 
ef  the  Princesses  ;  nor  do  I  snppoee  any  other  man  erer 
md.  Mr.  Turbulent  is  so  great  a  Ayottrite  with  all  the 
Beyal  Family,  that  he  safoly  tentures  upon  whatCTor  he 
pleases ;  and  doubtless  they  find,  in  his  courage  and  his 
riiodomontading,  a  noTclty  extremely  amusing  to  them, 
or  Ihey  would  not  fkil  to  wing  about  a  change.     .    . 

TmmiuT,  Mabch  6ni.^I  spent  almost  all  this  mom- 
iM  with  her  MiOMt^  bearing  her  botanical  lesson,  and 
anerwards  looking  orer  some  prints  of  Herculaneum, 
till  the  Princess  Augusta  brought  a  paper,  and  a  mes- 
sage from  Mr.  Turbulent,  with  his  humble  request  to 
explain  it  himself  to  he»  Mt^esty.  It  was  something  he 
had  beea  ordered  to  translate. 

«  O  yes  1"  cried  the  Queen  readily,  « let  him  come ; 
I  a«  always  glad  to  see  him." 
3.5*  ^*"*^  *tttt«<ii*tely5  and  most  glad  was  I  when 
dtadsaed  to  make  way  f(MP  him  i  for  he  practises  a 
thousand  Biieohietotts  tricks,  to  confuse  toe,  in  the  Royal 
pveeeMe  \  most  paHicnlarly  by  certain  signs  which  he 
kaawB  I  comprehend,  made  by  his  eyebrows ;  ibr  he  is 
««tfauaUy  assuring  me  he  always  diseoTers  my  thoughts 
and  apfadons  by  the  motion  of  mine,  which  it  is  his  most 
feTourite  mnbol  to  pretend  constantly  to  examine,  as 
wtfl  aa  ys  first  tiieme  of  gallantry  to  compliment,  though 
la  a  style  too  high-flown  and  rhodomontading  to  be  really 
easbamMing,  or  seriously  ofltensive.  Nevertheless,  in 
the  Royal  presenee,my  terror  lest  he  should  be  obserred, 
and  any  questions  should  be  asked  ^  the  meaning  of  his 
tigns  Mid  tokens,  makes  it  seriously  disagreeable  to  me 
to  eontinne  there  a  moment  when  he  is  in  the  room. 

He  and  Miss  PUnto  both  dined  with  me ;  and  they 
•ntofed  bito  a  vwy  long  dispute  upon  fomale  education, 
whwh  he  declared  was  upon  the  worst  of  plans,  teaching 
yow  i^ls  nothing  but  disguise,  double-dealing,  and 
nMehood )  and  which  she  maintained  was  upon  no  other 
V^  tfcwi  deeomn  and  propriety  dictated.  In  all  essen- 
^  points  she  was  undoubtedly  right;  but  in  all  the 
detail  he  ooaquered--eru8hed  her,  rather,  as  forcibly  by 
his  afguments,  as  he  disMneerted  her  by  his  wit.  It 
^no  disgrace  to  Miss  Planta  that  she  was  no  match 
to  him,  though  she  answered  him  with  a  degree  of  tox- 
Mien,^ien  oteteet,  that  made  her  lose  the  adTantages 
M»  might  have  kepi  Both  of  them  called  frequently 
npon  me,  btti  I  decUned  the  discussion  t  I  should  hate 
be«i  h^py  to  hare  assisted  Miss  PUnta,  who,  in  the 
■•to,  was  right,  but  that  she  defonded  all,  ererytiiing, 
<m  her  own  side,  ^ethw  right  or  wrong,  and  sought  to 
•fposa  the  domineering  powers  of  her  adrersary  by 
allowing  no  quarter  to  anything  he  adYanced.  Candour 
uaignment  is  the  most  rare  of  all  things,  and  Truth  is 
m  erer  saorifloed  to  the  loye  of  tietory  and  the  foar  of 
di^graee.  ^ 

At  length,  she  went  for  her  worki  he  then  attacked 
me  most  rehemently,  insisting  on  my  opinion.  But  I 
■•▼er  profossedly  aigue  i  I  may  be  drawn  fai  by  cir- 
•MBstanoes,  or  from  the  interest  and  feeling  of  the 
moment,  or  from  an  earnest  desire  to  bring  forward  con- 
▼ictton,  in  aome  point  of  serious  consequence  to  the  prin- 
«pjj»  «•  eeoduet  either  of  another  or  my  own ;  but 
deliberately  and  designedly  I  neter  enter  into  that  mode 
efconrersation,  which,  except  arising  from  the  sudden 
niiaation  of  the  moment,  I  hare  always  ttionght  and 
found  either  wearisome  or  irritating. 


He  tried  whatOTcr  was  possible 'to  urge  nte  to  the 
battle.  ^  Come,"  he  cried,  ^  speak  out  your  real  sentl* 
ments  now  we  are  alone." 

"  Assure  yourself,"  quoth  I,  **  you  will  never  hate 
any  other,  whether  alone  or  before  millions  1" 

^  O  yes,  I  beg  your  pardon ;  ladies  are  never  eo  Sin* 
cere,  with  one  another,  as  with  us :— tell  me,  therefore^ 
now,  the  truth  of  your  opinions  upon  this  matter." 

Even  this  would  not  do.  I  told  him  I  was  in  no  dif» 
putative  humour. 

**  You  are  unwilling  to  own  it,"  cried  he,  '^  but  I  see 
you  are  precisely  of  my  way  of  thinking !  You  would 
not  say  so  before  poor  Peggy,  who  is  but  a  bad  logician^ 
but  I  saw  which  way  you  turned." 

This  also  failed.  I  assured  him  I  was  seised  with  a 
silent  fit,  and  he  might  spare  himself  forther  trouble. 

He  would  not  allow  this  plea,  and  grew  quite  violent 
in  his  remonstrances  j>rote8ting  I  ought  not  to  be  silent, 
and  he  would  not  suflbr  it. 

I  worked  on  very  quietly,  only  informing  him  that  to 
be  silent  was  a  privilege  I  had  everywhere  claimed,  and 
that  though  he  had  heard  me  talk  probably  as  touch  al 
my  neighbours,  it  was  toerely  because  I  generally  ap*- 
peered  before  him  as  Lady  of  the  Certtoonles,  either  al 
table  or  in  the  carriage,  where  I  thought  it  incumbent 
on  me  to  help  forward  all  I  could ;  but  that,  otherwise 
and  where  I  considered  myself  at  liberty  to  do  as  I 
pleased,  t  had  a  general  character,  atoong  strangers  and 
short  acquaintance,  of  the  toost  impenetrable  taciturnity. 

He  vowed  he  could  not  believe  it.  ^  It  would  be  a 
shame,"  he  cried,  "  and  not  only  a  shame,  but  an  imnosr 
sibility ;  you  cannot  be  taciturn ! — 1  defy  you  !  Your 
eyebrow  I" 

And  then  broke  forth  one  of  his  most  flighty  rants  of 
cotopliments,  with  expressions  i^ally  beyond  MMiiM^ 
He  made  me  a  little  grave,  and  I  told  him,  that  however 
he  might  amuse  himself  with  conning  fine  speeches  ta 
me,  I  should  desire  and  hope  he  would  at  least  oonftaa 
them  to  my  own  ears,  and  say  nothing  of  me  in  any  way 
in  my  absence. 

He  was  a  little  affronted,  and  asked  why  f  but  he  had 
given  me  a  fooling  I  could  not  quite  ei^lain,  even  to 
myself,  and  which,  however,  he  almost  immediately  dis- 
sipated by  a  more  moderate  mode  of  proceeding." 

This  gentleman  became  every  day  more  violent 
and  troublesome ;  but  Miss  Burney  was  finally 
relieved  from  his  impetuous  gallantry,  by  the 
alarming  and  dangerous  illnete  of  hii  wifo,  which 
appears  to  hare  recalled  him  to  a  sense  of  duty  and 
propriety.  He  Implored  Miss  Planta  to  ODtain 
leave  for  him  to  be  absent  from  the  Queen's  Lodge, 
that  he  might  attend  hii  wife,  who  lived  in  Wind- 
sor I  and  at  the  end  of  a  suffering  month,  he  re- 
turned— ' 

All  civility,  but  wholly  without  fiights  and  raptuies: 
tamed  and  composed,  happy  in  the  restoration  of  his  wife, 
and  cured  of  all  wild  absurdity.  I  conducted  myself  t6 
him  just  as  when  we  first  grew  acquainted— with  open* 
ness,  eheerfolness,  and  ease )  appearing  to  forget  all 
that  had  been  wrong,  and  believing  sueh  an  appearance 
the  best  means  to  make  him  forget  it  also. 

Such  was  this  month :  in  which,  but  for  the  sweet 
support  of  Mrs.  Delany,  I  must  almost  Wholly  have  sunk 
under  the  tyranny,  whether  opposed  or  endured,  of  aij 
meet  extraeardlnary  eoa^jutrix. 

Of  this  tormentor  Miss  Burney  remarks,  and 
the  observation  is  of  very  general  application :— * 

I  know  well,  at  a  distance,  you  may  think  such  een> 
duct,  in  common  with  such  a  character,  a  mere  subjeet 
for  contempt,  and  be  amased  at  its  effieot :  bat  were  you 
here,  and  were  you  spending  in  one  day  a  mere  antici- 
pation  of  every  day — alas !  my  dearest  friends,  you  would 
find,  as  I  find,  peace  must  be  purchased  by  any  sacrifice 
that  can  obtain  it. 

Mine  was,  indeed,  a  severe  one  i  I  gave  up  either  go- 
ing to  ay  beloted  selaee,  [Mfi.  tMany,]  «r  receiving  h« 


392 


MISS  BURNErS  DIARY  AXD  LETTERS. 


here,  and  offered  my  Berrice  to  play  at  piqnet. — At  first, 
this  WM  disdainftilly  reftised»  and  bat  rery  prondly  ac- 
cepted afterwards.  I  had  no  way  to  compose  my  own  spi- 
rit to  an  endurance  of  this,  but  by  considering  myself  as 
marrUd  to  ker^  and  therefore  that  all  rebellion  could  but 
end  in  disturbance,  and  that  concession  was  my  sole 
ishance  for  peace  !  O  what  reluctant  nuptials  ! — ^how 
often  did  I  say  to  myself— Were  these  chains  Toluntary, 
bow  oonld  I  bear  them  ! — ^howfoigiye  myself  that  I  put 
them  on ! 

And  does  marriage  often  compel  such  sacrifices 
on  the  part  of  the  woman  ?  This  were  a  stronger 
argument  for  divorces,  from  mere  incompatibilitj 
of  temper,  than  any  we  have  ever  yet  met  with. 

Having  sympathized  in  her  trials  and  sorrows, 
we  are  now  £airly  entitled  to  see  what  amusement 
Miss  Bumey  can,  in  return,  afford  us  ;  and  of  the 
slender  portion  contained  in  her  Diary  of  two  years, 
there  is,  perhaps,  nothing  more  piquant  than  her 
sketches  of  her  literary  and  sentimental  female 
friends.  The  most  choice  specimens  are  a  French 
and  a  German  lady,  whose  absurdities  seem  to 
have  revived  in  the  waha^^y  Mistress  of  the  Ward- 
robe  something  of  her  early  comic  humour  and 
pense  of  the  ludicrous.  The  Madame  la  Fite  alluded 
to  had,  we  must  premise,  been  a  former  acquaint- 
ance:— 

Madame  la  Fite  called  in  the  morning,  to  tell  me 
die  must  take  no  denial  to  forming  me  a  new  acquaint- 
ance— Madame  de  la  Roche,  a  German  by  birtii,  but 
married  to  a  frenchman ;— an  authoress,  a  woman  of 
talents  and  distinction,  a  character  highly  celebrated,  and 
unjustly  suffering  firom  an  adherence  to  the  Protestant 
religion.  ^  She  dies  with  eagerness  to  see  you,"  she 
added  in  French,  **  and  I  have  invited  her  to  Windsor, 
where  I  have  told  her  I  have  no  other  feast  prepared  for 
her  bnt  to  show  her  Dr.  Herschel  and  Miss  Bumey." 

I  leave  you  to  imagine  if  I  felt  competent  to  iVilfil 
such  a  promise :  openly,  on  the  contrary,  I  assured  her 
I  was  quite  unequal  to  it. 

She  bad  already,  she  said,  written  to  Madame  la  Roche, 
to  come  the  next  day,  and  if  I  would  not  meet  her  she 
must  be  covered  with  disgrace. 

Expostulation  was  now  vain ;  I  could  only  say  that 
to  answer  for  myself  was  quite  out  of  my  own  power. 

**  And  why  \ — and  wherefore « — and  what  for  ? — and 
surely  to  me  ! — and  surely  for  Madame  de  la  Roche  ! — 
^nefimme  d^etpnt—mon  amxe — Vamie  de  Madame  de 
Omlity*  &C.,  &c.,  filled  up  a  hurried  conference  in  the 
midst  of  my  dreraing  for  the  Queen,  till  a  summons  in- 
terrupted her,  and  forced  me,  half  dressed,  and  all  too 
late,  to  run  away  firom  her,  with  an  extorted  promise  to 
wait  upon  her  if  I  possibly  could. 

Accordingly  I  went,  and  arrived  before  Madame  la 
Roche.  Poor  Madame  La  Fite  received  me  in  transport ; 
and  I  soon  witnessed  another  transport,  at  least  equal 
to  Madame  U  Rodhe,  which  happily  was  returned  with 
the  same  warmth ;  and  it  was  not  till  after  a  thousand 
embraces, and  the  most  ardent  professions — "Ma  digne 
amuf—ett  U  pombU^^U  voi^?'*  &c.— that  I  dis- 
covered they  had  never  before  met  in  their  lives  ! — ^they 
had  corresponded,  but  no  more  ! 

This  somewhat  lessened  my  surprise,  however,  when 
my  turn  arrived ;  for  no  sooner  was  I  named  than  all 
the  embratsades  were  transferred  to  me — "  La  digne  M%»9 
Bomi  ! — Pauteur  de  Ceeile  7 — d* Evelina  ? — nan,  ce  n*ett 
pa$  poMle  I—tuis-^  si  heureuae  ! — out,  je  le  tow  h  $es 
yewol^Ah!  que  de  bcmheur!"  &c. 

As  nobody  was  present,  I  had  not  the  same  confhsion 
from  this  scene  as  from  that  in  which  I  first  saw  Madame 
la  Fite,  when,  at  an  assembly  at  Miss  Streatfield's,  such 
as  these  were  her  exclamations  aloud,  in  the  midst  of  the 

admiring  bystanders. 

Madame  la  Roche,  had  I  met  her  in  any  other  way, 
p^^hthave  pleased  s^  In  no  oommon  degree ;  for  ooold 


I  have  conceiyed  her  character  to  be  unaffected,  lier 
manners  have  a  softness  that  would  render  her  exces- 
sively engaging.  She  is  now  bien  poMie—no  doubt  fifty 
— yet  has  a  voice  of  touching  sweetness,  eyes  of  doTe- 
like  gentleness,  looks  supplicating  for  favour,  and  an  air 
and  demeanour  the  most  tenderly  caressing.  I  can  sup- 
pose she  has  thought  herself  all  her  life  the  model  of  the 
favourite  heroine  of  her  own  favourite  romance,  and  I 
can  readily  believe  that  she  has  had  attractions  in  her 
youth  nothing  short  of  fascinating.  Had  I  not  been 
present,  and  so  deeply  engaged  in  this  interriew,  I  had 
certainly  been  cau^t  by  her  myself ;  for  in  her  presence 
I  constantly  felt  myself  forgiving  and  excusing  what  ii 
her  absence  I  as  constantly  found  past  defence  or  H^logy. 
Poor  Madame  la  Fite  has  no  chance  in  her  presence ; 
for  though  their  singular  enthusiasm  upon  "  the  people 
of  the  literature,"  as  Paochierotti  called  them»  is  equl, 
Bfadame  la  Fite  almost  subdues  by  her  vehemence,  ^lile 
Madame  la  Roche  almost  melts  by  her  softness.  Yet  I 
fairly  believe  they  are  both  very  good  women,  and  both 
believe  themselves  sincere. 

Madame  dela  Roche  must  be  well-known  tomany 
of  our  readers  as  the  first  love  of  Wiehmd,  and  as 
the  grandmother  of  Goethe's  BeUine.  There  are 
surely  mental  qualities  as  well  as  diseases  that  nm 
in  the  blood.  Upon  a  subsequent  day,  when  Miss 
Bumey  returned  from  the  Queen's  toilet,  she  found 
the  two  ladies  in  possession  of  her  room:— 

Sunday,  Sept.  17th.— At  the  chapel  this  monung, 
Madame  la  Fite  plaoed  Madame  U  Roche  between  her- 
self and  me,  and  proposed  bringing  her  to  the  Lodge, 
"  to  return  my  visit."  This  being  precisely  what  I  had 
tried  to  avoid,  and  to  avoid  "without  shocking  Madame 
la  Fite,  by  meeting  her  correspondent  at  her  own  house, 
I  was  much  chagrined  at  such  a  proposal,  but  had  no 
means  to  decline  it,  as  it  was  made  across  Madame  la 
Roche  herself. 

Accordingly,  at  about  two  o'clock,  when  I  came  ftcm 
the  Queen,  I  found  them  both  in  fhll  possession  of  my 
room,  and  Madame  la  Fite  occupied  in  examining  my 
books.  The  thing  thus  being  done,  and  the  ride  of  eon- 
sequences  inevitable,  I  had  only  to  receive  them  with  as 
little  display  of  disapprobation  of  their  measures  9B  I 
could  help ;  but  one  of  the  most  curious  scenes  fbllowed 
I  have  ever  yet  been  engaged  in  or  witnessed. 

As  soon  as  we  were  seated,  Madame  la  Fite  begia 
with  assuring  me,  aloud,  of  the  "conquest"  I  had  made 
of  Madame  U  Roche,  and  appealed  to  that  Utdy  fbr  the 
truth  of  what  she  said.  Madame  la  Roche  answered 
her  by  rising,  and  throwhig  her  arms  about  me,  and 
kissing  my  cheeks  f^m  side  to  side  repeatedly. 

Madame  la  Fite,  as  soon  as  this  was  orer,  and  we  had 
resumed  our  seats,  opened  the  next  subject,  by  saying 
Madame  hb  Roche  had  read  and  adored  *<Cecilia:'* 
again  appealing  to  her  for  confirmation  of  her  assertioB. 

"  0,  out,  (mi  I "  cried  her  friend, "  iiiau  la  traU  Cedlh 
f*Ut  Mi$9  Bomi!  ekarmanU  Min  Bomi!  digne^  douce, 
et  amiable!  Coom  to  me  anns  1  qmeje  ixms  embrat$e  mUe 
foit!" 

Again  we  were  all  deranged,  and  again  the  sasM 
ceremony  being  performed,  we  all  sat  ourselves  down. 

"  Cecilia"  was  then  talked  over  throughout,  in  defi- 
ance of  every  obstacle  I  oonld  put  in  its  wvr . 

After  this,  Madame  U  Fite  said,  in  French,  tltft 
Madame  la  Roche  had  had  the  most  extraordinary  me 
and  adventures  that  had  fallen  to  anybody's  lot ;  and 
finished  with  saying,  ^'Eh!  ma  chere  amie,  eoMez  m»« 
unpen.** 

They  were  so  connected,  she  answered,  in  their  eariy 
part  with  M.  Wieland,  the  famous  author,  that  thty 
would  not  be  intelligible  without  Ms  story. 

"  Efi  bien!  ma  trie-chh^,  oonUz  nom^  done,  unpen  de 
$ee  aventnree;  ma  ekire  Mi$$  Bumey,  o'itoU  eon  amaut, 
et  Vhomme  le  plut  eiiraordinaire-^*un  gimie!  d'w 
feu!  Ell  bien,  ma  ehh^?  ou  Vavez  wu$  reeontrif  o* 
ett<e  qu*U  a  oommenf6  d  tone  aimerf  conteM  noue  unpen 
de  tout  fa." 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


393 


Madame  la  Roche,  looking  down  upon  her  fun,  hegan 
tliea  the  xedtaL  She  related  their  first  interriew,  the 
gradations  of  their  mutual  attachment,  his  extraordinary 
telentSy  hia  literary,  fiune  and  name  ;  the  breach  of  their 
mioB  from  motiYes  of  prudence  in  their  friends ;  his 
cluyige  of  character  from  piety  to  roluptuousnees,  in 
coneolixig  himself  for  her  loss  with  an  actress ;  his  yari- 
ons  adTcntures,  and  yarious  transformations  from  good 
to  bad,  in  life  and  conduct ;  her  own  marriage  with 
M.  de  la  Roche,  their  subsequent  meeting  when  she 
was  mother  of  three  children,  and  all  the  attendant 


This  narratiye  was  told  in  so  touching  and  pathetic  a 
Banner,  and  interspersed  with  so  many  sentiments  of 
tendemefls  and  of  heroism,  that  I  could  scarcely  belieye 
I  was  not  actually  listening  to  a  Qelia  or  a  Cassandra, 
recounting  the  stories  of  her  youth. 

When  die  had  done,  and  I  had  thanked  her,  Madame 
la  Fite  demanded  of  me  what  I  thought  of  her,  and  if 
die  was  not  delightftil!  I  assented,  and  Madame  la 
Roche  then,  rising,  and  fixing  her  eyes,  filled  with  tears, 
in  my  fiM»e,  while  she  held  both  my  hands,  in  the  most 
melting  accents,  exclaimed,  **  Mit$  Bomi  I  la  pltu  ehirey 
iajolui  digne  tUs  Angloitea  I  dUe$  moi — m*aimez  wmti** 

1  answered  as  well  as  I  could,  but  what  I  said  was 
not  yery  poeitiye.  Madame  la  Fite  came  up  to  us,  and 
desired  we  might  make  a  trio  of  friendship,  which  should 
bind  us  to  one-another  for  life. 

And  then  they  both  embraced  me,  and  both  wept  for 
jojrfol  fondness !  I  fear  I  seemed  yery  hard-hearted ; 
but  no  q>ring  was  opened  whence  one  tear  of  mine  could 
flow. 

The  ladies  had  resolyed  to  make  good  their  claim 
to  dhmer,  which  a  disappointment  with  Madame 
la  Roche's  carriage,  and  an  opportune  shower,  lo- 
inforoed.  Bat  Miss  Bumey  durst  not»  and  would 
not,  take  any  hint.  She  resisted  the  most  annoying 
importunities ;  and  the  discomfited  ladies  sustained 
Iheir  spirits  upon  a  roll  and  a  glass  of  water, — so 
inhospitable  was  a  sumptuous  table  kept  by  royalty, 
— so  dead  to  genius  and  talents  was  the  Court 
of  England.  It  came  out  at  length,  that  besides 
seeing  **  douce  digne  Miss  Bcmiy**  Madame  la 
Roche  had  a  strong  desire  and  hope  to  see  the 
Royal  Family,  and  even  aspired  through  Miss 
Bumey's  good  offices  to  a  priyate  audience  of  her 
Majesty,  for  which  Madame  la  Fite  again  impor- 
tuned.   The  thing  was  impossible. 

Miss  Bumey  had,  though  involuntarily,  been  so 
rude  and  inhospitable,  that,  in  atonement,  she 
went  to  meet  the  Grerman  party  at  breakfast,  at 
the  house  of  Madame  la  Fite : — 

I  was  introduced  to  her  baron,  and  to  two  other  cen- 
tleoien,  one  of  them  a  son  of  Madame  la  Roche.  Much 
of  dyilities  passed,  and  I  feel  that  I  could  really  like 
Madame  la  Roche,  were  she  less  fiattering ;  which,  per- 
haps, rather  means  were  she  more  so :  for  much  fiattery 
giyen  makes  one  fe^r  much  is  thought  acceptable. 

I  baye  seen  her  no  more ;  she  was  going  immediately 
to  town,  and  thence  soon  baok  to  this  continent.  She 
wept  in  parting  with  me,  as  if  we  had  been  friends  of 
long  standing  !— If  I  were  likely .  to  see  her  often,  I 
should  be  at  some  pains  to  tiy  at  discoyeiing  what  is 
sensitiye  from  what  is  allSMSted.  As  it  is,  she  has  left 
me  in  such  doubt  of  her  real  character,  I  soarce  know 
iiiiether  I  most  should  pity,  admire,  or  laugh. 

Miss  Bumey  might  yery  safely;  as  an  English- 
woman, have  laughed.  The  one  lady  was  emi- 
nently French — the  other  transcendentally  Ger- 
man. Both  nations,  and  the  English  also,  and  their 
learned  ladies,  haye  changed  and  gathered  sense 
since  then.    But  we  may  be  wrong. 

Very  extraordinary  stories  are  at  present  told  of 


the  high  fortune  of  the  hair-dresser,  who  has  had  the 
luck  to  shred  Mi.  Dickens'  redundant  locks,  and  the 
taste  and  bounty  to  deal  them  out,  on  earnest  soU* 
citation,  among  sentimental  young  ladies,  and,— 

Poor  Madame  la  Fite !  her  next  yisit  to  me  was  to 
request  a  lock  of  my  hair  for  Madame  de  la  Roche,  who 
would  **  adore  ^  that  as  she  did  its  wearer. 

I  assured  her  I  really  must  be  excused  ;  for,  think- 
ing so  little  as  I  think  of  Madame  de  la  Roche>  it 
would  haye  been  a  species  of  falsehood  to  send  sudi  a 
gift. 

Then  she  begged  ^anything'' — a  morsel  of  an  old 
gown,  the  impression  of  a  seal  from  a  letter,  two  pins 
out  of  my  dress — in  short,  anything ;  and  ydUi  an  urgency 
so  yehement,  I  could  not  laugh  it  off;  and,  at  last,  I  was 
obliged  to  let  her  haye  one  of  those  poor  pattern  gar-* 
lands  that  I  made  with  plant  impressions,  under  Ihe  eye 
and  direction  of  my  Fredy  and  Mr.  Locke.  I  really 
was  yery  unwilling  to  send  anything ;  but  she  almost 
wept  at  my  reftisal,  and  appeajred  so  much  hurt  that  I 
was  compelled  to  comply. 

What,  howeyer,  was  truly  comic,  at  the  same  time, 
was  a  certain  imitatiye  enthusiasm  that  was  suddenly 
adopted  by  poor  Mademoiselle  de  Luc — ^for  as  I  hap- 
pened to  drop  my  needle,  she  eagerly  insisted  upon 
searching  for  it,  and  then  exclaime<i^  ^  O !  I  haye  Ibund 
it ! — may  I  have  it! " 

^  Certainly,  if  you  like  it,"  cried  I,  not  comprehending 
her. 

''Then  I  shall  keep  it  for  oyer  and  neyer!  it  was 
worked  by  Miss  Beumey  I"  And  she  put  it  up  in  her 
pocket-book,  notwithstanding  all  my  laa^^ung  remon- 
strances. 

The  wearying,  lifeless  uniformity,  so  long  since 
threatened  me  by  Mr.  Turbulent,  now  completely  took 
place,  saye  alone  U/r  the  relief  of  my  bebyed  Mrs. 
Delany ;  but  she  B(rflened  and  solaced  all. 

Though  Miss  Bumey's  experience  at  Court  lay 
solely  among  deans,  canons,  equerries,  and  a  few 
stray  savansy  she  makes  the  most  of  them  as  esAor- 
€K$ers  ;  and  we  shall  now  transfer  a  few  of  the  best 
of  her  portraits  to  our  own  gallery. 

It  was  on  the  Terrace,  at  one  of  the  eyening 
parades,  that  the  following  gentlemen  appeared  :*» 

We  were  joined  by  a  goodly  priest,  fkt,  joyial,  breath- 
ing plenty,  ease,  and  good  hying.  I  soon  heard  him 
whisper  Mrs.  Delany  to  introduce  him  to  me.    It  was 

Or.  Roberts,  Proyost  of  Eton In  a  few  minutes 

more  a  thin,  little,  wizen  old  gentleman,  with  eyes  that 
scarce  seemed  to  see,  and  a  rather  tottering  gait,  came  up 
to  Mrs.  Delany,  and  after  talking  with  her  some  time,  said 
in  a  half  whisper,  ''Is  that  Miss  Bumey  I  **  and  then 
desiied  a  presentation.  It  was  Mr.  Bryant,  the  Mytho- 
logist.  I  was  yery  glad  to  see  him,  as  he  bears  a  yvtj 
high  character,  and  liyes  much  in  this  neighbourhood. 
He  talks  a  great  deal,  and  with  the  utmost  good-humour 
and  ease,  casing  entirely  aside  his  learning,  which  I  ant 
neyerthelees  assured  is  that  of  one  of  the  most  eminent 
scholars  of  the  age. 

Dr.  Warton  insisted  upon  accompanying  me  home  as 
fax  as  the  iron  rails,  to  see  me  enter  the  royal  premises. 
I  did  not  dare  invite  him  in,  without  preyious  knowledge 
whether  1  had  any  such  privilege ;  otherwise,  with  all 
his  parts,  and  all  his  experience,  I  question  whether 
there  is  one  boy  in  Ms  school  at  Winchester  who  would 
more  have  delated  in  feeling  himself  under  the  roof  of 
a  sovereign. 

The  King,  at  all  times  an  excellent  gossip,  often 
dropt  into  the  tea-room,  for  a  chat  with  whoever 
might  chance  to  be  there,  or  to  carry  some  one  o£f 
to  play  backgammon  with  him,  or  listen  to  his 
regular  evening  concerts.  One  evening  he  found 
Mr.  Bryant  with  the  ladies  : — 

The  King  entered  into  a  gay  disquisition  with  Mr. 
Bryant  upon  his  school  acUevements;  to  which  ha 


tl4 


lass  BURNsrs  diary  and  letters. 


MMWtMd  with  »  nadiaaM  wd  drnpUdty  Jugjtij  entO' 


roa  were  ao  Etoniwii  Mr.  Bryant /'  said  the  King ; 
^  but  pray,  for  what  were  yon  mo8t  famous  at  school!' 

We  all  expected,  from  the  celebrity  of  his  scholar- 
ship,  to  hear  him  answer  his^Latin  Eiereiset :  but  no 
tmok  thing! 

**  Cudgelling,  sir.    I  was  most  fkmens  for  that." 

While  a  general  laugh  followed  this  speech,  he  Very 
gravely  proceeded  to  partieulariae  his  feats  ;  though 
unless  yon  could  see  the  diminntiTe  flguro,  the  weak, 
thin,  fseble,  little  frame,  whence  issued  the  prodaaa- 
lioB  ef  his  prowess,  you  can  but  yery  inadequately  judge 
the  comic  eflM  of  his  big  talk. 

^  Your  Majesty,  sir,  knows  Qeneral  Conway  1  I  broke 
his  head  fbr  him,  sir." 

The  shout  which  ensued  did  net  at  all  interfere  with 
tilt  steadiness  <tf  his  frurther  detail. 

^  And  there's  another  man,  sir,  a  great  stent  fbllew, 
fir,  as  sTer  you  saw— 0r.  Gibbon  of  the  Temple  i  I 
broke  his  head  toow  sir.— •!  don't  knew  if  he  remembers 
it." 

One  <lay  Miss  BomeT  was  called  upon  to  re- 
ceive Mrs.  Slddoiii,  who  had  the  honour  to  he  com- 
mwddedtooometotheliodgetoreadaplay.  There 
WM  a  ehange  of  timet,  linee  the  admired  authoreee, 
in  the  yerv  zenith  of  her  fame,  had  met  at  Miss 
Moncktons  rout,  the  still  comparatively  obscure 
actress.    But  now — 

I  took  her  into  the  tea-room,  and  endeavoured  to 
make  amends  for  former  distanoe  and  taeitomity,  by  an 
open  and  cheerful  reception.  I  had  heard  from  sundry 
people  (in  old  days)  that  she  wished  to  make  the  ac- 
qnaintanee ;  bnt  I  thought  it,  then,  one  of  too  eenspicn- 
ens  a  sort  for  the  quietness  I  had  se  much  difficulty  to 
preserve  in  my  oyer  increasing  connexions.  Here  all 
was  changed :  I  recelyed  her  by  the  Queen's  commands, 
and  was  perfectly  well  inclined  to  reap  some  pleasure 
from  the  meeting. 

Bat,  now  that  we  came  so  near,  I  was  much  disap- 
painted  in  siy  expectations.  I  know  not  if  my  dear 
Fredy  has  met  with  her  in  private,  but  I  fancy  approxi- 
mation is  not  highly  in  her  fovour.  I  found  her  the 
Heroine  of  a  Tragedy, — sublime,  elevated,  and  solemn. 
In  face  and  person,  truly  noble  and  commanding  ;  in 
manners,  quiet  and  stiif;  in  voice,  deep  and  dragging ; 
and  in  oonversation,  formal,  sententieu^  ealm,  and  dry. 
I  expected  her  to  have  been  all  that  is  interesting  i  the 
delieaoy  and  sweetness  with  which  she  seizes  every  op- 
ftrtuaity  te  strike  and  to  captivate  upon  the  stage  had 
fsrsaaded  me  that  her  mind  was  formed  with  that  peon- 
Uar  susceptibility  which,  in  different  modes,  must  g|ye 
eqnal  powers  to  attract  and  to  delight  in  common  Ufe. 
But  I  was  very  much  mistaken.  As  a  stranger,  I  must 
have  admired  her  noble  appearance  and  beautifiil  eoun- 
tSBsmes,  and  have  regretted  that  nothing  in  her  conyer- 
satien  kept  pace  with  their  pronuse ;  and,  as  a  eelebrated 
aetrsss,  I  had  still  only  to  do  the  same. 

Whether  fome  and  success  hav*  tftoiled  her,  or  whe- 
ther she  only  possesses  the  skill  of  representing  and 
embellishing  sutenals  with  which  she  is  famished  by 
ethers,!  know  not ;  bnt  stiU  I  remain  disappointed. 

She  was  scarcely  seated,  and alittle  general  discourse 
begun,  before  she  told  me— all  at  once— that  ^  There 
was  ne  part  she  had  ever  se  aiuch  wished  to  act  as  that 
efCeeilia." 

I  made  some  little  acknewledgment,  and  hurried  to 
ask  when  she  had  seen  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  MisB  Pid- 
meri  and  others  with  whom  I  knew  her  acquainted. 

The  play  she  was  to  read  was  ^  The  Provoked  Hus- 
band.** She  appeared  neither  alarmed  nor  elated  by  her 
snauaensybut  calmly  to  leek  upon  it  as  a  tUngef  oonrse, 
ttom  her  celebrity. 

She  left  me  to  1^  to  Lady  Harcourt,  through  whose 
interest  she  was  brought  hither.  She  was  on  a  visit 
for  a  week  at  General  Harcourt's,  at  St.  Leonard's, 
where  there  seems  to  be,  in  generali  constant  and  well- 
shosen  soeiety  and  amnsemsBt, 


As  a  foU  to  the  aetress,  we  present  a  gmf^  and 
dignified  character,  a  canon  of  Windsor :— * 

Who  should  find  m»  eut  but  Br.  Shepherd.  Bs  Is 
here  as  canon,  and  was  in  residenee.  He  teld  me  h*te4 
long  wished  to  come,  but  had  never  been  able  te  flad  tlie 
way  of  entrance  before.  He  made  me  aa  jmssaaae 
length  of  visit,  and  related  to  me  all  the  exploits  of  kis 
lifo^— so  ftur  as  they  were  prosperous.  In  no  force  did  a 
man  oyer  more  floridly  open  upon  his  own  perfoettoBS. 
He  assured  me  I  should  be  del^ihted  te  knowthe  whole 
of  his  life ;  it  was  equal  to  anything;  and  everythlBS  1m 
had  was  got  by  his  own  addrMS  and  ingenuity. 

<<I  could  tell  the  King," cried  he, << more  than  aU  She 
Chapter.  I  want  to  talk  to  him,  but  he  always  geSo  ant 
of  my  way )  he  does  not  know  me ;  he  takes  me  fcr  a 
mere  common  person,  like  the  rest  of  the  canons  herejaad 
thinks  of  me  no  more  than  if  I  were  only  fit  for  the  oae- 
sock  ^-a  mere  Scotch  priest !  Bless  'em  I— they  knciw 
ao^bg  about  me.  You  have  no  coneeptien  what  thinae 
I  have  done  1  And  I  want  to  teU  'em  aU  this^— irto 
fitter  for  them  to  hear  than  what  comes  to  their  eara. 
What  I  want  &  for  somebody  to  tell  them  what  I  aaa."* 

They  know  it  already,  thought  I. 

Then,  when  he  had  exhausted  this  general  panegyric, 
he  descended  to  some  fow  particulars ;  especially  dil»l- 
ing  upon  his  preaching,  and  applying  to  me  for  atteatiug 
its  excellence. 

*  I  shall  make  one  sermon  eyery  year,  precisely  fbr 
you !"  he  cried :  ^  I  tidnk  I  know  what  will  please  yoo. 
That  on  the  Creation  laet  Sunday  was  just  te  your  tasSe. 
You  shall  have  such  another  next  residence.  I  thiitk  I 
preach  in  the  right  tone— not  too  slow,  like  that  poor 
wretch  Grr^M,  nor  too  fast,  like  Davis  and  the  reat  of 
'em ;  but  yet  fost  enough  neyer  to  tire  them.  That's 
just  my  idea  of  good  preaching." 

Then  he  told  me  what  excellent  apartments  he  had 
here,  and  hew  nuoh  he  iheald  like  ngr  opinioa  in  fitUng 
them  lip. 

The  youth  of  a  person,  who  remained  a  fixinre 
at  the  Court  of  George  III.,  Colonel,  aftsrwarda 
Greneral  Manners,  furaishsa  an  amusing  example 
of  the  shaUownesB,  ignorance,  prejudice,  and  pre- 
sumption of  a  class  which  has  net  whoUy  dia- 
appeared  ;  one  that  never  yet  entertained  any  mis  ^ 
givings  whatever  of  its  own  defioimicies ;  <Hr  donhied 
that  all  knowledge  and  science  with  which  its 
members  are  not  fiamiliar  must  he  worthkea  or 
spurious : — 

Colonel  Manners  is  a  taU  and  extremely  haadeome 
young  man,  weU  enough  versed  in  what  is  immedialely 
going  forward  in  the  world ;  and  though  act  very  deep 
in  his  knowledge,  nor  profound  in  his  observations,  he  is 
yery  good-humoured,  and  I  am  told  well  principled. 

One  eveaiag  at  tea,  a  gentleman  present,  another 
equerry,  happened  to  name  Hsrsohel,  whom  stu- 
pendous discoveries  were  then  astonishing  the 
world,  when  Colonel  Manners  broke  in  :-— 

**l  dent  give  up  te  Dr.  Hersehel  aS  all," eried he ; 
^he  is  all  system ;  and  so  they  are  all :  and  if  Uiey  can 
but  make  out  their  systems,  they  den't  care  a  pin  for 
anything  else.  As  to  Hersehel,  I  liked  him  well  enough 
till  he  came  to  his  voleanoes  in  the  meon,  and  then  I 
gaye  him  up:  I  saw  he  was  just  like  the  rest.  How 
should  he  know  anythfa^  of  the  matter!  There's  ae 
such  thing  as  pretendiag  to  aMasnre  at  sash  a  distaaee 

as  that P 

We  had  some  discourse  upon  dress  and  foshlons. 
Colonel  Welbred  regretted  that  we  had  not  had  Uttle 
figures,  dressed  in  the  habits  of  the  timss»  preserved 
from  every  centiry ;  aad  proceeded  with  eommeraliag 
various  changes  in  the  modes»  from  square  shoes  to 
peaked,  from  the  mantle  to  the  coat,  the  whiskers  to  the 
smooth  chin,  3to.,  till  Colonel  Manners  interrupted  him 
I  with  sbserying,  <«  Why,  yen  B»y  wear  tUage  ef  all  times 


MBS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 
Vetif  ■»flurb>ck}'  huMm  rf  fmr  yean  agoyitjon 


^vrill!''  There  was  certainly  no  gaining  Airther  ground 
Ikere ! 

VirtooflOf  being  muA,  nnltotiinately,  nuned.  Colonel 
"Mmwhiti  inTtighed  agalnBi  tbem  quite  violently,  protesC- 
iiig  they  all  winted  oommon  liononr  and  honesty  ;  and^ 
t«  eomplete  tlie  haf  py  subject,  he  instanced,  in  partion- 
lar,  Sir  WiDiaa  Haailton,  who,  he  declared,  had  abeo- 
lotely  robbed  both  the  King  and  State  ef  Naolesl 

After  this,  somebody  related  that,  upon  the  heat  In 
tlie  Air  being  mentioned  to  Dr.  Heberden,  he  had  an- 
mmwnd  that  he  supposed  it  proceeded  from  the  last 
•ncption  in  the  Tdeaao  in  the  moon  >—^  Ay,"  cried 
Cokattl  Manners,  ^  I  sappoee  he  knows  as  much  of  the 
waMHUft  as  the  lest  of  them  :  if  yon  pot  a  candle  at  the 
end  of  a  telescope,  and  let  him  look  at  it,  he'U  say,  what 
an  ermption  there  is  in  the  moon  1  I  mean  if  Dr.  Her- 
schel  would  do  it  to  him ;  I  don't  say  he  would  think  so 
firom  such  a  person  as  me.'' 

«B«t  Hr.  Bryaat  IdwMlf  has  seen  this  volcano  from 
the  telescope." 

^  Why,  I  don't  mind  Mr.  Bryant  any  mora  than  Dr. 
H^)erden :  he's  just  a«  credulous  as  f  other." 

On  a  sabsecpient  niglit,  one  of  those  wlio»  per* 
hops,  ei:goyed  Cdonel  Manners'  bold  and  hturdy 
Jehn  Bullish  ignorance,  began  to  tell  MLw  Bvne j 
of  some  of  HenohcTs  latest  diseoyeiles :— « 

This  was  enough  for  Colonel  Manners,  who  declared 
aloud  hia  utter  contempt  for  such  pretended  discoveries. 
He  was  deaf  to  all  that  could  be  said  in  answer,  and 
protested  he  wondered  how  any  man  of  common  sense 
could  ever  listen  to  such  a  pack  of  stuiT. 

Mr.  de  Luc^  oi^on  upon  tiie  subject  being  then 
mentioned,  he  ezdaimed,  very  disdainftilly,  ^  O,  as  to 
Mr.  de  Luc,  he's  another  man  for  a  system  himself  and 
I'd  no  more  trust  him  than  anybody :  if  you  was  only 
to  make  a  little  bonfire,  and  put  it  upon  a  hill  a  little 
way  ol^  you  might  make  him  take  it  for  a  volcano  di- 
rectly I — ^And  Herschelli  not  a  bit  better.  Those  sort  of 
philosophers  are  the  easiest  taken  in  in  the  world."    . 

Our  next  topic  was  stiU  more 

bidicrons.  Colonel  Manners  asked  me  if  I  had  not  heard 
something  very  harmonious  at  church  in  the  morning  1 
I  answeivd  I  was  too  far  off,  if  he  meant  from  himself. 

••  Yes,"  said  he ;  *  I  was  singing  with  Colonel  Wel- 
bred  ;  and  ho  said  he  was  my  second. — How  did  I  do 
that  song  f 

•*  Song ! — Mercy !"  exclaimed  Colonel  Goldsworthy ; 
<*a  seag  at  drardi  V— why  it  was  the  104th  Psalm  !" 

^  Bat  how  did  I  do  it,  Welbred  ;  for  I  never  tried  at 
vt  before  r^ 

*  Why,  pretty  well,"  answered  Colonel  Welbred,  very 
eempoeedly ;  ^  only  now  and  then  you  run  me  a  little 
kto'Qod  save  the  King.'" 

This  dryness  discomposed  every  muscle  but  of  Colonel 
Manners,  who  replied,  with  great  simplicity,  "  Why, 
tbaf  s  becaase  that's  the  tune  I  knew  best  I" 

^  At  least,"  cried  I,  '^  *twas  a  happy  mistake  to  make 
so  near  their  Mi^]esties  P 

•  But  pray,  now.  Colonel  Welbred,  tell  me  sfaicerely, 
—could  yon  really  make  out  what  I  was  singing  1" 

«0  yes,"  answered  Colonel  Welbred:  **with  the 

«Off^" 

«  Wen,  but  pray,  now,  what  do  you  call  my  voice  f* 

•  Why    a    a    a  counter-tenor." 

*  Wdl,  and  is  that  a  good  voice  1" 

There  was  no  resisting^— even  the  quiet  Colonel  Wel- 
Wed  could  not  resist  langhhic  oat  here.  But  Colonel 
Manners,  quite  at  his  ease,  continued  his  self^discussion. 

**  1  do  think,  now,  if  I  was  to  have  a  person  to  play 
ever  a  thing  to  me  again  and  again,  and  then  let  me  sing 
it,  and  stop  me  every  time  I  was  wrong,  I  do  think  I 
should  be  able  to  Mug  <God  save  the  Khig'  as  well  as 
some  ladies  do,  that  have  always  people  to  show  them." 

The  other  oqmnriet  w€ra  either  too  pmdent,  or 
too  well-bred,  to  teaae  the  formidable  Madaaae 
ScbweOcnbeig ;  byA  thkgtaikmaa  had  no  0^ 


395 

h  ^< 
and  whtn  he  discovered  het  «Hr,  tery  freely  touched 
it.  Mrs.  Schwellenberg," the  faithfW"  and  confi- 
dential servant  of  her  royal  mistress,  shared  in  all 
her  political  leeentments  and  predilections.  Henoe, 
Hastings  was  a  favottiite,  his  wife  being  a  oountary- 
woman,  and  Bnrke  was  detested.  Upon  thb  knoW" 
ledge.  Colonel  Manners  made  one  of  his  attacks : — 

He  said  he  did  not  doubt  but  Mr.  Hastings  would 
come  to  be  hanged ;  though,  he  assured  us,  afterwards, 
he  was  firmly  his  friend,  and  believed  no  such  thing. 

Even  with  this  not  satisfied,  he  next  told  her  that  he 
had  just  heard  Mr.  Burke  was  in  Windsor. 

Ikfar.  Burke  is  the  name  in  the  world  most  obnoxious, 
both  for  his  Reform  Bill,  which  deeplv  affected  all  the 
household,  and  for  his  prosecution  of  Mr.  Hastings  |  she 
therefore  declaimed  against  him  very  warmly. 

**  Should  you  like  to  know  him,  ma'am  f '  cried  he. 

«Mel— No;notI," 

^  Because,  I  dare  say,  ma'am,  I  have  interest  enough 
with  him  to  procure  youhis  acquaintance.  Shall  I  bring 
him  to  the  Lodge,  to  see  you  1" 

**  When  you  please.  Sir,  you  might  keep  him  to  your* 
selfl" 

^  Well,  then,  ho  shall  oomo  and  dine  with  me,  and 
after  it  drink  tea  with  vou." 

^  No,no  :  not  11  Xou  might  have  him  all  to  your- 
self." 

^O,  but  if  he  comes^  you  must  mako  his  tea." 

**  There  is  no  such  must.  Sir  I  J  do  it  f<»  my  pletr^ 
sure  only— when  I  please.  Sir  1" 

The  whole  Conrt  might,  it  v^nld  seem,  at  aQ 
times,  have  joined  in  ^e  chorus,  Let  wall  be  im^ 
hapfjf  together.  Every  one  was  suffering,  dissatis- 
fied, or  wretched ;  and  not  vrithout  some  cause. 
The  King,  from  his  robust  oonstituticm  and  holster^ 
ous  animal  spirits,  appears  to  have  been  the  sole 
exception.  Even  her  magnificent  jewels  had  ceased 
to  delight  the  Q^een ;  and  her  toilet  had  beeomet 
a  real  toUy  a  heavy  task.  The  following  anecdota 
reminds  one  of  the  pretty  little  French  tale  of 
Alibeg  the  Persian :  and  while  it  corrects  the  vul- 
gar idea  of  the  ecstatic  happiness  of  Kings  and 
Q,ueens^  exalts  the  individual : — 

NovxMBEa  Sd. — In  the  mOming  I  had  the  honour  of  & 
conversation  with  the  Qnecn,  the  most  delightfiil,  on  her 
part,  I  had  ever  yet  been  indulged  with.  It  was  all 
upon  dress,  and  she  said  so  nearly  what  I  had  just  im- 
puted to  her  in  my  Uttle  stansas.  that  I  could  scarce 
refrain  producing  tiiem  ;  yet  could  not  muster  courage, 
aio  tdd  me,  with  the  sweetest  grace  imaginable,  how 
woU  she  had  liked  at  first  her  jewels  and  ornaments  as 
Queen.  "  But  how  soon,"  cried  she,  "  was  that  over  t 
Believe  me.  Miss  Bumey,  it  is  a  pleasure  of  a  week, — 
a  fortnight,  at  most^ — and  to  return  no  more  f  I  thought, 
at  ibrst,  I  should  always  choose  to  wear  them  ;  but  the 
fhtigue  and  trouble  *ti  putting  them  on,  and  the  care 
they  required,  and  the  fear  of  losing  them,—- believe  me, 
ma'am,  in  a  fi>rtnight^i  time  I  longed  again  for  my  own 
earlier  dressy  and  wished  never  to  see  them  more." 

Ladies,  at  this  tune,  wore,  in  the  morning,  tome 
sort  of  easy  dressing-gown,  or  wrapper,  which  they 
named  a  grecA-^oat.  MisB  Bumey  made  hers  <^ 
white  dimity.  Of  whatever  costly  or  simple  ma- 
terials those  of  the  Queen  might  be,  she  quite  re- 
joiced in  the  ease  and  freedom  of  the  garb,  and  the 
celerity  with  which  it  was  put  on ;  and  enjoined 
her  dresser  to  celebrate  ite  praises  in  the  verses  al- 
luded to  above.  The  occasion  was  favourable  to  pay 
some  handsome  compliments  to  her  majesty's  good 
taste,  and  numerous  or  universal  virtues.  So  far 
they  vi^ere  well  merited. 
Colonel  Goldsworthy,  ona  of  the  equerries,  spoke 


396 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS.. 


out  his  woes  more  freely  than  most  of  the  other 
gentlemen,  though  all  suffered  and  grumbled.  One 
afternoon,  after  a  little  misunderstanding  between 
them,  he  declared  to  Miss  Bumey  in  the  tea-room— 

'^  All  the  comfort  of  my  life,  in  this  house,  is  one  half- 
hour  in  ft  day  spent  in  this  room.  After  all  one's  la- 
bours, riding,  and  walking,  and  standing,  and  bowing — 
what  a  life  it  is !  Well !  it's  honour  I  that's  one  com- 
fort ;  it's  all  honour  !  ro]^  honour ! — one  has  the  ho- 
nour to  stand  tUl  one  has  not  a  foot  left ;  and  to  ride 
till  one's  stiff,  and  to  walk  till  one's  ready  to  drop,— and 
then  one  makes  one's  lowest  bow,  d'ye  see,  and  blesses 
one'sself  with  joy  for  the  honour  I" 

His  account  of  his  own  hardships  and  sufferings  here, 
in  the  discharge  of  his  duty,  is  truly  comic.  ^  How  do 
you  like  it,  ma'am  1"  he  says  to  me,  ^  though  it's  hardly 
fiur  to  adc  you  yet,  because  you  know  almost  nothing 
of  the  joys  of  this  sort  of  life.  But  wait  till  Norember 
and  December,  and  then  you'll  get  a  pretty  taste  of 
them  I  Running  along  into  these  oold  passages ;  then 
bursting  into  rooms  fit  to  bake  you ;  then  back  again 
into  all  these  agreeable  pui&  I — JBless  us  !  I  beliere  in 
my  heart  there's  wind  enough  in  these  passages  to  carry 
a  man  of  war  1  And  there  youll  hare  your  share, 
ma'am,  I  -promise  yon  that  I  you'll  get  knocked  up  in 
three  days,  take  my  word  for  that." 

I  begged  him  not  to  prognosticate  so  much  evil  for 
me. 

**  O  ma'am,  there's  no  help  for  it,"  cried  he  ;  ^  you 
won't  haye  the  hunting,  to  he  sure,  nor  amusing  your- 
self wiUi  wading  a  foot  and  a  half  through  the  diit,  by 
way  of  a  little  pleasant  walk,  as  we  poor  equerries  do  I 
It's  a  wonder  to  me  we  outlive  the  first  month.  But 
the  agreeable  pufb  of  the  passages  you  will  haye  just  as 
completely  as  any  of  us.  Let's  see,  how  many  blasts 
must  you  haye  every  time  you  go  to  Uie  Queen  !  .    . 

It  was  in  yain  I  begged  him  to  be  more  merciful  in 
his  prophecies ;  he  failed  not,  every  night,  to  administer 
to  me  the  same  pleasant  anticipations. 

**  When  the  Princesses,"  cried  he,  ^  used  to  it  as  they 
are,  get  regularly  knocked  up  before  this  bushiess  is 
over,  off  they  drop,  one  by  one : — first  the  Queen  deserts 
OS  ;.  then  Princess  Ellizabeth  is  done  for ;  then  Princess 
Royal  begins  coughing ;  then  Princess  Augusta  gets  tiie 
snufiles ;  and  all  the  poor  attendants,  my  poor  sister  at 
their  head,  drop  off^  one  after  another,  like  so  many 
snufiii  of  candles :  tiU  at  last,  dwindle,  dwindle,  dwindle 
—not  a  soul  goes  to  the  chapel  bnt  the  king,  the  parson, 
and  myself ;  and  there  we  three  freeze  it  out  together  I" 

One  evening,  when  he  had  been  out  very  late  hunting 
vrith  the  King,  he  assumed  so  doleftil  an  air  of  weari- 
ness, that  had  not  Miss  P exerted  her  utmost 

powers  to  revive  him,  he  would  not  have  uttered  a 
word  the  whole  night ;  but  when  once  brought  forward, 
he  gave  us  more  entertainment  than  ever,  by  relating 
his  hardships. 

^  After  all  the  labours,"  cried  he,  ^  of  the  chase,  all 
the  riding,  the  trotting,  the  galloping,  the  leaping,  the 
—with  your  fkvour  ladies,  I  beg  pardon,  I  was  going  to 
say  a  strange  word,  but  the— the  perspiration^—and 
— and  all  that — after  being  wet  through  over  head,  and 
soused  through  under  feet,  and  popped  into  ditdies,  and 
Jerked  over  gates,  what  Uves  we  do  lead  I  Well,  it's 
all  honour !  that's  my  only  comfort !  Well,  after  all 
this  fkgging  away  like  mad  from  eight  in  the  morning 
to  five  or  six  in  the  afternoon,  home  we  come,  looking 
like  so  many  drowned  rats,  with  not  a  dry  thread  about 
us,  nor  a  morsel  within  us — sore  to  the  very  bone,  and 
forced  to  smile  all  the  time  !  and  then,  after  all  this, 
what  do  yon  think  follows  t— '  Here,  Qoldsworthy,'  cries 
his  Majesty  :  so  up  I  comes  to  him,  bowing  profoundly, 
and  my  hair  dripping  down  to  my  shoes  ;  '  Qoldsworthy,' 
cries  his  Majesty.  *  Sir,'  says  I,  smiling  agreeably,  with 
the  rheumatism  just  creeping  all  over  me  !  but  still,  ex- 
pecting something  a  little  comfortable,  I  wait  patiently 
to  know  his  gracious  pleasure,  and  then,  *  Here,  Golds- 
worthy,  I  say  i'  he  cries,  *  will  you  have  a  little  barley 
water  f  Barley  water  in  such  a  plight  as  that  I  Fine 
compensation  for  a  wet  jacket,  truly  I— barley  water  t 


I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  my  life  I  bariey  water 
after  a  whole  day's  hard  hunting  I" 

**  And  pray,  did  you  drink  it  ?" 

**  I  drink  it  i — Drink  barley  water  t  no,  no  ;  notcone 
to  that  neither !  But  there  it  was,  sure  enough  I — in  a 
jug  fit  for  a  sick  room ;  just  such  a  thin^g  as  yon  pot 
upon  a  hob  in  a  chimney,  for  some  poor  miaeraole  soil 
that  keeps  his  bed  I  just  such  a  thing  as  that ! — And, 
'  Here,  Qoldsworthy,'  says  his  Migesty, '  here's  the  bar- 
ley water  V  " 

^  And  did  the  king  drink  it  himself  1" 

**  Yes,  God  bless  his  Majesty  1  but  I  was  too  hnmbW 
a  subject  to  do  the  same  as  the  king ! — Barley  water, 
quoth  I ! — Ha  I  ha  I  a  fine  treat  truly  1 — Heaven  de- 
fend me  I  I'm  not  come  to  that,  neitbsr  1  bad  enough 
too,  but  not  so  bad  as  that." 

Major  Price,  another  of  the  equerries,  fell  sick 
upon  it ;  and  no  wonder,  when  the  haraawing  duties 
are  considered.  A  ploughman  has  more  ease  and 
leisure  than  an  attendant  on  Majesty. 

The  equerry  in  waiting  must  be  dressed  and  ready  to 
attend  by  six  o'clock  in  summer,  and  by  seVen  in  tbe 
winter;  and  he  must  be  constantly  prepared  either  for 
hunting,  riding,  or  walking,  the  whole  day  throogli. 
The  kmg,  however,  is  the  kindest  master,  and  exacts 
from  his  equerries  no  more  than  he  performs  himself, 
save  in  watdiing  and  waiting,  which  are  highly  fiiUlgoiiif. 

This  ^ watching"  and  ^^toaUmg*'  looks  like  an 
exquisite  stroke  of  irony;  but  Miss  Bnmey,  we 
are  persuaded,  was  quite  serious  in  stating  the 
small  exception.  One  day.  Colonel  Qoldsworthy 
had  so  far  forgotten  himself  in  his  happy  half- 
hour  in  the  tea-room,  that  a  brother  equerry  had 
to  remind  him  that  it  was  time  they  should  appear 
at  the  King's  everlasting  evening  concert. 

•*Ay,"  cried  he  reluctantly,  "now  for  the  flddlwsl 
There  I  go,  plant  myself  against  the  side  of  the  chim- 
ney, stand  first  on  one  foot,  Uien  on  the  other,  hear  over 
and  over  again  all  that  fine  squeaking,  and  then  fUl  ^^ 
asleep,  and  escape  by  mere  miracle  from  flouncing  down 
plump  in  all  their  faces  !" 

*^  What  would  the  queen  say  if  yon  did  that  f 

"  0,  ma'am,  the  queen  would  know  nothing  of  the 
matter ;  she'd  only  suppose  it  some  old  double  bass  that 
tumbled  I" 

<<  Why,  could  not  she  see  what  it  wasf* 

"  0  no  !  ma'am,  we  are  never  in  the  room  with  the 
queen !  that's  the  drawing-room,  beyond,  where  (he 
queen  sits ;  we  go  no  ftrther  than  tiie  fiddling-room. 
As  to  the  queen,  we  don't  see  her  week  after  week 
sometimes.  The  king,  indeed,  comes  there  to  us,  be- 
tween whiles,  though  that's  all  as  it  happens,  now  Price 
is  gone.    He  need  to  play  at  backgammon  vrith  Price." 

«  Then  what  do  you  do  there  ?" 

"Just  what  I  tell  yott->nothing  at  all,  but  stand  as 
furniture  !  But  the  worst  is,  sometimes,  when  my  peer 
eye-peepers  are  not  quite  closed,  I  look  to  the  musio- 
hooks  to  see  what's  coming ;  and  there  I  read  '  Chorus 
of  Virgins :'  so  then,  when  they  begin,  I  look  about  me. 
A  chorus  of  virgins,  indeed  I  why  there's  nothing  but 
ten  or  a  dozen  fiddlers  !  not  a  soul  beside  !  it's  as  true 
as  I'm  aUve  !  So  Uien,  when  we've  stood  supportiag 
the  chimney-piece  about  two  hours,  why  then,  if  I'm  not 
called  upon,  I  shuffle  back  out  of  the  room,  make  a  pro- 
found bow  to  the  harpsichord,  and  I'm  oft" 

The  Court  usages  and  etiquettes  were  a  fertile 
source  of  torment,  and  of  reid  hardship  to  all  con- 
cerned. No  one,  of  course,  must  either  speak,  sit, 
eat,  or  walk  (by  the  usual  mode  of  progreesion) 
in  the  presence  of  royalty.  On  the  excursion  to 
Oxford,  and  while  in  one  of  the  colleges,  IGss  Bof' 
ney  relates  this  extraordinary  feat : — 

I  saw  a  performance  of  courtly  etiquette,  by  Lidy 
Charlotte  Bertie,  that  seemed  to  me  as  difiicalt  ss  asy 


MISS  BURNEY'S  DIARY  AND  LETTERS. 


397 


fefti  I  tret  beheld,  eren  at  Astley's  or  Hughes's.  It 
wms  in  an  extremely  large,  long,  spacious  apartment. 
The  king  always  led  the  way  oat,  as  well  as  in,  apon  all 
entrances  and  exits  :  bat  here,  for  some  reason  that  I 
knoiPT  not,  the  queen  was  handed  oat  first ;  and  the 
princeasee,  and  the  aid-de^»mp,  and  eqaerry  followed. 
The  king  was  yery  earnest  in  conversation  with  some 
proftaeor  ;  the  att^dants  hesitated  whether  to  wait  or 
follow  the  qaeen ;  bat  presently  the  Duchess  of  Ancas- 
ter,  being  near  the  door,  slipped  out,  and  Lady  Harcourt 
after  her.  The  Miss  Vemons,  who  were  but  a  few  steps 
from  'tiiem,  went  next.  '  But  Lady  Charlotte,  by  chance, 
happened  to  be  yery  high  up  the  room,  and  near  to  the 
long.  Had  I  been  in  her  situation,  I  had  surely  waited 
till  his  M^esty  went  first ;  but  that  would  not,  I  saw, 
upon  this  occasion,  haye  been  etiquette  ;  she  therefore 
Ikeed  the  king,  and  began  a  march  backwards, — ^her 
ankle  already  sprained,  and  to  walk  forward,  and  eyen 
leaning  upon  an  arm,  was  painftil  to  her  :  neyertheless, 
back  die  went,  perfectly  upright,  without  one  stumble, 
without  eyer  looking  once  behind  to  see  what  she  might 
eneonnter ;  and  witi^  as  graceful  a  motion,  and  as  easy 
an  air,  as  I  eyer  saw  anybody  enter  a  long  room,  she 
retreated,  I  am  sure,  ftill  twenty  yards  backwards  out 
of  one. 

For  me,  I  was  also,  unluckily,  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
room,  looking  at  some  portraits  of  founders,  and  one  of 
Henry  YIII.  in  particular,  from  Holbein.  Howeyer,  as 
soon  as  I  perceiyed  what  was  going  forward,— back- 
ward rather, — I  glided  near  the  wainscot,  (Lady  Char- 
lotte, I  should  mention,  made  her  retreat  along  the  yery 
middUe  of  the  room),  and  haying  paced  a  few  steps  back- 
wards, stopped  short  to  recoyer,  and,  while  I  seemed  ex- 
amining some  other  portrait,  disentangled  my  train  from 
the  heels  of  my  shoes,  and  then  proceeded  a  few  steps 
only  more ;  and  then,  obserying  the  king  turn  another 
way,  I  slipped  a  yard  or  two  at  a  time  forwards  ;  and 
hastily  looked  back,  and  then  was  able  to  go  again  ac- 
cording to  rule,  and  in  this  manner,  by  slow  and  yarying 
means,  I  at  length  made  my  escape. 

liiss  Planta  stood  upon  less  ceremony,  and  fisdrly  ran 
oC 

Sinee  that  time,  howeyer,  I  haye  come  on  prodigiously, 
by  constant  practice,  in  the  power  and  skill  of  walking 
backwards,  without  tripping  up  my  own  heels,  feeling 
my  head  giddy,  or  treading  my  train  out  of  the  plaits — 
accidents  yery  frequent  among  noyices  in  that  business ; 
ttd  I  haye  no  doubt  but  that,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
aumths,  I  shall  arriye  at  all  possible  perfection  in  the 
trae  court  retrograde  motion. 

The  whole  party  had  been  up,  and  .had  break- 
luted  at  an  early  hour.  A  splendid  collation  was 
provided  for  the  royalties  in  a  large  hall  of  Christ's 
College,  to  which  they  &at  down  with  entire  satis- 
£iction ;  but  their  attendants  and  entertainers,  of 
whatever  rank,  were  to  be  quite  above  the  sub- 
lunary weaknesses  of  hunger,  thirst,  or  fatigue. 

The  Duchess  of  Ancaster  and  Lady  Harcourt  stood 
behind  the  chairs  of  the  queen  and  ike  princess  roval. 
There  were  no  other  ladies  of  sufficient  nink  to  officiate 
for  Princesses  Augusta  and  Elizabeth.  Lord  Harcourt 
stood  behind  the  king's  chair  ;  and  the  vice-chancellor, 
tad  the  head-master  of  Christ  Church,  with  salvers  in 
their  hands,  stood  near  the  table,  and  ready  to  hand,  to 
the  three  noble  waiters,  whateyer  was  wanted :  while 
the  other  reverend  doctors  and  learned  professors  stood 
aloof,  eqnally  ready  to  present  to  the  chancellor  and  the 
■aster  whatever  they  were  to  forward. 

We,  meanwhile,  untitled  attendants,  stood  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  forming  a  semi-circle,  and  all 


strictly  fiicing  the  royal  oollationers.  We  consisted  of 
the  Miss  Vemons,  thrown  out  here  as  much  as  their 
humble  guests.  Colonel  Fairly,  Major  Price,  General 
Harcourt,  and—though  I  know  not  why— Lady  Char- 
lotte Bertie  ; — with  &U.  the  inferior  professors,  in  their 
gowns,  and  some,  too  much  frightened  to  advance,  of 
the  upper  degrees.  These,  with  Miss  Planta,  Mr.  Hag- 
get,  and  myself,  formed  this  attendant  semi-circle.     , 

The  time  of  this  collation  was  spent  very  pleasantly — 
to  me,  at  least,  to  whom  the  novelty  of  the  scene  ren^ 
dered  it  entertaining.  It  was  agreed  that  we  must  all 
be  absolutely  flumshed  unless  we  could  partake  of  some 
refreshment,  as  we  had  breakfasted  early,  and  had  no 
chance  of  dining  before  six  or  seven  o'clock.  A  whisper 
was  soon  buzzed  through  the  semi-circle,  of  the  deplora- 
ble state  of  our  appetite  apprehensions  ;  and  presently 
it  reached  the  ears  of  some  of  the  worthy  doctors.  Im- 
mediately a  new  whisper  was  circulated,  which  made 
its  progress  with  great  yivacity,  to  offer  us  whateyer  we 
would  wish,  and  to  beg  us  to  name  what  we  chose. 

Tea,  coffee,  and  chocolate,  were  whispered  back. 

The  method  of  producing,  and  the  means  of  swallow* 
ing  them,  were  much  more  difficult  to  settle  than  the 
choice  of  what  was  acceptable.  Mi^or  Price  and  Colonc  1 
Fairly,  howeyer,  seeing  a  very  large  table  close  to  the 
wainscot  behind  us,  desiied  our  refreshments  might  be 
privately  conveyed  there,  behind  the  semi-drde,  and 
that,  wMle  all  the  group  backed  very  near  it,  one  at  a 
time  might  feed,  screened  by  all  the  rest  from  obserya- 
tion. 

I  suppose  I  need  not  inform  you,  my  dear  Susan,  that 
to  eat  in  presence  of  any  of  the  royal  funily  is  as  much 
kor$  d*u$<tge  as  to  be  seated. 

This  plan  had  speedy  success,  and  the  very  good  doc- 
tors soon,  by  sly  degrees  and  with  watchfrd  caution, 
covered  the  whole  table  with  tea,  coffee,  chocolate, 
cakes,  and  bread  and  butter.         .... 

The  Duchess  of  Ancaster  and  Lady  Harcourt,  as  soon 
as  the  first  serving  attendutoe  was  over,  were  dismissed 
from  the  royal  chairs,  and  most  happy  to  join  our  group, 
and  partake  of  our  repast.  The  duchess,  extremely 
fatigued  with  standing,  drew  a  small  body  of  troops  be- 
ibre  her,  that  she  might  take  a  few  minutes'  rest  on  a 
form  by  one  of  the  doors ;  and  Lady  CharlottSiBertie 
did  the  same,  to  relieve  an  ankle  which  she  had  unfortu- 
nately sprained. 

^  Poor  Miss  Bumey  1"  cried  the  good-natured  duchesf , 
"  I  wish  she  could  sit  down,  for  she  is  unused  to  this 
work*  She  does  not  know  yet  what  it  is  to  stand  for 
five  hours  following,  as  we  do." 

Hints  may  be  found  here,  by  which  Queen  Vic- 
toria and  her  Consort  might  largely  profit.  What 
a  relief  to  themselves,  to  shake  off  altogether,  as 
they  have  done  in  part,  many  of  those  ridiculous 
mummings,  which  must,  where  they  possess  right 
feelings,  be  as  annoying  to  the  principal  personages 
as  to  all  about  them. 

We  may  now  hint,  that  as  Miss  Bumey  has  still 
above  four  years  to  pass  at  Court,  her  editresF, 
unless  her  materials  become  richer  and  weightier, 
would  require  to  study  the  art  of  compression. 
There  are  nanow,  antiquated  circles,  whom  the 
merest  tittle-tattle  and  chit-chat  of  the  Palace  fifty- 
years  ago,  will  still  amuse ;  but  these  small  afiairs 
cannot  interest  the  public  at  large;  nor  yet  the 
literary  world,  which  must  have  had  considerable 
curiosity  about  the  contents  of  the  earUer  volumep^ 
and  received  great  pleasure  from  their  perusal. 


d9B 


SIR  THOMAS  DICK  LAUDER'S  EDITION  OF  PRICE  ON  THE 

PICTURESQUE.* 


Thehs  is  no  way  in  which  a  man  of  letters  and 
cnltiYaied  taste  can  be  more  beneficially  employed 
for  the  interests  of  Art  and  Literature,  than  in 
giring  to  the  public  perfect  editions  of  those  works 
on  wMch  Time  has  stamped  its  seal,  with  the  addi- 
tion of  such  commentaries  as  the  progress  of  kno  w- 
ledge  or  the  adranoe  of  Art  may  render  necessary 
and  appropriate.  Such  a  work  is  the  book  be- 
fbre  ns ;  in  the  original  one  of  the  most  elegant  and 
deligh^ul  works  of  its  kind  in  the  language^  if  it 
be  noty  from  the  fme  taste^  genial  swtiment^  and 
various  accomplishments  of  its  author,  at  the  very 
head  of  its  class.  From  its  richness  and  beauty  of 
imagery,  its  luxuriance  of  word-pictures,  and  of 
literaiy  allusion  and  apt  guotation,  this  charm- 
ing work  belongs  as  much  to  Poetry  as  to  Art. 
Bui  our  oonoem  is  not  with  the  original  work,  of 
which  eteiy  lover  of  nature  and  of  rural  scenery 
knows  something  either  by  snatches  or  in  detail, 
but  with  Sir  Thomas  liauder's  Edition,  and,  above 
all,  with  his  additions  and  oommentaries. 

Tlie  Preliminary  Essay  on  the  origin  of  Taste, 
though  the  most  important  in  respect  of  size,  is 
hardly  to  be  considered  as  the  most  valuable  of 
these  additions;  though  Sir  Thomas  considers 
knowledge  of  the  theory  a  necessary  elementary 
study,  before  proceeding  to  the  elucidation  of  the 
principle.  He  adopts,  with  very  slight  modifica- 
tion, Alison's  theory  of  Association;  and,  unreserv- 
edly, ttie  hrilliant  expoeitton  of  that  theory  by  Lord 
Jefiirey,  as  it  stands  in  Ihe  Essay  on  Beauty  in  the 
last  edition  of  the  Encyclopedia  Britannioa.  Sir 
Thomas,  instead  of  confining  his  commentaries  and 
illustrations  to  foot-notes^  intersperses  them  freely 
with  the  text  of  Price,  though  in  general  they  are 
(pund  at  the  end  of  each  chapter.  The  interpo- 
lated matter,  however,  which  might,  to  some  stick- 
lers for  the  purity  of  editions,  prove  offensive  from 
its  position  in  the  heart  of  the  text^  is  confined 
"frithin  brackets^  and  cannot  be  mistaken.  It  is 
always  well  worth  perusaL  The  Editor,  a  man 
of  congenial  tastes  and  pursuits  with  Price,  a  pra^ 
tical  amateur  landscape  gardener  as  well  as  one 
well  versed  in  the  theoiyi  never  dissents  from 
iUi  original— -his  master  in  one  sense— without 
good  cause  shown.  His  first  notable  dissent  ex- 
plains the  argument  of  Sir  Uvedale  without  our 
quoting  it  >«- 

K^Prom  my  ewn  knowledge  I  can'  say,  tkat  howsTtr 
'^oftble  the  study  of  pictiures  may  be  fer  giring  psifee- 
tion  to  professors  of  lasdscape  gardeiung,  the  paiuting 
of  them  does  not  always  produce  this  effect.  Artists, 
and  especially  young  artists,  have,  not  nnfrequently, 
their*  tastes  so  mneh  aarrowed  by  their  devotion  to  oer- 


*  Sir  Uyedale  Price  on  the  Picturesque ;  irith  an  Essay  on 
the  Origin  of  Taste,  «nd  much  original  matter.  By  Sir 
Thomas  Dick  Lauder,  Baronet.  With  Sixty  Illustrations, 
designed  and  drawn  on  wood  hy  Montague  Stanley,  R.  S.  A., 
Edinburgh :    CaldweU,  Lloyd  &  Co.    London :  Wm.  S.  Orr 


tain  styles  of  subject,  as  to  be  incapable  of  enjoying,  ot 
even  of  tolerating  anything  in  nature,  however  exce&ent 
it  may  be,  if  it  be  of  a  different  character  from  that 
which  they  affeot  in  their  works.  By  attempting  to  be- 
come artists,  they  have  ceased  to  be  men,  or  to  oe  able 
to  sympathize  with  the  universality  of  human  feeUng. 
It  would  be  vain  to  expect  that  landscape  gaidenen 
could  be  made  of  such  men,  with  the  hope  of  their  pro- 
ducing scenes  which  should  give  general  delight  to  minds 
expanded  by  education  and  the  love  of  nature.  I  haie 
sometimes  travelled  through  the  most  interesting  coun- 
tries  with  individuals  of  Qaa  cast,  and  found  that  great 
as  was  the  delight  which  I  was  experiencing  from  the 
contemplation  <^  the  soenes  we  passed  through,  nothing 
could  call  forth  one  exclamation  of  pleasure  from  my 
companions,  until  something  chanced  to  arise  before 
their  eyes  of  a  character  in  harmony  with  that  of  the 
suttjecte  they  were  most  prone  to  paint.  Such  men 
would  pass  oyer  nine-tenths  cf  the  finest  places  in  Eng- 
land, and  refiise  to  give  any  other  opinion  than  that  m 
was  barren.  That  artist,  indeed,  who  has  followed  and 
observed  nature  throu|^out  all  her  different  walks — ^who 
can  draw  enjoyment  from  associating  himself  with  her 
in  her  softest  and  quietest  scenes  and  in  her  more  placid 
moods,  as  well  as  when  she  wildly  wanders  amid  the 
dark  woods  and  rocky  fastnesses,  and  by  the  thundering 
cataracts  of  her  mountains — such  a  man  as  this,  I  say, 
may  well  prove  a  profound  master,  not  only  in  the  com- 
position of  pictures  on  canvass,  but  in  that  also  of  those 
which  may  oe  created  in  actual  hmdscape  ;  but  fi>r  ex* 
cellence  in  that  generalization  necessary  for  landscape 
gardening,  I  consider  that  a  very  universal  study  of  pic- 
tures will  do  more  to  accomplish  the  individual,  than  the 
particular  practice  of  any  one  style  of  painting  them. 
It  appears  indeed  to  me,  that  nothing  can  possibly  tend 
more  to  educate  the  mind,  for  the  just  conception  of  such 
a  true  taste  in  landscape  gardening  as  may  enahle  its 
possessor  to  prosecute  this  delightM  art  with  the  hope 
of  generally  awakening  agreeable  associations  in  culti- 
vated mindiB,  than  the  frequent  and  extensive  study  of 
the  works  of  the  best  landscape  painters,  modera  as  well 
as  ancient. 

This,  after  all,  may  rather  be  regarded  as  en- 
largement of  the  views  of  Price,  than  dissent  fron^ 
them.  Utility  as  a  principle,  a  constituent  of 
beauty  in  gardens,  and  rural  buildings,  and  their 
accessories,  is  better  understood  than  it  was  thirty 
or  forty  years  since ;  and  this  principle  has  dic- 
tated many  of  the  remarks  appended  by  Sir 
Thomas, — as  those  on  roads  and  walks  in  the  second 
chapter,  and  in  many  other  places. 

Some  of  our  quotations  frx)m  the  remarks  c^ 
Sir  Thomas  are  to  be  received  more  as  practical 
hints  and  illustrations  than  ditioisms  on  Price; 
as,  for  example,  the  following  on  the  assertion  that 
the  sublime  cannot  be  crecOed  by  the  improver. 
And  neither  it  can ;  though  it  can  be  either  revealed 
or  shut  out  by  the  hand  of  art : — 

There  may  be  instances,  indeed,  !n  which  the  subHine 
may,  in  one  sense,  be  created,  so  Ikr  at  least  as  any  one 
locality  may  be  considend-^-I  mean  by  the  bringfaig  int<^ 
view  some  grand  object,  by  the  removal  of  some  obstacle 
of  fence,  of  ground,  or  of  wood,  which  may  exclude  it 
from  observation.  I  know  a  case,  where  a  friend  of 
mine  by  the  judicious  removal  of  ground,  has  opened  ap 
a  view  of  a  grand  expansive  branch  of  the  ocean  so  as 
to  bring  it,  as  it  were,  under  the  vnndows  of  his  loao' 
sion,  thou|^  it  is,  in  reality,  several  miles  ofL    The  Tiew 


snt  raoMAS  mcK  laUder*s  price  on  thu  picturesque. 


S99 


of  asbUma  rookie  or  mooniAiiii,  or  of  magaifloeni  w»ier- 
ttjl§g  or  riftn,  or  laJkeo,  ia  ofUa  lost  for  want  of  a  little 
boldJMM  in  the  sacrifice  of  a  few  trees.  Bat  no  part  of 
the  art  of  landscape  gardening  requires  greater  caution, 
or  mere  judgment  tnan  this,  for  rashness  or  ignorance 
91^7,  p«^aps,  in  a  ttm  Imutb^  do  sock  damage  as  ages 
««j  b«  f«^piirad  to  itpair. 

It  is  Man  ^elq^ttixtraot^**  or  u  UliuiratiTB 
of  the  law  of  Aawoiation,  that  we  oopj  the  fol- 
lowing baautlfdl  pMaaga,  at  lent  as  much  as  for 
te  just  oritieiam  on  Prioa's  dialiko  to  glaring  objaots 
uid  to  iU>solate  dead  whita  building  in  a  land« 
•cape.  Admitting  that  a  whlta  object  forcing  itself 
on  notice^  staring  impudently  in  one's  face,  is  ex^ 
aawfingly  ofiansiTe,  Sbr  Thomas  proceeds  :^ 

Hot,  wbaa  liehly  embosomed  In  trees,  I  eeaceita  that 
wluta  boildiBgB  eflea  gire  the  liTeliest  and  most  spark- 
ling efKbct  to  scenery.  Of  Uus  fact,  any  one  who  has 
Tinted  Italy,  and  pvticularly  the  Italian  lakes,  must  be 
perfectly  persuaded  by  experience.  See,  for  eicample. 
baw  the  alieree  of  the  Lakes  of  Maggiore,  Lugano,  and 
CSsflU)^  are  elustarad  with  little  towns  of  the  purest  white, 
tint  appear  like  strings  of  orient  pearls,  between  the 
blue  water  in  which  they  are  reflected,  and  the  deep 
woods  whieh  cluster  interminably  oyer  tiiem,  whence 
erery  bow  and  then  some  prominent  rock  rears  its  head, 
ta  be  crowned  with  some  conyent  or  yiUa  of  the  same 
biia»  irhSkk  erery  jutting  promontory  below  is  oma- 
menlad  by  some  such  gem  of  human  workmanship. 
Orer  these  the  fbll  Italian  sun  pours  forth  bis  unahom 
^landour,  giying  so  uniyersal  a  tone  of  brilliancy  to  the 
whole  Didry  scene,  as  to  bring  all  its  parts  into  perfoct 
harmoiiy.  I  am  quite  aware  that  Oande  himself  in 
paiatiog  such  a  scene,  would  haye  folt  it  necessary  to 
s«bd«a  and  keep  down  the  intensity  ef  many  of  these 

tanahas  of  white 

Bat  be  this  as  it  may,  as  I  floated  oyer  the  smooth  sur- 
Hioe  9i  Lugano  or  Oomo— although  I  foiled  not  to  drink 
in,  wHh  a  neyer  satiated  thirst,  &e  ezhaustless  beauties 
with  which  nature  had  so  liberally  surrounded  me — al- 
though I  wasneyer  tired  with  admiring  the  infinite  yariety 
•f  form  and  colour,  which  the  margin  of  the  lake  exhi- 
hitad  In  its  rocks,  and  headlands,  and  mysteriously  re- 
ceding  bays  and  inlets,  whilst  they  shifted  and  moyed 
■pen  one  another,  as  the  boat  glided  past  them—al- 
tfaaui^  my  eye  at  one  time  would  sink  in  luxurious  re- 
fraslmieBt  into  the  richly-tufted  recesses  among  the  no- 
Ue  trees,  and  then  again  soar  upwards  with  eagle  flight 
oyer  the  undulating  surfoce  of  tiie  hanging  woods  aboye, 
ta  skim  yrith  exultation  oyer  the  bare  and  prominent 
Orags.  to  the  yery  summits  of  the  mountains — yet  it  still 
would  turn  irith  unspeakable  delight  to  rest  upon  those 
white  buildings,  the  yery  sight  of  which  awakened  with- 
in ma  a  thousand  interesting  associations  yrith  man — his 
hAppinesa— his  trials — his  pains — ^his  pleasures — and  his 
passions ;  whilst  the  gay  sun  reminded  me  that  I  yras  in 
the  foadnating  climate  of  Italy,  and  I  here  had  the  satis- 
fiietion  of  thinking,  that  my  estimate  of  its  adyantages 
was  not  to  be  reduced  by  the  miserable  examples  of 
poyerty  and  disease,  by  which  the  eyes  of  the  trayeller 
are  but  too  frequently  shocked  in  other  parts  of  the  same 
eaanUy.    Here  I  knew  that  early  industry  and  prudence 
had  fioduead  eomparatiye  yrealUi  and  comfort.    I  iras 
well  aware  that  the  greater  part  of  these  little  spaiWng 
habitations  that  studded  the  shore,  owed  their  creation 
ta  the  industrious  habits  of  the  youth  of  these  districts, 
who,  learing  their  homes  in  early  life  with  a  small  stock 
af  prints,  looking-glasses,  and  barometers,  wander  weari- 
ly artr  the  Buropean  yforid,  exposed  to  all  ^  perils  and 
yidasitudas  of  weather  and  of  fortune,  until  thabr  small 
but  certain  gains,  husbanded  by  sobriety  and  frugality, 
enable  them  to  return  with  a  sum  which,  though  little  in 
Usalf,  ia  yiraahh  to  them  in  these  simple  and  unsophisti- 
eatad  regions    neeiug  that  it  enables  them  to  become 
ptapriatois  of  their  natiye  soil,  by  the  purchase  of  some 
SBUkil  and  picturesque  spot  of  land,  whereon  to  build  a 
cemmodions  and  tasteftil  dwelling.    There,  after  uniting 
thiMilfSS  ta  the  o^)acts  af  their  early  alfoctioas,  for 


whMa  their  eonstaat  attachment  has  neyer  varied,  in  da« 
flance  of  all  the  blandishments  to  which  they  may  haya 
been  exposed  from  women  of  all  oountries,  they  sit  down 
contented,  and  fhll  of  gratitude  to  a  boMfloent  God,  to 
spend  tiie  remainder  of  uieir  liyesinease  and  contentment, 
and  to  rear  up  a  yirtuous  progeny,  to  go  forth  and  return 
as  tiieir  fothers  had  done.  Filled  yrith  suoh  reflections 
as  these,  how  was  it  poasible  that  I  could  haye  yrished 
the  white  building  of  Como  or  Lugano  to  haya  been 
brought  out  less  distinctly  to  my  yiew  t 

But  with  all  this,  Sir  Thomas  does  not  stiat  his 
anatUemaSy  does  not  minoc  his  malison  in  denounc- 
ing the  enormons  white-*  washers  :•— 

Nothing  can  be  more  detestable  in  tasta  than  tide 
mode  of  marking  out  distant  objects.  A  fine  ancient 
Qothio  church  may  thus  be  utterly  destroyed  in  all  its 
most  yenerable  associations,  and  one's  flselings  outraged  - 
on  a  near  approach  to  it,  by  beholding  it  conyerted  into 
a  dirty  whited  sepulchre,for  the  yrretohedly  absurd  whim 
of  some  yulgar  proprietor,  whose  tesrcanister  of  a  house 
happens  to  stand  at  some  miles'  distance,  and  whose  im- 
mense liberality  of  purse  so  oyerpowers  the  rillaga  rus* 
tics,  that  they  are  led  to  talk  of  nothing  but  the  bounty 
of  the  Squire,  **  who  has  so  handsomely  done  up  the  ould 
church,  out  of  his  own  pocket  1"  And  nothing  oan  ba 
more  abominable  than  the  ignorant  attempt  of  some  peo- 
ple to  make  a  hill  mere  conspicuous,  by  putting  sosm 
shoddng  xdne-pin  looking  ereoUen  upon  the  summit  of  it. 

Of  tliis  there  is  an  iUostration  in  the  case  of 
some  Highland  nobleman,  who  played  extravagant 
pranks  in  beautifying  a  pair  of  noble  hiUs,  to 
the  grief  and  disoomfitore  of  the  editor,  whan, 
after  the  deforming  improTcment,  he  first  visited 
what  had  been  a  favourite  haunt : — 

On  the  green  bill  top,  still  sits  this  wretched  abortioB, 
in  form  and  ai4»arent  sisa  very  much  reeesibli^g  an  old 
iritchyrrapped  in  her  plaid,  and  grinning  as  it  were  with 
delight,  in  the  consciousness  that  she  holds  the  whole 
scenery  of  this  grand  and  magnificent  valley  bound  upy 
as  it  were,  in  the  envious  spell  of  apparently  compara- 
tive insignificance. 

But  may  not  Association,  the  association  of  me- 
mory, have  been  at  work  here ;  creating  deformity  to 
the  mind  merely  by  displacing  the  old  and  fami- 
liar, in  the  oonsecrated  scene  of  other  years? 

One  of  the  greatest  enormities  that  has  been 
systematically  perpetuated  by  pseudo^improvers 
has  been  the  destruction  of  old  gardens  and  ave- 
nues. On  this  subject  Sp  Thomas  is  quite  as 
sound,  and  almost  as  eloquently  indignant,  as  Price 
himself.  For  these  barbarous  outrages  upon  tasta, 
feeling,  and  the  delightful  and  hallowed  associa- 
tions of  the  olden  time,  he  has  no  pardon.  Who, 
indeed,  could  endure  to  see  the  places  he  has  de- 
scribed swept  away — rased — ^"the  roundels  "  of 
Wintoun  wantonly  demolished,  or  the  almost 
sacred  terraces  of  Bamdeuch  levelled?  We  cannot 
pass  the  latter  charming  spot.  It  breathes  the 
very  spirit  of  romance  ai^  poetry. 

The  unsparing  innovators  of  the  improving  school  of 
landscape  gardening,  seemed  to  consider  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  carry  their  system  too  for,  and,  accordingly, 
they  shayed  away  all  those  rich  and  harmonious  attend- 
ants upon  the  architecture  of  the  bouse,  and  carried  bare- 
ness and  poverty  up  to  its  very  ynJls.  Few  perfect 
samples  of  the  old  style,  therefore,  are  now  to  be  found ; 
but  where  they  do  exist,  we  are  persuaded  that  they 
must  always  excite  the  liveliest  feelings  of  delight, 
arising  not  only  ftom  associations  with  the  olden  time, 
but  from  those  connected  witii  that  sense  of  propriety 
which  gave  btrth  to  them.  I  know  of  one  ancient  gar^ 
den  of  this  description,  that  belonging  to  the  old  house 
I  of  Baneleuch  near  HamiltaB^  the  property  of  l4Mly 


4oa 


SIR  THOMAS  DICK  LAUDER'S  PRICE  ON  THE  PICTURESQUE. 


Ruthten,  which  I  Tinted  with  extreme  satisfiMtion  and 
delight.  The  house  stands  on  the  brink  of  a  steep  and 
lofty  bank,  hanging  over  the  river  Aton,  at  a  point  a 
Uttle  way  above  its  confluence  with  the  Gyde.  The 
bank  is  cut  out  and  built  up  into  terraces  of  different 
degrees  of  level,  which  are  connected  by  flights  of  steps, 
and  decorated  by  fountains — arched  recesses — stone 
seats — and  all  those  ac^uncts  usually  found  in  such  old 
domestic  gardens ;  and  the  whole  is  thus  softened  into 
the  happiest  gradual  combination  with  the  wildness  of 
the  neighbouring  scenery.  The  history  of  the  original 
formation  of  this  garden  is  very  curious.  It  was  con- 
structed by  that  Lord  Belhaven  who  lived  about  the 
middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  of  whom  Nicol  in  his 
Diary,  (pi^  238,)  gives  us  the  following  very  strange 
history : — 

^  It  is  formerlie  observit,  that  the  Inglisches  haiffing 
routtit  this  natioun  at  the  fight  at  Dunbar,  upone  the 
3d  September  1650,  theypossest  this  kingdome,  and  did 
fbir&lt  the  maist  pairt  of  those  that  were  ingftdged  in 
that  unlauohful  ingadgement  in  the  Scottis  ingoing  to 
£<ngland ;  among  quhome  the  Dukes  of  Hamiltoun,  and 
all  tiiat  formerlie  were  forfalt,  the  creditouris  persewit 
the  cautioneris  for  the  Duke's  dett  and  could  get  no  re- 
lieffe.  Among  these  cautioneris  the  Lord  Belhevin  being 
one,  and  being  band  for  that  hous  in  greater  sumes  of 
money  than  he  was  able  to  pay,  he  resolves  to  leave  this 
natioun,  that  he  myoht  eschew  comprysinges  of  his  landis 
and  imprissonement  of  his  persone.  This  resolutioun  he 
foUowes  in  this  manner.  He  takis  his  jumey  to  Eng- 
land, and  quhen  he  i»8t  by  Silloway  (Solway)  Saudis, 
he  caudt  his  servand  cum  bak  to  his  wyff  with  his  cloak 
and  hatt,  and  causit  it  to  be  ventit,  that  in  ryding  by 
these  sandis,  both  he  and  his  horse  quhairon  he  raid  wer 
Bunkin  in  these  quick  sandis  and  drowned ;  naue  being 
privy  to  this,  hot  his  lady  and  his  man  servand.  This 
report  passed  in  all  pairtes  as  guid  cunzie,  that  he  was 
deid  and  perisched,  for  the  space  of  six  yearis  and  moir ; 
and  to  mak  this  the  moir  probable  and  lykelie,  his  lady 
and  chyldiene  went  in  dule  and  muming  the  first  two 
yeiris  of  his  absens,  so  that  during  these  six  yeiris  it  was 
eertifyed  to  the  haill  cuntrey  that  he  was  deid  and  per- 
isehed ;  all  this  wes  done  of  set  puipos  to  eschew  the 
danger  of  the  cautionary  quhairin  he  lay  for  that  Hous 
of  Hamiltoun.  Efter  his  ingoing  to  England,  he  strypit 
himselff  of  his  apperell,  clothed  himselff  in  ane  base  ser- 
vill  sute,  denyit  his  name,  and  became  servand  to  ane 
gairdner,  and  laborit  in  gardenes  and  yairdis  during  the 
haill  space  of  his  absence ;  na  person  being  privy  to  this 
conrs  bot  his  Lady,  (as  for  his  servand  he  went  to  other 
lervice,  not  knowing  that  lus  old  Lord  haid  becum  a 
gairdner,)  till  efter  six  yeiris  absens ;  efter  quhilk  tyme 
and  space  the  Dutches  of  Hamiltoun  haiffing  takin  or- 
dour  with  the  dettis,  and  compereit  and  aggreyit  with 
the  creditouris,  than  he  returned  to  Scotland  in  Januar 
last  1659,  efter  sex  yeiris  service  in  England  as  a  gurd- 
ner,  to  the  admiratioun  of  many  ;  for  during  that  haill 
spaoe  it  was  evir  thocht  he  wes  deid,  no  persone  being 
accessorie  to  his  secrecy  bot  his  awin  Lady  to  hir  great 
eommendatioune.  By  this  meanis  his  landis  and  estait 
wer  saiff,  and  his  cautionarie  for  the  Hous  of  Hamiltoun 
wes  tr^nsactit  for,. as  is  afoirsaid,  and  his  estait  both 
personall  and  reall  tted  and  outquytt." 

I  believe  that  it  was  owing  to  my  friend  Mr.  Kirk- 
patrick  Sharpe  having  on  one  occasion  directed  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott's  attention  to  this  most  singular  story,  that  the 
first  idea  occunred  to  the  great  auUior  of  the  Bride  of 
Lammermoor,  that  he  shomd  terminate  the  existence  of 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood  by  a  death  similar  to  that 
Which  was  thus  feigned  by  Lord  Belhaven,  and  which 
Sir  Walter  has  made  so  sublimely  affecting  as  the  final 
fate  of  his  hero.  But  the  object  which  I  have  most  par- 
ticularly in  view,  in  my  present  introduction  of  this  piece 
of  history,  is,  that  I  may  be  enabled  to  mention,  that  it 
was  the  knowledge  which  Lord  Belhaven  thus  acquired, 
during  his  six  years'  hard  horticultural  labour  in  Eng- 
land, that  enabled  him  to  lay  out  and  construct  this 
beautifhl  old  terrace  garden  of  Bamcleuch« 

Sir  Thomas  is  quite  as  orthodox  on  the  doctrine 


of  the  old  avenue,  '^  the  obsolete  prolixity  of  shade," 
as  on  the  Pleaiauneey  the  ancient  terraced  garden, 
with  its  fountains,  and  vases,  and  flights  of  steps. 
He  has  described  what  would  seem  a  magnifioent 
landscape  garden  in  this  style,  at  Castle  Kennedy, 
the  property  of  the  Earl  of  Stair,  in  Wigtonriiire  ; 
and  gives  many  cUrious  extracts  from  the  corre- 
spondence of  the  worthy  Andrew  Fairserrice  of 
Castle  Kennedy,  when  the  place  was  forming  about 
a  hundred  and  ten  years  ago ; — a  person  who  gave 
fair  promise  of  what  the  race  of  Scottish  gardenen 
have  since  accomplished  in  every  quarter  of  the 
globe. 

Beautifully  has  Sir  Uvedale  Price  spoken  of  the 
€voenue;  its  solemn  stillness,  its  religiooB  gloom, 
its  grand  and  mysterious  efiect  by  moonlight,  its 
majesty  and  grandeur  at  all  times,  nor  does  he  exe- 
crate the  unhallowed  destroyers  of  this  noble  feature 
in  landscape,  more  cordially  than  does  his  sympa- 
thetic editor.  *'  Melancholy  indeed,"  says  Sir 
Thomas, 

Is  the  thought,  that  this  is  no  solitary  instance  of 
this  barbarous  species  of  destruction  in  British  places.  I 
could  name  many  which  have  come  under  my  own  ob- 
servation.    Some  of  the  most  interesting  associations 
with  our  early  history  have  thus  been  recklessly  sacri- 
ficed beneath  the  chariot-wheels  of  the  Juggernaut  of 
modem  barbarism.    And  what  has  been  the  general  pro- 
duct of  this  most  ruthless  massacre  t     Instead  of  the 
grandeur  which  has  Just  been  so  feelingly  described,  we 
have  an  abortive  attempt  to  force  the  few  unfortunate 
stra^lers  who  have  been  spared  from  the  slaughter, 
into^rmal  groups,  which  have  no  other  effect  than  to 
mark  out  the  line  which  the  whole  army  originally  oc- 
cupied when  standing,  so  that  they  may  serve  to  inform 
the  indignant  spectator  of  the  full  extent  of  the  atrocity 
that  has  been  committed.    But  even  this  is  well,  com- 
pared to  the  wretchedly  puerile  attempts  which  we  often 
see  made,  to  manufacture  the  straggling  individuals  that 
have  been  left  into  clumps,  by  the  pluiting  of  younger 
trees  around  them.    But  when  speaking  thus  of  avenues 
I  of  course  mean  that  these  my  observations  shall  apply 
to  really  ancient  avenues,  composed  of  grand  ances- 
tral timber  :   for  I  can  quite  easily  understand  the 
necessity  which  may  sometimes  arise  for  breaking  up 
those  of  younger  date,  and  more  insignificant  growth, 
and  which  are  consequently  neither  possessed  ofgrin- 
denr  of  aspect,  nor  of  ancient  association — and  with 
such  I  can  conceive  the  propriety  of  making  an  attempt 
to  employ  some  of  the  trees  which  may  be  judiciooaly 
left  standing,  as  the  nucleus  of  groups  of  younger  crea- 
tion.   But  even  this  I  hold  to  be  a  very  difficult  under- 
taking, and  one  in  which  it  will  genen^y  require  yean 
before  the  original  state  of  things  can  be  thoroughly  oblit- 
erated. 

Among  other  freaks  of  country  gentlemen,  whose 
passion  for  planting  and  improvement  is  not  always 
under  the  guidance  of  the  purest  taste,  Sir  Thomas 
tells  of  one  who  planted  Uie  name'  of  his  place  in 
letters  that  covered  a  whole  hill ! 

Country  gentlemen  will  in  this  work  find  many 
excellent  hints  for  their  instruction  in  ornamental 
planting ;  in  other  words,  in  all  planting, — ^for  how 
can  wood  in  any  stage  be  otherwise  than  ornamen- 
tal ?  We  copy  out  one  caution,  the  due  observance  of 
which  might  save  much  regret  and  mortification : 

One  remark  more,  and  I  have  done  with  this  pert 
of  the  subject.  Nothing  can  be  more  unwise  than  to 
trust  to  delicate  foreign  trees  or  shrubs  for  the  pro* 
duction  of  important  effects,  which  may  thus  be  all  riiiu' 
ed  by  the  destructive  cold  of  some  severe  winter.  Sadi 
tender  strangers  may  be  weU  enough  introduoed  experi< 


SIR  THOMAS  DICK  LAUDER'S  PRICE  ON  THE  PICTURESQUE. 


401 


BMntally — bat  they  should  haye  places  assigned  to  them 
where  their  failure  may  produce  no  serious  blanks  if 
tiiey  should  unfortunately  perish. 

I  shall  oflbr  but  a  single  word  on  the  subject  of  lawns. 
Xierelliiig,  smooth  shaying,  and  rolling,  are  operations 
only  admissible  dose  to  the  house — and  even  there  it  is 
better  that  it  should  be  associated  with  terraces,  bowling- 
greens,  flower-knots,  and  such  minor  pieces  of  formality 
as  are  in  keeping  with  that  of  the  architecture.  Eyery- 
where  else  the  lawns  should  be  in  rich  and  natural- 
looking  pasture,  especially  where  they  begin  to  sweep 
away  under  trees,  or  to  lose  themselyes  in  the  woodlands. 
In  snch  places,  some  of  the  more  gracefhl  wild  plants, 
such  as  Uiose  of  the  fern  tribe,  the  great  tussilago,  and 
others,  may  occasionally  be  permitted  to  show  them- 
selyea — and  eren  tufts  of  whins  may  not  be  altogether 
out  of  plaee. 

Bat  we  were  treating  merely  of  foreign  delicate 
trees  and  shrubs,  when  the  remark  on  lawns  insi- 
muted  itself. 

Water,  so  important  an  element  in  landscape, 
and  in  landscape-gardening,  whether  the  river,  the 
stream,  the  burn,  the  tarn,  the  pool,  ^  the  sheetv 
lake,"  or  the  mountain  loch,  has  drawn  forth  many 
fine  observations,  and  useful  hints  for  the  forma- 
tion of  artificial  pieces  of  water.  Of  this  consti- 
tuent of  the  landscape  it  is  said  : — 

Even  when  it  is  attended  by  the  most  unfavourable 
ctnmmstanoes,  it  is  sure  to  be  productiye  of  one  grand 
and  ever  changethl  effect — I  mean  that  of  repeating  the 
splendid  colouring  of  the  clouds,  as  well  as  their  magical 
movements  over  the  blue  ether ;  whilst  its  occasional 
reflection  of  the  moon,  or  that  of  the  setting  sun,  which 
kindles  up  the  wavelets  on  its  surface  into  golden  flames, 
are  accidents  of  the  most  gorgeous  description.  How- 
ever small  the  body  of  water  may  be,  it  will  be  found  to 
yieM  this  description  of  beauty  in  a  greater  or  lesser  de- 
gree, exactly  in  a  proportion  corresponding  to  that  of  its 
siie.  Some  extent  of  water,  then,  is  desirable  in  every 
leene,  if  it  can  possibly  be  procured. 

And  the  following,  among  other  directions,  are 
given  from,  we  should  imagine,  personal  expe- 
rience:— 

The  grand  point  is,  if  possible,  to  select  a  spot  where 
seme  natural  valley  or  hollow  can  be  most  easily  block- 
ed up,  and  that  with  the  least  appearance  of  artifice,  so 
as  to  arrest  the  discharge  of  the  running  waters  it  may 
contain,  until  they  may  swell  up  to  such  a  height  as  to 
float  it  backwards  to  the  required  extent.  I  can  con- 
ceive, nay  I  have  seen,  such  situations  where  the  shores 
aflbrded  Ixdd  headlands,  and  projecting  points,  and  where 
even  rocky  steeps,  and  broken  recesses  and  promontories 
were  happily  found.  But  where  these  do  not  exist  al* 
ready,  it  will  require  an  improver  of  no  ordinary  talent 
to  produce  them  by  artiflcial  means  so  that  they  shall 
look  at  all  like  nature ;  and  if  he  is  to  fldl  short  of  this 
otgect,  he  had  better  not  make  the  attempt.  But  much 
may  be  aooomplished  by  plantation,  and  this  should  not 
be  scanty,  but  so  liberal  as  to  give  ample  room  for  after 
openings,  if  su«h  shall  appear  to  be  demanded.  When 
the  trees  rise  to  a  tolerable  height,  the  beauty  of  the  con- 
trast of  light  and  shade  upon  the  water  as  well  as  on  its 
banks,  will  thus  be  much  increased,  and  every  little  bay 
or  recess  will  begin  to  have  its  pecuUar  interest. 
^Silva  coronat  aquas,  cingens  latos  onme,  suisque 
Fnmdibos,  ut  yeu),  nioeMos  gabmovet  ignee.** 

Ovid,  L.  V. 
And  as  the  lapping  of  the  waves  against  the  shores  will 
every  day  be  wearing  them  out  more  and  more  into  a 
natiural  aspect,  and  as  reeds,  sedges,  bulrushes,  the 
typha,  and  aquatics  of  various  other  kinds,  may  be 
planted  here  and  there  in  the  shallows,  and  water-lilies 
in  parts  that  are  a  little  deeper,  the  march  of  Nature 
wiU  gradually  adyance,  till  site  obtains  a  perfect  domi- 
nion over  the  whole  scene.  If  the  piece  of  water  be  of 
such  a  size  as  to  admit  of  its  being  the  abode  of  water- 


fowl, it  is  quite  indispensable  to  construct  islands  flor 
their  breeding  and  protection,  however  flat  or  small  they 
may  be — and  if  these  are  even  covered  oyer  with  willows, 
and  bounded  by  reeds  and  sedges,  they  will  add  some- 
what to  the  effect  of  the  whole,  whilst  their  winged  and 
web-footed  inhabitants  will  give  a  continual  life  to  the 
lake.  As  an  object  of  interest,  as  well  as  of  amusement 
and  advantage,  fish  should  not  be  forgotten.  Nothing 
can  be  more  beautiAil  than  to  behold  tiie  treuts  of  a  lake 
rising  at  the  flies,  in  a  flue  summer  evening,  in  so  great 
numbers,  as  absolutely  to  dimple  its  glassy  surface.  To 
ensure  this  profusion  of  flsh,  it  is  quite  essential  that  the 
rill  that  supplies  the  lake  should  enter  it  at  one  end  and 
quit  it  at  de  other,  so  as  to  preduce  a  certain  degree  of 
cunrent  throughout  its  whole  length.  It  is  also  desirable 
that  as  many  little  feeders  as  can  be  commanded  should 
And  their  way  into  the  lake  from  its  sides,  as  it  is  on  the 
small  gravelly  shallows  which  these  form  at  their  em- 
bouchures, that  the  flsh  are  most  inclined  to  deposit 
their  spawn ;  and  to  promote  their  doing  so,  artiflcial 
beds  of  such  gravel  should  be  projected  into  the  IsJce, 
where  they  do  not  naturally  exist. 

Even  on  the  smallest  piece  of  water  a  swan  produces 
a  sparkling  effect  when  seen  amidst  the  bright  light,  or 
the  deep  green  shadow  which  is  thrown  over  the  sui^e 
of  the  pool  by  the  superincumbent  foliage ;  and  nothing 
gives  greater  animation  to  a  scene. 

We  have  already  gone  too  far,  but  the  commen- 
tary, or  supplementary  remarks,  on  Price's  chap- 
ter on  Architecture  and  Buildings,  are  quite  irre- 
sistible to  Scottish  tastes  and  associations : — 

I  have  already  stated  my  decided  predilection  for  irre- 
gularly built  houses  in  the  country.  The  styles  which 
admit  of  this  are  the  cottage,  the  villa,  the  old  En^ish 
manor-house,  the  old  Scottish  manor-house,  and  the 
castle.  We  may  thus  have  picturesque  houses  adapted 
to  all  fortunes  ;  for  dwellings  to  suit  incomes  of  all  de- 
grees of  extent  may  be  constructed  flrom  one  or  other  of 
those  kinds  of  buildings,  and  I  am  inclined  to  think,  that 
if  planned  with  judgment,  they  may  be  made  so  at  no 
greater  cost  than  they  woidd  have  otiierwise  occasioned; 
if  built  with  less  attention  to  taste.  One  thing,  appears 
to  me  to  be  important,  and  that  is,  to  preserve  the  inte- 
grity of  our  associations  by  avoiding,  so  far  as  we  possi- 
bly can,  the  introduction  of  styles  of  building  which  must 
at  once  be  perceived  to  be  foreign  to  the  country  in 
which  they  are  placed.  For  this  reason,  whilst  I  see  all 
manner  of  propriety  in  erecting  an  old  English  manor- 
house  in  an  English  scene,  I  am  rather  disposed  to  think 
that  such  a  building  is  not  well  placed  in  Scotland,  where 
it  must  stand  for  ages  before  it  can  gather,  with  the 
mosses  and  lichens  of  years,  those  associations  which  may 
make  it  harmonize  with  the  history  of  the  country  into 
which  the  style  has  been  transfenred.  In  tiie  same  way 
I  think  the  old  Scottish  house,  with  its  square  tower  and 
bartisan,  plain  windows,  banging  turrets,  round  towers 
and  lofty  sugar-loaf  rooft,  high  narrow  gables,  &c.,  all 
borrowed  from  France  during  the  long  period  of  alliance 
between  Scotland  and  that  country,  but  now  for  genera- 
tions intimately  associated  with  Scottish  scenery,  how- 
ever picturesque  in  itself,  would  be  quite  out  of  harmony 
with  jQnglish  landscape. 

With  a  useful  warning  to  such  of  our  fitiends 
still  in  the  age  of  romance,  as  may  be  meditating 
a  thatched  ccttage,  and  a  well-merited  eulogiura  on 
the  most  distinguished  landscape  painter  that  Soot- 
land  has  ever  yet  seen,  we  must  conclude  our 
hasty  and  very  inadequate  notice  of  this  charming 
book.  Its  h£u:idsome  exterior,  and  characteristic 
and  tasteful  embellishments,  are  pleasant  accesso- 
ries, though  quite  secondary  to  its  literary  merits ; 
yet  one  likes  to  see  a  beautiful  woman  well-dressed, 
and  a  beautiful  book  too.  This  is  one  alike  fitted 
for  the  drawing-room  and  the  library. 

I  confess,  that  after  considerable  experience,  I  have 


40S 


SIR  THOMAS  MCK  LAUDER'S  PRICE  ON  THE  PICTURESQUE. 


been  eoinplftely  eored  of  my  romaatio  aUaohment  to 
ihatoh.  The  oontinual  repair  which  it  reqniree  to  keep  it 
water-tight,  ii  a  souree  of  perpetual  annoyanoe  Mid 
▼ezation.  If  the  roof  of  a  eottage  be  well  fbrmed,  and 
Well  projeeted,  bo  tA  to  throw  a  deep  shadow  oter  the 
wall  beneath  it,  I  do  not  ooneeive  that  it  will  be  neces- 
•ary  to  thatch  it,  in  order  to  add  to  it«  picturesque 
effect,  at  the  risk  of  diminishing  the  eomfort  of  the  poor 
inmates.  The  most  beautiftQ  thatch  of  any  is  that  com- 
posed of  heather.  I  remember  a  Highland  proprietor,  a 
IHend  of  mine,  who  had  constructed  m  different  parts  of 
his  grounds,  some  of  the  most  picturesque  cottages  which 
I  ever  beheld,  which  were  all  thatched  with  heather. 
When  I  first  saw  them  I  was  loud  in  my  commendation 
of  liis  good  taste,  and  high  in  my  praise  of  his  fine 
heather  thatch.  ^  It  is  very  beautiful  indeed,^  said  he 
to  me.  "  It  has  but  one  ftiult,  indeed,  and  that  is  that  it 
does  not  keep  out  one  drop  of  rain."  Now,  I  do  not 
think  that  any  one  has  a  right  to  make  his  cottagers 
suffer  to  any  such  extent  as  this,  in  order  that  their 
oottages  may  look  picturesque  to  his  fHends,  as  they 
driTe  past  them  in  an  open  carriage  on  a  sunshiny  day. 
If  a  Oountry  gentleman  must  have  thatch-roofed  cottages, 
and  particularly  if  he  must  hare  them  thatched  with 


heather,  I  would  reoommend,ihathe  should,  is  tlie  ftnl 
plaM,  put  on  a  good  slate  or  tile  roof,  and  then  eoTsr  H 
with  the  thatch,  for  which  purpose  a  frama-woik  mi|^ 

be  easily  laid  over  it. 

The  late  Reverend  John  Thomson  of  Daddingftenc, 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  our  modem  landsmw 
painters,  has  shown  by  his  works,  how  perfee^y  he  wti 
aware  of  the  troth  of  the  observation  here  mikde,  wiA 
regard  to  the  sublimity  of  eflf^  produced  by  the  bei^ 
of  the  horisontal  line.  In  his  magnificent  piotines  of 
sea  coast  castles,  he  has  very  frequently  availed  hiaislf 
of  this  cireumstanoe.  Where  the  building  happens  to  be 
perched,  as  is  often  the  case,  on  some  lower  prcffeetiig 
promontory,  round  which  Uie  sea  rages  vritii  bilbwi 
which  are  broken  into  ten  thousand  fluotaftting  formi, 
and  chafed  into  spray  and  fbam  by  the  sunken  rocks  st 
its  base,  it  has  been  no  uncommon  practice  with  him  te 
take  his  view  from  some  higher  part  of  the  oontiniumB 
cliffy  above,  by  which  means  the  horizontal  line  of  the 
sea  is  raised  much  higher  than  his  principal  object.  This 
circumstance,  together  with  the  matchless  sldll  ivlddi 
he  has  displayed  in  the  management  and  treatment  of 
bis  sea  and  sky,  has  enabled  Urn  to  prodnoe  piotnres  of 
the  most  sublime  description, 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


Ch-eeee  R&iniiudf  and  Sketch$i  in  Lowmr  Eg^  in 
1840,  S^e.  S^.  By  Edgar  Garston,  Knight  of  the 
R.  M.  Greek  Order  of  the  Saviour,  &0.  In 
2  rolnmes  octayo,  cloth,  with  lithographs.  Pp. 
666.     Saunders  &  Otley. 

This  is  by  no  means  a  profisund  work ;  but  it  com- 
prises many  lively  sketches  of  the  superfices  of  society 
in  the  New  Kingdom,  which  the  author  had  visited 
seventeen  years  before,  a  volunteer  in  the  cause  of  Greek 
freedom  and  independence.  In  Lower  E^jpt  his  fkcts 
and  observations  are  of  a  more  solid  and  important  char- 
acter* Perhaps  he  was  too  well  received  at  the  Court 
of  King  Otho,  and  by  the  official  people  at  Athens,  to 
feel  himself  entitled  to  indulge  in  any  freedom  of  remark. 
In  the  dominions  of  the  Paoha  he  waa  under  no  restraint; 
and,  taken  altogether,  we  prefer  the  part  of  the  work  which 
refbrs  to  Egypt,  though  Mehemet  All  is  less  a  favourite  with 
him  than  with  most  other  English  travellers.  The  beauty 
of  the  women,  ftom  the  Mt  queen  of  Otho  and  the  stately 
and  lovely  classic  dames  of  her  Court,  to  the  strap- 
ping and  symmetrical  Nubian  slave  girls,  and  the  bright- 
eyed  Arab  maids,  appear  to  have  been  objects  of  deeper 
concernment  to  this  gallant  knight  than  questions  of 
poUtics  or  of  public  economy.  Wherever  he  went  he  kept 
^a  bright  look-out"  for  fsmiae  beauty.  The  descrip- 
tions  of  the  private  country  residences  of  the  persons 
whom  he  visited  in  different  parts  of  Greece  possess  more 
general  interest  than  court  balls  and  fiMhionable  parties 
Ui  Athens.  The  Minister  of  Marine  placed  a  govern* 
ment  schooner  at  his  disposal,  uid  he  cruised  about 
among  the  isles  of  (}reeee.  The  scene  of  the  following 
adventure  is  the  Island  of  Milo  ^^ 

Match  19tA.--The  heavy  rain  which  was  falling  when 
I  wrote  my  notes  of  yestei^y  continued  throughout  the 
day.  It  did  not,  however,  prevent  the  governor  frxmi 
commg  down  to  visit  us  in  reply  to  the  letters  which  we 
had  sent  up  to  his  residence  at  the  Castro.  He  is  a  fine, 
intelligent,  old  man,  baring  still  much  of  the  vigour  and 
vivacity  of  youth,  and  speaks  both  French  and  Italian 
with  fiuency.  He  was  accompanied  by  one  of  his  sons, 
an  ex-scholar  of  the  banished  Cairis,  and  a  perfect  model 


of  youthftil  eastern  beaniy,  as  also  by  the  sapertetsaduit 
of  the  quarries  and  mines. 

We  received  them  with  such  hospitaUa  appliiaess  %» 
our  sea-store  aflbrded,  seasoned  witii  the  inevitable  chi- 
bouque  and  ooifoe,  and  afterwards  aoeompanied  them  on 
shore  to  the  house  of  the  direotor  of  the  Dogana,  Oipi 
Ha4}i*  Andrea,  by  whom  we  were  regaled  with  fbe 
same  eastern  pledges  of  welcome.  He  is  a  matetual 
cousin  of  the  governor,  and  a  fine  specimen  of  the  Hyd- 
riote  of  the  revolution  ;  with  foaturee  strongly  maikodt 
but  handsome,  and  expressive  of  indomitable  foselutioii, 
he  possesses  the  frame  of  a  Henmles.  He  and  hii  wkoto 
family  retain  the  Hydriote  dress  and  customs;  and 
under  his  roof,  for  the  first  time  since  my  return  ta 
Greece,  I  bad  my  coffee  and  sweetmeats  (w  ^Amw]  pre- 
sented to  me  by  the  hand  of  the  eldest  daughter  tX  the 
fomily,  according  to  andent  usage.  On  paytag  a  visit 
to  the  a<yoining  village,  we  found  the  honees,  so  napto* 
mising  without  to  be  exceedingly  dean  within. 

At  about  ten  o'clock  this  morning,  the  weather  Im* 
came  bright  and  propitious,  and  we  set  out  for  the  OMtro. 
The  road,  or  bridle-path,  winds  among  hills  oovered  idth 
volcanic  remains.  For  some  distance  before  approeoh- 
ing  the  town,  the  hills  abound  in  excavations,  many  of 
which  are  need  as  stordiouses,  or  as  places  of  refott  ftr 
shepherds  and  their  flocks ;  others  are  partially  <£oked 
up ;  but  those  which  have  been  recently  opened,  isd 
they  are  numerous,  are  ft%%  fiwm  mbbid^  and  hy  their 
internal  arrangement,  show  for  what  purpose  they  have 
been  originally  formed.  They  are  auadrangular,  and 
on  either  side  and  at  the  extremity  of  ttie  exoavatioMsn 
tiers  of  sarcophagi,  hollowed  out  of  the  rock,  sad  dis- 
posed with  architectural  reguhtfity.  Somaof  the «hiB- 
hers  oontain  six,  some  nine,  or  even  more,  of  thssi  fest* 
ing-places  of  the  departed.       .... 

After  visiting  several  of  these  fomUy  tonbs,  we  w«tt  to 
pay  our  respects  to  the  governor,  whose  residenM  i^ 
situated  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  the  Castro  stisds. 
In  his  house  we  were  received  with  the  same  plMonl) 
but  ahnost  obsolete,  etiquette  which  had  been  exeroised 
to  us  the  day  preceding  at  that  of  Uie  direotor  sf  tbi 
customs.  His  government  includes  the  islsaito  « 
Siphno,  Argentiere,  Siphanto,  and  Polyeandro.  Net- 
withstanding  80  respectable  an  extent  of  rale,  he  setf* 
disposed  to  look  upon  his  government  as  a  sort  of  exi^ 


*  The  title  of  Hadji  ii  aeramed  by  those  who  have  tint^ 
the  Hely  Sepulchre,  and  ii  inherited  by  the  eldiit  see,  vit> 
whom  it  tennioates. 


XITERAKT  B£GISTEB. 


40g 


M  it  debftM  hitt  from  giriiig  to  his  ehildren 
the  educstion  he  would  wish.  On  my  iaqniring  whftt 
mrmmd  force  he  h»d  to  rapport  his  anthoritj  in  the 
isUnd,  he  told  me  that  he  had  one  phalangide ;  and  that 
mrmi  of  Ms  aaiiBtanoe  he  had  little  need,  his  rahjeots  be* 
ing  T«i7  orderly,  and,  moreorer,  so  dooUe,  that  when  any 
irregularity  oooimd,  he  had  only  to  send  an  order  to 
^le  csl^it  to  go  to  prison,  and  forthwith  to  prison  he 
went. 

From  the  house  of  the  goremor,  accompanied  by  him, 
we  went  to  that  of  the  French  consul,  by  whom  we  were 
rtoeived  with  mncfa  kindness  and  poUteness.  The  hon* 
oaxm  ef  his  house  were  performed  by  a  daughter  of  great 
beauty,  who  acquitted  herself  of  the  duty  with  a  simple 
grace,  which  could  scarcely  be  excelled  among  the  most 
accomplished  of  the  fair  daughters  of  my  own  country. 
In  those  parts  of  the  Levant  where  the  light  of  woman^s 
countenance  is  not  hidden  within  the  precincts  of  the 
harem^  there  is  an  extreme  gentleness  and  almost  sub- 
missiTeness  in  the  deportment  of  the  sex,  whiohi  when 
accomiMknied  by  grace  and  beauty,  tell  forcibly  upon  the 
feelings  of  the  wanderer  from  western  climes. 

I  return  from  this  digression  to  the  visits 
of  the  day,  and  to  the  house  of  the  Chevalier  Brest. 

Though  of  French  desoent,  and  the  representative  of 
that  nation,  he  can  hardly  be  looked  upon  as  a  French- 
man,having  been  bom  in  one  of  the  isUnds  of  the  Arohi- 
pehuro,  and  educated  at  Constantinople.  He  is  also 
wedded  to  a  Greek  lady,  the  mother  of  our  beautifol 
friend,  and  of  three  other  daughters  celebrated  for  their 
personal  charms,  who  are  married  and  established  else- 
where, so  that  he  may  be  considered  as  thoroughly 
naturalized.  M.  Brest  has  been  resident  here  since 
1816;  and  while  the  island  was  yet  under  Turkish  rule, 
and  such  esporti  were  not  forbidden,  he  had  the  gratifi- 
eatlon  of  embarking  the  beautiM  Venus  of  Milo  for  the 
land  of  his  fathers.  During  the  revolution,  his  house 
afforded  shelter  to  the  ladies  of  more  than  one  distin- 
guidied  family,  and  his  assistance  was  freely  extended 
to  the  unfortunate  Sciotes  and  Moreotes  who  sought  re- 
fuge here.  I  visited  him  in  1825,  when  the  Greek  fleet 
was  lyfaig  off  the  south  coast  of  the  island,  and  it  was 
Boi  without  pleasure  that  I  found  mys^  recoguised  by 
him  ae  an  old  aoqaaintance,  despite  of  the  lapse  of  years 
and  the  substitution  of  a  palletdt  for  a  fostaneUa.  M. 
Brest's  house  is  situated  on  the  verge  of  a  lofty  perpen- 
dicular cliff,  which  overlooks  the  entrance  of  the  port. 

Pumdng  our  round  of  visits,  in  which  we  were  now 
iccompanied  by  the  Consul,  we  went  to  call  upon 
Madame  Tataraki,  widow,  of  a  primate^  who  had  exten- 
ave  possessions  In  this  island,  and  in  those  of  Serine 
and  Siphanto ;  her  son  is  afiftsmced  to  the  fair  damsel 
whose  grace  and  beauty  suggested  the  foregoing  obser- 
vations respecting  the  ladies  of  the  Levant.  She  re- 
ceived US  with  the  same  pledges  of  Eastern  hoqiitality 
with  which  we  had  been  met  elsewhere  f  with,  however, 
this  difference,  that  her  unmarried  daughters,  who  are 
said  to  be  very  beautiful^  did  not  make  their  appearance 
to  do  the  honours  of  the  house.  I  saw  them,  however, 
taking  stealthy  glances  at  the  strangers ;  an<^  notwith- 
standing the  care  they  took  to  avoid  observation,  I  had 
ilsple  opportunity  of  assuring  myself  that  they  well  de- 
serve their  reputation  as  to  beauty.  The  mother  pos- 
Besses  the  remains  of  equal  or  greater  loveliness,  and 
notwithstanding  the  peculiarity  of  her  Serphiote  costume, 
which  is  rather  opposed  to  the  acquirement  or  display 
of  graeefol  carriage,  is  altogether  ladylike  and  aristo- 
cratic in  her  bearing.  She  was  clad  in  deep  mourning, 
which  she  has  not  quitted  since  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band, who  perished  In  a  squall  between  this  and  one  of 
the  neighbouring  islands  about  five  years  ago.  Though 
the  exterior  of  Madame  Tataraki^s  residence  be  very 
unpretending,  compared  with  the  houses  of  persons  of 
the  same  r^ok  elsewhere,  tbe  interior  is  spacious,  and 
fitted  up  with  much  elegance,  and  at  the  same  time  with 
extreme  simplicity. 

After  paving  our  rei^cts  to  her,  we  ascended  by  a 
sort  of  half  street|9,  half  staircases,  to  the  highest  point 
of  the  Castro,  whidi  is  one  of  the  stations  whence  the 
pilots  look  out  for  vessels  entering  the  Archipelago.  •  • 


The  houses  at  tbe  Ca6tre  toe  very  nnpretdnding  in 
their  outward  appearance,  but  are  models  of  neatness 
and  cleanliness  within.  The  seafaring  portion  of  the 
inhabitants  is  a  fine  manly-looking  race,  and,  judging 
from  the  specimens  which  we  saw,  the  women  are  re- 
markable for  beauty.  During  our  ascent  and  descent 
through  the  town  we  noticed  ten  or  twelve  heads,  which 
in  delicacy  of  outline  realized  the  beau-ideal  of  Greek 
sculptors,  and  scarcely  less  the  dreams  of  eastern  poets, 
in  the  softness  of  the  eyes  and  the  fine  pencilling  of  the 
eyebrows. .  Two  of  these  beauteous  heads  we  saw  bend- 
ing over  an  occupation  of  a  very  humble  nature — ^that  of 
plying  the  shuttle. 

The  Venus  of  Mile  tras,  we  here  lean,  found  near  tho 
theatte  of  the  ancient  city* 

From  the  Castro  fre  descended  to  the  site  of  the  an* 
dent  city.  On  visiting  the  theatre,  I  found  it  to  be 
completely  cleared  of  the  soil  and  rubbish  in  which  it 
was  half  buried  when  I  was  last  here.  It  is  beautifully 
situated  on  the  slope  of  a  hiU.  and  the  spectators,  on 
looking  beyoud  the  scene,  would  Command  a  view  of  a 
portion  of  the  harbour,  and  of  the  coast  *beyond.  The 
seats  of  the  theatre  are  for  the  most  part  perfect,  as  Is 
idso  their  sheathing  of  ifhite  marble.  Altogether  it  is 
in  a  better  state  of  preservation  than  any  other  Hellenio 
theatre  which  has  Iwen  discovered.  The  Venus  of  Milo 
was  found  at  a  very  short  distance  fliem  it,  and  probably 
other  trearares  of  the  same  description  are  still  lying 
buried  in  the  neighbouriiood.  The  inhabitants  hold  in  a 
sort  of  superstitious  awe  the  statues  which  they  discover 
when  exoavating.  They  look  upon  them  as  personifica- 
tions of  the  genius  of  the  spot,  and  consider  it  unlucky 
to  meddle  with  them.  The  raperstitions  of  the  Hellenes 
may  be  traced  to  this  belief  in  an  intermediate  race 
between  men  and  angels,  which  prevails  both  in  the 
islands  and  among  the  mountains  of  Attica  and  of  the 
Peloponnessus. 

The  next  island  visited  was  Agios  Gioigios. 

This  island  is  inhabited  by  one  fSunily  only~rthat  of  a 
Hydriote,  who  is  also  the  proprietor  of  it.  It  was  be- 
stowed upon  his  fother  hj  a  Capudan  Padia,  to  whom 
he  had  rendered  some  signal  service,  and  who  com- 
manded him  in  return  to  name  such  rewiurd  as  it  might 
be  in  his  power  to  grant.  The  Hydriote  asked  the  ffrant 
of  this  ,iriand,  which  was  then  uninhibited,  and  his 
prayer  was  forthwith  accorded  by  the  Pacha}  who  iJso 
expressed  his  surprise  at  his  moderation.  The  grant 
was  confirmed  by  the  Porte,  and  has  remained  unques- 
tioned through  subsequent  political  changes.  Hie  son 
of  the  original  grantee  has  brought  great  part  of  the 
island  hito  cultivation,  and  it  now  yields  grain,  wine, 
and  figs  in  abundance,  besides  supporting  four  w  five 
hundred  head  of  sheep  and  goats.  The  lambs  and  the 
cheese  of  St.  George  are  esteemed  for  their  excellent 
quality,  and  in  these  and  other  produce  the  proprietor 
carries  on  an  advantageous  traffic  with  his  native 
island. 

This  ^  Lord  of  the  Isle  "  has  a  wifo  and  a  numenms 
family  of  children,  so  that  his  existence  must  be  n^er 
that  of  a  patriarch  than  of  a  recluse.  During  the  winter 
months,  his  opportunities  of  communicating  with  the 
mainland,  or  wi^  the  neighbouring  islands,  aie  very 
rare.  In  that  season  he  inhabits  a  house  which  he  has 
built  in  a  shelterod  situation  on  the  east  aide  of  the 
island ;  during  the  summer,  he  takes  up  his  quarters  in 
a  spacious-looking  building  on  the  hignest  point  of  it. 
Near  to  the  latter  is  a  very  small  chapel;  and  when  we 
were  off  the  island,  with  the  aid  of  the  glass,  we  could 
distinctly  perceive  the  patriarch  and  his  ikmily  passing 
from  the  chapel  to  the  house,  probably  returning  from 
the  performance  of  his  morning  devotions.  How  much 
more  pure  and  exalted  must  or  may  be  the  devotion  of  a 
man  so  situated  than  that  of  the  inhabitant  of  a  crowded 
city! 

Agios  Gioigios,  by  some  of  the  commentators  of  Lord 
Byron,  has  been  selected  as  the  scene  of  the ''  Corsair.*' 
There  are  many  points  of  the  island  fh>m  which  Medora 
may  be  supposed  to  have  gazed  on  the  departing  Conrad 
until 


404 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


*<  The  tender  bhie  of  that  large  loving  eye 
Qtew  frozen  with  its  gsse  on  Tacuicy/* 

I  shoald  h&Te  treated  as  a  ^  dreamer  of  dreams  "  any 
one  who,  fourteen  years  tkgp,  might  have  told  me  that  I 
dioold  ever  be  a  spectator  of  snch  ceremonies  and  scenes, 
and  pass  the  day  in  the  manner  I  hare  described  at  the 
foot  of  the  Acropolis  ! 

In  the  lecture-room  I  found  M.  Landerer,  the  royal 
professor  of  chemistry,  surrounded  by  an  attentive  audi- 
ence, composed  of  botii  middle-aged  and  young  pupils, 
to  whom  he  was  delivering  a  lecture  on  mineralogy.  He 
is  a  Bavarian,  but  is  a  perfect  master  of  the  language  of 
the  country,  in  which  his  lecture  was  delivered.  I  have 
thus  heard  an  Englishman  plead,  an  American  preach, 
and  a  Bavarian  lecture,  in  Greek,  all  apparently 
UioroQgfaly  versed  in  the  delicacies  of  the  language. 

Sir  Edgar's  travels  have  not  been  wholly  barren  of 
purely  original  information,  independently  of  the  plea- 
sure they  convey  as  an  every-day  record.  Here  is  an 
adventure  that  mi^t  raise  Lord  Monboddo  from  his 
grave,  and  which  appears  more  marvellous  than  all  the 
magic  of  f^gypt : — 

I  must  not  omit  to  state,  that  at  Heliopolis  was  ex- 
hibited to  ns  an  Arab  boy  of  four  or  five  years  of  age,  to 
whom  nature  has  been  more  liberal  than  to  his  fel- 
lows, having  bestowed  upon  him  a  veritable  Tail,  It  is 
plaoed  in  the  precise  spot  where  a  tail  ought  to  be,  is 
about  three  inches  long,  and  resembles  the  tail  of  a  pig. 
If  it  grow  with  his  growth,  by  the  time  he  reaches  man- 
hood it  will  be  a  most  inconvenient  and  extensive  ap- 
pendage. The  boj  is  in  all  other  respects  well  formed, 
and  his  oountenance  is  more  intelligent  than  that  of 
most  children  of  his  race  and  age.  I  assure  my  readers 
that  this  Tale  is  veritable. 

Egypt  has  ever  been  the  land  of  marvels  and  pro- 
digies. 

Scatfs  Tour  to  Waterloo  and  Paris,  in  1815. 
Saunders  &  Otley.    Pp.  284. 

The  volume  is  many  years  past  date.  Its  author, 
tho  Laiid  of  Gala,  aooompanied  his  eminent  namesake. 
Sir  Walter  Soott,  and  some  other  friends  and  neighbours, 
in  that  journey  to  the  Continent,  immediately  after  the 
battle  of  Waterloo,  and  while  tiie  Allies  were  still  in 
Paris,  vrith  which  the  world  has  been  acquainted  for  up- 
wards of  twenty-five  years,  from  Paulas  Letters  to  his 
Kinsfolk.  In  those  days,  everything  seen  was  fre^  or 
wonderM  to  insular  eyes.  But  if  the  interest  of  the 
realities  have  passed  away,  how  much  more  that  of  the 
en  passant  descriptions  of  a  tourist  making  no  preten- 
tions to  the  literary  power  or  grace  which  can  make 
much  out  of  slender  materials.  The  anecdotes  and  in- 
cidental notices  of  Soott,  who  by  this  time  was  in  the 
zenith  of  his  fame,  will  prove  the  most  attractive  part  of 
the  volume,  and  they  are  numerous.  Scott,  in  short, 
is  the  pivot  on  which  the  narrative  turns,  A  few  of 
these  anecdotes  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  a  book  which 
will  be  acceptable,  at  all  events,  to  the  old  friends  and 
neighbours  of  the  author.  At  Mechlin,  Mr.  Scott,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  was  present  at  the  celebration 
of  mass;  and  on  going  to  the  cathedral.  Sir  Walter  re- 
marked to  him—''  The  officiating  clergyman  might  possi- 
bly, at  first  sight,  appear  as  if  engaged  in  some  nice  pro- 
cess of  cookery,  rather  than  in  a  devotional  exercise.*' 

The  spirit  of  Na{K>leon'8  soldiery  is  finely  illustrated 
in  the  following  anecdote  : — 

Some  English  friends,  whom  we  met  with  in  Brussels, 
had  been  resident  during  these  days  of  peril,  and  de- 
scribed with  horror  the  appearance  of  the  wagon-loads 
of  wounded  men,  who  were  brought  in  rapid  succession 
from  the  field.    But  the  doors  of  the  inhabitants  were 


invariably  opened  with  the  ntmoet  readiness,  and  aH 
were  received  without  discrimination. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  French  prisoners  who  wen 
brought  into  the  town  was  unshaken,  and  their  ferodtr 
unsubdued.  They  shouted  "  Vive  rEmpereur"  ai  the 
pointof  death,and  declared  they  would  do  the  whole  wotk 
over  again—that  Napoleon  vrould  be  in  the  Chateaa  dc 
Lao  immediately,  and  Brussels  pillaged  and  burnt  a  a 
few  hours. 

The  efteeia  of  war  were  painlhlly  conspicaous  a«  the 
tourists  advanced  into  France ;  and  the  embittered  and 
mortified  feelings  of  the  people  were  at  least  as  lemaik- 
able  as  the  outvrard  signs  of  devastation,  particnlariy  <m 
the  line  of  march  of  the  Prussians.  In  Paris,  they  were 
surprised  at  the  number  of  caricatures  to  be  seen  of  Na- 
poleon and  his  friends.  In  the  ballads  sung  in  the 
streets,  the  Emperor  was  held  up  to  contempt  and  ridi- 
cule; nor  did  the  grotesque  and  awkward  English,  and 
their  uncouth  costumes,  escape.  One  day,  Mr.  Seott 
and  Sir  Walter  dined  at  a  humble  cabaret  with  M.  Qe- 
valier,  the  librarian  of  St.  Genevieve,  who  gave  them  bis 
notion  of  the  sudden  apparent  tranquillity : — 

M.  Chevalier  was  somewhat  of  an  alarmist,  and  could 
not  believe  that  matters  were  by  any  means  settled  in 
Paris,  notwithstanding  the  overwhelming  power  of  the 
allies,  and  the  ruined  condition  of  France.  The  rage  of 
party  in  the  country,  he  considered  it  impossible  to  sub- 
due. 

*  You  English,"  said  he,  «have  party  feelings,  whidi 
are  no  doubt  sufficiently  keen  and  constantly  in  action; 
but  you  have  no  idea  of  the  extent  to  which  they  ue 
carried  with  us.  You  publish  placards,  and  you  have 
processions  and  dinners,  and  you  drink  a  great  deal,  and 
make  long  speeches— et  vous  dites, '  G— d  d — n,'  (tbomp- 
faig  his  fist  on  the  table)— Sere—et  •  G— d  d— n  enoore/ 
— et  voila  tout.  En  France  c'est  different — ^bien— bien 
difl'erent.'' 

In  1831,  this  great  difierence  became  pretty  manifest; 
and  may  again,  perhaps,  before  1845.  Fifteen  years  is  a 
longinterval  in  France.  Notwithstanding  the  magnificent 
fites  and  charming  balls  given  by  the  Duke  of  Wellmg- 
ton,  and  the  other  conquerors.  Napoleon  was  not  wholly 
forgotten.  After  a  review  of  the  Allied  troops  one  day, 
Mr.  Scott  tells— 

I  observed  in  the  hand  of  a  lively  young  lady  in  the 
house,  a  bouquet  of  carnations,  which  she  seemed  to  ad- 
mire and  anange  with  much  care  and  nicety.  I  said— 
"  A  ce  que  je  crois.  Mademoiselle,  vous  avez  des  flenia 
dans  ce  joli  bouquet  la,  que  se  trouvent  dans  le  Jardin  de 
PEmpereur.*'— **  Ah,oui,  Monsieur," she  replied,  **etcela 
ne  m'  empeche  pas  de  les  admirer — eUes  sent  des  belles 
fieurs.— Je  suis  Fran^aise  d'ailleurs." 

A  little  wiHt  rien  had  been  detected  calling  out,  '^  Vive 
I'Empereur;"  on  being  pursued,  he  shouted  it  again— 
•*  Vive  I'Empereur  Alexandre." 

One  evening,  at  the  opera,  this  diverting  incident  oc- 
curred— 

The  piece  I  saw  was  Figaro,  which  was  well  got  up, 
although  the  ingenious  valet  himself  appeared  to  me 
somewhat  tame. 

A  Frenchman  next  me,  who  seemed  very  anxious  to 
show  off  his  knowledge  of  English,  said, "  He  too  old,  et 
too  cold."  The  effect  of  the  music,  however,  was  de- 
lightfhl,  after  what  we  had  been  accustomed  to  at  most 
of  the  other  theatres.  It  seemed  also  to  give  much  sa- 
tisfaction to  the  audience,  which  was  extremely  large 
and  brilliant.  The  heat  was  excessive,  and  I  was  glad 
to  leave  the  house  as  soon  as  possible  after  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  opera.  My  neighbour,  to  whom  I  have  al- 
luded, seemed  quite  overpowered  as  well  as  myself,  and 
said  to  me,  rubbing  liis  hands,  '^  I  am  starving  widheat" 
Of  course  nothing  was  left  fbr  me  but  to  as^nt  to  hia 
observation.  Shortly  before  I  took  my  departure,  his 
anxiety  to  display  his  acquirements  in  Engiishf  was  sx- 


LITERARY  REGISTER, 


40J{ 


pUined  b  J  Mff  putting  into  m  j  hand  a  card  of  his  tenns 
M  »  teacher  of  onr  langnage,  with  a  request  for  my  pa- 
tronage. 

There  is  not  ranch  more  in  the  volame  requiring  no- 
ttee,  saTe  that  Soott,  the  nearer  he  drew  to  Scotland  and 
home,  became  the  more  gaj  and  happy. 

Jmrtnfs  Q^Iopofdia  of  Popular  Medicine.  Intended 
for  DomeiHo  Use.  Pp.  860.  Simpkin,  Mar- 
shall, &Co. 

Thia  is  the  work  of  a  regularly  educated  and  expe- 
rienoed  physician,  who  arails  himself  of  every  resource 
of  medical  science  in  its  present  adranced  state,  without 
submitting  to  the  trammels  and  mere  couTentionalities 
of  hie  pvtyf^on.  It  is  no  usual  thing  to  find  the  Fellow 
of »  Royal  College  of  Physicians  candidly  confessing, 
while  lamenting  the  fact,  that  medical  skill  is  often 
baiBed  ;  and  that  the  physician  sometimes  understands 
little  more  of  the  real  causes,  nature,  and  cure  of  many 
&tal  diseases,  than  any  uninstructed  individual.  Next 
to  this  honesty,  as  proofis  of  judgment  and  candour,  we 
consider  the  importance  which  Dr.  Imray  uniformly  at- 
tribntes  to  what  may  be  called  simple  and  natural  re- 
medies and  restoratives. 

As  Dr.  Imray's  Cyclopesdia  is  noir  intended  to  instmct 
the  profession,  but  to  communicate  popular  information 
to  private  individuals,  and  form  a  work  of  reference  for 
fkmily  nse,  no  space  is  spent  in  theoretical  speculation, 
or  mere  matters  of  debate  or  curiosity.  The  causes  and 
symptoms  of  the  various  diseases  are,  in  the  first  place, 
stated  in  plain  and  intelligible  language;  next  the  treat- 
ment is  described,  with  such  explanatory  or  cautionary 
remarks  as  are  considered  necessary,  and  then  the  doses 
of  medicine  to  be  given  are  accurately  specified,  so  as  to 
be  seen  at  a  glance  in  connexion  with  the  general  treat- 
ment. Not  that  the  work  is  intended  to  supersede  the 
regular  practitioner,  but  to  afford  simple  rules  for  the 
alleviation  of  diseases,  and  for  the  preservation  of  health, 
as  often  as  circumstances  or  trivial  derangement  render 
it  prudent  to  attend  to  small  ailments,  and  inexpedient 
to  summon  the  physician.  The  Cyclopsedia,  taken  as  a 
whole,  contains  a  valuable  body  of  popular  medical  in- 
A>rmation,  without  encouraging  the  temerity  which 
would  in  any  serious  case  dispense  with  proper  advice, 
or  fostering  the  more  common  error  of  fiying  to  the  doc- 
tor if  '  the  finger  does  but  ache." 

Tke  Life  and  Labours  of  Adam  Clarley  LL.D. 

Svo.     With   Portrait     Pp.  416.      Longman 

&Co. 

This  volume  bears  no  author's  name.  It  contains  in 
substance  whatever  was  most  interesting  and  popular  in 
the  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Clarke,  which  appeared  in  three 
volumes  shortly  after  his  death  ;  and  which  purported 
to  be  compiled,  by  a  fHend  who  had  long  known  him, 
tnm  his  letters  and  journals,  aid  to  be  revised  by  his 
SODS.  The  present  volume  contains  all  that  was  essen- 
tial^ in  the  former  work,  and  ranch  indeed  to  edify  and 
to  delist  The  early  part  of  Clarke's  history,  and  his 
domestic  life,  is  that  which  vras  both  the  most  instructive 
and  the  most  charming ;  and  this  is  very  Mly  detailed  in 
the  present  volume.  We  do  not  know  any  piece  of  recent 
biography  which  we  could  more  heartily  recommend  to 
the  yonng,  than  the  Life  and  Labours  of  Adam  Ckorke. 
In  no  man-ruo  methodist  minister— were  warmth  of 
heart  and  soberness  of  mind,  strict  religions  principle  and 
f  xpansive  fhiijty,  more  happily  blended.    He  must  hare 

?t0.  a  I. — TOL.  IX 


been  a  rare  methodist  parson,  who,  bom  more  than 
eighty  ^i^ars  since,  yet  knowing  what  was  in  man,  could 
judge  and  speak  vrith  tenderness  and  wise  indulgence  of 
Robert  Bubns  ;  allow  that  Napoleon  was  a  greater 
General  than  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  though  the  luck 
or  chance  went  against  him  at  last ;  and  who  could  give 
this  advice  to  a  young  preacher— ^  Acquaint  yourself 
vrith  British  History.  Bead  few  sermons  ;  they  will  do 
you  little  good.  The  lives  of  holy  men  will  be  profit- 
able to  you.  Live  in  the  Divine  Life.  Walk  in  the 
Divine  Life.  Live  for  the  salvation  of  men.*'  In  the 
spirit  of  the  above  advice,  we  commend  to  young  men 
this  Life  of  Adam  Clarke— of  a  **  holy  man  "—as  of  more 
excellence  than  many  volumes  of  even  good  sermons,  or 
school  theology. 
Brief  Notices  of  Hayti.  By  John  Chandler.  Ward. 

The  author  of  this  little  book  appears  to  belong  to  tho 
Society  of  Friends.  In  1  )89,  he  made  a  missionary  tour 
to  Jamaica,  accompanied  by  his  wife.  And  every  man 
going  abroad,  for  the  purpose  of  gathering  information 
as  to  the  social  condition  of  the  people  he  visits,  ought,  if 
possible,  to  be  so  companioned.  All  that  Mr.  Chandler 
vritnessed  in  Jamaica,  and  the  other  islands  which  he 
visited,  bore  testimony  to  the  complete  success  of  the 
emancipation  of  the  Blacks.  The  account  of  Hayti, 
where  he  spent  some  time,  is  comp<^d  in  a  plain,  sen- 
sible, unaffected  style  ;  and  contains  many  remarks  and 
hints  by  which  the  Hayteans  themselves  might  profit. 
The  young  Republic  is  still,  as  may  well  be  imagined, 
very  far  from  perfect  in  its  institutions  and  government. 
In  education,  and  in  morals,  (as  regards  the  relations  of 
the  sexes,)  the  condition  of  Hayti  is  very  low  indeed. 
But  the  work  of  amelioration,  in  public  affiurs  and  in 
private  conduct,  is  hopeftilly  commenced.  The  priests 
are,  as  usual,  busy  for  mischief;  but  the  President  is 
happily  stronger  than  the  priests  ;  and  he  is  an  enlight- 
ened man.  This  little  work  is  very  well  worth  reading, 
both  for  its  spirit,  and  the  specific  infermation  which  it 
contains. 
CreoUana^  or  Social  and  Domestic  lAfe  in  Barha- 

does.    By  John  Ordeson.    Saunders  &  Otley. 

A  tale,  written  by  a  native  of  the  West  Indies,  is  made 
the  vehicle  of  a  description  of  what  colonial  life  was 
sixty  years  since.  It  is  homely  enough  ;  but  evidently 
accurate  and  tmthftil  in  representation  ;  and  it  is  con- 
sequently possessed  of  more  interest  than  many  of  those 
more  ambitious  attempts  which  depend  only  upon  style 
and  second-rate  literary  merit.  The  characters  are  felt 
to  be  literally  taken  from  the  life,  and  thus  they  please. 

Esst^sfor  Summer  Hours.     By  Charles  Lanman. 

We  cannot  guess  how  this  American  production  has 
found  its  way  to  onr  table.  The  sketches,  which  are  of 
the  school  which  Washington  Irving  has  rendered  so 
popular,  and  which  numbers  many  disciples  both  in  the 
New  and  the  Old  World,  are  pleasingly  vrritten,  and  have 
all  an  excellent  moral  design. 

Harfs  FofMy-  Work  Book. 

This  is  a  little  work  adapted  to  the  drawer  or  bag  of 
every  hbdy's  work-table.  The  authoress  teaches  how  all 
kinds  of  embroidery,  bead-work,  Berlin  work.  Chenille 
work,  and  so  forth,  are  executed  ;  all  about  patterns, 
and  every  variety  of  stitch  ;  ftom  cross-stitch  to  Gobelin 
stitch.  In  short,  Mrs.  Hart^s  book  is  the  tade  meeum  of 
the  emlffoideress,  and  the  &bricator  of  tasteful  fancy* 
works  of  cards,  beads,  Ac.,  &c. 

2L 


4oa 


LITERARY  REGISTER* 


American  Whites  and  JBlaeis.  By  £.  $*  Abdy, 
M.A.,  Fellow  of  Jesus  College,  Cambridgef  Author 
of  a  Journal,  &c.,  in  the  United  States.  Gilpin : 
London. 

Mr.  Abdy  is  beyond  question  the  most  fervent-minded 
friend  of  the  blacks  now  in  this  country.  He  imagines 
that  some  of  the  most  distinguished  periodical  publica- 
tions of  Germany  betray  a  tone  and  tendency  that  would 
justify  the  suspicion  of  a  systematic  attempt  to  deceive 
the  public  mind  on  the  subject  of  American  slavery  ; 
and  he  accordingly  takes  up  the  cudgeb  to  baffle  this 
covert  attempt,  and  plies  them  with  vigour  and  right 
good-will,  without  respect  of  persons  or  authorities. 

On  the  Use  and  Study  of  History,  By  W.  Somers 
M'CuIlagh,  LL.B.  Dublin  :  Machen.  London  : 
Longman. 

This  volume  contains  the  substance  of  a  course  of 
lectures  delivered  in  the  Theatre  of  the  Mechanics' 
Institution  in  Dublin.  They  are  necessarily  of  a  popu- 
lar character ;  but  they  display  both  power  and  fVeedom 
of  thought.  The  second  lecture.  What  it  kittory,  and 
vhat  U  not  hittorif  1  and  the  fourth.  Bow  to  read  hittorjff 
are  deserving  of  particular  commendation.  The  book 
may  be  read  with  advantage  by  young  men  everywhere; 
though  one  is  not  permitted  to  forget  that  the  author  is 
an  Irishman. 

QucBstiones  MosaicaSy  or  the  Boot  of  Genesis  com- 
pared with  the  Remains  of  Ancient  Religions, 
By  Osmond  de  Beauvoir  Priaulx.  London : 
Bohn. 

This  is  not  a  book  for  the  many.  It  is  the  production  of 
learned  leisure ;  the  ingenious  speculation  of  a  free 
inquirer,  who  imagines  that  in  the  multitude  of  com- 
mentators there  has  been  anything  rather  than  light  or 
wisdom. 

Elements  of  Astronomy.  By  Hugo  Reid. 
Oliver  &  Boyd. 
This  is  one  of  the  best  of  Mr.  Reid*s  usefhl  elemen- 
tary books  ;  compendious  and  yet  full ;  scientific  and 
clear  in  arrangement.  The  treatise  is  illustrated  by  nu- 
merous diagrams  and  wood  engravings  of  the  heavenly 
bodies,  very  neatly  executed,  and  will  be  found  highly 
worthy  of  the  attention  of  teachers,  and  of  those  who  are 
endeavouring  to  instruct  themselves  in  the  most  elevating 
of  all  the  sciences. 

A  Few  Words  to  Cadets^  and  other  Young  Persons^ 
proceeding  to  India,  By  Henry  Kerr,  a  retired 
Officer  of  the  H.E.I.  Company's  Military  Ser- 
vice, and  formerly  Commandant  of  Gentlemen 
Cadets  in  Fort-William,  Calcutta.  Second  Edi- 
tion. Allen  &  Co. 
A  usefbl  manual  for  youths  proceeding  to  India,  among 

whom  good  advice  is  generally  much  wanted. 

Works  of  the  Honourable  and  Very  Reverend  Wil- 
liam Herbert^  Dean  of  Manchestet\  S^c,  S^.  With 
Additions  and  Cori-ections  by  the  Author.  2 
volumes,  octavo,  cloth.  London :  Bohn. 
The  author  of  the  works,  of  which  th^  present  is  a  new 
and  corrected  edition,  has  long  enjoyed  a  high  reputation, 
as  an  accomplished  general  scholax  aad  an  eminent  oriti- 


oal  lipgoist,  besldei  his  pretensiens  M  ^  original  pQf  C 
and  as  one  more  skili^  in  northern  literature  and  anti- 
quities than  many  of  his  contemporaries  who  have  made 
this  branch  of  knowledge  a  professional  study.  His 
translations  of  the  relics  of  the  Icelandic  and  Scaadina* 
vian  poetry,  have  long  been  admired  by  all  Gothic  Eing- 
lish  readers  for  their  fidelity  and  spirit.  The  present 
edition  comprehends  all  these  translations,  as  well  as 
Mr.  Herbert's  original  poems,  with  the  exception  of 
AttUa,  which  appeared  not  long  since  in  a  separate 
volume  of  the  same  size  with  this  edition.  Three  sup- 
plemental Books  of  that  epic  appear  in  this  collection, 
and  also  the  author's  learned  reviews ;  thus  rendering 
the  works  complete,  with  the  exception  of  certain  trea- 
tises or  essays  on  Botany  and  Natural  History.  Mr. 
Herbert's  works  are,  however,  not  for  the  many,  though 
a  desirable  addition  to  the  stores  of  a  scholar,  a|xd  of 
every  gentleman  aspiring  to  form  a  library. 


History  of  Christian  Missions,  from  the  Reforma- 
tion TO  THE  present  t|me.  By  James  A.  Huie.  Oliver 
&  Boyd. — An  interesting  epitome,  compiled  with  pains 
and  ability. 

Lsctpres  on  Palbt,or  the  PaiNaPLEs  of  Moealitt  ; 
designed  for  the  use  of  Students  in  the  University, 
liondon  :  Cadell. — A  useful  synopsis. 

Lectures  on  Locke,  or  the  Principles  of  Logic; 
designed  for  the  use  of  Students  in  the  University. 
XiOndon :  Cadell. 

Course  op  Civil  Enginberino,  comprising  Pbuie 
Trigonometry,  Surveying,  and  Levelling,  &c.,  Ac,  de- 
signed for  the  use  of  Engineering  Colleges,  Schools, 
Practical  Engineers,  and  Land  Proprietors.  By  John 
Gregory,  Esq.,  Civil  Engineer.  Dublin  :  Machen.  Lon- 
don :  Simpkin,  Marshall,  &  Co. ;  and  Longmans. 

The  Religious  History  op  Man,  in  which  Religion 
and  Superstition  are  traced  from  their  source.  By  D. 
Morison.    Second  Edition.    Smith  &  Elder. 

Protestantism.  Five  Lectures  delivered  by  John 
Gordon  in  Coventry.    Whittaker  ^  Co. 

The  Book  of  Thought.  Bull :  London. — This  is  a 
commonplace  book,  or  selection  of  observations  and  pas- 
sages on  morals,  manners,  character,  &c.,  &c.  No  com- 
pilation of  the  kind  can  be  without  merit ;  and  this  has 
its  competent  share  of  wisdom,  philosophy,  good  plain 
sense,  and  also  make-bulk,  or  book-making. 

A  Treatise  on  Fresco,  Encaustic,  and  Tempera 
Painting:  Being  the  substance  of  Lectures  delivered 
at  the  Society  of  British  Artists.  By  Eugenie  LiUilla. 
— This  is  a  work  for  artists,  but  particularly  for  decora- 
tive artists,  though  persons  intending  to  have  their 
houses  finished  in  the  styles  treated  of,  may  receive  use- 
Ail  hints  from  the  perusal  of  the  Lectures. 

A  Treatise  on  Land-Survetino  and  Levblung,  4e., 
&c.  By  Henry  James  Castle,  Surveyor  and  Civil  Engi- 
neer, Lecturer  on  Practical  Surveying  and  Levelling  to 
King's  College,  London.  Simpkin,  Marshall,  &  Co. — TUs 
gentleman,  feeling  the  want  of  an  elementary  treatise  or 
class  book  for  his  pupils  while  a  lecturer  at  King's  Col- 
lege, compiled  this  work  for  their  use ;  and  he  reason- 
ably concludes  that  it  may  be  found  equally  useful  to 
those  who  are  studying  either  land-surveying  and  level- 
Ihig  in  other  Institutions,  or  by  themselves. 

Manual  of  the  Scothsh  Stocks  and  Britivb  Fimss. 
By  John  Reid,  Stockbioksr.    Fourth  Edition. 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


40T 


NEW  NOVELS  AND  ROMANCES. 

JTaiker  Omnell    By  the  O'Hara  Family.    3  vols. 
London :  T.  C.  Newby. 

We  deeply  regret  that  Mr.  Baniro's  latest,  and,  as  it 
appears  at  a  cursory  glance,  most  perfect  Irish  story, 
has  reached  os  at  so  late  a  period  of  the  month,  that  we 
can,  at  present,  do  uo  more  than  herald  its  appearance, 
and  inform  the  admirers  of  imaginative  works,  of  the 
rich  banquet  that  awaits  them  in  this  bright  creation  of 
original  genius. 

TVewor  HastingM  ;  or,  th4  BaUle  of  Tewke^ry,  By 
the  anthor  of  '^  Henry  of  Monmouth."  3  vols. 
Saunders  &  Otiey. 

This  is  an  entertaining  historical  romance,  which  be- 
sides possesses  the  secondary  advantage  of  forcing  the 
students  of  the  circulating  library  to  know  something  of 
English  history,  and  of  historical  personages,  whether 
they  will  or  not.  The  story  shows  one  or  two  sturdy, 
and  boldly-outlined,  genuine  English  characters.  We 
have  read  the  romance  with  great  pleasure.  There  is 
life  and  fteshness  in  it. 

Scftnm.    By  the  Author  of  «  Hardness."     In 
3  vols.     Saunders  &  Otley. 

The  novel  with  this  queer  name,  the  symbol  of  a  facile, 
go<Ki-uatured  young  Baronet,  as  llnrdnea  was  that  of  a 
cross,  harsh,  obstinate  old  Earl,  is  one  of  those  clever 
dnmbie-ikatnbU  narratives,  which,  without  previous  de- 
sign, or  much  expense  of  thought,  a  man  of  lively  talents, 
and  general  information,  though  of  the  superficial  kind, 
who  is  conversant  with  the  topios  and  the  mixed  society 
of  the  day,  may  put  together  in  such  a  way  as  to  be  ex- 
ceedingly amusing.  One  who  has  nothing  else  very  press- 
ing to  do,  will  not  think  of  laying  the  book  down ; 
bnt  once  read  and  laid  down,  few  will  think  much  about 
taking  it  up  again.  There  are  books  which  are  like  plea- 
sant companions  in  a  mail-coach,  or  at  a  table  d'hSte. 
They  serve  to  speed  the  hour  agreeably,  and  that  is 
praise  enough.  There  is  a  very  cleverly-sketched  Irish 
servant  of  the  old  school  of  low  comedy  ;  but  he  becomes 
a  bore  from  being  too  often  obtruded.  The  tragic  scenes 
hare  dramatic  force  ;  and  the  hero,  the  personification  of 
Softnesgy  is  a  higher  and  as  truthful  a  conception,  with 
much  more  to  commend  him  to  the  sympathies  of  readers, 
than  the  rugged  unnatural  monster  of  the  pretions  novel, 
Hardneu, 

NEW  POEMS. 

Of  these,  having  mn  deeply  into  arrears,  many  volomes 
DOW  lie  before,  us.  In  endeavouring  to  render  all  the 
poets  and  versifiers  whatever  small  measure  of  justice 
was  in  our  power,  we  have  unfortunately,  by  attempting 
too  mneh,  failed  in  everything  ;  and  must  now  be  con- 
tent with  publishing  little  more  than  a  catalogue  of  the 

latest   additions   to   English  verse. Wordsworth 

claims  the  first  place,  if  it  be  not  too  great  a  liberty  to 
place  him  even  at  the  head  of  the  ordinary  tnneftil  bro- 
therhood. 

Poems  chief lv  of  EarlV  and  Late  Years,  includmg 
the  Borderers,  a  Tragedy:  By  William  Words- 
wortM.  Moxon. — The  far  largest  divisions  of  this  new 
volnme  consist  of  poems  of  early  date  ;  but  marked  by 
the  peculiarities  and  characteristics  of  the  poet  in  the 
toatturity  of  hik  genitis.    Thd  first  piece,  G^ift  and  Sor- 


row, or  Incidents  upon  SalUhurj/  Plain,  is  a  long  desul- 
tory tale,  which  cannot  take  away,  nor  yet  add  much  to 
the  poetical  reputation  of  the  author  of  12««A  and  Michael, 
The  volnme  concludes  with  the  Drama ;  which  was  com- 
posed, like  the  Tale,  more  than  forty  years  since,  and  is 
now  given  to  the  world  by  the  author,  to' spare  his  suc- 
cessors the  task  of  deciding  on  its  fate.  It  was  never 
intended  for  the  stage.  It  is  without  passion,  and  with- 
out action  :  a  tranquil,  though  deep  study  of  the  human 
heart,  in  its  most  hidden  weakness  and  perversity — 
those  which  are  not  suspected,  even  by  itself,  until  the 
temptation  and  the  hour  bring  into  light  all  its  hideous- 
ness.  A  series  of  short  Poems  and  Sonnets,  composed 
during  a  tour  in  Italy,  and  another  series  upon  Death 
Punishments,  many  miscellaneous  Sonnets,  and  a  goodly 
number  of  occasional  poems^  fill  up  an  ample  and  neat 
volume ;  which,  besides,  forms  the  Vil.  of  the  late 
edition  of  Wordsworth's  Poetical  Works.  Froin  the 
occasional  poems,  we  select  our  specimens.  Nor  will 
their  strength  and  beauty  be  their  i^ole  recommendation 
to  Scotsmen. 

AT  THE  QRAtE  0?  BURNS,  180S. 

I  SHIVER,  Spirit  fierce  and  bold. 
At  thought  of  what  I  now  behold : 
As  vapours  breathed  from  dungeons  oold^ 

Strike  pleasure  dead. 
So  sadness  comes  from  out  the  mould 

Where  Burns  is  laid. 

And  have  I  then  thy  bones  so  near. 
And  Thou  forbidden  to  appear ! — 
As  if  it  were  thyself  that's  here^ 

I  shrink  with  pain : 
And  both  my  wishes  and  my  fear. 

Alike  are  vain. 

Off,  weight — nor  press  on  weight ! — away 
Dark  thoughts  !— they  came,  but  not  to  fctay ; 
With  chastened  feelings  would  I  pay 

The  tribute  due 
To  him,  and  aught  that  hides  his  clay 

From  mortal  view. 

Fresh  as  the  flower,  whose  modest  worth 
He  sang,  his  genius  '^glinted  forth  ;" 
Rose  like  a  star  that,  touching  earth. 

For  so  it  seems, 
Doth  glorify  its  hnmble  birth 

With  matchless  beams. 

The  piercing  eye,  the  thoughtful  brow, 
The  struggling  heart,  where  be  they  now  t — 
Full  soon  the  Aspirant  of  the  plough,  ^ 

Tho  prompt,  the  brave. 
Slept  with  the  obscurest,  in  the  low 
.   And  silent  grave. 

Well  might  I  mourn  that  He  waa  gone. 
Whose  light  I  hailed  when  first  it  shone; 
When  breaking  forth,  as  Nature's  own, 

It  showed  iny  youth. 
How  verse  may  build  a  princely  tlnrone 

On  humble  truth. 

Alas  !  where'er  the  current  tends, 
Regret  pursues,  and  with  it  blends, — 
Huge  Criffel's  hoary  top  ascends, 

By  Skiddaw  seen — 
Neighbours  we  were,  and  loving  friendi 

We  might  have  been  ; — 

True  friends,  though  diversely  inclined  : 
Bnt  heart  with  heart,  and  mind  with  mifld^ 
Where  the  main  fibres  are  entwined 

Thtongh  Nature*^  skilly 
May  even  by  contraries  be  joined 

More  closely  stilL 


408 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


The  tear  will  start,  and  let  it  flow; 
Thou  **  poor  inhabitant  below/' 
At  this  dread  moment — even  so— 

Might  we  together 
Hare  sate  and  talked  where  gowans  blow. 

Or  on  wild  heather. 

And  oh,  for  Thee,  bj  pitying  grace. 
Checked  oftimes  in  a  deyious  race. 
May  He  who  halloweth  the  place 

Where  man  is  laid 
Receive  thy  spirit  in  the  embrace 

For  which  it  prayed  ! 

Sighing,  I  turned  away ;  but  ere 
Night  fell,  I  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear, 
MiLBic  that  sorrow  comes  not  near — 

A  ritual  hymn. 
Chanted  in  lore  that  casts  out  fear. 

By  Seraphim. 

What  follows  is  extracted  from  another  poem,  sug- 
gested by  a  visit  made  next  day  to  the  residence  of  Bums 
on  the  banks  of  Nith— to  Elliidand  fiirm-honse  :— 


\ 


Enough  of  sorrow,  wreck  and  blight : 
Think  rather  of  those  moments  bright. 
When  to  the  consciousness  of  right. 

His  course  was  true. 
When  Wisdom  prospered  in  his  sight. 

And  Virtue  grew. — 

Yes,  freely  let  our  hearts  expand. 
Freely,  as  in  youth's  season  bland. 
When,  side  by  side,  his  Book  in  hand. 

We*  wont  to  stray. 
Our  pleasure  varying  at  command 

Of  eadi  sweet  day. 

How  oft  inspired  must  he  have  trode 
These  pathways,  yon  far  stretching  road  ; 
There  lurks  his  home  ;  in  that  abode, 

With  mirth  elate. 
Or  in  his  nobly  pensive  mood, 

The  Rustic  sate. 

Proud  thoughts  that  image  overawes. 
Before  it  humbly  let  us  pause, 
And  ask  of  Nature  from  what  cause. 

And  by  what  rules. 
She  trained  her  Bu&ns  to  win  applause 

That  shames  the  Schools. 

Through  busiest  streets,  and  loneliest  glen 

Are  felt  the  flashes  of  his  pen ; 

He  rules  'mid  winter  snows,  and  when 

Bees  fill  their  hives, 
reap  in  the  general  heart  of  men 

His  power  survives. 

Sweet  Mercy  I  to  the  gates  of  Heaven 
This  minstrel  lead,  his  sins  forgiven  ; 
The  rueAiI  conflict,  the  heart  riven 

With  vain  endeavour. 
And  memory  of  Earth's  bitter  leaven 

Effaced  for  ever. 

But  why  to  him  confine  the  prayer. 
When  kindred  thoughts  and  yearnings  bear 
On  the  fruil  heart,  the  purest  share 

With  all  that  live  t— 
The  best  of  what  we  do  and  are. 

Just  God,  forgive  ! 

For  a  pathetic  passage  referring  to  Scott's  last  mel- 
ancholy days,  and  to  the  poet  himself,  which  we  had 
marked  ou^  we  find  that  there  is  no  space  left.  It  occurs 
in  the  poem  entitled  MuHngt  near  Aquapendente. 

*ln  this  pilgrimage  Wordsworth  was  accompanied  by  his 


Poem»^Le^fendary,  l^rioai^  and  Descriptive.  By 
David  Vedder.  Edinburgh  Printing  Company. 
Cloth.    Pp.372. 

It  gives  us  much  pleasure  to  meet  the  scatterlings  of 
one  of  the  most  popular  of  our  li^g  Scottish  bardrat 
last*collected  in  a  form  worthy  of  them ;  and,  with  all  tbe 
external  aooomplishments  of  typography,  bindEDg,and 
embellishment,  laid  at  the  feet  of  her  Mijesty,  Qneei 
Victoria,  by  one  of  the  most  loyal  of  her  servants.  So 
many  of  the  poems  have,  within  the  last  ten  yeais, 
graced  our  own  pages,  that  it  might  seem  a  kind  of  n- 
fleeted  egotism,  or  indirect  compliment  to  our  own 
taste  and  discrimination,  now  to  sit  down  gravely  to  gire 
Vedder's  poems  the  praise  we  consider  due.  The  task 
of  criticism  we  accordingly  leave  to  judges  who  may  be 
presumed  more  impartial;  contented  with  announdng 
and  describing  the  work.  The  illustrations,  by  W. 
Geikie,  a  native  artist  of  very  great  merit,  are  worthy  of 
the  work.  We  believe  it  is  as  a  sentimental  and  de- 
scriptive poet  that  Mr.  Vedder  is  best  known.  His 
forte,  however,  is  humour;  in  proof  of  which,  we  select 
as  a  specimen  of  the  new  wares  of  the  volume.  The  Strtet 
AnetUmeer—tk  piece  admirably  illustrated  by  Geikie. 

Come,  crowd  around  the  stair,  gnde  fowk, 

Ye'll  get  your  fortunes  mended ; 
For  here's  a  weel-seleokit  stock. 

An'  keen  am  I  to  vend  it. — 
See  !  here's  a  shawl  for  twa  pound  three — 

Ye'U  ablins  think  I'm  boastin' ; 
As  gude  as  e'er  cam  ower  the  sea, 

rate  Persia  or  Hindostan  I 
"  A  half-crown  for't." — Are  ye  done  I 
Pm  n*m'(^— Goin' !  goin' !  gone  ! 
Here's  siller-mounted  specs  for  age, 

Frae  Lon'on  new  come  dovm ; 
For  purblindism's  a'  the  rage 

Wi'  half  the  fops  in  town; 
An'  youthfti'  ladies  sport  them  toc^— ' 

It  makes  them  look  quite  knowin'.' 
•*  A  sixpence  for  them."— Thanks  to  you ; 

Agoin'  I  goin'  I  goin' ! 

**  Another  penny." Are  ye  done  ! 

Pm  harried : — ^goin'  I  goin' !  gone  I 


Here's  fifty  yards  o'  Brussels  lace. 

Brought  luune  by  Skipper  Saunders; 
He  stowed  it  in  a  canny  place. 

When  he  came  ower  fine  Flanders ; 
It's  worth  a  guinea  ilka  yard, 

'Twad  been  a  glorious  seizure; 
But  trade  is  dnl^  an'  times  are  hard, 

I'll  gie  you't  at  your  pleasure. 
«  Five"— "ten"— «twaU"—*«  fifteeh"-^  twenty- 
one." 
PUJUe  the  kinira*  .—goin'  1  gone  ! 

Scraps  from  the  Knapsack  of  a  Soldier^  consisting  of 
Brevities  in  Verse.  By  Calder  Campbell ;  Author 
of  the  ** Palmer's  Last  Lesson,"  "Lays  of  the 
East,"  &c.,  &c. 

Following  the  laudable  custom  which  this  season 
seems  in  vogue  among  the  poets.  Major  CampbeU,  be* 
sides  publishing  a  good  many  new  pieces,  has  collected 
his  fugitive  verses,  scattered  through  magazines  and  an- 
nuals, into  a  neat  small  tome,  and  inscribed  it  to  Leigh 
Hunt.  There  is  nothing  in  the  collection  demanding 
any  particular  notice,  as  the  character  of  his  compositions 
is  generally  known  to  the  readers  of  contemporary  poetry. 
Flowing  and  graceful,  and  more  distingui^d  by  sweet- 
ness and  amenity,  and  a  gentle  enthusiasm,  than  by  fire 
or  passion,  his  effUsions,  without  startling  or  oaptiTating  >t 


LITERARY  RBGISTER. 


40a 


first  sight,  steal  qvAtilj  into  congeuial  hearts  ;  and  with- 
out awakening  any  Tehement  emotion,  are  treasured  and 
brooded  over.  We  might  easily  find  a  more  ambitious 
■IMcimen  of  the  new  pieces  in  the  Tolume,but  none  which, 
for  Tarious  good  reasons,  is,  we  believe,  likely  to  be  more 
generally  admired  than  this 

SOHNET  TO  LEIOH  HUNT. 

Thy  heart  is  yonng,  it  never  can  grow  old. 
For  Love's  kind  dew  still  keeps  it  fVosh  and  rife 
With  pleasant  leafiness,  which  no  strife 
Hath  ever  stained,  no  cruel  craft  made  cold ! 
— To  feel  the  Beautiful  and  turn  to  gold, 
The  very  dross  of  nature,  through  thy  life 
Hath  been  thy  fond  employ :  and  sorrow's  knife 
Hath  vainly  tried,  by  gna^ings  manifold, 
To  sever  thy  true  heart  from  gentleness 
Towards  all  mankind  !  /  doubt  thee  not — I  know 
Thy  nature,  and  I  know  it  not  the  less 
That  we  have  seldom  met.    The  sunny  flow 
Of  truth  and  love  is  mantling  round  thee  there, 
In  thine  own  home,  midst  bM>ks  and  fimoies  fair. 

A  Rbooed  of  the  Pyramids.  By  John  Edmund 
Reade. — ^There  is  a  singleness  and  strength  of  purpose, 
an  earnestness  of  perseverance  about  this  gentleman, — 
which,  in  spite  of  the  coldness,  indifference,  or  the  unwise 
contempt  of  the  public  and  the  critics,  enables  him  to 
steer  ri^  onward,— and  which  commands  respect.  His 
New  Dramatio  Poem,  the  Record  of  the  Pyramidiy  we 
should  imagine  likely  to  be  not  a  whit  more  popular  than 
hia  Italy.  Whatever  he  has  written,  betokens,  at  least, 
aa  earnest  and  a  cultivated  mind,  devoted  to  poetry. 
Having  dedicated  Italy  to  Sir  Robert  Peel  out  of  office, 
Mr.  Reade  now  inscribes  the  Pyramidt  to  the  same  gen- 
tleman in  office ;  and  for  this  diverting  reason,  that  both 
Peel  and  the  Pyramids  oecupy  a  *^  transcendent  posi- 
tion," and  that  Sir  Robert,  like  the  Pyramids,  remains 
in  character  **  unchanged  and  unshaken,  through  every 
reverse  of  fortune."  We  would  not  have  our  readers 
jadge  of  the  work  by  the  dedication,-— of  the  poetry  by 
the  logic 

Laudatb  Pveei  DomnuM,  Hti»8  for  Mt  Children. 
By  T.  H.,  Esq. — ^These  are  elegant  compositions  in 
verse,  by  a  pious  Roman  Catholic.  The  volume  is  al- 
most overdone  with  pretty  embellishments,  savouring 
mightily  of  *^  Papistry."  Though  it  contains  many 
beautiful  and  touching  lessons  and  precepts,  it  may  not 
be,  in  all  respects,  fit  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  Pro- 
testaJit  children ;  but  this  we  leave  to  their  religious  in- 
stmetors. 

G18IPFU8,  or  The  Forgotten  Friend  ;  A  Play,  in  Five 
Acts.  By  Gerald  Griffin,  Author  of  the  Colle^^ans,  &c. 
London  :  Maxwell  &  Co. — This  play,  written  when  the 
author  was  very  young,  and  before  any  of  his  Talcs,  has 
bad  ilMuck,  &r8t  and  last,  with  theatrical  managers. 
Mr.  Macready,  the  patron  of  the  classic  drama,  has 
now,  however,  pronounced  a  ^  decided  opinion  in  its 
favour,"  which  we  hope  the  pnblio  voice  may  confirm. 
It  is  certainly  a  remarkable  production  for  a  youth  of 
twenty. 

Soxos  OF  THE  Sword.  By  Andrea  Ferrara,  junior. 
TuMsent :  Oxford.— The  younger  Andrea  lays  lustily  about 
him ;  his  themes  are  heroes,  war,  chivalry,  and  the 
SwoRO.    The  verses  abound  in  life  and  spirit. 

TRAN8LAT10.N8  FROM  THE  German.  By  Henry  Reeve 
and  John  Edward  Taylor.— A  few  of  the  gems  of  Jean 
Paul,  Golfthe,  Novalis,  and  other  of  the  more  eminent 
Qerman  imaginative  writers  ar  j  translated  into  elegant 
English,  and  form  a  charming  little  volume. 


I  Watched  the  Heavens  J  A  Poem.  By  V.,  Author 
of  IX.  Poems. — l%is  is  a  production  of  some  mark  and 
likelihood  ;  a  poem  m  the  Spenserian  stanza,  and  of  the 
school  of  Shelly,  without  the  objectionable  tendency 
which  his  poetry  is  imagined  by  some  to  possess. 

Poems  from  Eastern  Sources  ;  The  Steadfast 
Prince,  and  Other  Poems.  By  Richard  Chenevix  Trench. 

Poems,  to  which  is  added  Belmour  House — a  Play 
not  divided  into  Acts.  By  G.  K.  Mathews. — A  queer 
rigmarole  production. 

The  Bath  Subscription  Ball.— A  dUto^  ditto  to  the 
above. 

C0N8CISNCB.    An  Essay  in  blank  verse. 

The  Lot  of  Mortauty,  and  Other  Poems.  By  the 
Rev.  Adam  Nelson,  M.A. 

Hymns.    By  Thomas  Harit. 

Select  Poetry  for  Children.  By  Joseph  Payne« — 
A  nice  little  book. 

SouTUDE,  A  Poem  ;  with  Other  Poems.  By  George 
Wingfield,  Esq.    Saunders  &  Otley. 

Scenes  of  Jot  and  Woe.    By  Evan  Rhyse. 


PAMPHLETS. 

The  Diffusion  of  Poutical  Knowledge  among  the 
WoRSiNo  Classes.  An  address  delivered  before  the 
members  of  the  Bradford  Reform  Club.  By  Samuel 
Smiles,  M  D. — The  time  has  not  long  gone  hj  when  it 
was  dangerous  to  teach  working-men  to  read  or  write. 
What  use  had  labourers  for  more  knowledge  than  their 
pastor  conveyed  to  them  on  Sundays,  save  to  make  them 
discontented  with  their  condition,  and  disrespectfhl  to 
their  superiors  1  The  same  prejudice  which  then  existed 
against  giving  education  of  any  sort  to  the  people,  still 
exists  against  their  making  politics,  to  them  a  most  im- 
portant branch  of  morals,  the  subject  of  their  studies. 
But  it  too  must  give  way.  The  people  are  educating 
themselves  in  politics,  as  in  other  departments  of 
knowledge;  and  Dr.  Smiles  is  among  the  best  of  their 
assistants.  His  Address  embodies  many  of  those  en- 
lightened yet  sober  \iews  which  should  guide  the  people 
in  their  onward  progress. 

Frankham's  Discourse  on  the  Enlarged  and  Psn- 
DULOus  Abdomen,  with  Cursory  Observations  for 
THE  Use  of  the  Dyspeptic    Second  Editim.    Auc- 

MENTED    BY   A    DISSERTATION  ON  GoUT.      LoUgman  &  Co. 

— We  thought  well  of  this  work  on  its  first  appearance, 
and  certainly  do  not  consider  it  deteriorated  by  the  ad- 
ditional matter.  All  that  we  need  now  say  is,  that  the 
entire  treatise  may  be  studied  with  advantage  by  those 
**  with  fair  round  belly  with  good  capon  lined,"  but  will 
be  of  very  little  use  at  present  to  the  Paisley  weavers. 

Thoughts  on  the  Relative  Value  of  Fresco  and  Oil 
Painting,  as  applied  to  the  Architectural  Decora- 
tions of  the  Houses  of  Paruament.  By  B.  R.  Haydon. 
— Mr.  Uaydon*s  opinions  on  this  subject  are  already  well 
known.  The  TkoH^  are  the  substance,  or  probably  the 
entire  body,  of  a  discourse  lately  read  by  him  at  a  meet- 
ing of  the  Royal  Institution,  Albemarle  Street.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  his  suggestions  and  exhortations  may 
have  some  effect  in  the  proper  quarter. 

**  No  Popery,"  the  Cry  Examined.— The  spirit  of  this 
pamphlet  is  contained  in  the  following  sentence  Arom  Dr. 
Price,  which  forms  its  motUv— **  The  essential  spirit  of 
Popery  has  been  retained  under  a  Protestant  name ;  and 
the  consequence  has  been  distraction  to  the  state,  and 
iormality  and  worldly-mindedness  to  the  church." 


410 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


Hints  iLLUSTRAtlVE  of  ttjO  1)UTT  Of  D18SENT.     By  the 

Rev.  Thomas  Binney. 

Lord  Brougham's  Speech  on  the  Income  Tax  ;  deli- 
rered  in  the  House  of  Lords,  March  17  th.  Hooper : 
London. 

Remarks  on  Prevailing  Errors  respecting  Cdr- 
KENCT  AND  Banking. 

Plan  of  Economy  for  Government,  Farming,  Manu- 

P1CTURB9,  AND  TrADB. 

A  Letter  to  George  Comde  on  the  suMect  of  his 
Ebsat  on  the  Constitution  op  Man.  By  one  of  the 
People. 

Principles  op  Monet,  with  their  Application  t*) 
THE  Reform  op  the  Currency  and  Banking,  and  to 
the  Relief  of  Financial  Difficulties.  By  John  Wade. 

The  Rebel  Provost,  or  the  Two  Citizens.  By  Argus. 

Speech  of  Cornelius  Mathews  on  International 
Copyright.  Delivered  at  the  Dinner  given  In  New 
York  to  Mr.  Charles  Dickens.— The  toast  which  this 
speech  preluded  will  explain  its  ohject.  **  An  Inter- 
national Copyright : — The  only  honest  turupike  between 
the  readers  of  two  great  nations  1** 

SERIAL  WORKS. 

BucKWooD'ft  Standard  Novels.— G alt's  Works. 
— We  notice  with  much  pleasure,  that,  in  a  re-issue  of  a 
series  of  popular  novels,  the  publishers  have  commenced 
Blackwood's  Standard  Novels  with  the  fictions  of 
Qalt.  It  seems  not  a  little  strange,  but  such  we  believe 
is  the  fact,  that  for  a  number  of  years  a  Scotchman 
could  not  have  procured  a  copy  of  the  Annals  of  the 
Parish,  the  Ayrshire  Legatees,  or  The  Provost,  in  all 
Britain,  for  love  or  money.  He  might  have  been  more 
fbrtunate  in  America.  What  the  cause  of  obstruction 
might  be,  we  do  not  pretend  to  guew ;  but  we  trust  that 
St  was  anything  save  the  deadness  or  indiiference  of  the 
public  to  those  genial  and  racy  fictions,  which  stamp 
Gait  as  the  true  De  Foe  of  Scotland.  In  their  own 
place,  his  stories  are  as  purely  national  in  costume,  and 
as  catholic  in  spirit  as  are  Don  Quixote,  Tom  Jones,  or 
Old  Mortality.  How  much  will  Scotland  have  lost  of 
all  that  is  finest  in  the  national  character,  before  the 
time  shall  come  when  Gait's  stories  can  no  longer  be 
understood  and  relished  !  But  this  is  to  contemplate  an 
impossibility  ;  to  dream  of  a  period  in  which  Bums  and 
Soott,  and  the  language  in  which  their  writings  are 
embalmed,  have  been  forgotten.  The  unrivalled,  in  his 
own  walk,  and  uniqve  merits  of  Gait  as  a  fictionist  were 
at  once  acknowledged  by  his  contemporaries,  though 
^ey  have  never  yet,  in  our  opinion,  been  sufilciently 
appreciated.  It  therefore  gives  us  great  satisfaction  to 
find  that  this  cheap  and  neat  edition  of  the  best  of  his 
works  may  give  the  world  another  opportunity  of 
Judging  of  his  claims,  and  perceiving  his  beauties.  His 
friend.  Dr.  Moir  of  Musselburgh,  (Delta,)  has  prefixed 
a  memoir  to  the  stories,  written  in  a  spirit  which  en- 
titles him  to  the  gratefhl  regards  of  the  admirers  of 
Gait's  genius.  The  biography  is,  on  the  whole,  a  pain- 
fhl  record — for  when  was  the  history  of  genius  all  felici- 
tous t — but  it  is  not  without  instruction  ;  nor  is  our  pity 
our  tender  commiseration  the  less  due,  that  many  of  the 
difficulties  with  which  Gait  was  doomed  to  struggle  in 
his  later  years  were  partly  attributable  to  his  own  im- 
prudence. 

Besides  the  best  of  Gait's  novels,  this  new  seiies  al- 
ready oomprehendt  Mr.  Lobkhirfs  VaUriui,  a  classic 


and  beautiftil  work;  and  the  more-popular-in-it«-<iAy 
Tom  Cringle's  Log,  It  is  exceedingly  neat  as  a  work, 
besides  its  more  sterling  merits. 

The  Adbotsford  Edition  of  the  Waverlet  Novels. 
Part  I.  — In  this  Pictorial  Edition  of  the  Waverley 
Novels,  we  hail  Scott's  proudest  monument.  It  is  one 
not  confined  to  his  native  city,  nor  to  any  locality,  bot 
raised  in  a  form  that  makes  it  fit  to  be  included  amoof 
every  man's  household  treasures.  It  is  intended  tht 
the  Abbotsford  Edition  shall  comprehend  whatever  U 
connected  with  the  personal  history  of  Scott  and  his 
friends  that  can  enrich  and  embellish  his  fictions,— 
such  as  fkmily  and  historical  portraits ;  fao-similes  of 
hand-writings,  landscapes,  architectural  desigss,  and 
the  many  objects  of  art  or  of  antiquarian  intereit— 
weapons,  old  armour,  and  the  "  fouth  of  auld  nick- 
nackets,"  which  he  had  accumulated  at  Abbotsford.  The 
Part  before  us  contains  Scott's  general  prefkee  to  the 
first  collected  edition  of  his  Works,  to  what  be  called 
the  Magntm  Opvs ;  and  fragmenU  or  detached  passages 
of  hinte  and  ttudies  for  Waverley  and  other  Worb,  to- 
gether  with  the  first  five  ohapters  of  that  romance.  The 
Pirt  is  profVisely  embellished.  The  ArontSspieet  ii  t 
well-executed  steel  engraving  by  William  Miller,  of 
Edinburgh,  of  a  view  of  the  Vale  of  Menteith,  the  mcmn- 
tains  of  the  Trosachs  in  the  distance  ;  and  each  seetiofl 
and  chaptar  has  appropriate  head  and  tail-pieees.  None 
of  them  is  more  interesting  than  Scott's  comfortable 
modem  easy-chair,  over  which  is  throwh  his  dieplierd's 
nutnd ;  and  by  which  lie  his  walking-stick,  his  itroog 
shoes,  and  gaiters,  as  if  placed  in  readiness  ibr  bis  daOj 
ramble  through  his  moors  and  young  plantations.  The 
most  eminent  British  artista  have  deemed  themselvei 
honoured  in  contributing  to  the  beauty  and  perfection  of 
this  edition,  and  in  having  their  names  associated  with 
it ;  and  original  portraita  and  every  kind  of  relic  ponn 
in  so  fVeely  fVom  old  Scottish  families,  that  the  difilenhj 
will  be  what  to  select. 

Martin  Doyle's  Cyclop jedi a  op  Paacticil  Hcs- 
BANDftY  AND  RuRAL  AFFAIRS.  Part  I. — A  sscond  and 
augmented  edition  of  this  work  is  appearing  in  Partf. 
We  presume  that  ita  utility  as  a  manual  is  not  a  whit 
impaired  by  the  lively  manner  in  which  it  is  written. 

Knight's  Pictorial  Suaksperb.  Part  XLIII.- 
This  Part  is  occupied  with  an  account  of  the  plap 
ascribed  to  Shakspere,  namely,  Loerine,  Sir  Joh»  OU- 
eatde,  The  Pttritan,  The  Life  and  Death  of  Lord  Tkom* 
Cromwell,  The  London  Prodigal,  and  A  Yorkshire  Tra- 
gedy, Specimens  arc  given  firom  the  best  of  these 
dramas.  Mr.  Knight  concludes  that  none  of  them  ooold 
have  been  written  by  Shakspere  ;  and  on  all  qnestiooi 
regarding  Shakspere,  his  opinion  is  entitled  to  the  ntaort 
deference. 

England  in  the  Ninetbenth  Century.  Part  V. 
Northern  Division:  Lancashire.  Part  V.  Soathen 
Division:  Cornwall. —  County  and  fiunily  history,  ol^ 
stories  and  traditions,  and  a  lively  personal  narratiTe  of 
the  adventures  met  with  while  in  quest  of  them,  render 
this  a  delightf\il  work,  independently  of  its  embeUidi' 
mcnts,  which  are  appropriate,  fine,  and  numerona 

Winkle's  Cathedrals. — This  elegant  work  ia  now 
completed  by  the  publication  of  the  56th  Part.  U  nH«* 
long  keep  an  honoured  place  among  those  works  in  which 
Art  becomes  the  gracefhl  handmaiden  and  the  popnl^ 
minister  to  national  feeling,  and  venerable  antiqaitf. 

Le  Keux*8  Memorials  op  Cambridge,  Parts  26,  ^t 
28.— These  Partfe  contain  ntunerons  views  otJesm  €^ 


UTERARY  REGISTER. 


411 


and  Si>  Pftej^t  ColU^e,  with  the  nsnal  historical  and  de- 
scriptive accounts  of  the  buildings,  from  the  pen  of  Tho- 
mas Wright,  Esq.,  and  the  Rev.  H.  Longueville  Jones, — 
both  of  Cambridge. 

Elements  op  Electro-Metalldbgt  ;  ob,  The  Art 
OF  Working  in  Metals.  By  Alfred  Smeer,  F.R.S. 
Second  Edition.    Parts  I.  and  II. 

Elementary  Perspective,  divested  of  technicali- 
ties. By  T.  J.  Rawlins,  Professor  of  Drawing  and  Per- 
spective. 

Facts  and  Figuhes.  Nos.  VIII.  and  IX. 

Chambers's  Information  for  the  People.  Part 
XVII.     Arithmetic,  Geometry,  &c. 

Christian  Miscellany.    Part  IV. 

Thornton's  History  of  the  British  Empire  in  India. 
Vol.  III.    Part  I. 

Inquiry  i.nto  the  Principles  of  Political  Justice, 
and  its  Influence  on  Morals  and  Happiness.  By 
William  Godwin.    Part  I. 

The  Year  Book  of  Facts  for  1842  ;  with  a  Portrait 
of  the  late  Dr.  Birkbeck.    Pp.  288.    Tilt  &  Bogue. 

Cumming's  Foxe's  Book  of  Martyrs.  Part  XII. 
With  a  portrait  of  Bishop  Ferrars,  and  other  embellish- 
ments, scenic,  and  of  costumes. 

The  British  Minstrel,  and  Musical  and  Literary 
Miscellany. — This  is  a  new  Glasgow  publication,  very 
neatly  got  up.  It  contains  in  each  penny  number,  one 
good  popular  song  with  the  music.  We  say  good,  at  least 
for  the  three  that  we  have  seen.  The  rest  of  the  pages  are 
occupied  with  anecdotes  and  facts  connected  with  Mu- 
sic, extracted  from  books. 

The  Practical  Mechanic  and  Engineer's  Maga- 
zi:ts.    First  Half- Volume.— This  scientific  journal  is 


published  in  Glasgow,  an  appropriate  locality  for  such  a 
work.  It  is  conducted  with  ability  and  spirit,  and  will, 
we  hope,  meet  with  the  encouragement  which  it  deserves. 

Annual  of  the  Grand  Caledonian  Curling  Club,  for 
1842. — This  is  a  report  of  the  meetings  of  all  the  Curling 
Clubs  in  the  world,  we  presume,  that  were  held  during 
the  last  year ;  and  also  of  numerous  recent  Cuf  ling 
Matches. 

Pictures  of  Popular  People  ;  or.  Illustrations  of 
Human  Nature.  By  the  author  of"  Random  JlecoUec- 
tions."  No.  I. — Sketches  of  this  sort  demand  a  lighter 
and  more  dashing  pencil  than  that  of  the  author  of 
"  Random  Recollections  f  yet  the  Marriageable  Man  is 
not  amiss  :  and  all  the  articles  will  find  admirers.  It  is 
a  happy  provision  of  nature,  that  every  author  finds  his 
own  public  ;  the  great  difference  being,  that  genius  has 
the  power  to  create  a  public  for  itself. 


Map  of  Affghanistan,  Cabul,  the  Punjauq,  Raj- 
POOTANAH,  AND  THE  RivER  Indus.  By  Jamcs  Wyld, 
Geographer  to  the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert. — Past  and 
coming  events  will  make  this  map,  which  is  upon  a 
rather  large  scale,  of  general  interest  both  at  home  and 
in  India. 

Portrait  of  Lord  Brougham. — A  young  Artist  of 
this  city,  named  Grierson,  has  jn^t  engraved  and  pub- 
lished a  Portrait  of  Lord  Brougham,  which  makes,  at 
all  events,  the  most  agreeable  likeness  we  have  yet  seen 
of  his  Lordship.  It  is  well  executed  in  mezzotint ;  the 
plate  about  I04  inches  by  9.  It  will  be  a  desirable  and 
welcome  acquisition  to  the  numerous  admirers  of  the 
illustrious  original. 


POSTSCRIPT  POLITICAL. 


It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  prayer  for  Sir  Robert  Peel,  put  up  by  certain  ''  respectable  inhabitants  of  Kidder- 
miuister,"  is  not  all  at  once  to  be  answered.  ''  The  path  he  has  so  gloriously  entered  upon,"  is  now  pretty  well 
defined.  He  is  a  triumphant  party  minister.  No  Tory  dares  gainsay,  and  no  Whig  cares  efiectually  to  oppose 
him  on  any  point  of  vital  importance  to  the  People.  Yet  ^  the  sun  of  prosperity,  through  his  means,  under  Di* 
vine  Providence,"  has  not  yet  risen,  though  we  are  assured  it  is  '^  to  rise  upon  Old  England."  His  Sliding 
Scale  is  the  law  of  the  land  ;  and  already  he  boasts  that  the  tax  on  Com  has  fallen  from  27  to  13  shillings  a 
quarter.  Let  not  the  landlords,  however,  be  uneasy, — while,  short  of  absolute  famine,  1 3  shillings  is  as  available 
fur  a  prohibitory  duty  as  36,  and  while  no  man  finds  any  abatement  in  his  baker*s  bill.  The  Council  of  the 
Anti-Com-Law  League  seem  to  place  no  more  faith  in  the  new  Sliding  Scale,  than  in  those  alterations  in  the  Tariff 
which  relate  to  provisions.  Nor  for  a  gradual  reduction  of  prices, — which,  in  the  natural  course  of  things  must  take 
place,  unless  there  should  be  a  succession  of  bad  seasons  unprecedented  in  the  history  of  the  world, — will  they 
give  to  Sir  Robert's  Tariff  the  thanks  due  to  a  bountiful  Providence.  But  Sir  Robert  has  carried  his  new  shape 
of  Com  Monopoly  ;  as  he  will  carry  his  Tariff  in  substance,  and  his  Income-Tax  unmitigated.  And  what 
have  the  great  body  of  the  people  gained  by  these  wondrous  measures !  The  promise  of  some  shadowy 
advantage  that  may  at  some  future  time  arise  from  some  of  the  alterations  in  the  Tariff;  and  the  Ministers* 
declaratiou  in  favour  of  Free  Trade,  which  The  Spectator  reckons  as  important  as  the  Tariff  itself,  and  in  90 
doing  probably  rates  both  at  their  true  value.  Sir  Robert  is  an  admirer  of  the  principle  of  Free  Trade, — of 
Free  Trade  in  the  abstract.  Well,  this  is  something.  Neither  Lord  John  Russell,  nor  yet  Mr.  Macaulay,  have 
got  the  length  of  admiring  extension  of  the  Suffrage,  even  in  the  abstract. 

With  the  exception  of  Sir  Robert  Peel's  triumphant  procedure,  there  has  been  little  done  in  Parliament 
worthy  of  much  attention.  Mr.  Sharman  Crawford's  praiseworthy  attempt  gave  a  few  honest  men  an  opportu- 
nity of  recording  their  opinions ;  and  demonstrated  how  far  exactly  the  Whig  party  will  go— which  is  just  no 
length  at  all.  Mr.  Roebuck's  cleverly  managed  coup-de-theatre,  which  took  the  House  nearly  as  much  by  sur- 
prise— at  being  found  out— as  Lord  Castlereagh's  memorable  declaration  of  its  corruption  being  *^  notorious  as  the 
ran  at  noon-day,"  did  not  in  the  least  astonish  the  people,  who  have  long  been  perfectly  aware  of  the  existence 
of  such  disreputable  facts  as  those  disclosed.  The  candour  of  Lord  Palmerston,  and  Blr.  Buncombe's  ironical 
motion,  the  more  cutting  for  its  truth,  tell  strongly  in  Parliament ;  but  are  no  news  to  the  three  millions 
of  Chartists,  and  to  the  thrice    three  millions  of  the  English,    Irish,   and   Scotch   people,   who   view 


412  POSTSCRIPT  POLITICAL. 


1 


the  House  of  Commonfl  afi  at  present  constituted  with  little  more  respect  or  confidence  tlian  th«  Char- 
tists themselves  do  ;  and  place  Terj  little  faith  or  hope  either  in  Mr.  Roehuck's  Committee,  or  any 
other  Committee  ;  or  in  Lord  John  Rnssell's  Bribery  Bill,  or  any  other  Bribery  Bill.  To  pot  a  atop 
to  bribery  by  act  of  Parliament,  to  any  effectual  extent,  is,  in  the  psesent  state  of  the  constitnen- 
cies,  about  as  idle  as  an  attempt  to  prevent  seduction  by  a  Bishop's  bill.  The  Chartists  better  anderstasd 
thtt  vice  and  the  remedy,  when  they  say,  ^  Reform  it  altogether*'  by  granting  such  an  extension  of  the  snffiage 
as  we  crave. 

It  is  with  an  ill  grace,  and  soaie  appearance  of  inconsistency,  to  say  nothing  of  the  i^Judlcionsness  of  such  a  line 
of  conduct,  that  some  Radical  members  and  journalists  attempt  to  tluow  discredit  and  ridicule  upon  the  judgment 
and  the  tactics  of  the  Chartists,  while  professing  to  concur  in  their  objects,  and  praising  the  parity  of  their 
motives.  Sir  Robert  Peel  and  Lord  John  Russell,  who  might  be  coupled  in  a  leash  here,  and  who  would  walk 
together  lovingly,  must  have  been  peculiarly  indebted  to  Mr.  Roebnck  for  famishing  them  with  those  weapons 
of  attack  on  the  Chartists,  which  they  did  not  fail  to  employ.  The  Chartist  Petition,  whatever  be  its  defects, 
was  treated  far  too  cavalierly  by  Mr.  Roebuck.  The  document  was  entitled  to  more  respect,  not  only  as 
emanating  fh>m  a  body  of  people,  august  were  it  but  for  their  numbers,  their  sufferings,  and  their  singolar 
forbearance,  and  also  for  the  great  truths  it  embodies,  and  which  vastly  preponderate  over  what  is  erroneous  and 
equivocal.  No  man  has  a  right  to  taunt  the  working-classes  vnth  the  ill  selection  of  their  leaders,  and  make  this  an 
argument  against  their  fitness  to  exercise  the  franchise,  unless  he  can  at  the  same  time  show  that  a  better  choice  was 
in  their  power,  and  rejected ;  and  that  they  choose  their  leaders  worse  than  many  enlightened  bodies,  enjoying  the 
franchise,  do  representatives  to  Parliament.  If  the  choice  of  leaders  were  the  test  of  the  People's  intelligence,  this 
were  an  argument  for  disfranchising  two-thirds  of  the  present  Electors.  But  the  Chartists  have  no  choice 
in  their  power.  Like  other  men  in  similar  emergencies,  they  take  the  best  instruments  they  can  obtain 
for  their  immediate  purpose.  Their  confidence  may  sometimes  be  unworthily  bestowed  ;  but  it  is  placed  in 
men  who  sympathize  with  them,  and  who  have,  or  affect  to  have,  a  commnnity  of  interests  and  objects.  And 
when  have  the  people  ever  either  acted  ungratefully  to  their  real  friends,  or  rejected,  as  guides  and  leaders, 
men  of  ability,  integrity,  and  moral  weight,  who  were  willing  to  act  vrith  them,  and  for  them  !  Again,  the 
means  by  which  they  pursue  their  objects  are  severely  censured  by  those  who  never  once  condescend  to  point 
out  what  better  means  they  might  adopt.  Are  they  to  be  blamed  for  not  submitting  to  be  made  the  tools  of  a 
party,  or  even  for  interfering  vrith  party  arrangements, — ^for  creating  a  sensation  where  they  despair  of  producing 
a  moral  conviction.  The  success  of  Joseph  Sturge,  single-handed,  and  in  a  few  months,  shows  what  may  be  dose 
among  the  intelligent  people — among  the  Chartists,  by  those  on  whose  integrity  they  can  rely,  and  who  go  those 
lengths  in  reform,  short  of  which  they  can  have  no  hope  of  any  permanent  improvement  in  their  social  condition. 
And  this  is  their  great  object,  as  in  reason  it  ought  to  be.  Along  with  censure  and  reproach,  we  should  like,  at 
all  times,  to  see  practical  suggestions  for  better  plans  of  organization,  and  wiser,  though  equally  energetic 
modes  of  pursuing  their  ends. 

Disheartening  as  is  the  political  aspect  of  the  times,  and  dark  and  dismaying  as  are  the  domestic  prospects  of 
the  country,  there  are  a  few  insulated  facts,  which,  viewing  them  also  as  indications,  afford  ground  of  gratola- 
tion.  The  most  eminent  is  the  spontaneous  choice  of  Mr.  Hume,  by  the  Montrose  Burghs,  (though  to  the  distur- 
bance of  certain  well-understood  Whig  arrangements;)  and  a  sincerity  in  the  pursuit  of  real  reform,  now  evmced 
by  many  of  the  adherents  of  the  late  Whig  Government,  which  leaves  it,  as  an  Opposition,  very  far  behind.  Of 
an  organized  Parliamentary  Liberal  Opposition,  so  far  as  the  mere  Whigs  are  concerned,  there  is  indeed  no  appear- 
ance. On  party  measures,  or  finance  questions, — as  whether  it  shall  be  by  a  modified  Sliding  Scale,  or  a  fixed  duty 
of  eight  shillings,  that  the  People's  food  shall  be  taxed  ;  whether  timber  or  sugar  be  the  fairer  subject  of  taxation, 
there  is  diversity,  or  pretended  diversity,  of  opinion  ;  but  on  every  fundamental  principle, — on  everything  bearing 
on  those  organic  changes  which  Reformers  consider  vital  and  essential,  there  is  the  greatest  harmony.  In  opposing 
the  prayer  of  the  Chartists'  Petition,  the  Whig  and  the  Tory  Leader  marched  hand  in  liand,  like  the  united 
Majesties  of  Brentford,  frowningly.  In  past  times  the  Whig  leaders  might  have  urged  that  the  People  should 
be  heard  for  their  distress,  if  not  on  the  ground  of  their  fkncied  rights  ;  but  now  they  can  be  hc^tfd  in  Uie 
House  of  their  Representatives  upon  no  plea  whatever.  Mr.  Roebuck  is  so  unfortunate  as  an  advocate,  that  in 
pleading  that  their  prayer  to  be  heard  should  be  granted,  he  makes  out,  to  the  satisfaction  of  Sir  Robert  and 
Lord  John,  a  case  why  it  should  not  be  heard. 

Another,  and  the  last  of  Sir  Robert  Peel's  great  trials,  b  approaching,  in  the  attempt  to  continue  the  Whig 
Poor  Law.  The  Home-Secretary  has  officially  assumed  the  odium  of  announcing  its  continuance.  After  con- 
siderable bluster,  honest  and  hypocritical,  it  will,  by  the  aid  of  the  Whigs,  be  carried,  and,  in  &ct,  more  firmly 
fixed  upon  the  country  than  ever ;  never  to  be  shaken  off,  until  some  of  the  principles  found  in  the  Chartist 
Petition  are  not  only  discussed,  but  the  kw  of  the  land.  Having  in  a  few  months  bestowed  upon  the  People 
the  blessing  of  a  new  Bread-Tax,  a  Poor-Law  of  which  every  one  admits  the  extreme  harshness,  and  an  oppres- 
sive and  odious  Income-Tax,  nothing  more  remains  to  be  done  to  render  Sir  Robert's  first  Session  memorable  and 
illustrious,  save  the  vigorous  prosecution,  upon  a  grander  scale,  of  two  expensive  wars  in  the  East, — ^wars  wbidi 
few  venture  to  justify  in  their  commencement,  either  from  policy  or  principle,  and  which  surely  will  not  improve 
in  character,  when,  from  unwise,  aggressive,  and  wastefnl,  they  shall  also  become  merciless  and  vengefuL  TTie 
moral  sense  of  the  nation  will,  we  trust,  be  strongly  expressed  upon  this  matter,  whatever  is  sanctioned  by  the 
Parliament. 


Printed  by  William  Tait,  107,  Prince's  Street,  Edinburgh. 


TAIT' 


S 


EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


JULY,  1842. 


THE  NATIONAL  DISTRESS. 


Has  Sir  Robert  Peel,  when  looking  round  on  the 
unparalleled  distress  which  surrounds  him,  the  lei- 
sure and  the  courage  to  ask,  Where  is  all  this  to 
end  ?  to  inquire  if  the  present  is  one  of  those  ordi- 
ary  periods  of  distress  which,  from  time  to  time, 
occur  in  the  history  of  every  ill-governed  country  ; 
and  of  which  the  symptoms,  after  they  have  reached 
H  certain  height,  gradually  mitigate  and  finally  dis- 
appear, to  be  succeeded  in  a  few  years  by  another 
and  another  of  those  periodical  visitations  which 
are  tiicitly  charged  against  Providence,  and  never 
imputed  to  the  true  cause,  namely,  to  the  igno- 
rance, blindness,  and  selfishness  of  those  who  claim, 
as  of  divine  right,  to  administer  the  affairs  of  the 
world  for  their  own  advantage  ?  Is  it  this  tem- 
porary visitation,  or  is  the  present  distress  of  a  more 
inveterate  and  permanent  character  ? 

The  universal  and  dreadful  suffering  which  at 
presents  pervades  the  country,  which  is  felt  by  the 
great  body  of  the  labouring  classes  in  the  extreme 
of  privatbn,  and  among  too  many  of  them  in  actual 
starvation, — and  by  the  middle  orders  either  in  dimi- 
nution of  capital,  narrowed  means,  bankruptcy,  or 
complete  ruin;  has  this  character  to  distinguish  it 
from  former  periods  of  national  distress,  that  its  ad- 
vances have  been  insidious,  and  gradual,  but  steady. 
Often  checked  and  repulsed  by  the  enterprise  and 
onergies  of  science,  capital,  and  industry,  it  has  yet, 
during  twenty-five  years  of  peace,  been  gaining 
ground,  until  now  that  the  floods  surround  us,  and 
leave  but  little  hope  of  escape.  Do  the  men  who 
assume  to  guide  the  destinies  of  this  falling  coun- 
try, really  believe  that,  acting  upon  their  present 
system,  trade  and  commerce  will  again  revive  and 
reach  their  former  degree  of  prosperity ;  or  even  the 
btate  when  from  time  to  time  they  flourished,  in  spite 
of  bad  legislation,  through  their  ruitive  strength  ? — 
or  have  the  reflecting  part  of  the  governing  class 
quietly  made  up  their  minds  to  see  England  by  an 
accelerated  movement,  now  fairly  begun,  sink 
into  a  second  or  a  third-rate  state,  consisting  of  a 
few  overgrown  landed-proprietors  and  monied  men, 
co-existing  with  a  miserable  population  ;  without 
a  middle  order,  entirely  without  manufactures, 
and  with  only  a  scanty,  precarious,  colonial  com- 
merce, suffering  gradual  decay  and  final  extinc- 
tion ; — into,  in  short,  a  Genoa,  a  Venice,  or,  at 
best,  a  Holland  ?  For  this  result  those  of  the  aris- 
tocracy must  be  prepared,  who,  IjpIts:,'  at  ;J1  cnpal'lr 
>o.  rm.-voL.  1?;. 


of  reflection  and  forethought,  yet  cling  to  that  per- 
nicious and  damning  policy  which  has  effectually 
crippled,  and  which,  if  persisted  in,  must  shortly  de- 
stroy the  best  resources  of  the  country.  Of  the  effects 
of  that  fatal  policy,  the  much  canvassed  measures  just 
carried  by  Sir  Robert  Peel,  while  they  inflict  consi- 
derable suffering  upon  individuals  of  the  middle 
class,  can  prove  at  best  but  a  temporary  alleviation. 
And,  indeed,  altogether  the  effect  of  his  measures 
is  doubtful.  The  best  that  can  be  affirmed,  is, 
that  the  changes  in  the  Tariff,  if  they  should  do 
little  good,  can  do  no  great  harm.  No  man,  not 
even  the  author  of  these  changes,  dares  flatter  him- 
self that  such  petty  alterations  are  speedily  to 
repair  the  wide-spread  calamities  of  even  the  last 
season ;  when  distress  has  grown  to  so  fearful  a 
height,  that  even  the  wise  and  the  courageous 
shrink  from  looking  it  in  the  face ;  and  well-mean- 
ing humane  persons,  of  limited  understanding,  are 
left  to  propose  foolish  or  desperate  temporary  ex- 
pedients. The  causes  of  national  decay,  to  be  fol- 
lowed, it  is  but  too  probable,  by  social,  and,  not  im- 
probably, by  violent  disorganization,  have  been  much 
longer  at  work  than  appears  to  be  generally  sus- 
pected. The  ultimate  consequences  of  unwise 
laws,  and  grinding  taxation,  with  their  concomi- 
tant undermining  effects,  have  from  time  to  time 
been  lost  sight  of  in  the  glare  shed  by  a  fallacious 
momentary  prosperity.  But  even  those  intermis- 
sions have  become  so  rare  that  people  begin  to  de- 
spair of  their  ever  returning  again.  They  may  and 
must  still  occur,  those  seasons  of  mitigation,  once  and 
again  ;  Sir  Robert  Peel  may  reach  the  end  of  his 
power  or  of  his  life,  and  receive  the  congratulations 
of  the  country  upon  the  happy  effects  of  his  policy ; 
and  yet  while  the  present  system  is  maintained, 
there  can  be  nothing  stable  and  safe,  certainly 
nothing  happy  in  the  condition  of  a  people,  where 
the  only  alternation  known  to  the  industrious  classes 
are  whole  starving  or  half  starving,  low  wages  with 
pi'ovisions  kept  by  iniquitous  legislation  at  a  mono- 
poly price,  or  half  employment  eked  out  by  the  dole  of 
voluntary  or  extorted  charity.  Such  at  best  are  the 
future  prospects  of  English  industry  under  the  Corn- 
laws  and  the  Pari  laments  which  maintain  them.  At 
present  we  hear  of  people  living — but  this  is  an 
abuse  of  the  word— of  skilful  and  industrious  men 
langimhirrg  and  6\/inp  upon  8^d.  a-week.  Thepo 
tliinu**  nro  oppnlv  j^tn^H  in  Parliament;  and  aro 


422 


THE  NATIONAL  DISTRESS. 


not  attempted  to  be  denied  by  those  who  are,  to  a 
very  great  extent,  the  authors  of  the  misery  com- 
plained of ;  and  who  affect,  forsooth,  to  pity  the 
consequences  of  their  own  cruel  injustice,  while 
they  obdurately  refuse  to  redress  the  evils  they 
have  inflicted. 

But  times  may  mend,  may  become  prosperous, 
and    the  weekly  earnings  of  industry  may  in- 
crease to  twice,  or  thrice,  or  ten  times  8^d.,  and 
hunger  not  be  so  extreme  as  at  present  among 
the  population — the  *^  surplus  population," — how 
significant  a  phrase  is  that ! — and  yet  the  condi- 
tion of  the  people   in  those  happy,  prospective 
periods  may  still  require  amelioration.     Hitherto 
they  have  demanded  but  bare  justice :  that  their 
industry  should  be  unfettered  ;  that  they  should 
be  permitted  to  labour,  and  to  exchange  the  fruits 
of  their  labour  for  their  own  advantage,  and  ac- 
cording to  their  own  judgment,  ever  the  most  en- 
lightened guide  in  every  man's  personal  affairs ; 
that  they  should  have  some  voice  in  the  direction 
of  their  own  affairs,  and  some  fair  share  of  con- 
trol in  the  distribution  of  the  common  stock  to 
which  they  contribute  in  by  far  the  largest  pro- 
portions. These  demands  appear  reasonable  enough 
at  any  time,  when  quietly  made  ;  but  at  this  time 
when,  for  want  of  what  they  pray  for — for  want 
of  free  trade,  of  an  equal  participation  of  common 
rights,  they  say  that  they  perish,  with  what  grace, 
waving  the  question  of  justice,  are  their  prayers 
refused  ? — nay,  even  the  poor  boon  of  inquiry  into 
their  distress,  which,  though  it  could  not  improve 
their  condition,  might  soothe  their  feelings.  What 
a  strange,  blunt,  and  yet  two-edged  argument  did 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  use  when  refusing  the 
inquiry  which  Lord  Kinnard  urged  into  the  causes 
of  the  distress  !    A  Parliamentary  inquiry  might 
make  the  people  flatter  themselves  that  some  idea 
was  entertained  of  repealing  the  Bread-tax,  with  the 
hope  of  their  sufferings  being  mitigated  by  the  revi- 
val of  trade ;  and  his  Grace  was  therefore  too  honest, 
too  straightforward,  to  countenance  any  such  fal- 
lacious notion.    He  would  stick  by  the  Bread-tax  ; 
and  really,  as  he  very  truly  if  cavalierly  intimated, 
what  could  it  signify  to  the  people  what  the  price 
of  wheat  was,  when  they  had  no  money  to  buy 
bread !     The  Duke  of  Wellington,  and  those  of  his 
order  who  betray  their  callous  feelings  by  sallies 
and  inadvertencies  of  this  sort,  have  surely  no 
proper  idea  of  the  exasperated  state  of  the  public 
mind.    They  may  be  taught  a  lesson  by  and  by  ! 
The  rebellion  of  free  opinion  they  have  long  defied 
and  affected  to  despise  ;  but  "  the  rebellion  of  the 
belly"  is  a  matter  more  urgent.    The  same  mental 
power  and  activity  which  enables  a  man  to  form 
an  enlightened  opinion  upon  his  own  condition,  and 
his  political  and  social  wants,  restrains  his  conduct, 
and  ties  him  down  to  the  use  of  peaceful  means  to 
carry  his  objects;  but  blind  hunger  owns  no  such 
restraint.      There  is  nothing   doubtful,  nothing 
abstract  about  its  conclusions.    It  admits  of  no 
difference  of  opinion,   and  it  commands  universal 
sympathy.    If  the  police  at  Ennis  did  rashly  fire 
upon  a  mob  actuated  by  the  natural  impulse  of 
hunger,  all  the  rest  of  the  world  sympathize  with, 
and  endeavour  to  soothe  those  starvmg  people.  And 


what  military  or  body  of  police  conld  long  be  depend- 
ed upon  to  suppress  any  outrage  which  was  perpe- 
trated to  feed  famishing  women  and  children  ;  or  to 
prevent  food  from  being  taken  from  the  country  in 
which  it  had  been  raised,  and  torn,  as  it  were,  from 
between  the  teeth  of  the  starving  people  whose  indus- 
try had  produced  it?  The  great  landlords,  absen- 
tees or  resident,  may  indeed  go  without  their  rents, 
the  rights  of  property  may  be  invaded,  or  th« 
county  rates  may  be  burdened  to  make  good  the 
spoliation ;  but  hunger  is  a  keen  feeler,  a  bad  lea- 
soner,  and  no  political  economist  at  all.  But  if  the 
premonitory  scenes  that  have  been  witnessed  in 
Wexford,  Ennis,  Galway,  and  in  different  parts  of 
England,  should  become  general, — if  the  example 
should  spread  with  the  cause,  what  in  the  next 
winter  have  we  to  look  for?  The  bounty  of 
Heaven  gives  promise  of  a  plentiful  crop;  but  as 
the  Duke  of  Wellington,  a  very  Job's  comforter, 
pertinently  observed,  what  is  the  good  of  cheap 
bread  to  those  who  have  no  money  to  buy  bread  T 
And  where  are  they  to  get  money,  to  get  the  em- 
ployment, which — and  not  the  most  liberal  contri- 
butions of  charity,  the  most  urgent  of  Queen's 
Ws^^^g^  letters— can  effectually  help  them  even  for 
one  short  week  ?  Last  autumn  it  was  hoped  that, 
with  the  winter,  trade  would  revive.  Then  the 
dead  season  was  allowed  to  elapse ;  but  in  spring 
business  would  surely  revive.  The  hope  is  again 
deferred  ;  the  heart  is  sick  ;  for  there  is  no  rational 
ground  of  hope  of  any  general  or  effectual  resuscita- 
tion, unless  from  causes  which  it  seems  vain  longer 
to  talk  about. 

It  is  with  heart-rending  grief,  and  almost  dis- 
may and  despair,  that  one  now  opens  the  provin- 
cial papers ;  and  especially  those  of  the  districts 
where  the  signs  of  manufacturing  and  commercial 
activity  and  prosperity  were  in  former  times  the 
most  visible.  Famine — or  Famine  prices  in  Ireland, 
in  a  country  which  Heaven  has  blessed  with  an 
exuberant  fruitfulness — is  unhappily  of  no  rare 
occurrence,  though  at  present  it  aggravates   the 
sufferings  of  England  and  Scotland ;  but  putting 
Ireland  out  of  view,  over  what  an  appalling  field 
of  human  misery  may  the  eye  of  the  statesman 
range  in  England !     From  the  numerous  reports 
which  we  have  within  a  few  days  gleaned  from  the 
provincial  papers,  we  have  selected  a  few  passages 
as  a  kind  of  off-set  to  the  resistance  made  to  Lord 
Kinnaird's  motion  for  inquiry  into  the  distress,  and 
the  Earl  of  Radnor^s  for  a  temporary  suspension  of 
the  Corn-laws.    At  midsummer,  with  a  decreasing 
consumption,  and  Sir  Robert  Peel's  sliding-scale  for 
a  considerable  time  in  operation,  and  his  Tariff  called 
into  existence,  what  is  the  condition  of  the  people, 
and  what  their  prospects?  Why,  the  price  of  the  pri- 
mary necessaries  of  life  rapidly  rising  in  the  face 
of  the  promise  of  an  abundant  harvest,  and  trade 
more  and  more  depressed  every  week.     This  holds 
especially  of  the  cotton  and  linen  manufactures,  and 
of  all  mining  concerns,  which  can  hardly  be  in  a 
worse  condition  than  at  present.  In  many  localities 
above  one- half  of  the  factories  are  closed  :  in  those 
still  open,  the  work-people  have  been  compelled  to 
accept  of  such  diminished  wages  as  the  masters  are 
able  to  give  them.    The  appalling  statements  made 


THE  NATlONAt  DIStRESS. 


423 


hj  Lord  Kinnauni  in  the  House  of  PeerSy  when  in- 
troducing hifi  motion  for  inquiry  into  the  distress, 
hsye  not  been  challenged,  although  thej  hare  been 
condemned;  because  inquiry — such  inquiry  as  could 
be  permitted  by  their  lordships — should,  it  was  pre- 
determined, lead  to  no  practical  good.  Yet  these 
statements  may,  to  some,  carry  more  weight  than 
the  reports  of  local  authorities,  or  of  persons  ima- 
gined to  be  interested  in  making  out  a  case  for  the 
repeal  of  the  Corn-laws.  Having  proved  the  fall- 
ing-off  in  the  consumption  of  wheat.  Lord  Kinnaird 
adverted  to  other  articles  of  food,  which  wotit  to  be 
considered  necessaries  in  the  humblest  life,  and 
drew  his  proofs  from  different  and  far-distant  lo- 
ealities. 

The  eetuumptiou  of  groceries  and  batchers'  meat  in 
Leeds  wm  reduced  one-fourth :  bat  as  the  middle  and 
lower  elasses  probably  did  not  consume  less,  the  redue- 
tion  hadflUlen  on  the  operative  classes;  the  consumption 
of  butchers*  meat  was  half  what  it  was  in  1834.  In 
Manchester  the  reoeipts  of  the  grocers  and  butchers  bad 
fcllen  off  forty  per  cent,  hi  two  years.  In  Rochdale,  the 
quantity  of  butchers*  meat  was  not  half  what  it  was  in 
1836,  In  Dundee,  in  1836^  the  weekly  number  of  cattle 
lulled  WIS  150;  in  May,  1842,  it  was  71,  being  a  reduc- 
tion of  79,  or  more  than  one-half.  The  sales  of  bread, 
botter,  eggs,  and  sugar,  was  reduced  to  one-half.  The 
cheapest  and  coarsest  food  was  about  the  same.  The 
diminotion  in  the  consumption  of  meat  was  not  from 
dearaeas  of  price;  best  meat  ftom  November  1835,  to 
May  1836,  being  6d.  per  lb.  From  November  1841,  to 
March  1842,  it  was  sevenpence  per  pound,  and  from 
March  1842,  to  this  date,  it  was  sixpence  per  pound. 
These  statements  might  be  doubted  ;  he  was,  therefore, 
anxious  for  a  Committee,  that  he  might  show  upon 
wbat  grounds  they  were  made.  He  would  now  call 
their  Lordships*  attention  to  the  actual  state  of  three  or 
foor  of  the  principal  towns  in  England,  and  to  one  or 
two  in  SootUnd.  Manchester  had  a  population  of 
192,408.  **  The  amount  expended  for  the  relief  [of 
tbepoor  in  1836,  was  ^625,669.  In  the  year  ending 
March,  1841,  £33,938.  But  this  ffives  no  idea  of  the 
extent  of  the  distress.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Heame  steted  at 
tbe  Moference,  that  in  one  district  there  were  2000 
&milies  without  a  bed  among  them,  and  8666  persons 
whose  income  is  only  Is.  24d.  each  per  week.  The 
pocers,  butchers,  drapers,  Ac,  state  that  their  receipts 
nave  &llen  off  40  per  cent  within  the  last  two  years. 
'Hie  total  number  of  patients  admitted  into  the  dispen- 
nries  in  the  Manchester  district  during  the  last  six 
years  ending  in  1835,  was  54,000.  The  number  ad- 
nutted  during  the  six  years  of  dear  food  ending  in  1841 
JjU  196,000;  an  increase  of  more  than  300  per  oent. 
^  deaths  in  the  dispensaries  during  the  six  years 
•f  scarcity  showed  an  increase  of  1180  over  the  mor- 
tjhty  of  the  six  years  of  comparatively  cheap  food. 
^  average  daily  number  of  prisoners  in  the  New 
^ley  in  1836  was  539  ;  the  number  has  since  gradu- 
ally increased,  and  Ust  year  it  was  722.  The  number 
^mmitted  for  trial  in  1836  was  1031 ;  in  1841, 1992. 
Kmpty  houses :— 5492  untenanted  dwellings,  681  shops, 
offlcM,  4c.  :  6173  houses,  shops,  Ac,  assessed  at 
*JM6^;  116  mills,  works,  &c.  idle,  £10,926  ;  totol 
V89,  £87,094.  The  steam-power  not  at  work  is  1000 
l^uH  ^"^^^t  ^®  yearly  value  of  which  is  much  abo?e 
*100,000  of  unproductive  rateable  property."  In  Bol- 
wn,  containing  a  population  of  about  50,000,  there  are 
2«  nulls,  usually  employing  8,124  workpeople,  of  these 
^rt  are  thirty  mills,  and  5061  workpeople  either 
«»nding  idle  or  working  only  four  days  a-week.  Iron 
k  iM  *®°**°^"*  "ilJ'^«hts,and  machine  makers  :— 
^  1836,  the  number  employed  was  2,110 ;  there  are 

I  {Soo*^  P'^nt  1325  ;  discharged  785.  Carpenters 
7*0  1836,  the  number  employed  was  150  ;  at  present 
wsy  are  reduced  to  49,  leaving  101  who  are  not  perma- 
"Wy  employed.    Briduetten  ;^Ia  1836,  the  nomber 


employed  was  130  ;  at  present  it  is  reduced  to  16.  Stone- 
masons : — In  1836,  the  number  employed  was  150;  there 
are  50  employed  at  present.  The  estimated  loss  of  wages 
in  Bolton  alone,  was  £320,560  in  the  year.  What  could 
any  charitable  collection  do  towards  relieving  so  large  an 
amount  of  distress  1  But  this  had  not  come  upon  their 
lordships  suddenly  ;  it  had  been  growing  gradually. 

The  condition  of  Leeds  and  Manchester  is  a  fair 
specimen  of  the  condition  of  many  towns,  of  Glas- 
gow, Paisley,  Sheffield,  Dundee.  But  why  enume- 
rate them  ?  It  is  now  three  weeks  since  the  above 
statement  was  made,  and  since  then  distress  has 
burst  forth  in  many  other  quarters.  The  alarming 
riotsof  the  starving  people  in  Ireland  have  occurred, 
and  Burnley  has  thrown  itself  upon  the  Govern- 
ment ;  an  example  which  will,  and  which  ought 
to  be  followed  by  other  places  similarly  situated  ; 
by  communities  rendered  bankrupt  by  the  distress 
occasioned  by  the  continued  operation  of  the  Corn- 
laws.  If  Parliament  tie  up  the  people's  industry, 
and  grind  them  with  taxation,  it  should  tell  them 
how  they  are  to  obtain  food,  or  else  provide  it  (br 
them,  and  convert  the  country  into  one  universal 
work-house.  Paragraphs  like  the  following  now 
meet  the  eye  in  every  provincial  paper,  together 
with  accounts  of  public  meetings  for  the  relief  of 
the  clamorous  starving,  held  by  the  poor  or  the 
straitened  in  their  circumstances : — 

Alarming  State  op  the  Manufacturino  Districts. 
— This  part  of  the  county  is  in  a  deplorable  state,  for 
hundreds  and  thousands  have  neither  work  nor  meat. 
They  are  daily  begging  in  the  streets  of  Haslingden, 
twenty  or  thirty  together,  crying  for  bread.  Meetings 
are  held  every  Sunday, on  the  neighbouring  hills,  attended 
by  thousands  of  poor,  haggard,  hungry  people,  wishing 
for  any  change,  even  though  it  should  be  death.  On 
Sunday  last,  a  meeting  was  held  on  the  hills,  near  Ac- 
crington,  and  the  persons  present,  it  is  said,  covered  an 
acre  of  4420  square  yards  of  ground.  They  stood  very 
near  together  in  order  to  hear  the  speakers,  who  were 
stationed  in  a  wagon  in  the  centre  of  the  ground,  so  that 
calculating  six  to  the  square  yard,  there  must  have  been 
26,000  persons  present.  The  speakeni,  ten  in  number, 
were  very  violent,  advising  their  hearers  never  to  peti- 
tion Parliament  again,  but  to  be  determined  to  have  a 
redress  of  grievances  immediately.  Resolutions  to  that 
effect  were  put  to  the  meeting  and  carried  unanimously. 
The  people  say  they  are  determined  to  have  their  just 
rights,  or  die  in  the  attempt,  and  say  they  will  neither 
support  delegates  nor  conventions^— for  present  relief 
they  want,  and  present  relief  they  will  have  before  an* 
other  winter  makes  its  appearance.  They  say  they  might 
as  well  die  by  the  sword  as  by  hunger.— CiNTeipeiMUjU 
of  the  Liverpool  Mercury, 

Camp  meetings  of  Chartbts  of  the  extreme  kind 
are  being  held  in  many  places,  where  the  denial  that 
violent  language  has  been  employed,  and  the  exhor- 
tations of  the  leaders  to  caution  and  forbearance  in 
speech,  are  as  decided  symptoms  of  what  is  passing 
within  their  minds  as  the  vapour  of  words.  Biands  of 
distressed  artisans  in  many  places  parade  the  streets 
levying  contributions,  partly  through  pity,  but  as 
much  from  intimidation;  and  this  example  will 
spread  ;  nor  will  the  provision  riots  be  confined  to 
Ireland.  It  would  not  be  worth  while  to  notice 
cases  like  the  following,  stated  in  the  Leeds  Mer- 
cmyy  if  such  things  were  not  unhappily  but  too 
^neral ;  if  thousands  in  Ireland  were  not  keeping 
soul  and  body  for  A  time  together  upon  nettles  and 
cabbage-  leaves,  and  the  yellow  weed  the  Irish  con^ 
some  in  dear  years  at  this  seasoD,  while  the  starrinf 


424 


THE  NATIONAL  DISTRESS. 


English  are,  for  the  first  time,  consiuiiing  garbage 
not  fit  for  dogs : — 

Distress  at  Holmfibth. — The  working-classes  in  this 
district  were  nerer,  taking  them  generally,  in  such  a  state 
of  destitution  before.  There  mast  be  thousands  wholly 
unemployed ;  and  it  is  distressing  to  see  the  hundreds 
of  labouring  men  who  are  daily  rambling  about  the  coun- 
try evidently  suffering  for  want  of  food,  and  many  of 
them  clothed  in  rags.  Judge  of  their  miserable  condi- 
tion from  the  following  facts  : — A  man  was  observed  a 
few  days  since  eating  grains  out  of  a  neighbour's  swill- 
tub.  The  person  who  saw  him,  mentioned  the  circum- 
stance to  another,  who  asked  the  poor  creature  if  it  were 
true.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  hunger  drove  me  there,  and  I 
took  some  home  with  me  to  feed  my  famishing  wife  and 
children  with  I"  This  week  a  cow  died  at  New  Mill, 
of  milk  fever.  A  person  in  the  neighbourhood  bought 
the  carcass,  which  was  dressed  as  beef, — for  what  pur- 
pose may  be  guessed  at.  It  was  hung  in  an  out-build- 
ing, but  next  morning  it  was  found  that  most  of  the  flesh 
had  been  cut  off  and  carried  away.  Oh  I  ye  famine 
makers  by  law,  what  crime,  suffering,  and  death,  ye  have 
to  answer  for  !  When  will  this  tide  of  ruin  take  a  turn  1 
The  overseers  in  several  townships  are  applying  for  double 
rates;  ruined  tradesmen  and  unemployed  workmen  are 
weekly  swelling  the  list  of  horror ;  and  no  one  can  tell 
where  to  turn  ^r  hope. 

In  almost  every  town,  from  Inyemessto  Falmouth, 
wo  hear  of  meetings  for  the  relief  of  the  unemployed 
poor: — and  when  are  the  poor  to  be  employed?  when 
is  the  need  of  relief  to  cease  ?  and  from  whence,  in 
the  meanwhile,  ai-e  the  necessary  supplies  to  come  ? 
With  many  of  the  middle-class,  the  burden  of  the 
Income-Tax  must  dry  up  the  source  of  former 
bounty  to  poor  neighbours  ;  and  even  in  England, 
where  there  is  a  Poor  Law,  the  highest  rate  that 
can  be  extorted  will  soon  be  found  quite  inadequate 
to  the  demand.  How  are  the  needy  in  a  place 
like  Stockport,  as  it  is  described  in  the  Memorial 
addressed  to  the  Government  by  the  inhabitants,  to 
be  relieved  for  one  half  year,  although  not  a 
thought  were  bestowed  upon  replacing  the  fearful 
loss  and  depreciation  of  property  which  is  going  on 
in  those  dbtricts.   They  state. 

That  there  have  existed  in  Stockport  numerous  sick  and 
burial  societies  for  a  long  period  ;  there  were  few  indi- 
viduals of  the  working  classes  but  what  belonged  to  some 
one  or  other  of  these  societies  ;  there  were  also  iVineral 
societies  for  assisting  to  inter  children,  and  many  were 
the  numbers  that  belonged  to  these  societies  ;  but  since 
the  depression  of  trade  and  consequent  want  of  employ- 
ment, many  who  were-  once  members  are  now  unable 
to  maintain  their  membership  (although  the  periodical 
payments  of  the  members  were  very  small) ;  so  that 
numbers  who  have  been  overtaken  by  sickness,  and  some 
who  have  died,  have  been  cut  off  (torn  the  benefits  them- 
selves or  their  friends  would  have  been  entitled  to  ;  and 
it  is  no  unusual  thing  for  those  to  be  buried  out  of  the 
poor's-rates,  or  by  subscription  from  benevolent  indivi- 
duals, who  would,  if  trade  had  remained  good,  have  had 
the  solace  of  considering  that  the  expenses  of  their 
ftineral  would  be  borne  by  funds  partly  created  and  sup- 
ported by  the  means  they  enjoyed  when  work  was  plen- 
tiful, and  they  were  in  health  to  follow  the  same. 
That  the  amount  required  for  the  relief  of  the  poor 
hi  1836  and  1837  was  £2,628  ;  in  1841  and  1842, 
£7,126.  That  since  1836  more  than  half  the  master 
spinners  have  failed  :  twenty-nine  firms  including 
forty  partners  are  in  this  list ;  the  machinery  of  seven- 
teen large  mills  has  been  sold  by  auction,  and  that  of 
four  mills  by  private  contract ;  eight  firms  have  effected 
a  composition  with  their  creditors.  That  there  are  now 
Btanding  untenanted  not  less  than  3000  dwelling-houses, 
besides  mills,  warehouses,  and  public  houses.  That  in 
one  township  alone,  vir..,  Heaton  Norris,  there  are  3500 


houses,  out  of  which  there  are  untenanted  about  ;m  ; 
there  are  also  nearly  800  compouoded  for,  and  lOOO  ex- 
cused from  paying  rates  on  the  ground  of  their  being  tw 
poor;  so  that  the  burden  of  paying  the  rates  falls  on  m 
more  than  1000  persons,  many  of  these  persons  beiogU 
as  bad,  and  in  some  instances  a  worse  condition  than  ib? 
paupers  themselves.    That  in  February  last,  there  wsi 
collected  within  a  few  weeks,  by  some  genenms  asd 
humane  individuals,  the  sum  of  £5000  for  the  reUef  «f 
the  suffering  poor.    That  in  the  week  ending  19th  Feb- 
ruary, 1841,  the  number  of  families  relieved  was  3473 ; 
the  number  of  individuals,  14,424  ;  the  average  income 
per  head  being  9d.  9-lOths.    That  owing  to  the  lois  of 
wages  consequent  upon  the  stopping  of  mills,  the  redne- 
tion  in  the  rate  of  vrages  by  lost  time,  by  reduced  num- 
ber of  hands,  and  the  other  causes,  the  total  loM  to  the 
inhabiUnts  of  the  borough  is  £5,483  per  week   Tie 
cottage  and  messuage  property  has  depreciated  in  Tthp, 
in  some  instances,  as  much  as  130  per  cent,  and  the 
average  may  be  fairly  taken  at  75  per  cent.    That  there 
are  now  walking  the  streets,  for  want  of  employment, 
no  less  than  5000  persons,  who  are  suffering  the  extrene 
of  human  misery  and  privations  of  the  most  alamini 
nature  ;  therefore  we,  your  memorialists,  reapectfiilJj 
call  your  attention  to  these  facts,  and  trust  that  steps  will 
be  immediately  taken  to  relieve  the  unparalleled  distrea 
existing  in  this  borough,  and  your  memorialists  will,  is 
in  duty  bound,  pray,  &o. 

Such  in  substance  is  the  memorial  of  the  re- 
spectable inhabitants  of  Stockport,  agreed  upon  at 
a  public  meeting.  By  subsequent  accounts  the 
distress  in  that  quarter,  and  in  all  quarters,  is  in- 
creasing every  day;  and  we  may  say,  in  geometri- 
cal progression  ;  famine  engendering  disease  and 
inciting  to  crime.  The  following  is  a  recent  pic- 
ture of  once  flourishing  and  wealthy  Manchester  :- 

One  fact  vnll  serve  to  give  an  idea  of  the  intensity  of 
the  distress  here.  There  is  an  establishment  for  <Hstn- 
buting  soup,  which  opens  at  six  in  the  morning.  Seve- 
ral hundreds  of  people  surround  the  place  by  four 
o'clock,  in  order,  by  being  first,  to  have  a  chance  ^ 
receiving  some,  as  the  soup,  though  extensively  distnbat- 
ed,  is  quite  insnflRcient  for  the  numbers  who  crowd  to 
partake  of  it.  Several  failures  have  taken  place  this 
week,  which  from  the  respectability  and  high  character 
of  the  houses,  have  thrown  much  gloom  around  the  piw«- 1 
The  Manchetter  Ovardiany  a  remarkably  cautious  paper, 
in  its  state  of  the  market  on  Wednesday  last,  obserw, 
"  that  the  condition  of  the  working  classes  generally 
throughout  the  districts  in  which  hand-loom  weaving  MJ 
hopn  PTtATisivelv  carried  on.  is  becominiT  WOrse  daily  J*" 


been  extensively  carried  on,  is  becoming  worse  daily ; 
the  patience  ttUh  vhick  these  pritatiotu  hace  kitkerUf  ew» 
wpported  has  of  late  greatly  diminisked:*    Bat  if  "Me- 
ters are  in  this  sUte  in  Manchester, in  other  ^^™"lg 
are  much  worse.    Some  idea  may  be  formed  "  "^  *iT 
tress  in  Bolton  when  we  state  that,  though  the  rateawe 
property  is  £86,000,  there  is  actually  but  ^36,000  www 
contributes  to  the  rates.    In  this  place  there  are  14^ 
persons  on  the  books  receiving  support.    1^^*?J^.| 
the  poor's-rate  on  the  real  rental  amounts  to  eigK  m 
lings  in  the  pound.    In  the  township  of  M*"^°»^i 
tween  Burnley  and  Colne,  the  poor-rate  on  tW  ^^ 
rental  is  one  shilling  a-month.    Every  fiumer  inj» 
township  is  mined.    Of  5000  people  in  t^  di8W.jj 
2000  are  vnthout  any  means  of  support.    Wh«»  * 
is  vacant,  no  one  will  venture  on  it  for  fear  of  ^^^^t^ 
rate.    One  business  has  been  mentioned  ^  ns>     , 
would  have  to  pay  £1000  a-year  in  P<>«f^"*li,ff 
Leeds,  at  the  beginning  of  the  distress,  the  poor- 
guardians  had  a  saving  of  £10,000  to  ^»11  Jf  vtjds 
that  has  long  ago  been  exhausted.    A  no"^^'^  itTof 
are  thrown  out  of  employment,  and  the  <>»°Jr*L- 
supplyingtheneces8itou8withfoodiscverydayin«t»  *^ 

Some  timeago  £7000  was  raised  by  the  wealthier  cit^^ 
meet  the  exigency ;  but  all  attempts  to  Jf^^e  more  » g  ^ 
up.  The  paupers  actually  beset  the  houses.  T/>ey^  ^{ 
in  bands,  demanding  relief  in  a  tone  which  impuw^ 
it  must  be  ^ven.    The  distress  otvM  ^7  ^ 


THE  NATIONAL  DISTRESS. 


425 


the  better  classes,  who  are  ashamed  to  solicit  charity,  i 
and  conceal  their  sufferings,  is  awfal.  In  some  of  those  I 
houses  which  have  been  entered,  the  people  have .  been 
found  boiling  nettles  to  make  a  meal  of  them.  In  this, 
as  well  as  aU  the  other  towns  of  the  mannfactaring  dis- 
tidctSy  the  pawnbrokers  have  advanced  money  till  they 
can  adTanoe  no  more — the  articles  pledged  are  never 
redeemed — and  the  trade  of  pawnbrokers  cannot  be  car- 
ried on.  In  Macclesfield  one  great  manufacturer  is  dis- 
charging hands  at  the  rate  of  about  two  hundred  a-week, 
and  he  expects  soon  to  have  two  thousand  persons  thrown 
out  of  employment.  In  Scotland,  both  in  the  west  and 
east,  the  distress  exceeds  description.  In  all  the  manu- 
facturing towns  of  England,  there  are  numbers  of  per- 
Fona  who  have  what  is  called  a "  foreign  settlement," 
and  who  must  be  thrown  on  their  parishes  ;  but  there  is 
nothing  which  these  poor  creatures  dread  so  much  as 
being  sent  back  to  the  agricultural  districts.  We  under- 
stand that  in  a  few  days  a  report  will  be  received  from 
Manchester  on  the  state  of  the  retail  trade,  containing 
the  most  astounding  facts.  Many  shopkeepers  of  the 
second  grade  have  not  for  months  taken  as  much 
money  as  would  pay  for  their  gas.  Chorlton  union 
work-house  (Manchester)  is  filled  with  the  wives  and 
families  of  men  going,  or  who  have  gone,  to  America,  in 
quest  of  employment. 

The  same  observations  apply  to  Bradford,  Lei- 
cester, Nottingham,  and  indeed  every  manufactur- 
ings town  in  Lancashire  or  Yorkshire. 

TVe  hear  on  all  hands  of  renewed  voluntary  suh- 
scT*iptions,  of  deputations  from  the  manufacturing 
districts,  one  of  which  from  Yorkshire  is  at  present 
importuning  the  most  eminent  of  the  Tory  aris- 
tocracy to  take  compaasion  upon  their  starving, 
wretched  fellow-countrymen ;  but  unless  the  efifec- 
taal  remedy  be  applied,  of  what  value  beyond  the 
day  and  the  hour  is  any  palliative  measure  which 
does  not  arrest  the  progress  of  the  gangrene?  It  is 
not  a  season  of  dull  trade  with  which  the  country 
has  to  contend  ;  but  against  the  gradual  decay,  the 
downward  tendency,  the  undermining  of  the  manu- 
facturing system,  which  has  been  at  work  for  many 
years  back.  When  we  perceive  that  even  the  small 
temporary  relief  craved  by  Lord  Radnor  is  refused, 
what  ground  of  hope  remains  from  the  Famine 
Parliament,  unless  it  shall  be  found  more  accessi- 
ble to  fear  than  to  pity  and  justice.  Lord  Kin- 
naird  only  spoke  the  strongest  natural  sentiments 
of  the  human  heart,  when  he  avowed,  before  his 
Peers,  that>  if  in  the  place  of  those  suffering  men, 
he  would  not  see  his  children  perish  of  hunger 
before  his  eyes  while  there  was  food  within  his 
reach  to  which  he  could  help  himself;  and  he  only 
said  what  Nature  herself  approves. 


He  had  lately  asked  a  gentleman  connected  with  a 
town  in  which  distress  existed,  how  it  was  that  the  peo- 
ple had  borne  their  sufferings  with  such  patience,  for  he 
thought  if  he  had  seen  his  children  perishing  around  him 
from  want — if  he  had  seen  the  felon  in  gaol  better  treat- 
ed than  the  person  willing  to  work — sooner  than  submit 
to  this,  he  thought  he  would  have  gone  and  helped  him- 
self—(laughter.)  This  might  be  a  laughing  matter  for 
their  Lordships  comfortably  seated  on  these  benches,  but 
it  was  no  laughing  matter  to  those  who  suffered  flrom  the 
distress.  When  he  asked  that  gentleman  how  it  was 
that  the  people  had  been  so  patient,  he  was  answered, 
^  If  the  bread  had  been  taken  from  you  suddenly,  you 
might  have  gone  and  helped  yourself ;  but  if  you  had 
been  gradually  reduced  to  starvation,  and  weakened 
from  not  getting  food  sufficient  to  support  the  energies 
of  nature,  you  would  have  become  reckless,  and  would 
not  have  cared  to  see  your  children  perishing  around 
you."  Now  this,  he  believed,  was  the  truth — the  horrible 
truth. 

A  horrible  truth  indeed.  But  Englishmen  have 
yet  energy  enough  left  to  right  themselves,  and 
peacefully,  if  peace  be  possible. 

Before  the  prorogation  of  Parliament,  which,  now 
that  Sir  Robert  has  accomplished  his  own  objects, 
may  be  expected  earlier  than  usual,  another  effort 
is  to  be  made  to  force  upon  the  Legislature  the  re- 
consideration of  the  all-important  question  of  Free 
Trade  in  food.  A  special  meeting  of  deputies  from 
the  Anti-Corn  Law  Associations  is  summoned  by 
the  council  of  the  League.  The  country  "  cannot 
brook  the  delay  of  another  eight  months,"  which 
must  elapse  before  Parliament  shall  reassemble. 
It  can  ill  brook  the  delay  of  one  hour.  We  would 
fain  hope  that,  when  the  harrowing  details  to  which 
we  have  adverted  are  formally  brought  under  the 
notice  of  government  and  the  legislature,  together 
with  the  danger  of  simultaneous  rioting  or  insur- 
rection in  the  manufacturing  districts,  and  in  Ire- 
land, to  which  men,  inclined  to  be  peaceful,  and 
willing  to  work,  are  goaded  by  actual  hunger, — 
some  temporary  relaxation  of  the  Corn-Laws  may 
be  granted,  and  tlie  interval  employed  to  abolish 
them  for  ever — as  utterly  incompatible  with  the 
prosperity  of  the  country,  as  with  its  internal  quiet. 
Between  the  people  and  these  laws  there  is  hence- 
forth deadly  warfare.  They  ought  to  be  abolished, 
were  it  but  for  the  odium  in  which  they  are  held, 
and  as  a  peace-offering  to  the  famishing  millions 
who  attribute  to  them  their  misery,  and  seek  the 
suffrage  mainly  as  the  instrument  of  their  destruc* 
tion. 


SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS. 


NO.  VII. — THE  SONQ  OP  JULY. 


**  Pho  !  how  hot !  how  very  hot  I"  you  cry, "  this  is  quite 

horrid !" 
'TIS  I  that  breathe  upon  you,  I,  July  the  dry  and  torrid. 
I  started  from  Sahara  wide,  and  baited  at  Morocco; 
Tbence,  swept  the  hanghty  midland  sea  on  wings  of  the 

Sirocco. 
Sinus  bears  my  torch  on  high,  earth  holds  no  thing  I  char 

not. 
The  wide  heath  is  my  Congreve-box,  the  forest  old  my 

Amott. 
The  tall  rye  I  will  scorch  and  parch,  till  his  rough  beard 

is  yeUow ; 
And  roast  the  pear  in  his  rough  skin,  until  the  rogue  is 

mellow, 
m  atop  your  springs,  and  dry  your  wells,  and  make  your 

riven  shajlow, 


And  lay  the  rushes  in  the  marsh,  dead  on  the  prostrate 
mallow. 

Ay  !  do  that  I  vnll ; 
While  you  shall  pant 
Like  elephant 
Toiling  up  a  hUI. 
Drouth  shall  make  you  wish  to  booze 

For  ever ; 
Fatigue  invite  you  to  a  snooze 
Come  never  ! 
For  ordure-fed  flies,  my  own  hybrids, 

In  your  mouth  ever  anxious  to  drown, 
Shall  dance  a  Scot's  fling  on  your  eyelids. 
The  moment  sleep  coaxes  them  down, 
Then  hover  till  Sampson's  dread  weapon  is  dropping^ 
And  the  moment  occurs  o*er  it  safe  to  be  hopping. 


426 


LIFE  OF  GENERAL  MACKAY.* 


Bomb  jean  lince,  a  imall  edition,  in  qnarto,  of  (he 
**  Memoin  of  General  Mackay," — the  Prince  of  Orange's 
Mackay,  William  the  Third's  distinguished  commander, 
— ^was  gi?en  to  the  world  by  the  yery  estimable  and 
mmiable  man,  long  known  and  much  beloved  in  the 
ioeiety  of  Edinbnrgh,  as  ^  Blind  Mr.  Mackay,"  who  was 
the  General's  male  represcntatiTe.    The  relationship  is 
of  conrse  distant,  and  not  very  easily  understood,  nor 
indeed  of  much  consequence  to  any  one,  save  a  Highland 
genealogist,  or  perhaps  one  connected  with  the  family  of 
8conry.    The  work  was  compiled  from  memoirs  found  in 
the  Adrocates'  Library,  and  from  the  General's  officiil 
eorrespondence.  It  isyhowerer,  devoid  of  the  first  charm 
of  all  biography.    It  is  an  account  of  the  campaigns  of 
the  commander-in-chief  in  Scotland,  Ireland,  and  the 
Netherlands,  and  not  a  history  of  the  man.    The  narra- 
tive of  the  General's  Scottish  campaign,  which,  in  a 
military  view,  terminated  at  Killiecrankie,  is,  however, 
as  full  of  interest  to  Scotsmen,  as  the  Irish  campaign 
must  be  to  natives  of  Ireland.    Of  General  Hugh  Mac- 
kay  of  Sooury,  it  is  enongh  to  say,  that  he  entered  the 
military  service  of  Charles  the  Second,  and  afterwards 
studied  the  art  of  war  in  France,  under  the  Prince  of 
Cond^  and  the  Great  Turenne.    These  were  the  Dugald 
Dalgetty  times;  and  Captain  Mackay  was  employed  by 
the  Republic  of  Venice,  then  at  war  with  the  Turks,  and 
received  a  medal  for  his  services  at  Candia.    The  death 
•f  hia  father  and  of  two  elder  brothers,  opened  to  him 
the  succession  to  the  family  estate,  of  which  the  rent-roll 
might  not  have  been  even  then  a  vast  amount  of  punds 
Scots,  as  the  young  soldier  did  not  return  to  take  pos- 
■essioii.    He  next  served  as  a  captain  in  Dumbarton's 
regiment,  (now  the  Royals  or  First  Regiment  of  Foot,) 
when  he  fought  for  France  against  the  United  Provinces. 
While  his  regiment  made  part  of  the  division  commanded 
by  Turenne,  Captain  Mackay  chanced  to  be  billeted 
upon  a  respectable  and  pious  widow  lady  at  Bommel  in 
Gnelderland,  and  became  attached  to  one  of  her  daugh- 
ters.   Madame  de  Bie  was  unwilling  to  bestow  her  child 
upon  the  Scottish  officer— grave,  serions,  and  steady,  as 
he  appeared — while  he  fought  against  her  country  and 
the  Reformed  religion.    He  had  doubts  himself  of  the 
Justice  of  the  cause  for  which  he  fonght ;  and  he  was, 
holding  the  same  rank,  at  his  own  request  transferred  fh>m 
Dumbarton's  regiment,  to  the  Scotch  Brigade  which  was 
in  the  service  of  the  States-General.    He  then  married 
Clara  de  Bie ;  and  was  thenceforth,  in  effect,  a  Dutch- 
man.    The  paternal  estate  was  subsequently  sold  to 
Lord  Reay,  his  brother-in-law,  and  the  chief  of  the  clan. 
The  rest  of  General  Mackay's  public  life  is  the  subject 
of  history.    Of  private  information  little  or  none  has 
been  obtained.    He  was  mortally  wounded  in  the  battle 
of  Steinkirk,  and  died  on  the  field  in  the  arms  of  a  faith- 
fiil  and  devoted  olansman — a  Mackay — who  had  fol- 
lowed his  chieftain  through  many  a  campaign.    Mac- 
kay bore  a  high  and  irreproachable  character.    He 
was    devoutly   religious;   of  strict  moral  principles; 
and  a  brave,  steady,  and  prudent,  if  not  a  brilliant, 
military  chief.    But,  to  us  at  least,  the  Memoir  of  the 
author  of  the  General's  Life  is  far  more  interesting  than 
that  of  his  illustrious   kinsman.    While   this  edition 

*  12taio.  doth:  with  Portrait  of  Oenmna  Mackay.    Lon- 


was  in  course  of  printing,  Mr.  Mackay  die4  at  ian  ad- 
vanced age ;  and  a  sketch  of  his  life  is  prefixed  io  th» 
annals  of  the  General's  campaigns.  Much  of  it  is  ex- 
tracted from  ^  Family  Annals,"  which  Mr.  Mackay  faai 
composed  at  different  periods  of  his  long  life ;  and  de- 
lightful and  instructive  annals  they  are.  There  mast 
have  been  much  virtne  and  happiness,  and  nlao  great 
comfort,  in  Sutherland,  long  before  its  agriculture  was 
improved,  and  everything  had  thriven,  save  the  men  and 
women.  The  old  statistical  account  of  the  paririi  of 
Lairg,  of  which  ^  Blind  Mr.  Mackay's"  fktherand  grand- 
father  (gentlemen  by  birth  and  connexion)  were  saeees- 
sively  ministers,  during  a  period  of  nearly  a  century, 
must  differ  vastly  from  the  present  one. 

Mr.  Mackay,  the  eldest  son  of  the  minister,  and  anther 
of  this  work,  received  a  classical  education  at  the  Gram- 
mar School  of  Inverness,  and  afterwards  at  the  Univer- 
sity of  Edinburgh.  He  was  intended  to  succeed  his 
fkther  and  grandfather  as  the  minister  of  Lairg,  and  he 
became  a  tutor  in  the  family  of  Lord  Elphlnstone. 
Among  his  college  friends  were  Sir  James  Mackintosh, 
Malcolm  Laing,  Beigamin  Constant,  and  Thomas  Addis 
Emmet,  to  whom  he  clung  with  the  warmest  feelings  of 
friendship  when  that  unfortunate  gentleman  was  kept 
for  years  a  State  prisoner  in  the  fortress  of  iPort-George. 
At  the  age  of  twenty-nine  all  his  prospects  were  blighted 
by  a  total  bereavement  of  sight.  Yet  the  remainder  of 
his  long  and  useAil  life  seems  to  have  been  spent  with  a 
greater  share  of  happiness  than  often  falls  to  the  lot  of 
ordinary  men.  He  possessed  a  highly  cultivated  and  a 
pious  mind,  and  a  singularly  amiable  and  kindly  dlapo- 
sition.  He  was  the  father  of  the  orphan,  the  friend  of 
the  poor,  and  the  delight  of  society.  Of  two  younger 
brothers,  Hugh  fell  in  the  battle  of  Assaye,  a  captain 
of  cavalry,  after  serving  for  twenty  years  ill  India, 
and  realizing  a  handsome  fortune.  His  considerate  ge- 
nerosity and  filial  affection  had  long  contributed  to  the 
comforts  of  the  manse ;  and  his  fortune,  alter  hie  un- 
timely death,  formed  a  competence  for  his  blind  brother. 
The  third  son,  a  mariner  in  the  Indian  seas,  must  be 
known  to  many  of  our  readers  from  his  popular  "  Narra- 
tive of  the  loss  of  the  Juno,"  of  which  he  was  the  se- 
cond officer,  and  one  of  the  flew  survivors  of  the  wreck. 
But  our  small  space  must  be  reserved  fbr  a  picture  of 
Highland  life,  of  an  aspect  somewhat  new  to  thoee  irhe 
oonceive  of  Highlanders  only  as  boisterous  chieflaiitt, 
and  rude  or  servile  giUieB.  Mr.  Mackay's  metheir  di^ 
in  the  manse  of  Lairg  in  giving  birth  to  her  eleventh 
child.    He  says — 

^She  died  on  the  9th  November,  1773,  a  dark  and 
dismal  day,  which  time  can  never  efface  from  my  me- 
mory, nor  the  scene  of  her  funeral  amidst  the  tears  and 
lamentations  of  our  neighbours  and  the  parishioners. 
Five  only  of  her  children  survived  our  mother.  My 
eldest  sister  was  at  school,  and  kind  friends  resolved  te 
relieve  our  father  of  us  all  for  a  time  ;  a  worthy  old 
couple,  not  under  fourscore  years,  carried  off  my  brother 
Hugh  and  myself.  They  were  the  quintescenee  of  old- 
fashioned  hospitality  and  kindness  ;  and  not  even  now, 
after  the  lapse  of  sixty  years,  can  I  recollect  the  kind- 
ness of  both  without  emotion  ;  and  it  has  been  to  us  a 
source  of  great  enjoyment,  that  we  have  been  able  to 
testify  our  remembrance  of  it  to  many  of  their  descend- 
ants. 

'*  From  tJie  period  of  our  mother's  death,  ov  fiUher'i 
health,  yMth  had  always  been  delicate,  hegok  leniibly 
to  decline ;  so  that  he  appeared  gradaally  t«  lU  ttnder 


LIFE  OF  GENERAL  MACKAY. 


427 


%li6  infirmities  of  a  premature  old  age,  aggrayated  by 
tiiiis  domestic  affliction.  During  a  great  part  of  the 
year,  he  was  prevented,  by  bodily  ailment,  from  taking 
exercise.  His  house  was  out  of  repair,  pervious  to  wind 
mud  rain,  and  the  room  he  occupied  close  and  comfort- 
less. His  worldly  affairs,  too,  fell  into  (disorder,  from 
yauious  causes,  chiefly  from  the  want  of  our  mother's 
Judicioas  management,  without  doors  as  well  as  within. 
Tliese  things  preyed  on  his  spirits  ;  he  believed  his  end 
mpproaching,  and  could  not  contemplate  without  pain 
tbe  prospect  of  leaving  five  orphans  destitute  and  un- 
edncated.  Like  David,  however, '  he  strengthened  him- 
self in  the  Lord,'  and  as  his  earthly  comforts  gave  way, 
he  kept  closer  communion  with  his  God. 

^  He  frequently  quoted,  and  made  us  repeat,  such 
passages  from  the  Bible  as  the  following  : — *  I  have  been 
yoang  and  now  am  old,  yet  have  I  never  seen  the  seed 
of  the  righteous  begging  his  bread  ;'  and,  *  When  my 
father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,  then  the  Lord  wiU 
t&ke  me  up.' 

^  Oar  father  had  begun  in  some  degree  to  recover  his 
apirits  after  our  mother's  death,  when  it  pleased  God  to 
▼isit  him  with  another  calamity,  different  in  kind,  and 
far  less  poignant  in  degree,  but  one,  nevertheless,  which 
pat  his  faith  and  patience  to  a  severe  test.  On  the  27th 
of  December,  1774,  his  cow-house  was  consumed  by  fire. 
Hugh  and  I  only  of  the  children  were  at  home  ;  we 
were  in  bed,  when  the  cry  reached  us  that  the  cow- 
house was  on  fire.  We  huddled  on  our  clothes,  and  ran 
out  to  the  spot.  It  was  almost  day-break,  and  never 
shall  I  forget  the  awful  spectaole  that  presented  itself 
to  our  view.  The  roof  had  fallen  in,  burying  in  its  ruins 
tbirty-five  head  of  fine  cattle— all  our  stock — the  whole 
were  consumed,  and  the  flame  was  ascending  to  the 
skies  with  terrific  grandeur.  All  the  neighbours  soon 
flocked  to  the  spot.  Amongst  others,  the  son  of  the 
worthy  pair  who  had  taken  us  to  their  home  and  their 
hearts  when  we  lost  our  mother.  I  well  remember  his 
words  :  *  Come,  neighbours,  we  must  build  another  byre 
for  the  honest  man,  and  stock  it  as  fast  as  we  can  ;'  and 
his  pledge  was  redeemed  :  and  it  is  a  curious  fact,  tak- 
ing into  view  the  humble  state  of  our  fortunes  then, 
that  the  kindness  shown  to  our  father  at  this  time,  has 
been  repaid  by  his  descendants  to  the  families  of  all  the 
eontribotors,  we  except,  of  course,  the  families  of  Suther- 
land and  Rcsay,  who  each  sent  gifts  of  fine  cattle.  Our 
&ther  was  from  home  the  night  of  the  fire,  and  did  not 
return  till  the  forenoon  after.  His  prayer  at  night 
made  a  deep  impression  on  us  all,  but  what  I  remember 
best  is,  that  when  we  sat  down  to  our  supper  of  porridge 
and  milk,  he  observed  what  an  abundant  supply  of  milk 
was  on  the  table,  sent  in  by  the  neighbours  ;  then,  for 
the  first  time,  his  fortitude  gave  way,  and  we  all  burst 
into  tears.  Never,  before  or  after,  perhaps,  were  we  so 
amply  supplied  with  dairy  produce  as  during  that  winter. 
The  oow-house  was  soon  rebuilt  and  stocked. 

A  few  years  afterwards,  the  minister's  stable  and 
kitchen  were  burnt  down,  and  the  furniture  of  the  lat- 
tej  destroyed.  The  minister  bore  this  f^sh  accident 
with  great  Christian  fortitude,  though  it  was  at  the  time 
a  serious  loss  to  him. 

**  The  accommodations  of  the  Sutherlandshire  clergy 
were,  in  the  last  century,  exceedingly  scanty  ;  and,  in 
Bome  instances,  provided  entirely  at  their  own  expense. 
It  was  so  at  Lairg ;  for,  with  the  exception  of  £50 

rted  in  1750,  not  a  shilling  had  been  contributed  by 
proprietors,  for  the  accommodation  of  the  incum- 
bents, till  towards  the  close  of  our  father's  life,  about 
which  period  a  more  liberal  system  commenced.  When 
this  circumstance  is  taken  into  account,  with  the  very 
small  stipend,  his  advanced  age,  and  infirmities,  his  pe- 
cuniary difficulties  in  consequence,  also  the  conflagration 
jnst  mentioned  having  taken  place  in  the  dead  of  the 
winter,  the  foregoing  will  not  seem  an  exaggerated  ex- 
pression of  the  distress  occasioned. 

**  He  was  not  forsaken  by  the  God  in  whom  he  con- 
Uded,  bat  lived  to  have  every  comfort  amply  supplied 
by  his  second  son,  Hugh,  while  he  was  saved,  by  pre- 


deceasing him  a  few  months,  the  overwhelming  anguish 
which  the  news  of  his  fall  on  the  field  of  Assaye  would 
have  occasioned  him." 

After  recording  other  circumstances  respecting  his 
revered  father,  Mr.  Mackay  concludes  his  notice  of  biy 
character  thus :  "  During  the  summer  of  1797,  the 
small-pox  raged  in  the  parish,  and  carried  off  twenty- 
five  children  in  a  few  weeks,  threatening  the  lives  of 
many  others.  My  father  had  for  two  years  employed 
an  assistant.  On  this  occasion,  being  then  in  his  80th 
year,  he  preached  his  last  sermon,  a  seasonable  and 
most  consoling  discourse,  from  these  words  of  Job : — 
*  Shall  we  receive  good  at  the  hands  of  the  Lord,  and 
shall  we  not  receive  evil  I'  Though  his  great  age,  and 
increasing  infirmities,  rendered  him  unable  to  appear  in 
public,  yet  in  private  he  continued  as  assiduous  as  ever, 
exhorting,  comforting,  and  praying  with  such  of  his 
parishioners  as  called  on  him.  Having  known  them 
from  their  birth,  he  was  intimately  acquainted  with 
their  character,  and  to  the  last  took  a  lively  interest  in 
their  concerns.  He  had  a  clear  understanding  in  temr 
poral  as  well  as  spiritual  matters,  and  his  people  fre- 
quently consulted  him  on  the  former,  requesting  him  to 
act  as  arbiter  in  their  differences.  He  had  some  skill 
in  physic,  a  qualification  which  greatly  promotes  the 
usefulness  of  a  minister  amongst  an  isolated  people ; 
naturally  humane  and  tender-hearted,  he  had  always 
been  liberal  to  the  poor,  in  proportion  to  his  means  ; 
and  now  that  these  were  increased  by  the  filial  duty  of 
his  son  Hugh,  he  was  enabled  to  extend  his  charity.  In 
a  word,  he  was  a  fine  example  of  what  the  English  call 
a  good  parish  priest, — the  friend,  the  counsellor,  the 
physician  of  the  souls  and  bodies  of  his  people." 

This  was  in  the  old  times  of  the  Highlands ;  yet  were 
they  not  so  very  barbarous,  nor  the  Sutherl/indshire  peo- 
ple so  very  wretched  and  ignorant,  as  has  been  generally 
supposed  by  those  political  economists  who  hail  the  late 
sweeping  and  often  cruel  changes  in  that  desolated  coun- 
try as  so  many  social  beatitudes. 

In  the  character  of  his  father's  parishioners,  and  the 
tie  which  subsisted  between  pastor  and  people,  there 
was  much  to  foster  the  warm  and  active  benevolence 
implanted  by  nature  in  his  heart.  To  his  grandfather, 
the  people  owed  their  civilisation,  as  well  as  their 
knowledge  of  the  Gospel ;  and  the  order  established, 
and  the  seed  sown  by  him,  were  prayerfully  maintained 
and  nourished  by  his  son,— father  and  son  having  lived 
as  pastors  over  the  parish  eighty-nine  years.  Both  had 
received  a  very  liberal  education,  and  were  deep  divines, 
as  well  as  sound  in  faith,  and  holy  in  their  characters. 

The  parish  had  been  fortunate  in  its  schoolmasters  ; 
the  people  were  intelligent  and  in  very  comfortable  cir- 
cumstances, a  fact  which  has  more  to  do  with  human 
character,  and  the  consequent  strength  and  glory  of  a 
nation,  than  is  usually  considered.  Primitive  and  simple 
as  possible  in  their  manners  and  wants,  every  family 
abounded  in  food  and  clothing,  had  wherewithal  to  give 
to  the  needy,  and  had  leisure  to  think,  to  meditate  on 
what  their  minister  told  them  on  the  Sabbath,  and  on 
the  works  of  creation  by  wliich  they  were  surrounded  in 
much  beauty  and  grandeur. 

The  manse  family  stood  first  in  the  respect  and  love  of 
each  cottage  household  ;  all  were  known  and  recognised 
as  friends  at  the  manse.  The  unlimited  range  for  cattle 
and  sheep  which  the  parishioners  eigoyed  rendered  the 
bestowing  on  their  pastor  of  marks  of  regard  (the  tri- 
butes of  grateftil  reverence  and  warm  affection,)  as  easy 
as  it  was  gratifying  to  their  self-respect,  and  to  the 
kindliness  of  their  nature. 

Before  he  lost  his  sight,  Mr.  Mackay  had  procured  a 
good  appointment  in  India,  which  he  lost  from  a  severe 
and  long-continued  typhus  fever,  which  prevented  his 
embarking  T¥ith  the  official  person  whose  secretary  he 
was  to  be.  There  is  no  more  amiable  trait  in  the  char- 
acter of  this  excellent  person  than  his  steadfast  adhe- 
rence to  his  early  friend,  Emmet,  at  a  period  when  it 


428 


LIFE  OF  GFNERAL  MACKAY. 


>Tas  neither  prudent,  nor  indeed  quite  safe,  to  know  poli- 
tical rebels,  or  Irishmen  of  any  complexion,  save  Orange. 
Emmet,  his  college  fHend  in  Edinburgh,  had,  in  Lon- 
don, been  his  tender  and  assiduous  attendant  during  his 
typhus  fever. 

And  afterwards  the  proscribed  and  imprisoned,  but  still 
esteemed  and  loved,  Irish  rebel,  was  sought  out  by  him;  for 
political  opinions  could  not  sever  the  tie  formed  by 
esteem  for  great  personal  and  mental  worth,  superior 
talents,  and  most  engaging  manners,  and  grateful  re- 
membrance of  great  kindness  shown  in  a  time  of  need. 
These  feelings  naturally  induced  Mr.  Mackay  to  leave 
no  means  untried  to  gain  access  to  his  fHend  while  a 
state  prisoner  at  Fort-George  ;  and,  though  the  nearest 
approach  allowed  by  the  authorities,  was  intercourse 
with  Mrs.  Emmet  and  the  children,  and  correspondence 
ivith  Mr.  Emmet  under  inspection  of  the  governor  of 
the  fort,  he  had  the  happiness  of  cheering  the  sad  period 
of  imprisonment,  as  expressions  in  several  letters  of  Mr. 
E.'8  testify.    In  a  letter  to  a  fHend,  Mr.  M.  writes,  "  1 
must  add  an  extract  from  a  letter  I  lately  had  from 
Emmet ;  he  says,  '  I  should  bo  tempted  to  inquire  from 
you  after  many  old  acquaintance,  but  that  I  do  not 
know  whether  they  might  not  consider  being  named  by 
me,  in  the  way  of  familiarity,  as  a  possible  injury.*    .    . 
I  went  to  Fort-George  in  hopes  of  obtaining  an  inter- 
view with  him  ;  I  waited  on  the  governor  with  a  letter 
I  had  received  three  years  before  ftx)m  Emmet,  by 
way  of  showing  the  nature  of  our  connexion.    He  told 
me  he  could  not  permit  an  interview,  but  that  I  might 
write,  which  I  accordingly  did,  and  had  an  immediate 
answer.    The  governor  (General  Stewart)  added,  that 
he  had  already  formed  a  high  opinion  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Emmet,  and  regretted  their  situation.    He  behaved  to 
me  witb  great  politeness,  and  by  no  means  blamed, 
rather  approved  of  my  anxiety  about  my  fHend,  and  has 
permitted  me  to  correspond  with  him  fVeely,  through  his 
hands."    .    .    .      One  or  two  paragraphs  ftom  a  letter 
written  by  Mr.  E.,  in  the  expectation  of  an  immediate 
change  of  abode,  we  are  tempted  to  transcribe,  as  char- 
acteristic both  of  the  writer  and  of  the  person  addressed. 
^  If  we  can  draw  any  inference  fVom  the  precipitate 
manner  we  were  hurried  out  of  Ireland,  I  should  imagine 
the  notification  to  us  of  our  removal  from  hence  being 
resolved  on,  will  not  long  precede  the  executing  of  it, 
and  that,  therefore,  it  will  be  certainly  out  of  my  power 
to  give  you  any  timely  notice  of  it ;  so  that,  much  as  I 
\vish  to  see  you,  if  that  be  practicable,  and  at  any  rate 
to  acknowledge  to  you,  through  Mrs.  Emmet,  the  strong 
sense  I  entertain  of  your  unaltered  friendship  and  great 
affection— (and  I  wish  the  opportunity  of  doing  this  be- 
fore I  leave  your  neighbourhood,  probably  for  ever,  more 
than  I  can  well  tell  you) — it  will  scarcely  be  possible, 
unless  your  time  permit  you  to  come  here  before  the 
notification  arrives.    At  any  rate,  my  dear  Mackay,  ac- 
cept of  this  acknowledgment.    What  is  to  become  of 
me,  or  for  what  I  am  destined,  I  know  not ;  but  in  no 
place,  or  under  no  circumstances,  shall  I  ever  forget, 
that  when  I  was  proscribed  and  a  prisoner,  slandered 
without  the  means  of  vindicating  my  character,  you  held 
fast  by  your  former  friendship  for  me,  and  your  previous 
knowledge  of  my  dispositions.    Yon  loved  me,  and  did 
not  hesitate  to  give  the  most  decisive  proofs  of  it.    Mrs. 
Kmmet  and  I  both  request  you  to  present  our  most 
sincere  and  respectful  compliments  to  your  venerable 
father  ;  she,  in  particular,  has  to  thank  him  for  being 
the  means  of  cheering  and  improving  her  mind,  and 
opening  it  to  all  the  pleasures  of  hope.    Believe  me,  my 
dear  friend,  unalterably  and  affectionately  yours." 

Duly  to  estimate  the  reality  of  friendship  evinced  by 
this  renewal  of  intimacy,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  that 
during  that  period,  (from  1799  to  1802,)  and  for  several 
years  preceding,  the  professing  any  sympathy  with,  or 
regard  for,  those  who  were  suspected  of  disaffection 
to  government,  involved  the  individual  in  suspicion,  and 
not  unfireqnently  in  very  injurious  consequences,  through 
the  artful  malice  of  informers.  Mr.  Emmet  was  fully 
aware  of  this  danger  in  the  case  of  his  friend,  then  re- 
<  ''iving  a  pension  from  th«>  Tndin  Bi^ard,  in  con?eqnencc 


of  the  loss  of  his  sight,  and  wrote  to  liim,  entreating  that 
he  would  not  run  any  risk  on  his  account,  assuring  bin 
that  his  confidence  in  his  friendship  wonld  continae  un- 
abated, should  he  never  receive  another  letter  or  tokeit 
of  regard  fh)m  him.  Mr.  Mackay,  however,  continued 
to  visit  Fort-George  as  long  as  his  friends  were  there, 
and  spent  many  interesting  hours  with  Mrs.  Emmet. 

How  this  generous  man  mnst  have  enjoyed  his  fHend  « 
honourable  and  prosperous  career  in  America.  The 
last  we  hear  of  Emmet  is  connected  with  the  crowning 
blessing  of  his  friend's  life. 

**  I  spent  two  days  with  him  at  Fort-George,  and  reckon 
that  he  is  about  this  time  embarking  for  Hamburgh  with 
his  fellow  prisoners,  on  board  a  frigate  sent  for  that  pur- 
pose, never  again  to  be  permitted  to  return  to  Ireland,  on 
pain  of  death,  in  virtue  of  an  act  of  the  Irish  Parliament. 
How  they  can  be  excluded  from  Britain  I  know  not,  un- 
less the  Imperial  Parliament,  before  it  expire,  pass  an 
act  to  that  effect.  I  found  him  in  perfect  health  and 
spirits,  but  not  so  her ;  she  was  recently  delivered  of  a 
daughter,  whom  she  endeavoured  to  suckle,  but  seemed 
to  have  no  constitution  for  the  undertaking.  From 
Hamburgh  he  goes  to  America,  where  he  is  sure  of  be- 
ing well  received  by  Jefferson,  and  where  I  have  Uttle 
doubt,  jie  may  one  day  rise  to  eminence,**  (this  anticipa- 
tion was  amply  fulfilled  :)  "  should  you  and  I  live  to 
hear  the  event,  what  a  striking  proof  it  will  afford  of  the 
vicissitudes  of  human  affairs,  and  what  strange  reflec- 
tions will  not  the  remembrance  of  the  years  1788-98  sug- 
gest to  our  minds !  To  come  nearer  home, — as  to  myself 
I  feel  as  in  a  state  of  widowhood  since  the  loss  of  my 
sister,  who  removed  to  her  own  house  at  Loth  last  week, 
accompanied  by  the  prayers  and  blessings  of  the  whole 
parish.  To  me,  the  blank  her  departure  has  made  is 
such  as  none  but  a  wife  can  fill  up,  and  a  wife  I  cannot 
have  at  present." 

But  the  blank  was  filled  up.  He  married  the  young- 
est daughter  of  Mr.  Gordon  of  Carrol,  a  small  proprietor 
in  Sutherlandshire ;  and,  after  living  for  some  time  in 
London,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mackay  settled  in  Edinburgh, 
where  their  home  became  the  asylum  of  a  succession  of 
orphan  nephews  and  nieces,  whose  education  the  accom- 
plished blind  man  superintended  with  heartfelt  enjoy- 
ment to  himself,  and  immeasurable  advantage  to  those 
whose  minds  he  trained  for  Time  and  for  Eternity.  By 
his  acquaintance  and  connexion  with  persons  possessed 
of  Indian  and  other  colonial  patronage  and  influence,  he 
was  able  to  be  of  great  use  to  many  young  men  **  now 
acting  important  parts  in  different  quarters  of  the  globe." 
Among  the  other  prottfgds  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mackay  was 
one  half-caste  orphan  boy,  a  nephew,  and  probably  the 
son  of  William.  From  various  causes,  all  of  a  generous 
and  honourable  kind,  Mr.  Mackay's  fortune,  towards  the 
close  of  life,  became  somewhat  embarrassed ;  and  then— 

By  the  grateful  affection  of  the  orphan  nephew  above 
alluded  to,  his  then  aged  uncle,  suffering  under  increasing 
infirmities,  was  released  from  embarrassment,  and  re- 
stored to  all  the  comforts  of  competency ;  and  a  now 
widowed  aunt  amply  provided  for.  Truly  could  they 
say,  and  rejoice  in  the  reflection,  that  their  parental  care 
and  culture  of  this  half-caste  orphan  boy  was  repaid  to 
them  a  hundred-fold,  and  it  might  be  well  if  their  expe- 
rience should  encourage  others  not  to  mark  by  contumely, 
and  neglect  of  the  unoffending  ofi[spring,  their  detestation 
of  sin,  but  rather  to  atone  to  those  hard-fated  beings, 
and  to  society,  as  far  as  possible,  by  rearing  them  up 
"  in  the  way  in  which  they  should  go,"  as  to  their  eter- 
nal and  temporal  wcllbeing. 

This  is  an  example  and  an  encouragement. Bnt 

we  have  been  led  too  far  by  this  engaging  memoir,  aod 
must  hastily  conclude  by  cordially  recommending  the 
Life  of  Mr.  John  Mackay  to  those  who  may  not  care 
much  for  the  campaigns  of  his  illustrious  kinsman— 
Kinpr  William's  groat  General. 


420 


HYMN.— BY  EBENEZER  ELLIOTT. 


*  To  live  in  vain !  to  lire  in  pain ! 

To  toil  in  hopeless  sadness !" 
Is  this  the  doom  of  godlike  man, 

Oh  God  of  Love  and  Gladness  f 
Not  so  the  rose  in  summer  blows. 
Not  so  the  moon  her  changes  knows. 

Not  80  the  storm  his  madness. 

From  storms,  that  rock  the  oak  to  sleep, 
Thy  woods  their  beauty  borrow ; 

Thy  harrests,  shrouded  now  in  snow. 
Will  kindle  green  to-morrow ; 


Tvuz.—Luther'i  Hymn. 

So  Man,  by  painful  ages  taught, 
Will  build,  at  last,  on  tmthfhl  thought, 
And  wisdom,  won  from  sorrow. 

Else,** what  a  lie  were  written  here" 
By  thy  right  hand,  My  Father, 

O'er  all  thy  seas,  in  crimson  roll'd 
When  Morning  is  a  bather ; 

0*er  all  thy  vales  of  growing  gold ; 

Or  where,  on  mountains  black  with  cold. 
Thy  clouds  to  battle  gather  ! 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 

BY  MRS.  GORE. 
COotUmted/rom  page  356  <^cur  June  No,) 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NsTSRhad  Basil  Annesley  installed  himself  before 
the  fire  of  his  lodgings  in  so  desponding  a  mood  as 
after  his  interview  with  Abednego.  Not  a  single 
point  or  person  whereon  he  could  fix  his  thoughts 
with  complacency,  by  way  of  relief !  After  a  visit  to 
his  mother,  in  which  he  had  been  made  to  feel  him- 
self an  unwelcome  guest,  after  becoming  an  ear- 
witness  to  the  ravings  of  the  old  gardener,  which 
he  would  have  given  worlds  to  efface  from  his 
memory,  he  had  been  spumed  from  the  door  which 
he  had  a  right  to  approach  as  a  benefactor,  and 
where  he  would  nevertheless  have  been  proud  to 
kneel  in  all  the  self-sacrificing  humility  of  love  \ — 

His  mother,  he  knew  to  be  exposed  to  the  most 
harassing  and  painful  duties. — ^The  family  of 
Vcrelst  appeared  to  be  distracted  by  some  peculiar 
contrariety  of  fortune,  of  which  he  was  unable  to 
TOrmise  the  origin.  And  now,  his  benefactor,  the 
man  for  whom,  involuntarily,  he  entertained  at 
once  the  greatest  interest  and  greatest  contempt, 
^^^  suffering  from  a  dangerous  disease. — In  neither 
of  the  three  cases  could  he  exercise  a  beneficial  in- 
fluence. Gladly  would  he  have  dedicated  all  the 
ineans  at  his  command,  to  alleviate  the  pangs  of  any 
of  the  three.  But  he  was  powerless  as  a  child. — AIL 
he  could  do  was  to  sympathize  in  silence,  and  at 
a  distance. — 

To  say  that  no  floating  visions  of  the  Duca  di 
San  Catalda  mingled  with  his  many  vexations, 
would  be  disingenuous.  It  was  doubtless  no  small 
enhancement  to  the  miseries  of  his  position  that, 
while  excluded  from  the  house  of  Verelst,  he  be- 
lieved another  tobe  favoured  with  access ; — another, 
rich,  great,  powerful, — ^able  to  confer  favours  fifty 
times  greater  than  the  poor  services  he  had  render- 
ed, and  perhaps  to  make  them  acceptable  by  graces 
of  deportment,  in  which  he  felt  himself  to  be 
htmcntably  deficient.  In  the  depths  of  his  reverie, 
poor  Basil  seemed  to  behold  passing  before  him, 
as  m  a  dream,  all  that  was  occurring  at  Barling- 
ham,--all  that  was  chancing  in  the  drawing-room 
of  Verelst, — all  that  was  exercising  a  fatal  empire 
m  the  miserable  attic  of  A.  0.  !— 

So  irritated  was  his  mind  by  these  perplexities, 
that  he  felt  unequal  to  the  exertion  of  dining  at 

KO.  CTII.— VOL.  IX. 


mess ;  and  he  accordingly  determined  to  take  an 
early  dinner  at  the  Clarendon,  and  proceed  to  the 
play ; — ^the  resource  of  homeless  men  in  London 
against  the  publicity  of  their  Club,  or  loneliness  of 
their  lodgings. 

Now  the  play,  in  the  month  of  January,  is  as 
habitual  a  resort  of  fashionable  loungers  as  it  is 
secure  from  their  presence  the  moment  the  season 
commences.  Scarcely  had  Basil  taken  a  back  seat 
in  one  of  the  public  boxes,  leaning  back  with  folded 
arms,  for  the  unmolested  enjoyment  of  his  reflec- 
tions, when  an  unusual  degree  of  movement  and 
conversation  in  one  of  the  private  boxes  attracted 
his  notice,  and  he  perceived  that  it  was  tenanted 
by  a  party  of  his  brother  officers^ — Loffcus,  Blen- 
cowe,  and  Maitland,  the  old  boy  Carrington,  and 
the  young  boy  Wilberton, — ^precisely  thosewhom 
others  would  have  designated  as  his  **  friends." — 
This  was  vexatious  ;  for  Loftus  had  invited  him  to 
dine  with  them  and  join  a  party  to  the  Adelphi,  and 
they  would  now  perceive  that  the  engagement 
he  had  pleaded,  was  a  mere  subterfuge  to  avoid 
them ;  for  he  rightly  conjectured  that  the  unusual 
vociferation  in  their  box  was  produced  by  their 
discovery  of  his  entrance,  and  ejaculations  of  in- 
dignation at  his  desertion. 

He  was  consequently  ss  little  at  his  ease  at  the 
theatre,  as  he  would  have  been  at  home.  To  his 
disturbed  thoughts,  the  eyes  of  the  merry  party 
seemed  to  be  constantly  upon  him.  He  fancied 
them  still  pursuing  the  system  of  quizzing  which 
had  irritated  him  the  preceding  night  into  the  un- 
lucky explanation,  the  full  force  of  embarrassments 
arising  from  which  had  been  demonstrated  to  him 
by  the  officiousness  of  Carrington,  on  his  way  from 
Arlington  Street  to  the  Club. 

It  was,  perhaps,  because  annoyed  by  the  sort  of 
Inquisition  to  which  he  felt  himself  exposed, — ^for 
the  laughers  had  the  advantage  over  him  in  point 
both  of  position  and  numbers, — ^that,  the  moment 
the  curtain  dropped  upon  a  tragedy  composed  of 
glazed  calico,  gilt  paper,  glass  beads,  cotton  velvet, 
twelve  flourishes  of  trumpets,  a  voice  more  up- 
roarious in  offering  "a  kingdom  for  a  horse"  than 
all  the  twelve  put  together,  and  a  prompter  still 
louder  and  more  active  than  both  the  trumpets  and 

2N 


430 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


tragedian,  Basil  quitted  the  theatre.  He  foresi^w 
that  the  significant  smiles  and  whisperings  they 
had  directed  towards  him  during  the  courtship  of 
Lady  Anne  and  the  mild  heroism  of  Richmond, 
would  have  double  scope  during  the  tumults  of  the 
pantomime. 

It  was  a  chilly  night.  The  moonlight  lay  like 
snow  upon  the  frozen  pavement ;  and  that  yiyid 
brightness,  which  in  summer  seems  intended  to 
facilitate  happier  enjoyment  than  the  glare  of  day, 
either  for  the  revellers  of  this  world,  or  those  which, 
unseen  and  imsuspected,  disport  themselves  impal- 
pably  around  us,  seemed  lost  and  thrown  away  on 
a  state  of  atmosphere  that  drove  both  man  and 
beast  to  shelter.  There  was  nothing  to  tempt  forth 
fay  or  fairy, — ^the  sylph  to  the  moonbeam,  the 
imdine  to  the  wave.  A  few  shivering  mortals 
crept  along  the  streets  despairing,— or  by  a  brisker 
encounter  with  the  cold,  attempted  to  lessen  the 
evil ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  connect  the  idea  of 
that  frozen  moonlight  wjth  anything  but  suffering 
and  discontent.— 

Even  the  young  blood  of  Basil  was  chilled  with- 
in him  ;  and  though,  in  the  course  of  his  musings 
during  the  tragedy,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
proceed  to  Westminster  and  ascertain  that  the 
man  whose  eccentricities  had  so  enthralled  his  at- 
tention was  not  wholly  without  assistance  on  such 
a  night,  yet  on  emerging  from  the  heated  theatre 
into  the  frosty  atmosphere  without,  his  courage 
almost  failed  him. 

As  he  issued  from  the  public  door  in  Bow 
Street  adjoining  the  private  one,  a  tiger  in  livery, 
with  a  cockade  in  his  hat,  touched  it  to  him,  an4 
ran  to  resume  his  place  in  the  cabriolet  he  had 
abandoned  to  the  care  of  a  brother  atom  in  order 
to  gossip  with  the  footmen  in  the  entry.  His  at- 
tention attracted  by  this  irregularity,  Basil  per- 
ceived that  two  of  the  cabs  in  waiting  were  those 
of  John  Maitland  and  Blencowe,  both  of  which 
were  always  at  his  orders ;  and  aware  that  neither 
of  them  would  be  in  request  for  two  hours  to  come, 
he  jumped  into  that  of  the  latter,  and  having  hur- 
ried as  far  as  the  entrance  of  Delahaye  Street, 
desired  the  lad  to  drive  back  to  the  theatre,  and 
await  his  master, — to  whom  he  was  to  explain  the 
occurrence.  Thus  secured  fyoiji  a  chilly  wfJk,  Basil 
proceeded,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  pavement, 
to  the  house  occupied  by  Abednego  j  and  raised  his 
eyes  anxiously  towards  the  attic  story.— 

Not  a  gleam  of  light  i^  the  windows, — not  a 
token  of  habitatioii  I — The  old  man  might  have 
been  left  alone  and  fireless,  to  wrestle  with  his  dis- 
ease ;  nay,  he  might  have  sunk  under  it,  united 
with  the  inclemency  of  tl^e  weather.— It  was  just 
possible  tbat  the  room  occupied  by  the  Money- 
lender might  not  face  the  street, — for  Annesley  had 
taken  no  note  in  the  morning  of  its  look-out ;  but 
if  not,  the  idea  of  an  old  ipan  in  a  high  fever,  Jialf 
suffocated  with  a  quii?sy,  (a  disease  of  all  others 
demanding  the  watchfulness  of  an  attendant,)  ex- 
posed to  the  chill  of  that  deserted  rat-hole,  was  in- 
deed a  picture  of  desolation. 

In  spite  of  the  cold,  he  stood  for  some  minutes 
wrapt  in  his  cloak,  contemplating  the  quaint  old 
mansion.    Then,  as  if  conscious  of  the  absurdity 


of  interfering  in  the  domestic  affairs  of  one  to 
whom  he  bore  so  little  affinity,  and  who  'would 
probably  resent  his  kindness  as  importunate  or 
artful,  he  walked  away  as  far  as  t^^Q  oornec  of  tiu 
street,  on  his  road  homeward.—^Agaii),  however, 
his  steps  were  arrested  by  a  SMiae  of  the  isolated 
wretchedness  of  A.  O.  !— 

"  If  the  old  creature  should  die  in  the  night  for 
want  of  aid ! "  murmured  he  ;  and,  at  ^he  suppo- 
sition, back  he  hastened  to  the  house,  and  stepping 
down  to  the  door,  rang  gently  at  the  belL — 

Basil  was  prepared  to  allow  the  greatest  possible 
latitude  for  liie  deliberation  of  the  little  sweeper, 
to  whom,  in  sending  the  medicines  from  the  chem- 
ist's, he  had  addre^ed  a  message,  promising  a  re- 
ward on  the  morrow,  if  he  adhered  to  his  prcnnise 
of  not  quitting  the  house.  He  therefore  waited 
quietly  at  the  door,  till  he  conceived  the  poor 
urchin  had  found  time  to  shuffle  up  stairs  from,  the 
heap  of  shavings  in  the  front  kitchen,  on  which  he 
}iad  promised  Basil  to  pass  the  night,-r-visiting, 
from  time  to  time,  the  chamber-door  of  the  invalid. 
But  when  five  minutes  had  elapsed,  Basil  rang 
again ; — at  the  end  of  ten,  a  third  time. — Still,  no 
answer  !— 

Weary  of  standing  in  the  cold,  he  begai^  to  ex- 
ercise his  personal  observations  by  examining  care- 
fully through  the  area  railings  whether  light  were 
perceptible  through  the  cracks  of  the  shutters  ; — 
the  kitchen,  ii^  which  Bill  had  promised  to  station 
himself,  bearing  evidence  in  the  name  of  **  front" 
of  being  overlooked  by  the  street. — ^But  the  most 
careful  eye  could  detect  no  straggling  gleam  be- 
tokening habitation. — 

"Perhaps  the  poor  boy  n^ay  have  fSallen  asleep 
in  the  cold  1"  mused  Basil,  drawing  his  cloak  closer 
about  his  ears.  "  If  I  were  to  try  and  wake  him  ? 
A  stone  thrown  against  the  shutter,  perhaps,  might 
rouse  him  up ! " 

But  where  was  a  stone  to  be  found  on  the  frozen 
pavement  of  Delahaye  Street? — ^Though  St.  James's 
Park,  and  all  its  gravel,  lay  within  distance  of  a 
stone's  throw,  Basil  might  as  well  h^ve  required 
an  "entire  and  perfect  chrysolite"  to  fling  at  the 
shutter,  as  a  single  pebble ! — After  a  moment's 
deliberation,  he  whistled  loudly,  in  liopes  that, 
if  dozing,  this  signal  might  reach  the  ear  of  the 
boy.— 

In  an  instant,  an  answering  whistle  sounded 
shrilly  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  a 
rough  hand  was  placed  upon  his  collar  I — ^Basil 
started  roimd  to  grapple  with  his  antagonist,  but 
stopped  short  on  noticing  the  dress  of  a  policeman ! 
— Ere  he  had  time  for  explanation,  two  more  ?an 
up  to  the  assistance  of  the  first, — 

"  Hold  fast.  Bill !"  cried  one  of  the  new  comejs, 
panting  for  breath. 

"  I've  been  watchin'  on  him  this  quarter  of  a 
hour,"  cried  the  original  c«^tor, — ^**  seeing  as  he*d 
a  heye  to  the  parlour  winders  o*  the  old  Jew.  He's 
been  trying  skeleton-keys,  and  what  not,  at  the 
door. — -JS'pose  we  gives  the  alarm  indoors  1  Prom 
his  piping  up,  the  chap  has  maybe  got  accomplices 
within?" 

"  Ay,  ay ; — a  put-up  robbery** — 

"  Jist  the  flash-cut  iv  a  Wist-ind  buijflar!*— 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


iSl 


died  the  third  polioeinaa ;  all  three  keeping  saoh 
iMSt  hold  of  the  coUar  of  Basil,  as  to  leare  him 
scaztMly  biea^  for  explanation^  which,  even  when 
made,  were  ntterl j  disregarded. 

•*  A  mighty  likely  story !"  exclaimed  the  con- 
staUe  horn  Great  Geotge  Street^  who  had  now 
come  up,  in  answer  to  the  summons  of  his  snbs. — 
**  Gre&tlttnen  who  oome  to  inquire  after  the  health 
<rf  other  gentiemen  do  not  whistle  to  the  footman 
downtheary!"^*- 

«  Nor  try  sklllton-kays  at  the  front  doorel  '*— 
added  the  third  policeman.^— 

^  Bendee^  the  old  fBllow  at  this 'ere 'ouse  hay Vt 
e'er  a  friend  as  ever  anybody  hear  tell  ol^"  ob- 
served the  original  captor  ;^— ^  and  from  his  imx- 
louiaMBB  to  have  his  house  watched,  I've  a  noticm 
thrare  •  property  past  common  inside." — 

^  In  that  case,  knock  at  the  door^  and  give  an 
alarm  to  have  tlie  house  searched^"  said  the  con- 
stable,—** B.  947,  wiU  assist  in  ctoryhig  this  fal- 
low to  the  station-house."— 

**  No  assistance  will  be  required, — I  am  quite 
willing  to  proceed  there,"  said  Annesley,  perfectly 
eompoeed.  **But  before  I  go,  I  should  be  glad  to 
learn  news  of  the  old  gentleman  who  resides  here, 
Irho  is  dangeroudy  ill/' 

The  men,  who  were  holding  him  as  tightly  as 
though  Jerry  Abershaw  or  Dick  TuTpln  were  in 
rfieir  dutches^  now  inquired,  with  eipressive  ges- 
toree^  whether  he  saw  any  green  in  their  eyes  :  to 
which  Inquiry,  Basil  replying  by  an  eager  reiiewal 
of  his  request  addressed  to  the  constable,  B.  947, 
who,  apparently  less  experienced  in  his  calling 
than  the  rest^  suggested  that  "no  great  'arm  'ud 
be  done  by  keeping  him  ftwt  till  the  door  uppen- 
ed."— 

•*  Do  you  st^)po8e.  Sir,  that  1  require  to  be  ob- 
stmcted  in  my  dooty  bv  the  likes  of  you  f  cried 
th^  indignant  constable.—"  I'm  anserable  to  my 
supfei^ors,  and  that's  enough.  Carry  him  off!" — 
said  he,  addressing  the  "  infer'ors"  with  the  dig- 
nity of  a  Dogberry—"  I'll  be  after  you  in  a  jiflfy." 

Annesley  was  accordingly  compelled  to  hurry 
off  between  the  two  policemen,  without  waiting  to 
hear  the  result  of  the  alarm  at  the  door  of  A.  O. 
He  offered  no  resbtance,— concluding  that  his  ex- 
planations at  the  station-house  would  produce  his 
imittediate  release ;  and  was  only  vexed  to  per- 
eeiv^  on  entering  the  crowded  room,  that  from 
the  number  of  charges  claiming  priority,  he  should 
be  some  time  detained. — It  was  no  such  pleasant 
sight  to  contemplate  the  number  of  wretches 
taken  insensible  from  the  door-steps  of  gin-shops  ; 
or,  though  it  still  wanted  an  hour  of  midnight, — 
the  set  of  miserable  beings, — ^more  miserable  from 
being  less  insensible,  apprehended  as  wandering 
homeless  in  the  streets  at  that  inclement  season. — 
Basil  Annesley  was  far  from  needing  Shakspeare's 
admonishment-* 

Take  phyBlc,  t»omp  ! — 
fixpoae  thyself  to  feel  what  wretches  feel, 
in  order  to  waken  his  sensibility  to  the  wants  of 
his  fellow-creatures  :  still,  till  that  night,  he  had 
been  scarcely  aware  of  the  nature  and  amount  of 
Wretchedness  infesting  the  streets  of  the  Great 
Babylon. 


At  length,  his  turn  arrived ;  and  he  was  begin>* 
ning  to  launch  forth  into  a  simple  narrative  of 
what  hiid  befallen  him,  when  he  was  authorita- 
tively desired  to  hold  his  tongue ;  and  the  deposi- 
tions of  the  police  assumed  their  due  precedence. 

Let  those  who,  after  listening  in  either  House  to 
a  dull  debate,  consisting  of  incoherent  nothings, 
hemmed  and  hawed  by  one  honourable  member, — 
mumbled  by  a  Becond,*-4nouthed  by  a  third, — and 
executed  in  dumb  show  by  the  hands  and  lips  of 
a  fourth,  (inaudible  in  the  gallery,) — ^peruse  with 
wondering  eyes  on  the  following  morning  in  the 
flowing  periods  of  The  Timee^  a  concentration  of 
the  wisdom  of  Pariiament,  arranged  under  the 

several  heads  of  **The  Duke  of ;"  "The 

Marquis  of  — ;  *'  "  The  Honoura)>le  Member 
for  fHnsbury,'*  or  the  honourable  member  for  no 
matter- what;  as  A  fair  and  true  representation 
of  the  bald  disjointed  chat  of  the  preceding  night, 
—conjecture  tiie  amazement  of  Basil  on  hearing  a 
most  consistent  and  plausible  narrative  of  his  ex- 
pldts  as  a  buiglar! — His  face  was  recognised  by 
several  present  as  familiar  at  Marlborough  Street ; 
and  one  more  general  of  information  than  the  rest, 
fiieetioUBly  reminded  him  of  his  two  months  at 
"theMiUl"— 

It  was  rather  a  relief  than  a  vexation  when 
im  examinatkm  of  his  person  was  ordered,  pre- 
paratory to  his  being  locked  up  for  the  night; — 
knowing  tiiat,  instead  of  the  skeleton  keys  and 
jemmy  imputed  to  him^  the  property  in  his  great- 
coat pockets  would  confirm  the  identity  he  had 
asserted.  When,  however,  the  initials  on  his  hand* 
kerchief,  and  the  tuan^  inscribed  in  a  pocket-book 
containing  his  letters  and  memoranda,  had  sufficed, 
as  he  fondly  imagined,  to  prove  the  delinquent  of 
Brixton  Mill  to  be  an  officer  of  the  Guards,  of 
honourable  reputation,  and  he  was  anticipating 
apologies  ftoma  ihe  Inspector,  new  grounds  of  sus- 
picion prlraented  themselves. — ^The  fellow  who 
taxed  his  face  with  having  been  ^^  up  a  matter  o' 
twenty  times  at  Mobbro'  Street,"  suggested  that 
the  "  soortoo  might  have  been  prigged  "  from  the 
rightful  owner,  and  worn  with  all  his  property, 
in  order  to  establish  an  alias  for  die  thief ! — 

**  If  you  will  send  a  messenger  to  the  Guards' 
Club,  and  request  Captain  Blencowe,  whose  cab  is 
waith^  there,  either  to  drive  hither  and  identify 
me,  or  despatch  one  of  my  brother  officers  for  that 
purpose,  or  even  his  own  servant  who  accompanied 
me  an  hour  ago  to  Delahaye  Street,  you  will  per- 
ceive that  these  men  have  deposed  falsely,  or 
rather  to  thrice  as  much  as  the  truth ! " — said  Basil, 
in  a  tone  that  startled  the  benumbed  faculties  of 
the  stultified  Inspector;  and  after  some  ftirther 
discussion  among  the  deponents,  he  was  locked  up 
to  abide  the  result  of  the  message. 

Three  quarters  of  an  hour  did  poor  Annesley 
await  the  return  of  the  policeman  despatched  to 
1^,  James's  Street ;  in  a  room  reeking  with  the 
vapours  of  gin  and  tobacco,  emitted  by  three  ragged 
human  beings  who  lay  huddled  together,  two  upon 
a  flock  bed  in  a  comer  of  the  strong  room ;  the 
third  upon  the  floor,  and  breathing  so  hard  and 
irregularly,  as  to  betoken  an  apoplectic  seizure 
rather  than  mere  drunkenness.     It  was  in  vain  he 


432 


ABEBNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


remonstrated  against  being  placed  in  collision  with 
these  outcasts.  The  charge  of  false- witnessing  he 
had  made  against  the  police  force,  exposed  him  to 
the  utmost  rigour  of  what  is  called  the  Law. 

At  length,  when  heated  and  chafed  almost  to 
frenzy  by  this  untimely  incarceration  and  revolt- 
ing companionship,  the  grating  lock  intimated 
that  his  probation  was  at  an  end;  and  he  was 
summoned  back  into  the  police  room, — now  hotter 
than  ever,  and  crowded  with  new  committals. 

The  first  objects  that  struck  him,  (their  Ches- 
terfield wrappers  and  laughing  faces  affording  a 
singular  contrast  to  the  uniforms  of  the  policemen 
and  filthy  tatters  of  the  prisoners,)  were  Maitland 
and  Wilberton,  arm  in  arm,  who,  having  issued 
from  the  supper-table  into  the  frosty  air  on  Annes- 
ley's  sunmions,  were  just  sufficiently  affected  by 
the  cigars  and  brandy  and  water  they  had  taken 
at  starting,  to  enjoy  beyond  measure  the  part  they 
proposed  to  play.  Though  satisfied  by  Basil's 
message  of  the  nature  of  his  scrape,  tiiey  pre- 
tended, on  reaching  the  station-house,  to  believe 
themselves  summoned  at  the  impudent  instigation 
of  an  impostor;  and  the  consequence  was  that,  on 
emerging  from  the  lock-up  room,  the  prisoner 
found  himself  treated  quite  as  cavalierly  as  before. 

*' Never  saw  the  fellow  in  my  life ! "  stammered 
Wilberton,  who,  more  elated  than  his  companion, 
was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  the  spree  proposed 
by  John  Maitland,  by  way  of  retaliation  on  Basil's 
pretended  engagement.  ^^  Some  drunken  dog  of — 
of  a  pickpocket^ — who  has  made  fr— free  with  our 
names ! " — 

**  It  is  deuced  hard  that  a  gentleman  should  be 
disturbed  from  his  supper  on  such  absurd  pre- 
tences!" added  Maitland,  assuming  an  air  of 
drunken  indignation. — ^And  Annesley  was  about 
to  be  removed  to  a  cell  for  the  remainder  of  the 
night,  when  something  in  the  rollicking  air  and 
exulting  tone  of  the  two  witnesses,  so  far  attracted 
the  notice  of  the  experienced  Inspector,  that  when 
Basil,  appealing  to  him  in  the  gentlemanly  tone 
which  rarely  fails  of  effect,  entreated  that  the  ser- 
vant or  servants  who  had  driven  down  with  the 
two  gentlemen  to  the  Station  might  be  called  in,  he 
readily  complied.  But  before  Maitland's  tiger  had 
time  to  make  his  appearance,  whose  testimony 
must  put  an  end  to  the  mystery,  his  master  had 
begun  to  address  Annesley  by  the  name  of  ^  old 
fellow! "  and  to  treat  the  matter  as  a  joke. 

The  result  was  the  instant  release  of  the  supposed 
burglar.  Nothing  had  been  found  upon  him  con- 
firmatory of  the  depositions  of  B  947,  who  had 
already  sneaked  off  in  anticipation  of  being  given 
in  chioge  in  his  turn ; — and  by  way  of  conciliating 
the  ex-prisoner,  who,  ere  he  followed  his  jocose 
friends  out  of  the  station-house,  intimated  his 
intention  of  lodging  a  complaint  with  the  magis- 
trates on  the  morrow,  the  Inspector  acquainted 
him  that,  unable  to  obtain  ingress  to  the  house 
in  Delahaye  Street,  and  seriously  alarmed  for  the 
safety  of  its  inmate,  the  policemen  had  attempted 
to  force  the  door, — ^the  noise  of  which  brought 
down  the  old  man  from  his  attic,  pistols  in  ha^d, 
to  certify  his  own  safety. 

** Nevertheless,"  added  the  Inspector,  "the  con- 


stable, who  persuaded  him  to  a  parley  with  the 
chain  up,  states  that  the  old  gentleman  was  in 
such  a  state  of  debility  that  his  voice  was  scaxcelj 
audible  ; — which  account,  Sir,  ought  certainly  to 
have  induced  more  belief  than  I  accorded  to  the 
motive  you  adduced  for  visiting  him  at  so  strange 
an  hour." 

On  his  release  from  the  tyranny  of  the  police, 
Basil  determined  to  return  instanUy  to  Delahaye 
Street;  being  now  certain  that  the  little  sweqwr 
had  proved  false  to  his  chaige,  and  that  the  miser- 
able old  man  was  left  alone. 

Just  as  he  was  quitting  the  door  of  the  station- 
house,  resisting  the  officious  offers  of  a  raggamnffin 
loitering  near  the  door  to  run  and  fetch  him  a 
cab, — a  strange  figure  appeared  at  the  comer  of 
the  street ;  which,  but  for  its  venturing  so  near  the 
head-quarters  of  the  law,  might  easily  have  been 
mistaken  for  one  of  the  calling  to  which  Basil  had 
just  escaped  the  imputation  of  belonging. — ^Bnt 
the  moon  shone  too  brightly  through  the  clear  atmo- 
sphere, to  admit  of  any  deception  in  the  eyes  of 
Annesley;  who  instanUy  discerned  in  that  un- 
sighUy  form,  the  individual  to  whose  aid  he  was 
hastening,  as  perhaps  on  a  bed  of  death ! — 

"Wha^  in  Grod's  name.  Sir,  has  tempted  you 
out  in  your  present  state  on  such  a  night !"— cried 
Basil,  eagerly  accosting  him. 

But  the  answer  was  wholly  unintelligible. 
Abednego  leaned  heavily  against  the  area-railings 
of  an  adjoining  house,  as  if  overcome  by  his  feel- 
ings or  his  infiirmities,  and  groaned  aloud. 

"Fetch  a  coach  1"  cried  Basil  to  the  fellow  who 
had  been  importuning  him, — ^perceiving  that,  short 
as  was  the  distance  to  Delahaye  Street,  there  was 
much  doubt  whether  the  strength  of  the  sick  man 
would  enable  him  to  retrace  his  steps ; — and  while 
hstening  to  the  broken  gasps,  half  invective,  half 
endearment,  in  which  Abednego  attempted  to  ex- 
press anger  at  his  young  friend's  officiousness^  and 
indignation  at  the  dilemma  into  which  it  had  be- 
trayed him,  a  vehicle  rattied  up ; — and  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  invalid,  after  being  lifted  in, 
sunk  breathless  into  a  comer,  convinced  Basil 
Annesley  that  his  previous  anxieties  were  not 
exaggerated. 

"  It  is  as  much  as  his  life  is  worth  to  have  en- 
countered the  night  air  on  such  a  night  V  burst 
involuntarily  from  his  lips,  as  he  compared  the 
warm  interest  entertained  in  his  behalf  by  the 
eccentric  old  Jew,  with  the  desertion  of  his  g»y 
associates; — and  a  hoarse  ejaculation  of  ^  vr 
life!"  which  escaped  the  lips  of  hb  companion, 
was  the  only  intelligible  sound  that  reached  the 
ear  of  Basil  till  they  stopped  before  the  door  in 
Delahaye  Street. —  ^^ 

"  You  must  allow  me  to  assist  you  up  staiw» 
said  Basil,  as  the  coachman  held  open  tiie  coach 
door,  and  Abednego  taking  a  pass-key  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  prepared  to  open  his  own.— 

«  No,  no  r  muttered  the  old  man,—"  I  teU  yon 
no ! — TTho  is  to  put  the  chain  up  after  you,  when 
you  quit  the  house  ?"— 

But  the  effort  he  had  made  for  this  explanation 
proved  too  much  for  him ;  and  on  reaching  h» 
door,  he  tottered  and  would  have  fallen,  whil«  »• 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


438 


tempting  to  place  the  key  in  the  lock,  had  not 
Annesley  started  forward  and  supported  him  in 
his  arms.  A  low  moaning  now  escaped  his  lips ; 
and  Annedey  haying  taken  the  key  &om  his  icy 
hand,  and  pushed  open  with  his  foot  the  slowly 
yielding  door,  carried  him  into  the  hall,  and  plac^ 
him  on  a  hench.-— After  returning  to  pay  and  dis- 
miss the  coachman,  he  carefully  closed  the  street 
door ;  and  even  so  far  conceded  to  the  habits  of 
AWcmego  as  to  bar  it  and  put  up  the  chain,  ere 
he  snatched  with  one  hand  the  filthy  iron  lamp 
which  the  Jew  had  left  burning  on  the  pavement 
of  the  hall,  on  his  departure  for  the  station-house, 
and  offered  his  arm  to  A,  0.,  who  was  gradually 
reviving. 

^  Let  me  see  you  up  stairs.  Sir,"  said  Basil. 
'^  It  is  useless  declining  my  assistance.  The  night 
u  half  over,  and  since  I  know  you  to  be  alone  in 
the  house,  I  sweai:  to  you  that  I  will  not  quit  it 
before  morning  !*• 

The  suffering  man  seemed  fully  aware  of  his  in- 
competency under  the  influence  of  growing  indis- 
position to  dispute  the  point  with  his  young  com- 
panion ;  for,  instead  of  offering  further  resistance, 
he  accepted  the  proffered  arm  of  Basil,  and  at- 
tempted to  ascend  the  stairs. — The  task,  however, 
was  by  no  means  easy.  His  respiration  was  all 
but  impeded  by  the  increased  swelling  and  in- 
flammation of  his  throat :  and  on  attaining  the 
second  landing,  he  clung  with  both  hands  to  the 
ann  of  Annesley,  and  panted  for  breath. 

It  was  not  till  after  the  lapse  of  some  minutes 
tbat  they  were  able  to  attain  the  attic,  the  door  of 
which  was  locked,— from  habit  more  than  as  a 
Mcurity,  since  there  was  no  other  human  being  in 
the  house. 

They  entered  the  room.  Basil  saw  with  concern 
that  there  was  not  a  vestige  of  fire  ;  and  that  his 
differing  companion  had  risen  from  his  miserable 
bed  to  answer  the  summons  of  the  police.  From 
the  iron  lamp  he  carried,  young  Annesley  hastily 
%hted  a  candle  that  stood  on  the  table,  which,  in 
strange  contradiction  to  the  habits  of  Abedn^o, 
pwved  to  be  of  wax. 

"  Give  me  the  lamp !"  faltered  the  old  man,  ris- 
ing from  the  herg^  into  which  he  had  sunk  ex- 
bausted  on  entering.  "  I  have  wood  and  shavings 
in  the  other  room.  Since  you  choose  to  abide  with 
^%  I  suppose  I  must  kindle  a  fire." 

"Not  on  mjf  account.  Sir !"  said  Basil,  eagerly; 
but  on  reflecting  that  the  sentiment  of  hospitality 
inight  be  the  only  means  of  inducing  the  old  gentle- 
**^*tt  to  bestow  upon  himself  a  necessary  indul- 
gwjce,  he  desisted :  and  Abednego  tottered,  grum- 
*>%,  into  the  adjoming  chamber.  Thus  left  alone, 
^  CMting  his  eyes  around  him  upon  that  wretched 
fowu,  as  much  a  place  of  penance  as  the  police  cell 
be  htd  quitted,  BasU  noticed  that,  on  a  low  table 
•^^Mde  the  flock  bed,  lay  the  book  borrowed  that 
TS^?  by  his  host,— and  beside  it,  a  large  crucifix 

■St  hron, — and  a  folded  paper! — ^A  cruopixI 
•j^rhe  world  then,  and  his  own  suspicions,  had 
^^ed  WTongfuUy  ?— Abednego  the  Money-lender 
^^¥^y  in  name  and  practices  a  Jew  !— 

Vvhile  pondering  upon  this  startling  discovery, 
*  wavy  fall  i^  the  adjoining  closet  attracted  Basil's 


attention ;  and  though  believing  it  to  proceed  only 
from  a  log  of  the  wood  mentioned  by  his  singular 
host,  he  hurried  to  his  assistance. — ^Either  A.  0. 
had  entangled  his  feet  in  the  long  wrapper  in  which 
he  had  enveloped  himself  to  confront  the  night  air, 
or  had  fallen  from  weakness ; — ^for  there  he  lay, 
stretched  upon  the  heap  of  mingled  coals,  cinders, 
and  fragments  of  old  wood,  that  encumbered  one 
comer  of  the  room ! 

The  old  man  had  struck  himself  too  in  the  fall ; 
for  on  lifting  him  up,  Basil  perceived,  by  the  light 
of  the  lamp,  (which,  though  overturned  on  the 
floor,  was  not  extinguished,)  that  blood  was  gush- 
ing from  his  lips.— -Lifting  him  hastily  in  his  arms, 
he  bore  him  like  a  child  into  the  adjoining  attic, 
and  placed  him  on  the  bed ; — ^Abedn^o  groaning 
heavily  at  intervals,— either  from  illness^  or  the 
disastrous  effects  of  his  accident. 

His  host  thus  manifestly  disabled,  BasU  felt  en* 
titled  to  bestir  himself  according  to  his  own  inven- 
tions. He  was  there  alone,  in  the  dead  of  nighty 
without  aid  or  comfort,  in  sole  charge  of  a  sick  or 
dying  msQ.  It  was  no  moment  for  scruples  or 
nicety. — ^Throwing  off*  his  great-coat,  and  hasUly 
gathering  from  the  heap  in  the  adjoining  room 
materials  for  a  fire,  he  soon  produced  a  blaze  in 
the  rusty  old  grate,  which  diffused  some  degree  of 
cheerfulness,  and  promised  gradually  to  diffuse 
warmth  through  the  desolate  apartment.  An  old 
kettle  stood  within  the  fender ;  but  as  it  proved 
empty,  Basil  proceeded  to  a  stone  water-jug  that 
stood  in  a  comer  of  the  room  to  replenish  it. 
The  water  in  the  pitcher  was  frozen ! — ^In  order  to 
break  the  ice,  which  resisted  his. hand,  Basil  took 
up  a  faggot  stick  lying  near  it  on  the  floor.  The 
crash  caused  by  the  fracture  seemed  to  rouse  the 
faculties  of  Abednego,  who  instantly  woke  as  from 
a  stupor. 

'^  What  mischief  are  you  doing  there  ?''  gaq>ed 
he,  evidently  only  partially  sensible.  **  What 
have  you  broken? — ^I  have  not  kept  a  piece  of 
crockery  entire  since  you  began  to  wait  upon  me ! 
— And  how  dare  you  light  that  monstrous  fiie  ? — 
Fool  I — ^what  have  I  to  roast  here  besides  your  own 
wretched  limbs,  that  you  thus  waste  my  fuel  ?/' 

From  the  little  Basil  Annesley  could  gather  of 
this  apostrophe,  uttered  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  he 
saw  that  Abednego's  head  was  wandering  with 
fever,  and  that  he  mistook  him  for  the  little 
sweeper. 

Without  attempting  to  undeceive  him,  he  per- 
sisted in  his  self-imposed  task ; — ^filled  the  kettle, 
set  it  on  the  fire,  and  having  found  untouched  the 
packet  of  dried  lime-flowers  he  had  despatched  from 
the  chemist's  for  an  infusion,  prepared  a  drink  for 
the  sick  man,  such  as  he  remembered  to  have  been 
administered  to  himself  at  Heidelberg,  by  the  mo- 
ther of  Esther. 

There  was  some  difficulty  in  finding  a  cup  in 
which  to  offer  it  to  Abednego.  As  a  last  resource, 
Basil  took  from  a  shelf  behind  him  what  appeared 
to  be  a  bronze  ornament,  which  afterwards  proved 
to  be  an  antique  silver  goblet,  a  chef'd^cewtre  of 
one  of  the  old  chasers  of  Lombardy ! 

The  invalid  drank  and  seemed  comforted.  Hit 
moans  became  less  heavy. — ^Afteratime  he  opened 


Adi 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER, 


hla  e^es,  and  breathed  as  ihongh  the  oppreauon  of 
his  chest  were  in  some  degree  relieved*  By  de- 
grees, and  before  he  altogether  regained  his  oon- 
sclousnessy  Basil  removed  his  outer  garments,  and 
having  placed  them  under  his  pillow  as  a  prop  to 
his  head,  covered  him  closely  up  with  the  qnilt  of 
Ais  wretched  pallet — With  a  second  cup  of  the 
hot  infusion,  he  now  mixed  some  antimony  as 
prescribed  by  the  chemist  he  had  consulted  ;  and 
the '  invalid  having  again,  almost  mechanically, 
swallowed  the  soothing  infusion,  Basil  left  it  to 
exercise  itse£Fect,  and,  wearied  by  his  unaccustomed 
exertions,  flung  himself  into  the  old  hergh'e  before 
the  fireplace  for  rest  imd  reflection. 
,  The  strangeness  of  his  own  situation  afforded, 
of  OQurse,  the  first  subject  of  his  cogitations  !— 
There  was  ke^  who  had  indignantly  rebutted  as  an 
imputation,  the  charge  of  intimacy  with  A.  O., 
krought  a^dnst  him  at  Lady  Maitland's  by  Blen- 
OQwe  andhis  set,*-aotually  establi^ed  as  sick-nurse 
)ieBidt  his  bed,  in  a  filthy  garret ; — ^performing  for 
faim  menial  offices  which  he  would  have  hesitated  to 
executeforpersonshaving  claimsupon  his  kindness! 

Only  a  few  nights  before,  his  mother  had  re- 
fused to  accept  offices  far  less  humiliating  frem 
him,  in  behalf  of  an  old  and  faithful  servant ; — 
and  now,  he  was  attending,  sole  servitor,  on  tiie 
dying  bed  of  a  stranger,— whose  very  existence, 
a  litde  month  before,  had  been  utterly  unknown 
to  him  I-^ 

But  the  stcangeet  of  all  these  incongruities  was, 
that  for  the  life  and  soul  of  him,  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  regard  Abednego  Osales  as  a  stranger  1 
Some  mysterious  tie  appeared  to  unite  them. — 
Though  the  common  but  most  holy  tie  of  fellow- 
oreatureship,  including  even  the  Money-lender 
under  theBiUie^l  designation  of  ^^neighbour,"ought 
to  have  sufficed  as  a  motive  for  the  exertions  of  the 
young  Samaritan,  so  as  to  need  no  further  adduce- 
ment^  Basil  Annesley,  as  he  contemplated  the 
Smoky  fireplace,  did  not  conceal  frem  himself  that 
he  felt  as  if  seated  beside  the  hearth  of  one  with 
.whom  he  had  been  long  accustomed  to  break 
bread,  and  take  counsel.  And  yet,  the  man  who 
lay  breathing  heavy  and  unconscious  on  that 
wretched  pdlet,  was  one  whose  vocation  and 
habits  were  hateful  to  the  generous  mind  of  the 
young  soldier!  Though  Uie  vigoreus  language 
and  force  of  intellect  of  Abednego  had  invested 
the  calling  of  the  Money-lender  with  a  new  char- 
acter In  the  eyes  of  Basil,— though  the  keenness  of 
his  soul  and  greatness  of  his  speculations  had  in- 
terposed a  soH  of  veil  over  the  littleness  of  his 
daily  doings,  and  the  detestable  nature  of  his 
usury,— young  Anuesley  did  not  attempt  to  dis- 
guise fi^m  himself  that  the  man  who  contemplated 
with  such  ftur-sighted  Philosophy  the  value  and 
social  influence  of  Money,  was  in  practice  a  petti- 
fogging wiser ! — Still,  with  all  the  inconsistency 
and  odiousness  of  his  pursuits,  Basil  was  conscious 
of  involuntary  deference  towajds  the  proprietor  of 
that  filthy  garret  I--M 

*  Hie  power  of  thought^— the  magic  of  the  mind," 

^e  ener^  <rf  soul  of  one  so  immeasurably  supe- 
«t»  io  his  own  position,  and  so  strangely  mas- 


ter of  the  destinies  of  others,  threw  a  aort  of  hsb 
round  the  gloom  of  the  place.  It  was  audi  wilfnl, 
wayward,  sdf-d«nying  miiefyl^Thete  waa wmki 
force  of  will,  such  a  concentraliiHiof  edf-inflktiflB 
in  the  privations  of  the  starving  milRemmnr' 
that  he  folt  as  if  contemplating  De  BaHc^  in  tbe 
cells  of  La  Trappe,  or  Charles  V.  in  those  of  & 
Quintin,  rather  than  a  vulgar  miser  ondeigmBg 
his  wilful  Prometheanism ! — ^While  gmidng  on 
these  denuded  walls,  if  it  were  possible  to  abao^  it 
was  not  easy  to  despise  the  inmate  of  that  ism 
chest  of  unavailing  treasure  !-^ 

EUs  greatest  source  of  annoyance,  now  that  lie 
was  satisfied  of  having  afforded  the  best  saoeonr  in 
his  power  to  the  physical  ailments  of  the  sick  mu, 
arose  from  the  certainty  of  harring  expoeed  \amSfM 
to  the  unsparing  raillery  of  his  brother  officers^— 
Devoid  as  l^ey  were  of  entertainment  at  that  sesaoc 
of  the  year,  they  would  not  fiiil  to  discuas  anun^ 
themselves  his  solitary  visit  to  the  theatre^  afiir 
the  pretext  of  an  engagement ;  his  having  drireii 
in  Blencowe's  cab  to  what  would  otherwise  haye 
passed  for  some  rendezvous,  but  what  was  now 
discovered  to  be  a  midnight  visit  to  A«  O.  ;-^-«  viBt, 
moreover,  so  unauthorized,  as  to  have  caused  him 
to  be  taken  up  as  a  burglar,  and  exposed  him  to 
the  chance  of  a  night  in  the  station-house  ! — 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  such  men  as  Wil- 
berton  and  Maitland  would  deal  kniantly  nith 
these  discoveries  \  and  old  Garrington  was  now 
too  stale  as  a  butt,  not  to  impart  due  valua  to  ani^ 
venture  which  exposed  young  Anneslej  fdr  eret 
and  a  day  to  the  bantering  of  thois  who  W 
already  so  moved  hia  choler  by  qualifying  hiifa 
as  the  arm-hi-ann  companion  of  the  Moie^- 
lender ! — 

In  order  to  escape  the  annoyance  of  his  anticipa- 
tions on  this  provoking  subject,  Basil  procHd«i 
to  take  fi'om  Uie  table,  the  only  book  that  nskffl 
room  aflbrded  for  his  amusement  ;«^^aveB  Ife 
volume  of  Hollar  vrfaieh  Abednego  had  so  strangelT 
chosen  as  the  consolation  of  his  houre  of  sicknen  !— 
As  he  removed  it  stealthily  from  the  table,  in  oitier 
not  to  waken  the  sick  man  from  hia  unquiet 
slumbers,  he  inadvertently  brushed  down  the  paper 
lying  beside  it,  and  stooped  to  restore  it  t^  the 
table.  In  the  displacement  something  f^  out 
— On  searching  upon  the  floor,  it  proved  to  be 
a  lock  of  hair ; — a  long,  long  tress,  eoil  witliin 
coil, — which  it  was  impossible  not  to  recognise  ^ 
that  of  a  woman, — and  difficult  not  to  surraiie  » 
that  of  a  woman  young  and  lovely ; — so  silken  ww 
its  texture, — so  rich  its  hue ! — 

Without  the  smallest  intention  of  prying  iato 
the  household  secrets  of  his  host,  Basil  cooU  rif^ 
replace  it  in  the  paper  without  discerning  tbts.— 
He  even  noticed  the  peculiar  colour  of  tiie  y^> 
It  was  a  rare  tint ;  yet  long  familiar  to  hl»  rftt  •< 
that  of  a  tress,  all  but  similar,  which  he  carrifd  is 
his  pocket-book,  and  which  had  been  recently  «^ 
folded  before  him  during  Uie  insolent  exsobi- 
tion  at  the  police-office  :— his  motHer^s  hilrH 
not  silvered  as  now  by  the  hand  of  time  sad  in- 
fluence  of  care  ; — but  rich  and  glotoy  as  dttrfof 
her  sunny  youth.  Basil  regarded  this  lock,  vhi<^ 
he  had  obtahied  as  a  gift  irom  Doicai  wKhsit  U^ 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


'436 


viother't  kaoV^ledge^  tts  the  taoet  preoious  treasure 
in  hia  poeBtaakm. 

Inetit/dWj  impelled  to  oompare  it  with  the  trees 
]ie  had  now  diaoorered  in  the  poeiession  of  the 
Jfoney-lender,  ha  drew  forth  his  pocket-book,  ab- 
fltxaoted  it  £rom  the  paper,  and  plaoed  them  side 
hy  udfdk — Not  the  variation  of  a  hfdr  ia  the  length, — 
not  the  difference  of  a  diade  in  their  hne  1— They 
^era  one  and  thd  8amel-**The  most  indifferent 
obeenrer  wonld  have  dedded,  aa  Basil  was  for  a 
moment  incUned  to  decide,  that  they  had  been 
idired  from  the  same  beloyed  head ! — 

But  oonld  this  be  ?-*What  analogy, — what  con* 
aezion  conld  exist,  ercoold  eyer  have  existed,  be- 
tween thMn?*~11ie  Money-lender  of  Greek  Street, 
Soho,  and  the  widow  ef  Sir  Bernard  Annesley  !— 
The  haughty  daughter  of  the  proudest  of  ambas- 
«ad<»B,— Ltod  L-— ,  and  tiie  thrifty,  artful  usurer, 
* — the  degraded,--the  notorious,«-4he  infiamous, 

CHAPTER  X. 

Scaredy  less  sad  than  the  scene  in  which  young 
Anneal^  was  officiating,  was  the  one  in  which,  at 
the  same  moment,  his  mother  was  acting  a  part 
•qnaDy  humane,  in  her  dreary  abode  at  BarMng- 
hsm  Grange. 

The  old  gaidcner  was  no  more.  The  burst  of 
fsding  of  which  Basil  had  been  a  spectator,  proved 
to  have  been  the  last  effort  of  expiring  nature ; 
and  it  was  the  lad  v  to  whom  from  her  childhood 
lie  had  been  devoted,  who  closed  the  glassy  eyes 
<tf  the  old  man,  and  placed  the  watoh-lightft  be- 
aide  the  dead.  Lady  Annesley  was,  perhaps^  the 
inmate  of  the  Gratige  best  qualified  ^r  that  solemn 
duty.  Her  mind,  rendered  stem  by  habitual  con- 
taot  with  care,  was  now  of  a  consistency  to  en- 
aaintST  without  trembling  all  or  any  of  those 
eamett  d«tiea  of  life,  from  which  the  gentle  hearts 
and  hands  of  her  sex  shrink  with  terror,  before 
titiwi  Urn  mm  of  the  other  have  been  wrung  under 
the  influence  of  aaguidi  or  remorse  !-^ 

like  one  moving  'm  her  sleep,  she  had  breathed 
in  the  ears  of  old  Nicholas  the  prayers  appointed 
by  the  Church  for  a  dying  bed  ;  and  if  this  eflbrt 
were  perhaps  instigated  by  reluctance  to  expose 
the  ievelationsof  his  infirm  intellect  to  the  ears  of 
a  stmnger,  it  was  no  such  apprehension  that  in- 
duced her  to  assist  the  sobbing  Dorcas  in  straight- 
iniof  his  limbs  lor  the  grave,  ere  consigned  by  the 
proper  attendants  to  his  last  home. — Once  placed 
hi  his  co^^  she  quitted  the  room ;— quitted  it 
with  a  heavy  sigh, — an  in-breathed  prayer !— Early 
sorrows  had  been  bitterly  renewed  by  her  trying 
attendance  on  the  old  man,  who  had  uncon- 
sdonsly  wounded  her  to  the  quick  by  his  incohe- 
rent ravings  | — and  above  all,  by  the  hasard  to 
which  they  had  exposed  her  of  betrayal  to  the  child 
of  her  heart-^But  he  was  now  at  rest— Both 
had  done  their  duty.  The  gray-headed  man  was 
released  Arom  his  earthly  penance ; — it  was  she 
alone  who  remained  to  suffer  and  to  atone  I 

Every  person  whose  feelings  have  been  excited 
by  the  performance  of  some  severe  and  engrossing 
duty,  must  have  been  conscious  of  a  strange  vacuity 
offesiing  when  the  infiuenoe  of  that  pamfol  ten- 


noil  is  at  an  end.  Xiike  a  sufibre^  whose  infirm 
or  shattered  limb  has  been  removed  by  the  surgeon, 
undefinable  sensations  of  uneasiness  seem  to  poe^ 
sen  its  vacant  place.  So  harassed  had  been  Lady 
Annesley  during  the  continuance  of  the  gardener's 
illness,  and  the  perpetual  hazards  to  which  it  ex- 
posed her,  that,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  in 
which  he  was  laid  in  the  grave,  when  the  old  house 
was  restored  to  its  usual  mournful  quietude,  and 
the  two  wcHuen  id  their  moulning  suits  kept  mov- 
ing silently  and  sadly  about  her,  she  oould  not  settle 
to  her  customary  occupations.  Involuntarily,  she 
reentered  the  room  whidi  had  been  appropriated 
to  the  use  of  the  deceased  ;— the  threshold  of 
which  riie  had  never  crossed  of  late  save  under  the 
influence  of  awe  and  remorse.  All  was  restored 
to  its  usual  form.  The  winter  sun  was  shining 
through  the  open  casement ;  and  driven  back  by 
the  piercing  atmosphere  thus  admitted,  she  had  no 
resource  but  her  own  warm  sitting-room,  and  the 
solace  of  her  books  and  desk. 

Nothing  more  common  than  for  people  of  the 
world,  on  hearing  some  compulsory  recluse  com- 
plain of  the  cheerlessness  of  solitude,  to  frrJaini) 
— **  But  why  not  read  to  amuse  yourself  1"  in  pur- 
suance of  the  commonplace  encomiums  of  ^'  the 
sunshine  of  tiie  mind  produced  by  study,"  which 
our  copy-book  morality  inflicts  upon  die  use  of 
schools.  But  the  notion  of  reading  for  amusement 
entertained  by  such  people,  consists  in  a  first-dass 
subscription  to  a  fashionable  library^  ensuring  the 
earliest  perusal  of  popular  works, — ^new  novels, 
brilliant  periodicals, — 'holding  up  to  the  eye,  as  in 
a  mirror,  a  reflection  of  the  progress  of  civilisation, 
and  a  picture  of  the  manners  and  prosperities  of 
the  day. 

Lady  Annealey's  book-case,  oU  the  ccmtrary, 
contained  only  old  editions  of  the  works  of  past 
centuries ;  philoeophy  rendered  obsolete  by  mooem 
improvement ;  and  theology  purporting  to  split  so 
fine  the  straws  of  doctrinal  casuistry,  as  to  reduce 
them  to  chaff.  The  few  sterling  books  she  possess^ 
ed,  the  bosom  comforters  to  which  we  turn  in  sick- 
ness and  sorrow,  had  been  her  sole  companions 
fer  twenty  lonely  years ;  and  with  all  one's  par* 
tiality  fer  a  fevourite  writer,  it  is  not  more  impos- 
sible for  the  dried  leaves  of  the  rose  to  retain  the 
hue  and  fhigrance  of  the  living  flower,  than  fer  the 
hundredth  perusal  to  yield  the  diarm  of  the  first. 
It  may  indeed,  perhaps,  when  voluntarily  culled 
from  the  shelves  of  a  voluminous  library.  But  it 
is  only  the  unlnfermed  and  unimaginative  mind  of 
the  peasant  that  can  derive  amusement,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  throaghout  a  long  life,  from  his  soli- 
tary volume  of  the  **  Pilgrim's  Progress.*' 

Lady  Annesley  had  been  more  than  once  forced 
to  admit  to  herself,  that  her  little  library  had 
ceased  to  charm  ;  and  if  she  pined  after  anything 
in  her  seclusion,  it  was  for  the  charm  of  new 
booh'  to  create  a  new  order  of  ideas,  or  a  happier 
combination  of  the  old. — But  on  that  cheerless 
afternoon,  she  felt  as  if  those  ancient  companions 
of  her  sorrow  might  perhaps  renew  liieir  charm  ; 
and  in  accordance  with  the  promptings  of  the 
solemn  scene  of  the  morning,  in  the  little  village 
church  wherein  she  had  seen  %sheB  reconsigned 


436 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


\ 


to  ashefly  and  dust  to  dust,  she  proceeded  to  her 
book-shelf  to  take  down  her  fayourite  Holbem, 
with  its  well-remembered  philosophical  interleav- 
ings.— It  was  gone ! — ^The  book  was  inclnded  in  a 
set  of  six  volumes  of  fayourite  works — ^The  Essays 
of  Montaigne,  and  George  Herbert's  Manual — all 
in  the  same  antique  binding.  Of  these,  five  alone 
remained; — ^the  copy  of  Hollar  was  no  longer 
there!— 

Lady  Annesley  felt  surprised  and  angry.  So 
undisturbed  was  the  tenor  of  her  life,  that  no  per- 
son but  herself  and  her  two  waiting- women  ever 
crossed  the  threshold  of  that  chamber ;  of  whom, 
Hannah  could  not  read  or  write,  while  Dorcas  was 
one  of  those  fortunate  indiyiduals  who  find  better 
icompanionship  in  the  seam  they  are  sewing,  than 
the  choicest  ehef^cemre  of  genius. — Still,  either 
the  one  or  the  other  might  haye  been  tempted  by 
the  striking  designs  of  the  book,  to  remove  it  from 
the  room  for  more  leisurely  inspection.  She  rang 
and  inquired.  Neither  of  them  had  ever  noticed 
either  the  existence  or  the  disappearance  of  the 
book ! — She  now  demanded  whether,  during  her 
attendance  on  the  gardener,  any  stranger  had 
been  admitted  into  the  room. 

"  No  person  whatever!"  was  the  reply. 

^*  Most  strange  and  most  vexatious !"  was  her 
rejoinder ; — adding,  in  the  depths  of  her  heart, — 
**  So  few  as  are  the  relics  I  retain  of  those  days, — 
80  few  and  so  precious,— -ill  could  I  afford  to  part 
with  this  r — 

*^  It  was  perhaps  Master  Basil  who  borrowed  the 
book  V*  suggested  Dorcas,  struck  with  a  brilliant 
idea.  ^  The  morning  he  was  forced  to  remain 
here,  after  your  ladyship's  fainting  fit,  he  was 
hours  moping  alone  here,  in  the  morning  room. 
Perhaps  he  had  b^^un  to  read  it,  and  took  it  with 
him  to  finish  on  the  road  T— - 

Lady  Annesley  expressed  a  contrary  conviction, 
and  dismissed  her  attenduit.  Yet  so  probable  was 
the  surmise,  that  the  moment  she  was  alone  again, 
^''^'^he  seized  a  pen,  and  addressed  an  inquiry  on  the 
subject  to  her  son.  She  had  intended  deferring 
till  the  morrow  intelligence  of  the  decease  of  poor 
old  Nicholas ;  but  so  eager  was  her  desire  to  assure 
herself  of  the  fate  of  her  book,  that  she  lost  not  a 
moment. 

Nothing  could  be  more  embarrassing  than  to 
address  Basil  on  the  subject  of  their  old  servant's 
demise ;  for  she  had  ventured  no  subsequent  ex- 
planation with  her  son  after  the  terrible  scene  in 
which  they  had  borne  a  part ;  and  she  was  con- 
Bsquently  uncertain  whether  suspicions  had  been 
excited  on  the  part  of  Basil,  or  whether  he  attri- 
buted the  terrible  revelations  of  the  gardener  solely 
to  aberration  of  intellect. 

The  moment,  however,  that  her  mind  became 
possessed  by  anxiety  concerning  her  beloved  vo- 
lume, she  lost  sight  of  these  considerations ;  and 
after  narrating  to  him  with  simple  succinctness, 
the  death  and  burial  of  one  who,  she  said,  '^  had 
been  to  her  as  a  friend  when  her  own  kith  and  kin 
had  deserted  her— a  good,  faithful,  and  submissive 
servant,  in  days  of  adversity  as  in  days  more 
prosperous," — she  proceeded  to  inquire  whether  he 
could  give  her  any  tidings  of  the  missing  book. 


*'You  are  my  only  son,  Basil,"  wlfote  laAy 
Annesley  ;  ^^  nay,  the  estrangement  and  prosperity 
of  your  sister  render  you  my  only  heir.  Yet  a 
few  years,  and  the  little  I  possess  will  be  your 
own.  Even  now,  I  am  not,  I  trust,  sparing  in  ad- 
ministering to  your  comfort,—- or  prodigal  in  the 
indulgence- of  my  own.  I  cannot  therefore  think, 
Basil, — I  would  willingly  not  believe, — that  you 
have  surreptitiously  abstracted  from  my  house 
an  object  which  you  know  I  prize.  How  mwch  I 
prize  it,  you  are  not  able  to  conjecture.  I  shall 
go  down  to  my  grave,  and  neither  you  nor  others 
will  ever  learn  how  dear — ^yet  how  cruel — are 
the  recollections  with  which  that  relic  is  con- 
nected.— ^In  my  solitude  here,  I  live  but  in  the 
past.  That  which  is  gone— Mom  who  are  gone, 
encompass  me  with  an  atmosphere  holy  and 
precious  as  themselves. — The  Hope  thatabideth  in 
you — ^the  Memory  that  abideth  in  Mesi,— haih  a  joy 
which  is  not  of  this  world.  I  know  not  what  I 
write ;  the  loss  of  this  book  has  disordered  me! — ^It 
seems  as  if  one  of  the  unrestorable  treasures  of  past 
affection  were  wrested  from  me  for  ever!— 

"No  delay,  Basil,  I  entreat !  Write  to  me,  if 
you  have  any  communication  to  make  touching 
the  object  in  question.  Fear  no  reproaches  on  my 
part,  if  it  should  prove  that  your  hands  indeed  re- 
moved it  from  my  house.  Too  happy  shall  I  be 
to  welcome  it  back  again,  to  hazard  a  single  ac- 
cusing word ! " — 

Such  was  the  letter  despatched  from  Barling- 
ham  Grange  ! — Such  the  letter  which  Badl 
Annesley  drew  from  his  pocket  beside  a  decent 
camp-bed  established  in  the  attic  of  A.  O.,  on  the 
fifth  morning  after  the  critical  night  of  his  dis- 
order. 

So  imminent  had  appeared  the  danger  of  the 
Money-lender  on  the  morrow  of  his  vigils,  that 
young  Annesley — doubly  alarmed  by  the  re^n- 
sibility  devolving  on  himself  should  the  death  of 
a  man  so  richly  endowed  occur  under  his  solitary 
guardianship  and  circumstances  so  suspicious,— 
had  despatched  the  sweeper  for  the  aid  of  his  regi- 
mental surgeon ;  through  whose  means,  he  had 
subsequently  procured  a  proper  attendant,  and  a 
few  of  the  necessaries  of  Me. 

Abednego  was  now  too  heavily  oppressed  by 
disease  to  take  heed  of  the  arrival  of  strangers  or 
bedding  in  his  attic ;  and  all  that  Basil  could  do 
in  excuse  for  their  introduction  into  the  treasniy 
of  treasuries,  should  the  old  man  survive  to  ques- 
tion his  proceedings,  was  to  seal  up  the  doors  of 
the  different  rooms  and  the  invaluable  bureau,  and 
give  up  a  daily  portion  of  his  time  to  the  superin- 
tendance  of  the  establishment. — 

Abednego  was,  however,  more  cognizant  than 
he  surmised  of  what  was  passing  around  him.  He 
was  aware  of  his  own  danger ;  aware  of  the  urgent 
necessity  for  the  precautions  taken ;  and  the  nurse 
proving  a  decent,  dull  woman,  content  to  sit  quiet 
in  view  whenever  not  employed  in  serving  him, 
he  was  better  satisfied  she  diould  be  there,  than 
that  the  house  should  be  surrendered  to  the  discre- 
tion of  Bill  the  sweeper. 

Still,  Basil  had  little  idea  how  often,  during  his 
absence,  the  sufferer  raised  his  head  from  his  pU** 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEV-LENDER. 


437 


loVy  to  inqiiire  of  the  woman  in  attendance  the 
hour  of  the  day, — ^the  length  of  time  that  had 
elapeed  since  the  young  man's  departure^-^and 
what  promise  he  had  given  of  return. — He  had 
little  idea  how  completely  he  imparted  light  and 
life  to  that  sinking  frame ! — He  could  imagine,  of 
course,  that  his  disinterested  services  had  proved 
acceptable  to  the  infirm  Money-lender.  He  knew 
that  Abednego  must  be  aware  how  solicitude  in 
his  behalf  had  exposed  him  to  one  of  the  most  dis- 
agreeable dilemmas  it  had  ever  been  his  luck  to 
encounter ;  and  though  such  was  the  state  of  weak- 
nesB  consequent  on  the  yielding  of  the  quinsy,  that 
they  had  as  yet  held  no  conversation  on  the  sub- 
ject, young  Annesley  naturaUy  conceived  the  suf- 
ferer to  be  gratefdlly  and  kindly  disposed. — It  was 
enough  for  him,  however,  that  so  whimsical  a 
being  had  not  seen  fit  to  resent  his  interference  ; 
and  he  looked  forward  to  the  convalescence  of 
the  invalid  rather  as  a  relief  to  himself  from  a 
painful  and  responsible  attendance,  than  from  any 
desire  to  receive  his  thanks  or  accord  explanations 
in  return. 

The  receipt  of  Lady  Annesley's  letter  startled 
him  into  other  feelings.  It  was  urgent  that  he 
should  regain  possession  of  the  book,  and  lose  no 
time  in  restoring  it  to  his  mother.  But  how  was 
this  to  be  accomplished  ? — It  had  disappeared  from 
the  table,  as  weU  as  the  crucifix  and  paper  con- 
taining the  lock  of  hair ;  and  the  nurse,  who  sel- 
dom or  never  quitted  the  room,  declared  that  she 
knew  nothing  of  it.  That  the  invalid,  still  scarcely 
able  to  lift  his  head  firom  his  pillow,  should  have 
remoyed  it,  appeared  improbable ;  and  Abednego 
was  so  weak,  and,  above  all,  so  peevish  from  the 
effects  of  illness,  that  Basil  had  scarcely  courage 
to  molest  him  with  inquiries. 

**  If  he  only  surmised,"  thought  young  Annes- 
ley^  as  he  sat  contemplating  the  embarrassments  of 
the  case, — "  how  mysterious  a  resemblance  exists 
between  her  hair  for  whose  pleasure  I  require  the 
book,  and  the  lock  he  seems  to  treasure  with  such 
wild  devotion,  he  would  forgive  my  importunity.*' 
On  entering  the  room  on  the  morning  he  re- 
ceived the  letter,  Basil  accosted  the  invalid  with 
his  usual  inquiries  concerning  his  night's  rest,  and 
the  visit  of  Ihe  surgeon. 

**  Your  doctor  b  to  come  no  more,"  said  Abed- 
ni^;o  faintly.  *^  I  paid  and  dismissed  him  last 
night.  It  was  only  to  satisfy  ycuy  I  bore  with  him, 
as  I  now  bear  with  the  old  woman  dozing  yonder 
in  my  easy  chair.  But  for  her  being  here,  how  do 
I  know  that  you  would  not  come  tormenting  me 
again  at  midnight,  to  light  my  fire,  and  snuff  my 
candle?" 

"By  all  this,  Sir,  I  perceive  that  you  feel  much 
better ! — ^It  is  only  the  man  in  health  who  quarrels 
with  his  physician.  As  to  the  nurse,  you  will 
admit  her  to  be  a  safer  guardian  for  you  than  a 
beggar  from  the  street  1"  added  Basil,  in  a  lower 
Toice. 

"  That  b  as  it  may  prove ! "  retorted  Abednego, 
gruffly*  "  In  the  time  of  the  Plague,  Defoe  in- 
forms us,  that  such  nurses  used  to  twist  the  wind- 
lupes  of  their  patbnts.  Thank  Heaven,  I  am  now 
strong  enough  to  take  care  of  my  own  I    How- 


ever, till  I  can  make  my  fire,  and  boil  my  kettle, 
she  is  welcome  to  remain.  She  *  finds  herself,'  as 
such  people  call  it ;  and  gives  me  less  trouble  than 
I  give  her.  Nor  b  there  much  here,"  he  continued, 
glancing  round  the  naked  walb,  ^^  to  attract  pil- 
fering fingers." 

"There  toere  things  here,"  Basil  began, — ^per- 
ceiving that  the  nurse  was  really  asleep,  under  the 
influence  of  a  crackling  fire  on  a  frosty  day. — 
"  there  were  objects  here,  at  the  commencement 
of  your  illness,  which  I  see  no  longer ;  and  the 
disappearance  of  which  makes  me  somewhat 
uneasy." 

"  How  mean  you  ?  " — cried  Abednego,  rabing 
himself  on  his  elbow,  and  pushing  aside  the  cur- 
tains to  peer  out  upon  the  bureau,  which  contained 
property  to  the  amount  of  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands!— 

"  No  need  to  look  so  far,  or  so  anxiously ! "  ob- 
served Basil.  "  The  things  I  speak  of  are  of  no 
such  urgent  value, — save  perhaps  to  you  and  my- 
self: — an  iron  crucifix,  a  timewom  book" — 

"  And  what  do  you  suppose  to  have  become  of 
them,  pray?"  cried  Abednego,  sharply, — ^letting  fall 
the  curtain,  and  sinking  back  again  on  hb  pillow. 

"  I  was  in  hopes,  Sir,  you  might  be  able  to  in- 
form me." 

"  And  if  I  were — are  you  so  miserly  vrith  your 
property  that  you  cannot  trust  me  with  an  old 
book?"— 

"  I  would  tmsi  you  with  any  property  belong- 
ing to  myself ; — Uie  care  you  take  of  your  owii 
satisfies  me  that  mine  would  run  no  danger  of 
being  mislaid  while  in  your  keeping.  Unluckily, 
I  have  little  eLner  to  lend  or  to  give  ;  so  that  you 
are  unlikely  to  be  much  the  better  for  my  confi- 
dence." 

"  But  when  I  tell  you  that,  val"ele8s  as  it  may 
seem  ioyouy  I  hold  to  that  book — * 

"  I  should  still  be  under  the  necessity  of—-" 

"When  I  tell  you,"  persisted  Abednego,  not 
heeding  his  interruption,  "that  it  is  my  comfort 
by  day  and  by  night, — ^that  in  the  anguish  of  my 
disease,  it  lay  upon  my  bosom,  and  soothed  its 
throbbings, — ^that,  in  the  darkness  of  my  despair, 
it  shed  hght  and  peace  around  me,  as  from  the 
wings  of  an  angel — " 

BasLL  began  to  entertain  an  opinion  that  the 
senses  of  the  invalid  were  again  wandering  !— 

"  When  I  swear  to  you,  that  while  treasured 
here, — ^here,  beneath  my  pillow, — here,  sido  by 
side  with  the  emblem  of  eternal  redemptioi],  —dear 
to  me  as  to  yourself,  although  the  lying  v  >rid 
opprobriate  me  by  the  name  of  Je  •, — '  has 
yielded  me  more  confort  than  the  Cross  of  Faith, 
with  all  its  promises  of  heaven ; — do  you  still  desire 
to  take  it  from  me  ? — No,  no !  Basil,  leave  it, — 
leave  it, — ^unless  you  wbh  to  see  me  sink  again 
into  the  bruised  and  breathless  mummy  to  which 
I  was  reduced  when  you  snatched  me  from  the 
grave!" — 

Basil  Annesley  was  silent.  To  dispute  with  him 
on  a  point  that  seemed  so  trifling,  at  a  moment 
thus  critical,  seemed  an  act  of  cruelty ;  yet  to 
disappoint  the  anxious  expectations  of  Lady  An- 
nesley, was  a  deed  yet  more  unpardonable. 


«3S 


.   ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


.  **  I  told  you.  Sir,"  said  he,  in  a  hesitating  tone, 
and  after  a  long  pause,  **  that  the  hook  was  not 
my  own,  and  that  I  had  abstracted  it  from  home 
without  the  concurrence  of  my  mother." 

"Well?"— demanded  Abedinego,  again  drawing 
aside  the  curtains,  and  fixing  his  piercing  eyes  upon 
those  of  his  yisiten 

"She  has  demanded  it  back  again.  She  is 
greatly  displeased  at  my  having  removed  it  from 
Barlinghanu" 

"  Send  her  down  ihe  last  new  novel  from  Hook- 
ham's  I"  muttered  A.  0.,-with  bitter  scorn; — ^  the 
lady  will  doubtless  consider  it  a  profitable  ex- 
chMigc!"— 

"You  are  too  presumptuous,  Sir,  in  deciding 
upon  the  tastes  and  feelings  of  a  perfect  stranger," 
retorted  Basil,  with  spirit.  "  You  little  know  the 
woman  you  pretend  to  judge  ! — Never  in  my  days 
did  I  see  a  novel  in  the  hands  of  my  mother !  Her 
studies  are  severe  as  her  conduct  is  exemplary." 

"A  daint,  eh? — ^Then  send  her  a  bale  of  ser- 
mons from  Hatchard's !  What  matter  under  what 
form  the  weak  nature  of  woman  accepts  its  subju- 
gating influence  ?    Novels, — ^poems, — ^tracts — •" 

"  In  one  word,"  said  Basil,  drawing  Lady  An- 
nesley's  letter  from  his  pocket,  "  read,  and  judge 
for  yourself,  whether  a  woman,  so  exalted  in  heart 
and  mind  as  the  writer  of  this,  is  likely  to  accept 
ANY  exchange  for  the  book  she  prizses !" 

On  seeing  his  mother's  sacred  handwriting  pass 
into  thb  withered  hands  of  Abednego,  Basil  almost 
repented  the  concession  he  had  made.  It  was  de- 
grading a  letter  of  hers  to  expose  it  to  the  eyes  of 
a  Money-lender ! — ^The  deed,  however,  was  done  I 

In  order  to  give  time  to  A.  0.,  in  his  weak  con- 
dition, for  the  perusal  of  the  letter,  Basil  Anneslej 
walked  gently  to  the  window  so  as  not  to  iDUse 
the  nurse  £rom  her  dose.  There  was  nothing  very 
interesting  in  the  look  out.  A  mass  of  icicles, 
appended  to  the  leaden  water-pipe  of  the  opposite 
Itttic,  was  the  most  interesting  object  he  found 
to  contemplate. 

At  the  close  of  a  few  minutes,  he  returned  to  the 
bedside,  intending  to  resume  his  conversation  with 
Abednego  ;  but  all  was  still  as  the  grave ! — No 
movement — not  a  sound ! — ^The  old  man  uttered 
not  a  word,  and  made  no  attempt  to  give  back  the 
letter.  At  last,  in  a  gentle  voice  of  expostulation, 
Basil  addressed  him,  and  addressed  him  in  vain ! 

Young  Annesley  now  drew  aside  the  curtains  of 
the  bed ;  and  found  that  no  vestige  <^  its  inmate 
was  perceptible.  Abednego  had  gathered  up  the 
bedclothes  over  his  head.  Like  some  mourner  of 
Scriptural  times,  he  had  covered  his  face  with  his 
garment,  and  was  weeping  bitterly. — 

Agitated,  in  his  turn,  by  this  unaccountable 
emotion,  Basil  Annesley  was  b^inning  to  feel  in- 
tolerably bewildered  by  the  baffling  mysteries 
that  seemed  to  involve  the  fatal  volume,  hb  re- 
moval of  which  from  Bariingham  had  been  the 
cause  of  such  general  disturbance. — 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  Sir !"  cried  he,  "  ex- 
plain all  this ! — Explain  the  interest  which  you 
and  every  one  else  appears  to  attach  to  that  ac- 
cursed book, — ^the  source  of  distress  to  all  with 
whom  I  am  ooncemed !" 


Still,  Abednego  answered  not  a  syllable.  By 
the  movements  of  the  clothes  in  which  he  had  ^- 
veloped  himself,  Basil  could  alone  infer  the 
struggles  of  his  emotion. 

^^  I  beseech  you.  Sir,"  cried  the  young  man,  after 
a  second  pause,  "  if  you  entertain  the  least  kind- 
ness  for  me, — if  you  feel  towards  me  a  thousandth 
part  of  the  goodwill  which  has  prompted  my  own 
exertions  in  your  behali^—4ell  me  the  meaning  of 
your  tears*  They  had  not  been  wrung  out  of  sudi 
a  soul  as  yours^  save  by  some  all-pow^ful  interest 
You  are  not  wcnnan-hearted,  to  weep  for  wanton- 
ness, or  from  the  weakness  of  mei;e  exhaustion* 
—Tell  me—" 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing,"  murmured  Abednego, 
uncovering  his  face,  and  e^o wing  the  letter  of  Lady 
Annesley  crushed  in  his  hand  by  the  grasp  of  un- 
controllable passion, — ^^^save  that  tide  lettwhss 
roused  emotions  dormant  for  years.  I  had  not 
thought, — ^I  had  not  dreamed, — that  iMa  womsn 
had  retired  from  the  w<^d  tb  ponder  over  Codings 
such  as  these  1" — and  again,  with  trembling  hand, 
he  grasped  the  letter. — "I  believed  her -told  and 
callous  as  she  was  once  woiidly  !— -I  bdiered, — 
but  no  matter  I — These  few  words  have  wrung  s 
dew  out  of  the  stony  depths  of  my  heart,  of  which  I 
believed  thefountains  to  be  longdried  up ! — ^Thanks, 
Basil  Annesley,— this  is  not  the  first  benefit  yon 
have  bestowed  upon  me  1—Thanks ! — ^Here^ — take 
your  book !"  he  continued,  drawing  the  int^ume 
from  beneath  his  pillow.  '*  But,  unless  you  would 
convulse  her  heart  with  ftgony,  as  you  havie  un- 
wittingly convulsed  mine,  tell  her  not,  on  yottr 
life,  through  what  strange  hands  it  has  experi* 
enced  a  momentary  transit ! — Unless  yoM  wish  to 
be  expulsed  for  ever  from  your  mother's  house,— 
unless  you  wish  to  incur  her  malediction, — ^never^ 
netfeTy  while  you  live,  breathe  in  the  ear  of  that 
unhappy  woman,  the  reprobated  name  of  Abednego 
Osalez!"— 

Ere  the  sufferer  ceased  to  speak,  his  voice  wae 
becoming  lost  in  broken  sobs ;  and  so  terrible  and 
absorbing  was  his  emotion,  that  Basil  had  not 
courage  to  pursue  the  anxious  inquiries  sug- 
gesting themselves  to  his  mind.  He  was  ove^ 
powered  by  the  spectacle  of  so  profb^ndly-felt  ft 
grief. — In  order  to  relieve  Uie  feelings  of  the  old 
man  from  his  observation,  he  again  rose  and 
walked  to  the  window,  in  order  to  straighten  and 
restore  to  his  pocket  the  book  and  crumpled  letter 
replaced  in  his  hands  by  Abednego. 

By  the  time  he  finished  his  task  and  return- 
ed to  the  bedside,  the  old  man  had  completely 
recovered  his  self-possession,  and  was  lying  with 
his  face  exposed  in  all  its  usual  harsh  composed* 
ness  of  feature. 

"  You  are  the  comptroller  of  my  household 
now,"  said  he,  addressing  Basil  with  a  grim  at- 
tempt at  a  smile.  "  Tell  me, — does  the  poor  boy 
still  oflSciate  as  my  lackey?" — 

"Bill  Is  Installed  down  stairs.  Sir,  to  answer 
the  inquiries  of  your  numerous  vbiters,"  re- 
plied Basil,  somewhat  startled  by  his  change  of 
tone. 

"  Ay,  ay? — I  wonder,  while  yoti  were  about  it, 
you  had  not  the  street  laid  with  straw,  and  the 


ABEDNKGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


489 


looker  tied  up,  as  for  aome  dainty  goosecap's 
lying-in !" — ^muttered  Abednego,  forcing  a  laugh. 

^Poriuips  I  might  have  dcme  so,  Sir,  but  from 
the  fear  of  offending  you,"  replied  Basil,  attempting 
to  smile  in  his  turn.  ^^MeUunks  I  have  taken 
liberties  enough  in  your  establishment." 

^  My  illness  must  have  caused  no  little  commo- 
tion among  my  oustomers !"  resumed  Abednego, 
eridently  intent  upon  distracting  Basil's  reooUeo- 
tions  fhan  his  recent  straggle  of  feeling. — ^  There 
are  more  people  interested  in  the  life  and  death  of 
A  0.  than  in  the  fEurest  of  the  childbed  puppets 
in  fine  linen,  we  were  talking  of  1^-Sore  are  their 
misgiyings,  poor  prodigal  souls,  concerning  the 
bands  into  which,  on  my  decease,  their  bonds  and 
securities  might  teJl  I — ^To  tkem  it  is  a  matter  of 
fiune  and  name  that  the  heir  of  the  old  Jew  should 
prove  a  man  as  trustworthy  as  himself  I"*^ 

*^  There  has  been  some  anxiety  testified.  Sir,  I 
mnsi  admit,  if  thai  be  any  consolation  to  you," 
replied  young  Annesley.  **  Every  day,  from 
twelve  tOl  two,  the  door  is  besieged,  I  am  told, 
with  applicants,  concerning  not  alone  your  house 
in  Greek  Street,  but  dozens  of  other  houses. — But 
as  I  am  by  no  means  qualified  to  act  as  your  clerk 
or  deputy,  you  must  consnlt  Bill  on  your  recovery. 
Having  little  appetite  for  business,  I  have  left  all 
sach  matters  in  his  hands." 

**  Bat  my  letters  ?" — ^inquired  A.  O.,  feeling,  or 
affecting  anxiety. 

^  As  soon  as  you  are  better,  the  boy  shall  bring 
them  np  to  you.** 

**1  am  better, — I  am  better, — ^I  am  quite  well 
alrea4y  !"^-cried  hb  companion,  settling  himself 
in  bed.  "I  am  always  well  oiough  for  busi- 
ness! "— 

Having  roused  up  the  nurse  by  a  touch  on  the 
shonlder,  Basil  now  despatched  her  down  stairs  in 
seaitih  of  the  letters  and  papers  left  for  A.  0. ;  of 
whieh,  on  her  return,  she  brought  back  an  apron- 
full. 

'*  I  find  that  you  have  had  certain  fedr  inquirers," 
observed  Basil,  while  the  woman  was  away, — 
'^folly  confirming  your  former  attestation  to  me 
of  tbe  advantages  of  a  Money-lender's  calling ! — 
Yon  have  had  those  pressing  and  sueing  to  be  ad- 
nutted  to  see  j^otf,-— 4;o  be  admitted  to  see  whom, 
others  are  eager  smtors! — You  have  had  the  Duke 
<rf  Rochester  here  twice  a-day,  evidently  beUeving 
yonr  illness  to  be  a  subterfuge ;  and  in  the  other 
foom,  there  is  a  whole  bale  of  necessaries, — sugar, 
viow-root)  wax  candles, — despatched  to  you,  twt 
by  a  grocer's  wife,  (as  the  nature  of  the  gift  seems 
to  indicate,)  but  by  no  less  a  person  than  the  lovely 
Conntess  of  Wmterfield  r — 

Abednego  repUed  by  a  hoarse  chuckle,— 

**  I  shoold  starve,  but  for  that  woman ;  and  her 
&mily  mig^t  starve  but  for  me!*'  cried  he,  turning 
cxnltingly  on  his  pillow.  **  She  is  the  purveyor 
of  my  larder — the  clerk  of  my  kitchen  I  WeU, 
well!  I  am  at  least  as  grateful  to  her  for  her 
"^9  tapioca,  and  Welsh  flannel,  (of  which  you 
Diight  have  found  wholesale  pieces  had  you  looked 
hi  the  lumber-room  below,  when  you  and  the 
Jnjrse  were  smothering  me  up  the  other  night,) — 
••  lit  to  the  meqiory  of  the  husband  who  made 


her  what  she  is,  and  whose  portrait  I  h^ve  iu 
pawn  yonder  in  my  bureau  |"— 

The  nurse  now  i^eentered  the  room  with  hn 
burthen;  and  having  deposited  the  papers  on  % 
chair  beside  the  bed,  Baal  dismissed  her,  in  order 
that  Abednego  might  examine  theni  undistuirbed 
by  her  presence. 

*^  Show  me  the  minister  who  has  a  more  volu<* 
minous  correspondence  on  his  hands  than  this !" 
cried  the  old  man,  pointing  exultingly  to  the  pile 
of  papers. — "  And,  pray,  who  paid  the  postage  of 
^U  these  letters  T' — 

^*I  did.  Sir;  that  is,  J  supplied  the  money  to 
your  servant." 

"So,  so! — ^you  institute  yourself  my  bankei 
then,  as  well  as  my  maitre  d'hptei  and  groom  of 
the  chambers  ? — ^With  all  my  heart !— I  am  always 
ready  to  accept  servioes  and  comforts  I  have  not  to 
pay  for,-^-witne8s  the  tea  and  sugar  of  my  Lady 
Winterfield  I — Look  here  1" — he  continued,  point* 
ing  out,  among  the  letters  he  was  successively 
opening,  several  with  seals  th^t  Yx^ce  aristocratie 
emblazonments, — ^^  Dukes,  Mavquises,  £arls,-^I 
have  them  all,  M  in  my  train  I  I  walk  like  a  king 
at  his  coronation,  witii  Howards,  Perc3r8,  Plants* 
genets,  in  the  wake  of  the  ccmtenmed  and  trampled 
A.  O. !-— Thriftless  fools  I — some  flattering, — some 
cajoling, — some  threatening! — ^asif  any  single  word 
they  could  write  or  utter  would  influence  me  mwe 
than  the  winter's  wind  whistling  through  the 
crannies  of  my  casement,— unless,  indeed,  the  Open* 
Sesame  called  intbrkst! — at  twenty  per  cent.,  fifty 
per  cent.,  a  hundred  per  cent., — ^I  am  willing 
to  hear  of  their  bonds  and  post-obits,  their  wants 
and  distresses  !  But  what  care  I  for  the  exe* 
cutions  in  theb  houses,  or  the  seizure  of  their 
fiimily  plate,  or  their  wife's  jewels !  Here's  a  fel* 
low  writes  to  me,"  pursued  Abednego,  striking  the 
open  letter  in  his  hand,  "  begging  me  to  save  the 
honour  of  his  fionaily  mansion  from  the  desecration 
of  sheriiFs'  officers,  and  swearing  he  will  not  sur- 
vive such  a  disg^race ! — ^Was  it  /  who  brought  the 
disgrace  upon  him  ? — ^Was  it  /who  decoyed  him 
to  Crockford's  ? — ^Was  it  /  who  induced  him  to 
hazard  thousands,  night  after  night,  at  piquet, 
when  he  had  not  even  hundreds  at  his  disposal  ? 
Don't  let  him  survive  his  disgrace  !-^not  the  dis- 
grace of  bailifis,  but  that  of  insolvency,  brought 
upon  himself  by  prodigality  and  vice ! — When  he 
first  appHed  to  me  for  assistance,  he  informed  me, 
in  answer  to  my  renK)n8trance8,  (nmch  in  the 
terms  once  used  by  a  certain  Mr.  Basil  Annesley,) 
that  he  came  for  money,  not  advice, — that  he 
wanted  a  Jew,  and  not  a  family  chaplain  I " — 

BasU  was  vexed  to  find  himself  colouring  deeply 
at  this  aHueion. 

"  And  here,"  continued  A.  O.,  bringing  forward 
a  perfumed  billet  from  among  the  wafered  com- 
munications of  attorneys  and  stockbrokers — ^ill- 
favoured  epistles  from  Birchin  Lane,  Bartlett's 
Buildings,  and  Hart  Street,  Bloomsbury, — *^  here 
is  a  dainty  creature  who  wants  me  to  oblige  her 
with  the  losQ  of  her  own  emeralds  to  appear  at 
Windsor  Castle  ! — ^The  guest  of  royalty,  forsooth  I 
— yet  writing  in  terms  more  abject  than  I  ever 
heard  used  by  Bill  the  sweeper  to  an  old  Money- 


440 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


lender ! — Mwt  delicate  handwritings.  — '  Lncy 
Maitland  V — ^Ay,  ay  1 — the  old-china  fancier ! — 
And  here,  Basil — here,  Mr.  Annesley,  is  the  first 
application  of  one  of  yonr  hrother  officers ! — My 
eye  has  heen  upon  that  hoy  these  two  months  \ — 
I  knew  I  should  soon  have  him  in  my  hooks, — 
that  is,  trying  to  get  into  my  hooks ;  for  I  have 
enough  of  the  family  affairs  on  my  hands  with 
those  of  his  precious  uncle." 

^  WUherUtn  ? — is  he  in  difficulties  V  exclaimed 
Annesley  in  a  tone  of  regret. 

"  Why  not  ? — He  keeps  the  finest  company ; 
and  has  a  taste  for  opera-dancers, — as  costly  an  item 
for  a  hoy  in  the  Guards  as  Sevres  and  Dresden  to 
his  mother.  You  needn't  hlush  again — ^I  did  not 
say  opera  wngerzy  Mr.  Annesley.  Trust  to  my 
delicacy  to  make  no  allusion  in  your  presence  to 
any  such  fragile  commodities !" — 

^  I  <2o  trust  to  your  delicacy  nerer  again  to  al- 
lude, with  light  mention,  to  the  person  at  whom, 
though  under  so  false  a  designation,  you  are  aim- 
ing !"--cried  Basil,  with  warm  indignation. 

**Well,  well, — no  offence, no  office!  Esther 
Verelst  is,  I  dare  say,  no  more  fragile  than  her 
neighbours ;  though  M<tf  implies  no  great  things 
in  the  way  of  discretion. — ^*H.  R.' — So!  then, 
my  Pericles  of  the  day!  the  fire  thousand  for 
which  you  pledged  your  public  honour,  and  the 
title-dc«ds  of  an  estate,  in  your  family  since  they 
wheedled  it  out  of  the  scurvy  soul  of  James  I.,  has 
not  sufficed  you? — ^You  must  cut  a  figure  as  a 
giver  of  banquets,  must  you,  as  well  as  on  the 
Treasury  Bench  ? — ^What  b  the  joy  of  place,  I 
marvel,  unless  its  salary  suffice  to  grease  the 
wheels  of  office  ? — '  The  expenses  of  his  very  osten- 
sible situation  to  be  maintained!'  he  writes. — 
Jackass ! — ^Because  he  chooses  to  have  Rhenish 
wines  and  French  entreis  at  his  dinner,  and  to  be 
a  fop  and  a  fribble  as  well  as  the  first  orator  of 
the  day,  must  he  needs  make  false  pretences  to  the 
Jews  about  *  the  expenses  of  his  ostensible  situa- 
tion V — ^Excellent  H.  R. ! — though  you  date  from 
Downing  Street,  you  will  not  throw  dust  in  the  eyes 
of  A.  O, ! — ^Were  you  half  the  clever  fellow  the  world 
believes  you,  your  letter  would  contain  three  lines. 
— *  I  want  two  thousand  pounds, — can  give  landed 
security,  and  not  more  than  twelve  per  cent.' — 
Tikat  is  coming  to  the  point ; — ^between  knowing 
one  and  knowing  one,  the  best  statesmanship.  I 
should  have  thought  the  experience  of  office  might 
have  taught  him  the  futility  of  fine  phrases, — 
mere  loss  of  time  to  writer  and  reader! — ^It  is  not 
by  locking  up  brickbats  in  a  plate-chest,  Mr. 
Basil  Annesley,  that  you  can  convert  them  into 
famUy  plate."— 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  tire  yourself.  Sir,"  said 
Basil.  ^'  I  would  fun  see  you  take  some  nourish- 
ment before  I  go.  Let  me  call  up  the  nurse,  and 
lay  aside  the  remainder  of  these  papers  till  the 
afternoon  ;  for  I  have  only  a  few  minutes  more  to 
be  here." — 

**  No,  no !— you  must  wait  a  bit !"  cried  Abed- 
nego. — "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I  have 
a  present  to  make  you." — 

"I  want  no  presents !"— cried  Basil,  instantly 
rising,  and  preparing  for  departure.     "  I  never 


accepted  one  in  my  life,  save  from  kinsman  or 
friend." 

^From  the  former,  I  suspect,  my  poor  Basil, 
your  gifts  have  been  scanty  enough !"-— ejaculated 
Abednego,  with  a  degree  of  familiarity  that  served 
only  to  aggravate  the  di^leasure  of  his  com- 
panion.— ^"With  respect  to  the  latter,  I  flatter 
myself  I  have  as  good  a  title  to  the  name  as  sndi 
flimsy  things  as  Wilberton  or  Maitland." 

^  They  are  my  brother  officers,— not  my  friends !  * 
— ^interrupted  young  Annesley. 

^  Then,  how  came  you  to  accept  from  the  latter 
the  desk-seal,  with  which  you  daily  seal  your 
letters?"— demanded  Abednego,  having  thrown 
young  Annesley  completely  off  his  guard,  and 
enjoying  his  uncontrollable  start  of  astonidiment 
at  this  minuteness  of  information  concerning  his 
private  affairs.  ^But  no  matter  1  I  will  not  force 
my  benefactions  upon  you. — I  do  not  deal  in  jas- 
per desk-seab  ;  and  any  day  I  choose,  the  Ehica 
di  San  Catalda  will  give  me  a  hundred  ducats  for 
the  miniature  I  intended  to  throw  away  upon 
you. — Good  morning  !"— 

The  attenti<m  of  Basil  Annesley  was  arrested 
by  mere  mention  of  the  name  of  the  Dnca  di 
San  Catalda.  He  was  eager  for  a  pretext  to  sit 
down  again,  and  await  an  opportunity  of  renewing 
the  conversation. 

^  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  l^r,"  said  he,  ^  that  among 
the  applicants  for  the  loan  of  the  house  in  Greek 
Street,  is  a  picture  dealer  who  resides  in  that 
neighbourhood." 

**  Apropos  to  miniatures  ?"  demanded  Abednego, 
fixing  his  shrewd  eyes,  with  a  cunning  smile,  upon. 
the  young  man's  face. 

*' Apropos  to  your  own  affairs !"  was  the  indig- 
nant rejoinder  of  Basil. 

**  As  r^;ards  my  own  affairs,  then,  be  so  obliging 
as  to  inform  my  ragged  footman,  pray,  wImh  yoa 
go  down,  that  when  Mr.  Stubbs  calls  again—" 

"  You  know  him,  then  ?"— 

"  You  told  me  his  name,  just  now." 

**  I  said  a  picture  dealer  in  Soho.  There  are 
dozens  upon  dozens  of  such ! " 

"No  matter!  I  know  enough  of  the  prying 
and  intrusive  dispositions  of  a  certain  Mr.  Stubbs, 
to  feel  convinced  that  ^  is  the  man  who,  with  the 
view  of  entering  into  personal  communication  with 
me  on  Ainr  subject,  is  likely  to  pretend  a  desire  of 
becoming  my  tenant. — I  desire  none  such ! — ^He  is 
a  swindler  and  a  liar.  I  wiU  have  none  of  him ! 
I  say, — ^let  Bill  inform  the  blackguard  I  will  hare 
none  of  him  !"— 

"  You  need  not  address  yourself  so  pointedly  to 
me,  my  dear  Sir !"  said  Basil,  unable  to  repress  a 
laugh.  «/  am  not  the  advocate  of  Mr.  Stubbs. 
You  might  pitch  him  out  of  yonder  window  before 
I  should  lift  a  hand  in  his  bdialf.  I  merely  men- 
tioned to  you  that  the  boy  complains  of  his  coming 
here  every  morning  between  twelve  and  two,  in- 
sisting upon  seeing  you  on  the  subject  of  your 
house,  conceiving  you  might  be  sorry  to  lose  a 
good  tenant." 

"A  good  tenant  in  Mr.  Jeremiali  Stubbs  1— But 
no  matter! — ^He  has  no  more  real  intention  of 
engaging  those  premises,  than  you  of  bidding  for 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


441 


NoHhQmbeTlinid  House! — ^Beaides^  I  am  in  no 
each  tortore  about  the  lease  of  my  house  in  Soho ! 
I  have  half  a  dozen  others  standing  empty^ — one 
in  Park  Lane^— one  in  St.  James's  Square^ — and  I 
shall  soon  have  one,  I  suspect,  in  Arlington  Street; 
for  unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  I  shall  be  forced 
to  make  a  crash  at  Lord  Maitland's.  I  have  given 
him  three  years'  law  to  redeem  engagements,  which 
I  knew  from  the  first  to  be  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands beyond  his  power  of  redemption  !" 

**  Lord  Maitland  ?" — exclaimed  Basil,  aghast. 

"Aj!  Lord  Maitland !— Why  not,  as  well  as 
another?" 

"  But  hb  unfortunate  wife  and  daughters " 

"  His  wife  is  some  degrees  worse  than  unfortu- 
nate.— ^But  that  is  her  concern,  and  her  husband's. 
As  to  their  hopeful  progeny,  it  is  written  that  the 
sins  of  parents  are  to  be  visited  on  their  children  ; 
and  seldom  were  less  deserving  children  exposed  to 
anoeatral  retribution. — Like  father,  like  son; — 
like  mother,  Hke  daughters; — ^all  empty-headed 
fools  togeUier !  But  i^t  his  Lordship  has  been 
trying  to  defraud  me  of  my  just  due,  I  should, 
however,  have  felt  disposed  to  deal  less  harshly 
with  him.  But  when  I  find  a  feUow  profiting  by 
his  privil^e  of  peerage  to ^" 

**  Pardon  me  if  I  entreat  you  to  give  me  no  un- 
due insight  into  the  private  affairs  of  my  friends," 
— interrupted  Basil,  again  rising  from  his  chair, 
on  finding  that  they  were  straying  further  and 
further  finom  the  miniature. 

"  Ay,  ay !— You  are  afraid  of  finding  your  chains 
of  gold  mere  pinchbeck. — You  want  an  excuse  to 
your  conscience  for  continuing  to  fiirt  with  Lord 
Maitland's  giddy  daughters,  to  eat  his  pine-apples, 
and  drink  hb  claret, — ^though  certain  that,  by 
payment,  they  are  no  more  hb  than  yours !"  cried 
A-  O.,  with  a  caustic  sneer. — ^^  What  curious  cal- 
culations might  one  make,  after  some  royal  or 
noble  banquet,  of  the  number  and  names  of  the 
persons  at  whose  real  expense  the  noble  guests 
have  been  entertained ! — Messrs.  Grove,  the  fish- 
monger,— Giblett,  the  butcher, — ^Fisher,  the  poul- 
terer,— Ounter,  the  confectioner, — Fortnum,  the 
grocer, — ^Morel,  the  oilman, — ^Durand,  the  wine 
merchant, — Garcia,  the  fruiterer ! " — 

**  You  are  at  least  making  out  a  very  tempting 
bill  of  fare.  Sir,"  interrupted  Basil,  anxious  to  get 
away. — **  I  can  discern  a  Barmecide's  feast  through 
thb  bare  muster-roll  of  names." — 

^  You  are  that  filthy  thing,  a  gourmand,  then, 
as  well  as  the  slave  of  a  pretty  face  ?"— -coolly  de- 
manded the  old  man. — ^'*  Well,  well !  God  mend 
you ! — ^In  my  time,  young  men  were  content  with 
the  vices  of  young  men ! — ^Now-a-days,  they  mo- 
nopolise the  weaknesses  of  boyhood  and  senility, 
— reconciling  all  extremes, — ^the  follies  of  beardless 
chins  and  greybeards  !"— 

"  I  must  again  say,  good  morning.  Sir,  since  you 
seem  dbposed  to  take  me  so  severely  to  task," 
said  Basil,  abruptly. 

**  Before  you  go,  however,  I  have  a  service  to 
request  of  you,"  said  Abednego,  suddenly  lowering 
hb  voice.  ^  Don't  be  afraid ! — I  am  not  going 
to  ask  you  for  the  book  again.  You  have  wisely 
put  it  into  your  pocket,  and  I  honour  your  cau- 

KO.  oil. — VOL.  IX. 


tion.  All  I  have  to  request  is,  that  you  will  break 
with  your  own  hands  the  seab  you  prudently  placed 
on  yonder  bureau.  Here  b  the  key!"  said  he, 
producing  one  which  Basil  had  already  noticed 
under  hb  pillow,  when  they  effected  the  sick  man's 
change  of  bed. 

Having  readily  complied  with  Abednego's  de- 
sire, Annesley  stood  awaiting  hb  further  orders. 

**  Touch  the  head  of  the  brass  nail  to  the  left  of 
the  last  pigeon  hole," — said  Abednego, — Cleaning 
on  hb  elbow,  and  watching  the  proceedings  of  hb 
delegate, 

Basil  Annesley  did  as  he  was  required ;  when, 
lo !  there  started  up,  from  the  bottom  of  the  old- 
fashioned  bureau,  a  trap  or  hide,  the  well  of  which 
contained  a  variety  of  articles,  apparently  of  less 
value  than  those  which  lay  unguarded  and  ex- 
posed above. 

**  You  will  find  a  brown  paper  packet  among 
those  trinkets,"  said  Abednego.  *^  Take  it  out, — 
dose  the  trap, — and  see  that  the  spring  b  secure ! 
— Then  lock  the  bureau,  and  bring  me  the  key  and 
the  parcel." 

More  amused  than  angry  at  the  imperative 
tone  in  which  these  orders  were  conveyed,  Basil 
obeyed. 

In  another  minute,  he  had  laid  both  upon  the 
pillow ;  and  was  again  taking  his  leave,  when 
Abednego  bad  him  wait  a  moment. 

With  trembling  hands,  the  old  man  was  pro- 
ceeding to  undo  the  packet. 

"  Can  I  assbt  you.  Sir?" — said  Basil,  conceiving 
that  it  was  with  thb  view  Abedn^o  had  delayed 
hb  departure. 

The  old  man  answered  not  a  word  ;  though  his 
hands  trembled  so  exceedingly,  that  it  was  evident 
he  would  have  some  difficulty  in  accomplishing 
hb  purpose.  There  was  a  knot  in  the  slight  cord 
that  tied  up  the  packet. 

"Better  cut  it!" — said  Annesley,  after  a  few 
minutes  lost  in  unfructuous  attempts,  and  present- 
ing a  penknife  from  his  pocket-book  for  that 
purpose. 

"Waste  not — want  not!"  murmured  the  old 
man,  in  a  feeble  voice ;  and  after  another  moment 
or  two,  Annesley  perceived,  to  hb  utter  amaze- 
ment, that,  in  spite  of  Abednego's  homely  proverb, 
and  deliberate  parsimony,  hb  feelings  were  so 
deeply  involved  in  hb  task,  that  tears  were  actually 
falling  upon  the  little  parcel ! — 

*^  Again  thus  agitated  I " — ^thought  Basil.  **  Thb 
must  be  the  very  weakness  of  disease ! — ^Twice  in 
one  day,  for  this  iron  man  to  evince  tokens  of 
sensibility ! — Yet,  who  would  believe  me,  were  I 
to  assert  that  I  had  seen  tears  shed  by  the  stony 
eyes  of  A.  0.!" 

The  packet  was  now  open; — ^butAbednego'shands 
had  not  ceased  to  tremble,  or  hb  tears  to  fall  I— 

It  contained  only  a  miniature  case ;  and  Basil's 
heart  began  to  beat  strongly  on  recalling  to  mind 
the  recent  allusion  of  hb  host  to  such  an  object, 
in  connexion  with  the  Duca  di  San  Catalda. 

"Accept  this  from  me!" — said  the  old  man, 
placing  it  open  in  hb  hands. 

And  to  the  utter  wonderment  of  Basil  Ajmesley, 
he  found,  on  opening  tl^c  case,  that  it  contained  a 

20 


44B 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


iMAntiful  enftmel  copy  of  Verelst's  exquisite  pic- 

tiu^  of  the  Eemeralda, — ^the  female  figure  of  which 

praeenting  a  striking  likeness  of  his  bdoved  Esther ! 

The  gift  was  indeed  inestimable  \ — Bui  by  what 


strange  series  of  ooinddences  was  he  Indebted  Ibr 
such  a  treasure  to  the  munifioenoe  of  the  MmMy- 
lender-— A.  0,  T — 


AFGHAUNIOTAN— PJ?0  AND  CON. 


KYBER  PASS. 

Mr  song  a  moomftil  muse  iiiTokes : 
Pale,  bleeding  o*er  the  Tale  she  stands. 

Wildly  wsTing  forth  herhaodSy 
Where  Kyber,  from  hia  snow-clad  rocks, 
Ponred  down  his  fierce,  insatiate  bands, 
To  bathe  their  keen,  deceitftil  brands 
In  blood  that  looks  to  heayen,  and  smokes 

For  Vengeance  on  their  cursed  lands. 

The  troop  has  reached  the  fatal  Tale — 
Slowly  the  lengthening  lines  ascend  ;— 
The  crags  in  horrid  tumolt  bend : — 
Each  eye  is  fixed — each  cheek  is  pale; 

For,  rising  like  a  fitftil  gale, 
A  thousand  echoing  voices  blend— 
The  heralds  of  a  dreadAil  tale ! 

Gleaming  athwart  the  firmament. 
Like  fiends  by  frenzied  Murder  sent, 

Wild  figures  blot  the  sky : 
While  one  dire  havoc,  deeply  pent. 
Ten  Uiousand  bosoms*  element 

Bursts  like  a  fiood  on  high ; 
And  they  who  dare,  and  they  who  fly, 
In  one  wide  waste  of  death  are  blentr— 

Unburied  there  to  lie. 

The  horseman  rears  his  battle  blade ; 
Secure  the  vengeful  foemen  crowd : 
Hiffh,  hanging  like  a  thunder  cloud. 

He  Mis — ^nor  asks  for  aid. 
The  startled  steed  defiance  neighsr- 
Son  of  the  desert !  think  not  now 
Thy  freely-tossing  mane  will  flow, 

As  in  the  pride  of  other  days, 

O'er  half  a  nation  low ; 
When  sandy  plain  and  sunny  slope 
Beheld  thee  rise,  the  Arab's  hope. 
Where  Carmers  rocky  mountain  smiled 
Upon  thy  birth,  proud  desert  child !' 
High  towers  his  head— quick  heaves  his  breath — 
The  sun,  like  lightning,  gilds  his  mane — 
It  ne'er  will  see  it  float  again — 
He  sinks— the  majesty  of  death ! 

Swift  ftt>m  the  musket's  deadly  throat 

The  winged  wanderer  flies : 

The  mountain  chieftain's  wild  war-note 

Throbs  on  his  tongue,  and  dies. 

With  streaming  robe,  and  grasping  hands, 

A  thousand  fiset  beneath  his  bands 

The  bleeding  wretch  is  driven ; 
While  ooloured  shawl,  and  caftan  rent, 
Wave  far  along  the  dread  descent. 

Prone  from  the  verge  of  heaven. 

In  vain,  alas  I  devoted  brave. 

Firm  as  the  rock  that  marks  your  grave, 

In  crowded  rank  ye  stand ; — 

One  efibrt  more— one  thought  of  home— 

A  prayer  to  heaven — ^then  bid  your  hand. 

With  dying  grasp,  and  dripping  brand. 

Carve  o'er  your  bloody  tomb— 
**  The  glory  of  an  injured  land 

In  Vengeance  yet  will  come !" 


CRUSH  THE  AFGHAUNl 

Crush  the  Afghaun  I  Why  does  he  dare 

To  daim  man's  birth-right  and  be  firee ! 
Gro,  slay  him  in  his  mountain  lair, 

Gro,  teach  him  magnanimity. 
Tell  him  about  your  gentle  creed. 

Good  will  and  Peace  to  wildest  horde, 
And  preach  it  while  his  heart  shall  bleed, 

Bevenge  the  grace  that  plunged  your  sword. 

What  is  he,  the  bold  Moslem  thle^ 

Rude  Gheber,  Bhuddist,  blind  Hindn! 
All  but  your  orthodox  belief 

He  dares  to  have :— wants  freedom  too  I 
Lifts  he  his  sword  'gainst  British  wrongt 

Plucks  he  the  lion  by  the  mane! 
The  Rebel !    Is  not  Britain  strongt 

Sweep  fiorth  his  race  from  hill  and  plaim: 

Go,  crush  the  Afghaun !    Ask  him  why 

He,  dog !  prefers  his  will  to  yours! 
Full  many  a  slave,  'neath  ev'ry  sky. 

Your  mighty  Helotry  endures; 
ToUs  to  flll  your  cheating  coff'ers. 

Your  bondage  f^els,  nor  dares  to  sigh ; 
Who  are  Afghauns!    Crush  the  scoflJers, 

They  dare  refuse !— Then  let  them  die. 

Pomp  of  empire,  blood-oemented  I 

— ^Witness  ye  orphans',  widows'  tears ; 
Strife  by  treachery  fomented, 

Proud  conquests  of  a  thousand  years  s 
Can  the  mountain  jackals  tarnish 

All  your  glorious  long  array  t 
Christian  Love  is  glosing  varnish, 

Shout  out  Revenge  I— like  Christians  slay. 

Kind, — ^you  wished  to  ease  the  burden 

Wldch  Freedom's  independence  gaTO ; 
He,  fbr  bonds  of  steel  and  burden, 

Took  all  the  promiseB  you  gave. 
Stifi'-neckM!  not  to  trust  you  better. 

Freedom,— a  free  man  loves  to  be. 
He  broke  your  pious  Christian  fetter, 

And  you  denonnced,  fbr  tyranny. 

So,  crush  the  A%haun  t  now  be  bruited 

Throughout  your  realm, — ^wlth  noble  port, 
Magnanimously  spurred  and  booted. 

Ride  down  his  children — spoil  their  sport. 
Strew  bones  to  bleach,  and  skulls  to  whiten. 

In  every  gorge  round  Afghaun's  throne ; 
And,  your  triumphant  march  to  heighten. 

Be  careful  that  they're  not  your  own. 

J.AO. 


443 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENTHAM  * 


The  Memoirs  of  Bentham,  up  to  middle-age, 
bare  already  appeared  in  a  series  of  articles  in 
7at^«  Magwnney  from  the  pen  of  his  latest  and 
noet  confidential  friend,  as  well  as  his  best  be- 
loYed  disciple,  Dr.  Bowring.  On  this  gentleman 
Bcntham  fiiUy  relied,  both  for  giving  his  works  to 
the  world  in  as  perfect  a  shape  as  possible ;  and 
(or  letting  posterity  see,  without  disguise,  wliat 
idnd  of  man,  in  his  daily  prirate  life,  the  most  ori- 
l^ial  thinker,  and  the  most  eminent  jurisconsult, 
rf  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries  had 
been. 

After  so  many  pages,  filled  with  Memoirs  of 
Bentham,  from  the  pen  of  Dr.  Bowring,  hare  ap- 
peared under  our  immediate  sanction,  it  would, 
perhaps,  be  hardly  graceful,  or  even  decorous, 
to  advert  here,  in  any  shape,  to  the  manner  in 
rbicb  be  has  performed  his  delicate  and  very 
merous  duties.  There  can,  however,  be  no  breach 
>f  decorum  in  adverting  to  the  earnest  spirit, 
lie  minute  fidelity,  and,  above  all,  the  affection- 
ite  warmth  of  feeling  with  which  he  has  per- 
brmed  his  sacred  office  to  the  dead.  Bentham, 
n  all  the  simplicity  and  truthfulness  of  his  every- 
lay  life,  and,  as  seen  close  at  hand,  has,  to  his 
ttograpber,  appeared  so  truly  great  and  amiable, 
tnd,  in  spite  of  his  little  foibles  or  peculiarities, 
perhaps  in  some  degree  for  them,)  was  so  worthy 
i  affection  and  reverence,  that  his  biographer  may 
lave  revealed  trifling  matters  which  more  impar- 
ial  <^  inc^ifierent  historians  had,  thought  better  left 
n  the  shade,  suppressed,  or  passed  over  with  slight 
wtice. 

The  period  over  which  this  new  portion  of  the 
Memoirs  extends  comprehends  above  forty  years  : 
ram  1792,  when  Bentham  was  in  his  forty-fourth 
"ear,  imtil  his  death  in  1832.  The  events  are  few, 
« the  greater  partof  thoseyears  were  spent  in  nearly 
ntire  seclusion  from  what  is  commonly  called  so- 
iety ;  yet  the  narrative  of  their  lapse  b  pregnant 
Hth  matter,  as  the  retired  philosopher  was  cogni- 
*nt,  and,  indeed,  intently  watchful  of  the  complica- 
rf  political  movements  of  society,  and  personally 
equamted  with  many  of  the  most  distinguished 
iaders  of  public  affisdrs,  during  the  various  revo- 
ttions  both  of  Europe  and  America. 

Presuming  that  our  readers  cannot  have  forgotten 
bose  earlier  portions  of  Bentham's  Memoirs  which 
Ppeared  in  our  pages,  we  may  now  mention,  that 
bout  the  year  I7d2  his  father  died ;  and  his  income, 
lw»dy  sufficient,  if  not  ample  for  his  wants,  was 
«:reafied  by  his  succession  to  the  family  property  in 
taeen 8 Square  Place,  and  to  farms  in  Essex  yield- 
»g  from  £500  to  £600  a-y ear.  He  appears  to  have 
^mediately  settled  in  the  house  in  which  he  died 
"^  years  afterwards ;  though  he  often  occupied 

*  "  The  Worka  of  Jeremy  Bentham,  now  firrt  collected  ; 
"w  the  foperintendence  of  his  Executor,  John  Bowring. 
M  19th  and  20th,  forming  the  tenth  volume,  and  containing 
JjMtmoirs  of  Bentham,  by  John  Bowring  ;  including  Auto- 
■^StphiMl  ConTeiMtioni  and  Correspondence.^*  Edinburgh : 


country  residences,  and  in  particular  Ford  Abbey, 
which  he  calls  ^^  a  monkish  and  magnificent  place," 
and  which,  with  the  fine  grounds,  he  rented  for  seve- 
ral years.  He,  at  all  times,  as  has  been  noticed, 
maintained  a  rather  extensive  correspondence  with 
the  most  distinguished  of  the  leaders  in  the  great 
political  and  social  movements,  both  of  the  new 
and  the  old  world  ;  and  was,  in  his  retreat,  visited 
by  the  more  remarkable  of  those  foreigners  who 
came  to  London  for  purposes  of  a  liberal  kind* 
An  invitation  to  dinner  given  to  one  of  those  per- 
sons, Greneral  Santander,  amusingly  describes  hit 
precise  locality  :— 

(Translation.) 

''Irt/ttZy,  1840. 
"  Dinner  with  the  Hermit,  at  the  Hermitage,  a  qnar- 
ter  past  seven  on  Monday.  On  entering  St.  James's  Park 
by  the  gate,  called  Storey's  gate,  at  the  end  of  the  street 
called  Great  Georjge  Street,  you  will  find  yourself  in  the 
alley  called  the  Bird-cage  Walk  :  midway  in  this  alley 
are  the  barracks  for  recruits.  Before  reaching  this 
building,  you  will  see  a  garden  entered  by  an  iron-rail 
gate,  near  the  barracks,  where  you  will  see  a  sentinel. 
Having  entered  this  gate,  you  will  find  yourself  in  a 
narrow  path,  which  takes  you  in  a  straight  line  to  a 
walk,  where  there  is  another  iron  gate,  which  you  will  find 
open.  Enter  by  it,  and  yon  will  find  yourself  in  another 
garden,  on  the  left  of  which  is  the  house  I  inhabit.  Yon 
will  mount  by  a  step,  which  takes  you  to  a  door  ;  and 
you  will  find  yourself  in  a  small  hall,  with  a  staircase 
before  you,  and  a  small  chamber  at  the  left,  at  whose 
door  you  will  knock :  as  to  porters,  or  other  men-ser- 
vants, they  are  a  sort  of  animals  not  kept  in  my  den." 

In  lieu  of  these  animals,  he  kept  as  secretariefl, 
young  men,  whom  he  honoured  with  the  name  of  his 
"  Reprobates ;"  and  of  whom  he  seems  to  have  had 
a  numerous  succession.  Besides  these  r^xdar  in* 
mates,  he  frequently  had  guests  domesticated  with 
him — ^though  never  but  with  a  view  to  those  great 
objects  to  which  his  life,  and  every  hour  of  it, 
were  unreservedly  dedicated.  His  letters  to  some 
of  these  individuals  will  best  describe  his  domestic 
habits.  The  first  is  addressed  to  Mr.  W.  Thomp- 
son, of  Cork,  who  had  consulted  him  on  the  sub* 
ject  of  establishing  a  Chrestomathic  school  in 
Cork,  on  the  plan  which  Bentham  had  unfolded  in 
his  Chrestomathia.  Having  given  this  gentleman 
all  the  information  and  advice  in  his  power,  as  to 
his  laudable  scheme,  the  correspondence  is  con- 
cluded by  this  invitation,  which,  with  the  next,  to 
a  more  distinguished  Irishman,  we  copy ;  as  they 
vividly  exhibit  the  interior  of  Bentham's  hermit* 
age  in  the  heart  of  the  busy  world : — 

**29M  September,  1819.  Tf 
^  During  your  stay  in  London,  my  hermitage,  such  as 
it  is,  is  at  your  service,  and  you  will  be  expected  in  it. 
I  am  a  single  man,  turned  of  seventy ;  but  as  fkr  f^om 
melancholy  as  a  man  need  be.  Hour  of  dinner,  six ;  tea, 
between  nine  and  ten ;  bed,  a  quarter  before  eleven. 
Dinner  and  tea  in  society ;  breakfast,  my  guests,  who- 
ever they  are,  have  at  their  own  hour,  and  by  them- 
selves ;  my  breakikst,  of  which  a  newspaper,  read  to  me 
to  save  my  weak  eyes,  forms  an  indispensable  part,  I 
take  by  myself.  Wine  I  drink  none,  being,  in  that  par- 
ticular, of  the  persuasion  of  Jonadab  the  son  of  Rechab. 
At  dinner,  soup  as  constantly  as  if  I  were  a  Frenchmao, 


444 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENTHAM. 


an  article  of  my  religion  learnt  in  France  :  meat,  one  or 
two  Borts,  as  it  may  happen  ;  ditto  sweet  things,  of 
which,  with  the  soup,  the  principal  part  of  my  dinner  is 
composed.  Of  the  dessert,  the  fhigality  matching  with 
that  of  the  dinner.    CoSee  for  any  one  that  chooses  it." 

When,  in  the  year  1828,  he  entered  into  a  cor- 
respondence with  O'Connell,  from  whose  zealous 
cooperation  in  Law  Reform  he  anticipated  great 
benefit  to  the  cause  erer  nearest  his  heart,  in  in- 
viting him  as  a  permanent  guest,  we  find  Bentham 
thus  describing  his  domestic  habits : — 

«17e*/tt^y,1828. 

**  To  obviate  disappointment,  it  is  necessary  that  my 
peculiar  manner  of  living  should  be  known  to  yon.  ^  My 
lamp  being  so  near  to  extinction,  and  so  much  remaining 
to  do  by  such  feeble  light  as  it  is  able  to  give,  I  never 
(unless  of  necessity,  and  then  for  as  short  a  time  as  may 
be)  see  anybody  but  at  dinner  hour,  that  which  is  here 
a  customary  one — seven  o'clock.  As  to  place,  I  never 
dine  anywhere  but  in  my  workshop,  where  the  table  ad- 
mits not  of  more  than  Ave.  Having  learned,  from  long 
observation,  that  as  in  love  so  in  business,  when  close 
discussion  is  necessary,  every  third  person  is  a  nuisance  ; 
in  addition  to  any  inmate  I  may  have,  I  never  have 
more  than  one  person  to  dine  with  me — a  person  whom 
either  my  inmate  or  myself  may  have  been  desirous  to 
hold  converse  vrith.  After  the  little  dessert,  the  visiter 
of  the  day,  if  mine,  stays  with  me  ;  if  my  inmate's,  goes 
with  him  into  the  inmate's  room  till  tea-time — ^my  two 
^oxmg  constant  inmates  taking,  as  above,  their  departure 
of  course.  The  evening,  not  later  than  to  half  after 
eleven,  is  the  only  time  I  could  regularly  spare  for  con- 
ference, so  far  as  regards  the  purpose  of  questioning. 
Your  mornings  would  be  passed  in  reading  any  stuff  in 
print,  or  in  manuscript,  or  in  receiving  explanation  firom 
some  young  fHend  of  mine,  or  in  ambulatory  conference, 
for  bath's  sake,  in  the  ^etrden  with  me.  Let  not  the 
word  appal  you,  for,  how  much  soever  your  inferior  in 
wit,  you  would  not  find  me  so  in  gaiety.  My  abode, 
you  see,  is  not  without  strict  propriety  termed  a  hermit- 
age. Servant  of  the  male  sex,  none — cookery,  for  a 
hermit's,  tolerably  well  spoken  of.  As  to  the  hermit 
himself,  smell  he  has  absolutely  none  left ;  taste,  next 
to  none ;  wine,  such  as  it  is,  guests,  of  course,  drink  as 
they  please — ^the  hermit  none.  None  better  has  he  to 
invite  you  to  than  a  few  remaining  bottles  of  Hock  laid 
in  in  1793 ;  older,  at  any  rate,  t^ui  that  which  Horace 
invited  his  friend  to  in  an  Ode  I  have  not  looked  upon 
these  seventy  years." 

To  this  invitation  Mr.  O'Connell,  who  seems  to 
have  been  a  cordial  and  sincere  admirer  of  Bent- 
ham,  replied  in  this  warm  strain  : — 

^  Would  to  Heaven  I  could  realize  your  plan !  how  I 
should  relish  a  political  retreat  in  your  hermitage,  to 
prepare  for  all  of  practical  utility  that  my  faculties 
enable  me  to  effectuate  !  But  I  cannot  leave  Ireland. 
The  progress  of  political  and  moral  improvement  seems 
to  me  to  want  my  assLstance  here ;  and  certainly  there 
would  be  some  retardation  in  the  machinery,  if  my 
shoulder  was  not  constantly  at  the  wheel,  and  my  kM 
on  the  shoulders  of  those  who  help  to  force  it  forward. 
Without  a  metaphor,  I  am  not  able  to  leave  Ireland, 
even  for  the  purpose  of  replenishing  myself  with  the 
reasons  of  that  political  fiu^  which  is  in  me.  I  am,  in 
good  truth,  your  zealous,  if  you  will  not  allow  me  to  call 
myself  your  humble  disciple.  It  is  said  somewhere, 
that  Irishmen  frequently  catch  glimpses  of  sublime 
theories,  vrithout  being  able  to  comprehend  the  entire 
plan.  For  my  part,  I  certainly  see  a  part,  and  would 
wish  to  comprehend  the  details  of  the  whole.  My  de- 
vice is  yours  : — *  The  greatest  possible  good  to  the  great- 
est possible  number.'  And  I  say  it  with  sincerity,  that 
no  man  has  ever  done  so  much  to  show  how  this  ohject 
could  be  realized,  as  you  have.  I  sincerely  wish  I  could 
devote  the  rest  of  my  life  to  assist  in  realizing  this  ob- 
ject ;  but  my  profession  gives  my  fiunily  at  present 
between  six  and  seven  thousands  of  pounds  in  the  year. 


and  I  cannot  afford  to  deprive  them  of  that  sum :  all  I 
can  do,  is,  to  dedicate  to  political  subjects,  as  much  time 
as  can  be  torn  from  my  profession. 

« I  am  deeply  imbued  with  the  opinion  that  onr  pnt- 
eedure  is  calciUated  to  produce  anything  but  truth  and 
justice ;  and  if  ever  they  are  elicited,  it  is  by  accidaat, 
and  at  an  expense  of  time  and  principle  which  onglit 
both  to  be  otherwise  employed.  H<no  u  U  potMt  tint 
tow  ttampB  and  law  fees  have  survived— about /«ij 
yearty  I  think—your  protest  ? 

<<  I  am  also  convinced,  that,  to  be  vnthout  a  cmle,  is  to 
be  without  justice.  Who  shall  guard  the  guardisas  t- 
who  shall  judge  the  judges  !— A  code !  Without  a  code, 
the  judges  are  the  only  efficient  and  perpetual  legisla- 
ture. There  is  a  melancholy  amusement  in  seeing  how 
the  *#60iMKif««»'— paidon  me— do  sometimes  i^Wafc. 
In  England,  it  is  bad  enough.  -In  Ireland,  where  the 
checks  (such  as  they  arc)  of  parliamentary  fatt,  and  rf 
the  press,  are  either  totally  removed  or  rendered  nearly 
powerless,  the  mischief  oi  juduwd  /<^trfa<io»,isfeltii 
its  most  mischievous,  ludicrous,  and  criminal  opewtioo. 
**  Mr.  Brougham's  evUt  are  plain,  and  aometuiiee  wtll 
disi^layed.  His  remedies  are  but  patches  placed  on  a 
threadbare  and  rent  coat,  and  cut  out  of  an  unused  lea- 
nant  of  the  original  doth." 

Unfortunately,  some  of  the  persons  to  whom 
Bentham's  kindness  of  heart  laid  him  open,  were 
neither  remarkable  for  gratitude,  nor  foraven' 
nice  sense  of  propriety.  Among  the  latter  claa 
was  John  Neaj^  who  requited  his  confidence  and 
his  hospitality,  in  a  manner  which  Dr.  Bowrin^ 
blames  only  with  too  much  gentieness,  when  he 


says : — 

The  rough  republican  frequently  annoyed  Benthia 
by  his  abruptness  and  incaution.  His  mind  and  naa-j 
ners  had  not  been  trained  to  that  gentle  and  conrteow 
bearing  which  so  peculiarly  distinguished  Bentham,  aad 
to  whose  absence  he  could  not  reconcile  himself.  Qn«- 
rels  with  Bentham's  servants  added  to  the  perplexitia 
of  his  position  :  yet  they  parted  with  mutual,  and,  nt 
doubt,  sincere  expressions  of  good  wilL  •      -     • 

Speaking  of  John  Neal,  Bentham  said,— 
**  Neal's  *  Brother  Jonathan'  is  really  the  most  e»- 
crable  stuff  that  ever  fell  from  mortal  pen.  Koprobi- 
bility— no  interest— no  character  resembling  hMUJ 
character.  Neal  is  a  nondescript.  We  have  no  sn^ 
being  here  :  he  was  always  cheerftil  and  talkative-aaj 
talked  on  every  subject  with  equal  confidence.  I  m^ 
as  well  have  had  a  rattiesnake  in  my  house  as  that  nan. 

Though  entertammg  an  antipathy,  to  the  whoie 
^  rcUtlesnake'*  genus,  Bentham  was  fond  of  ani- 
mals, and  especially  of  cats,  which  are  often,  pro- 
bably from  juxtaposition, /?<*»  of  the  studious  and 
retired  man.  He  was  also  fond  of  solemn  muflc, 
and  had  an  organ  in  his  "  workshop,"  which  ^ 
played  while  he  and  his  inmates^  or  guests^  sat^ 
dinner.  Upon  a  platform  in  this  apartment,  wwcfc 
seems,  in  some  sort,  to  have  been  library  m 
study,  as  well  as  dining-room,— 

Stood  a  bookcase  named  **the  (^urocdo,'' whWili» 
could  reach  without  leaving  his  chair,and  »  w^ 
stand  with  the  MSS.  on  which  he  was  oocupied,»P«^ 
with  writing  materials,  sticks,  pens,  and  P»n^^S[ 
Bors,  &c.  The  table  was  never  removed.  Oppoow  ^ 
was  an  arm-chair  for  a  single  visiter,  for  he  «*  d«» 
to  have  conversation  divided  and  distracted  "TjJJ'jL 
sence  of  many  persons.  One,  somethnes  two  BecP»««J 
dined  with  him,  who  were  honoured  with  »he  naw^ 
«  Reprobates."  Himself  he  liked  to  caU  "  the  Heram 
and  his  house  ^  the  HermitageJ 


A  usual  phrase  on  the  arrival  of  a  visiter  f 
was, "Let me  whisk  you  round  the  garden^  l«^ 
indulge  in  an  ante-prandial  circumgyration.  *^j, 
time  (says  Dr.  Bowring)  I  visited  him,  '''»^^^^JT-* 
a  comer  of  the  garden,  in  which  is  a  fine  sycanwre  u^ 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENTHAM. 


445 


ind  beliiiid  ilaa  obscure  brick  house,  he  suddenly  stopped, 
tad,  Iftjing  Dapple*  on  my  shoulders,  shouted  out,  ^  On 
four  Bumrowbones,  Sir  I"  I  saw  on  a  slab,  to  which  he 
MMuted,  <*  Sacred  to  Milton,  Prince  of  Poets."  It  was 
MiHon's  house,  the  house  he  occupied  when  he  was  secre- 
tary to  Cromwell.  The  garden  was  an  object  of  special 
leBghtto  Bentham,  who  was  passionately  fond  of  flowers ; 
md  the  garden  had  once,  he  said,  been  distinguished  for 
ito  tariety  of  fruits ;  but  the  growing  deterioration  of 
the  atmoqihere  had  destroyed  one  sort  after  another,  so 
that  a  few  currants  and  gooseberries,  with  abundance  of 
fine  mulberries,  were  all  that  time  and  smoke  had  left. 
Anne,  the  housemaid  and  waiter,  always  summoned  us 
to  dinner.  His  table  was  always  liberally,  not  to  say 
daintily  seryed  ;  and  when  he  disoorered  that  a  parti- 
cnltr  dish  was  a  favourite,  that  dish  was  sure  to  be 
found  by  the  guest,  and  often  bore  the  guest's  name.  I 
lemember  Uiat  '^ fried  parsley''  was  Dr.  M'Culloch's 
M,  ^scolloped  oysters"  was  mine.  He  ate  abun- 
^Uy,  for  dinner  was  his  only  substantial  meal.  **  Let 
■e  hare  the  ensign  of  authority,"  he  would  say,  taking 
the  bell-rope  :  and  at  ten  o'clock  tea  was  brought  in  ; 
bot  he  had  a  tea-pot  of  his  own,  which  nobody  elBe  was 
aUowed  to  use  :  the  ^  sacred  tea-pot,"  he  styled  it,  its 
profimer  name  was  **  Dick  ;"  and  Dick  was  always  put 
•rer  the  lamp  to  sing.  Many  an  odd  phrase  did  Dick 
give  birth  to :  ^  Has  my  Dick  begun  his  song  1 — then 
take  him  oif  his  perch."  "  Take  down  Dicky :  he  is  in 
a  passion.  What  a  piece  of  work  he  is  maldng  1"  In 
Dicky  tiie  tea  was  made  according  to  Bentham's  pecu- 
liar notions  of  tea-making.  The  water  was  put  in  at 
tince,  so  that  the  tea  might  be  st  equal  strength  to  the 
end.    To  the  sacred  yessel  a  history  was  attached. 

Dr.  Bowring's  connexion  with  Bentham  com- 
menced in  1820,  and  only  terminated  with  the  life 
of  the  great  jurisconsult,  who  peacefully  breathed 
liis  last  breath  in  the  arms  of  the  affectionate, 
faithful,  and  reverential  disciple,  whose  zealous 
Krrice  and  filial  ministrations  must  have  shed  so 
much  of  happiness  oyer  his  latter  years.  Dr. 
Bowring's  manly  and  tender  account  of  their  long 
and  intimate  connexion  does  even  more  honour  to 
Ms  own  hearty  than  to  the  memory  of  his  illustrious 
friend  :— 

My  acquaintance  with  Bentham  began  in  1820.  The 
^litics  of  Spedn  were  the  first  bond  of  intimacy.  Bla- 
quiere  had  suggested  to  Bentham  that  my  knowledge  of 
Peninsular  matters  might  be  not  wholly  without  use  to 
lum.  He  iuTited  me  to  his  house.  The  intimacy 
strengthened  horn  day  to  day.  For  the  last  ten  years 
ef  his  life,  I  belieye,  not  a  thought— not  a  feeling  of  his 
WM  concealed  firom  me.  Considering  the  disparity  of 
>ge,  I  doubt  if  any  man  was  erer  more  thoroughly  pos- 
Kssed  of  the  confidence  of  another  than  I  possessed  that 
of  Benthanu  Frequently  I  was  an  inmate  of  his  house 
— &lwiys  was  I  a  welcome  guest  at  his  table.  During 
hii  lifetnne  he  placed  in  my  hands  the  most  interesting 
portion  of  his  correspondence ;  and  at  his  death,  he 
^qneathed  all  his  MSS.  to  my  care,  in  order  that  I 
ought  select  and  superintend  their  publication. 

Blesrings,  benefits,  benignities,  courtesies  in  erery 
>^ie,  I  hare  receired  at  his  hands.  No  son  was  erer 
Imioined  by  an  afl'ectionate  fhther  with  more  evidence 
of  fondness,  esteem,  and  confidence.  And  to  me  his 
friendship  was  that  of  a  guardian  angel.  It  conducted 
ne  with  fidthftil  deyotion  through  a  period  of  my  exis- 
tence in  which  I  was  steeped  in  porerty  and  orerwhelmed 
^^  slander.  His  house  was  an  asylum— his  purse  a 
^iMry— his  heart  an  Eden— his  mind  a  fortress  to  me. 
It  is  only  since  his  death,  and  when,  in  my  situation  of 
sxeeutor,  all  his  papers  hare  fallen  into  my  hands,  that 
I, hare  learned  how  much  I  owed  to  his  courageous 
friendship-— his  unbroken,  his  unbending  trust.  For  I 
▼M  calumniated  on  every  side ;  and  the  calumnies  were 
^dressed  in  multitudes  to  my  protector.    His  good 


*  DQfpl9  was  the  name  Bentham  gave  to  his  walking-stick. 


opinion  was  turned  aside  by  no  insinuation ;  and  the 
heavier  the  accusation,  the  more  cordial  and  earnest  was 
the  defence.    I  give  one  of  his  earliest  letters  to  me  : — 

«  Queen's  Square  Place,  September,  1820. 

**  Dear  Sir,— Now  that  you  have  taken  me  under  your 
protection,  there  are  some  hopes  for  me.  I  am  a  hard- 
working, pains-taking  man:  a  law-maker  by  trade — a 
shoemaker  is  a  better  one  by  half— not  very  well  to  do  in 
the  world  at  present :  vrish  to  get  on  a  little  :  have  served 
seven  apprenticeships,  and  not  opened  shop  yet ;  make 
goods  upon  a  new  pattern :  would  be  glad  to  give  satisfiac- 
tion :  anything  they  may  be  thought  wantii^  in  quality, 
should  be  made  up  for  in  cheapness ;  under  your  favour 
could  get  up  some  choice  articles  for  the  Spanish  mar- 
ket :  would  not  interfere  with  my  protector :  scorn  any 
such  thing :  mine  a  difflerent  line :  would  allow  a  per 
centage  for  agency,  if  agreeable.  A  few  samples  v^ere 
circuited  some  time  ago  by  an  agent  of  mine,  M.  Du- 
mont,  of  Geneva :  think  &ej  were  approved  of.  He 
has  set  up  for  himself,  and  got  a  job  there.  I  let  him 
have  some  of  my  tools  and  materials.  He  was  forced  to 
take  in  partners.  They  had  been  so  used  to  the  old 
way,  that  they  were  a  little  awkward  at  the  new  one : 
they  have  been  coming  out  by  degrees ;  still  it  is  but 
up-hiU  work.  He  would  have  had  me  take  the  job  in 
lumd  and  go  through  with  it.  If  I  lived,  so  perhaps  I 
might  one  of  these  days,  rather  than  the  thing  should 
not  be  done  ;  but  the  market  there  is  so  narrow.  Spain! 
Spain !  there  is  something  like  a  market.  An  order 
filom  that  country  would  make  a  man  work  early  and 
late." 

For  some  months  before  his  death,  Bentham  had  been 
anticipating  the  event.  The  loss  of  many  of  his  fkonl- 
ties,  particularly  of  his  memory,  was  very  obvious  to 
him,  and  he  firequently  expressed  his  conviction,  that 
mind  and  body  were  giving  way  together.  I  was  absent 
from  England  a  month  or  two  before  he  died.  So 
anxious  was  he  to  save  me  trom  the  distress  which  the 
knowledge  of  his  situation  would  have  caused,  that  he 
directed  certain  letters  of  his  to  be  sent  to  me,  only  in 
case  of  his  recovery  or  death,  lest  their  contents,  by  evi- 
dencing the  state  of  his  health,  might  be  the  cause  of 
suffering  to  me. 

From  gentleness  and  kindliness  of  disposition. 
Dr.  Bowring  must  have  been  much  better  suited 
to  the  temper  and  habits  of  the  somewhat  exacting 
and  occasionally  whimsical  aged  philosopher,  than 
such  sturdy  disciples  as  Mill,  or  such  admirers  as 
Brougham.  To  the  former,  who,  next  to  Dumont, 
was  tibe  most  successful  propagandist  of  his  peculiar 
doctrines,  Bentham  had  been  a  kind  and  liberal 
friend,  when  kindness  was  greatly  needed,  and, 
therefore,  of  tenfold  yalue  :  hut  Dr.  Bowring  does 
not  quite  make  out  that  in  the  misunderstandings 
— ^for  quarrels  would  he  too  strong  a  word — of 
these  distinguished  men,  there  was  not,  as  is  usual 
in  all  such  cases,  faults  upon  both  sides.  However 
hard  and  unamiable  the  temper  of  Mill  may  haye 
been — ^however  impatient  of  contradiction  and 
unsympathizing  he  was,  there  must  have  been 
some  powerfully  irritating  cause  at  work,  and  that 
for  a  long  period,  before  he  could  have  vmtten 
in  this  strain,  while  living  under  the  sanctity  of 
Bentham's  roof : — 

^  I  should  contemplate  with  great  dread  the  passing 
another  summer  vrith  you,  and  think  that  we  ought  by 
no  means  to  put  our  friendship  to  so  severe  a  test.  I 
am  desirous  of  staying  with  you  this  season,  as  long  as 
you  yourself  continue  in  the  country,  both  for  the  sake 
of  appearance,  and  because  you  have  had  no  time  to 
make  any  other  arrangement  for  society :  and  I  shall 
remain  with  so  much  the  deeper  an  interest,  that  it  is  a 
pleasure  not  to  be  renewed.  For  I  can  most  truly 
assure  you,  that  at  no  moment  were  you  ever  more  m 


446 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENTHAM. 


object  to  me  of  reTerence,  and  also  of  affection,  than  at 
the  present ;  and  nothing  on  mj  part  shall  be  left  un- 
done while  I  here  remain,  to  render  my  presence  agree- 
able to  you :  perhaps,  I  ought  rather  to  say,  as  little 
disagreeable  as  possible." 

After  some  details  respecting  family  and  pecuniary 
arrangements,  Bfill  concludes  : — 

"  As  I  propose  all  this  most  sincerely,  with  a  view  of 
preserving  our  friendship— and  as  the  only  means,  in  my 
opinion,  of  doing  so,— the  explanation  being  thus  made, 
I  think  we  should  begin  to  act  towards  one  another 
without  any  allusion  whatsoever  towards  the  past ;  talk 
together,  and  walk  together,  looking  forward  solely, 
never  back ;  and  as  if  this  arrangement  had  been  the 
effect  of  the  most  amicable  consultation,  we  can  talk 
about  our  studies,  and  about  everything  else,  as  if  no 
umbrage  had  ever  existed  :  and  thus  we  shall  not  only 
add  to  the  comfort  of  each  other  during  the  limited  time 
we  shall  be  together,  we  shall  also  avoid  the  unpleasant 
observations  which  will  be  made  upon  us  by  other  peo- 
ple. For  my  part,  I  have  been  at  pains  to  conceal  even 
from  my  wife  that  there  is  any  coldness  between  us.  I 
am  strongly  in  hopes  that  the  idea  of  the  limitation  will 

five  an  additional  interest  to  our  society,  and  over- 
alance  the  effects  of  a  too  long  and  uninterrupted  inti- 
macy, which  I  believe  to  be  the  great  cause ;  for  there 
is  such  a  disparity  between  the  apparent  cause,  my 
riding  out  a  few  times  in  the  morning  with  Mr.  Hume, 
to  take  advantage  of  his  horses  in  seeing  a  little  of  the 
country,  instead  of  walking  with  you,— and  the  great 
umbrage  which  you  have  extracted,  that  the  disposi- 
tion must  have  been  prepared  by  other  causes,  and  only 
happened  first  to  manifest  itself  on  that  occasion. 

**  I  remain,  with  an  esteem  which  can  hardly  be  added 
to,  and  which,  I  am  sure,  will  never  be  diminished,  my 
dear  Friend  and  Master,  most  affectionately  yours." 

The  part  of  this  letter,  quoted  above,  or  the 
whole  of  it  taken  together,  will  give,  we  should 
imagine,  the  impartial  reader  a  somewhat  different 
impression  from  that  which  Dr.  Bowring,  viewing 
the  affair  with  Bentham's  eyes,  must  have  received 
from  it,  ere  he  could  say — 

This  letter  admirably  exhibits  the  chaiaoter  of  Mill's 
mind;  not  amiable,  but  most  sagacious — impatient  of 
contradiction  or  of  check,  but  penetrating  and  philoso- 
phical. No  man  ever  reasoned  with  stronger  logical 
powers — ^no  man  had  ever  a  more  accurate  perception  of 
truth,  or  a  more  condensed  form  of  expression.  No  man 
was  ever  more  efficient  as  a  controversialist,  or  more 
felicitous  in  the  exposure  of  a  fallacy  or  a  flaw.  His 
weaknesses  were  those  of  temper.  When  listened  to, 
lie  was  admirable ;  it  was  only  when  the  tide  of  his 
Idlings,  and  the  peculiarities  of  his  nature  met  with  re- 
sistance, that  he  appeared  in  an  unattractive  light.  Of 
his  intellectual  capacity,  Bentham  thought  most  highly  : 
but  the  scholar  had  none  of  the  gentleness,  none  of  the 
tenderness  for  the  feelings  of  others,  which  distinguished 
the  teacher.  **  He  argues  against  oppression,"  said 
Bentham — ^**less  because  he  loves  the  oppressed  many, 
than  because  he  hates  the  oppressing  few.  He  fights  for 
the  people — ^not  that  he  cares  for  the  suffering  people, 
but  that  he  cannot  tolerate  the  suffering-creating  rulers." 
While  Bentham  lived  at  Ford  Abbey,  "MiU,"  said  Bent- 
ham, «  his  wife  and  family,  and  a  servant,  were  there  the 
irtiole  of  the  time  ;  and  so  it-  was  at  Barrow  Green- 
only  one  summer  was  I  there  without  Mill.  Mill  came 
in  the  train  of  Sir  John  Stuart,  a  man  of  good  estate, 
married  to  a  lady  of  quality.  Mill's  father  had  been 
his  tenant.    Sir  John  finding  Mill  something  different 

from  other  men,  sent  him  to  Edinburgh  for  education 

there  he  became  bearleader  to  a  Marquis,  [the  Marquis 
of  Tweeddale,]  who  gave  him  an  annuity.  Through  Sir 
John,  Mill  got  the  faculty  of  attending  Parliament.  He 
was  writing  his  BriHsh  India,  while  I  was  writing  all 
manner  of  things.  He  was  also  writing  for  the  Edin- 
burgh lUmew.  His  work  got  him  the  situation  he  holds. 
MiU  thought  It  was  tiirough  Canning's  suggestion  that 
wy  applied  to  him,    I  brought  hua  and  his  fomily 


hither  from  P^tonville.  I  put  them  into  Miltfli 
house,  where  his  family  were  all  at  ease.  Aflerwardi 
gave  him  the  lease  of  the  house  he  holds,  and  pat  it  a 
repairs  for  him.  He  and  his  fiunily  lived  with  mc 
half  of  every  year,  from  1808  to  1817  inclusive-  Wb 
I  took  up  Mill  he  was  in  great  distress,  and  on  the  poi 
of  migrating  to  Caen.  Our  scheme,  which  we  talked 
for  years,  was  to  go  to  Caraecas,  which,  if  Miranda  k 
prospered,  we  should  have  undoubtedly  done." 

Bentham,  however,  was  not  without  just  pii 
in  his  eminent  Scottish  disciple.  Fourteen  yearsa^ 
the  above  difference, — which,  by  the  way,  ought  t 
be  a  warning  against  even  the  greatest  and  mo 
equal-minded  philosophers  becoming  too  IntlmA 
where  there  are  wives,  children,  and  servants  in  ij 
case, — ^we  find  Bentham  writing  thus  to  a  friend 

""The  bearer  is  Mr.  MIU,  author  of  the  oelebnti 
History  of  British  India,  which,  if  you  have  not  m 
you  cannot  but  have  heard  more  or  lees  of.  Under  d 
obscure  title  of  Examiner,  he  bears  no  inconaidenb 
part  in  the  government  of  the  threescore  or  foursooi 
millions  which  form  the  population  of  that  country.  C 
the  death  of  the  chief  of  the  four  Examiners,  which  is  fl 
pected  to  take  place  ere  long,  he  will  succeed  him,  with 
salaJ7  of  £2000  a-year. 

^  He  was  one  of  the  earliest  and  most  influential  of  a 
disciples.    The  house  he  lives  in  looks  into  my  garden 

**  Hearing  of  the  two  spots  in  your  neighbourhood,  i 
both  of  which  I  several  times  took  up  my  summer  quM 
ters,  he  expressed  a  desire  to  make  a  pilgrimage  t 
them,  as  he  did  once  to  my  birth-place  in  Red  Lk 
Street,  Houndsditch,  and  the  unfortunate  half-burnt-dow 
residence  in  Crutched  Friars.  There  &ic  your  own  qaoi 
dam  residence  in  Chertsey,  which  you  cannot  bat  n 
member,  and  the  farm-house  at  Thorpe,  to  which  Geoig 
Wilson  and  I  used  to  repair  in  the  long  vacation,  i 
yon  probably  remember. 

^  Perhaps,  after  reading  this,  yon  may  have  the  chsii^ 
to  send  some  servant  or  retainer  to  accompany  Mr.  Mil 
and  conduct  him  to  the  two  spots." 

Again,  he  says : — 

^  Mill  will  be  the  living  executive — I  shall  be  tk 
dead  legislative  of  British  India.  Twenty  years  after  I 
am  dead,  I  shall  be  a  despot,  sitting  in  my  chair  wit) 
Dapple  in  my  hand,  and  wearing  one  of  the  coats  I  wesi 
now.  It  was  Mill  who  induced  Ricardo  to  get  intj 
Parliament,  and  I  took  some  ^uble  to  get  him  a  seat.' 

Mill,  however,  had  his  heresies — among  others— whai 
Bentham  called  "  an  abominable  opinion'*  with  reaped 
to  the  inaptitude  of  women,  and  one  '^  scaieely  ie« 
abominable,"  that  men  should  not  hold  office  till  tbej 
are  forty  years  of  age. 

Though  an  exceedingly  able,  Mill  was  by  no  mewi 
an  amiable  man.  Bentham  said  of  him  that  his  williof ' 
ness  to  do  good  to  otiiers  depended  too  much  on  his 
power  of  making  the  good  done  to  them  subserrient  to 
good  done  to  himself.  "  His  creed  of  politioi  rtmlts 
less  from  love  for  the  many,  Uian  from  hatred  of  ^ 
fow.  It  is  too  much  under  tiie  influenoe  of  selfish  sn<i 
dissocial  aifoction. 

*'  He  will  never  willingly  enter  into  disoourst  with 
me.  When  he  differs,  he  is  silent.  He  is  a  chsraots^ 
He  expects  to  subdue  everybody  by  his  domiaMno^ 
tone — to  convince  everybody  by  his  pontivenMS.  Ki 
manner  of  speaking  is  oppressive  and  overbearing*  y^ 
comes  to  me  as  if  he  wore  a  mask  upon  his  Hoe,  Hifio* 
terests  he  deems  to  be  closely  connected  with  misty  tf 
he  has  a  prospect  of  introducing  a  better  >7"^.^ 
judicial  procedure  in  British  India.  His  book  on  Biiti'" 
India  abounds  with  bad  English,  which  made  it  if  b*^ 
disagreeable  book.  His  account  of  the  supentitioBi « 
the  Hindoos  made  me  melancholy.'* 

No  part  of  these  Memoirs  will  be  fouiwl  Jf ^ 
interesting,  or  more  instructive,  than  the  opinw"* 
which  Bentham  expressed  of  the  more  emiwi' 
and  remarkable  public  chamcteri,  wIm  wen  ^ 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENTHAM. 


447 


Kmtemporaiiet ;  though  these  opinionn  wera  some- 
imes  nishy  and  not  always  just ;  at  least  in  our 
opinion*  We  shall  glean  a  few  as  specimens ;  and 
&rit,PiTT: — 

"  Pitt  ^e  second,"  said  Bentham,  speaking  of  him 
(0  me  in  1822,  ^had  that  quality,— the  only  qnality 
Moenary  for  a  niinisterial  leader,^the  qnality  of  an 
naior.  Ho  had  no  plans— good  or  bad — ^wide  or  narrow, 
b^t,  he  came  into  office  too  young  to  hare  any,— jnst 
It  ths'age  when  a  man  is  intmsted  with  the  condnct  of 
bis  own  prirate  aflkirs.  The  Secretaries  of  the  Trea- 
mry  were  Bir.  George  Rose  and  Mr.  Charles  Long.  All 
Oiat  was  waating  to  the  art  of  goTemment  was,  that, 
hem  time  to  time,  certain  changes  should  he  proposed, 
to  prerent  the  machine  from  foiling  to  pieces ;  and 
George  Rose  was  generally  employed  to  prepare  and 
DTe  an  account  of  those  intended  and  necessary  changes. 
Mr.  Long  was  the  arhUer  tUgantiarwm — ^the  master  of 
tkt  go? emment  ceremonies.  The  work  that  was  to  be 
4one  was  ooneoeted  by  Rose,— the  secret  superintend- 
snee  of  the  workmen  was  managed  by  Long.    .    .    . 

"  I  resMmber  a  euiiouapariU  quarri,  consisting  of  Pitt, 
Ids  elder  brother,  another,  and  myself.  They  stayed  at 
Bowood  some  days^ — I  one  day  rode  out  with  Pitt,  and 
we  talked  orer  Indian  affairs.  I  had  just  been  reading 
sn  onpublished  pamphlet,^and  Bailey  (an  K  I.  Direc- 
tor) said  he  wondered  where  I  had  got  so  much  know- 
ledges—so mueh  more  than  he  had  got.  Yet  I  had  only 
read  that  pamphlet,  and  really  knew  little  about  it. 
Pitt  was  like  a  great  schoolboy,  scorning,  and  sneer- 
ing, and  lao^iing  at  ererything  and  eyerybody^— in  terms 
of  great  insolence  and  pretence." 

His  opinion  of  Fox  was  not  mnch  more  farour- 
tble.  Dr.  Parr  had  anxiously  laboured  to  make 
them  acquainted,  and  friends  ;  but  they  seem 
tksyer  to  hare  even  met.  After  the  death  of  Fox, 
Bentham  wrote  of  him  thus  to  Sir  James  Mackin- 
tosh, t^en  in  India : — 

^  Alas  I  while  the  propitiatory  incense  was  lighting 
up,  the  idol  [Fox]  was  no  more.  Peace  be  to  his  ashes  ! 
—My  eipectations  of  him  were  nerer  sanguine.  He  was 
a  eonsummate  party  leader :  creedy  of  power,  like  my 
eld  friend  Lord  Lansdowne,— -but,  unlike  him,  destitute 
of  toy  llxed  intellectual  principles,  such  as  would  hare 
been  necessary  to  enable  him  to  make,  to  any  consider- 
sble  extent,  a  beneficial  use  of  it.  He  opposed  the 
CtnstUle  Act;  he  opposed  the  Irish  Union:  Pitt,  or 
uybody  else  in  power,  might  haye  made  him  oppose 
snythiog  by  adopting  it.  I  knew  not  where  to  find  tiim, 
•-aad  if  I  understand  right,  no  more  did  anybody  else. 
—He  magnified  Jurisprudential  Law  in  preference  to 
Statite ;  ^this  is  a  priyate  anecdote  that  fell  within  my 
own  knowledge ;)  an  imaginary  rule  of  action  in  prefer- 
^  to  a  real  one,— the  profli^^usy  of  a  hireling  lawyer, 
without  the  excuse :  the  power  of  the  lawyer  is  in  the 
sneertainty  of  the  law.  Like  that  of  the  lawyer,  his 
J^  was  to  see  all  waters  troubled  :— why !  as  feeling 
jiBMeU^  in  so  superior  a  degree,  a  master  of  the  art  of 
"^n|^in  them, 

^Smee  your  learing  England,  three  opportunities  <tf 
being  made  known  to  him  presented  themselyes  to  me : 
two  by  relatiyes  of  his  when  he  was  in  the  zenith  of  his 
power,  were  often  expressed,  or  implied ; — I  closed  with 
neither.  Had  he  had  anything  to  say  to  me,  I  would 
bsTt  heard  it,  with  the  respect  due  to  his  character  :— 
'^ving,  01  my  part,  nothing  to  say  to  him,  I  should  haye 
^^Dttdered  the  time  spent  in  his  company  as  so  much 
"■«  thrown  away.    Dr.  Parr,  in  his  kindness,  under 

w  notion,  I  suppose,  of  doing  me  a  serrice,  took  pains 
!?  *bwwaie  in  his  way,  or  draw  down  upon  me  the 
iipt  of  his  countenance.  He  seemed  disappointed  at 
^  k^  ne  as  indifferent  to  his  liring  idols,  as  Shad- 
'*ch  and  Meshech  were  to  the  golden  one  of  Nebuchad- 
J2*''  Had  I  seen  any  opening  for  entertaining  any 
^expectations  from  him  in  respect  of  the  cleansing 

**  *Hf^  Stable  I  as  I  shoald  frtii  yon,  if  yoo  were  hi 


his  place,  I  would  haye  eried,Lord  I  Lord !  till  he  had 
been  tired  of  hearing  me. 

^  When  I  saw  you  enlisted  in  the  defence  of  a  castle 
of  straw,  iidiich  I  had  turned  my  back  upon  as  fit  for 
nothing  but  the  fire,  I  beheld  with  regret  what  appeared 
to  me  a  waste  of  talents  so  unprofitaBly  employed. 

**  When  I  heard  of  your  being  occupied  in  teaching 
the  anatomy  and  physiology  of  two  chimeras,  the  same 
sensation  was  a^piin  repeated.  A  crowd  of  admiring 
auditors  of  all  nmks,— and  what  was  it  they  wished  for 
or  expected  I  Each  of  them,  some  addition  to  the  stock 
of  sophisms,  whidb  each  of  them  had  been  able  to  mount 
by  h^  own  genius,  or  pick  up  by  his  own  industry,  ia 
readiness  to  be  employed  in  the  serrice  of  right  or  wrong, 
whicheyer  happened  to  be  the  first  to  present  the  retain- 
ing fee. 

^ '  There  he  is,'  said  George  Wilson  to  me,  one  daj^ 
pointing  out  to  me  the  Lecturer ;  (pidckrum  ett  diffUo 
mofutrarier,) 

^To  Wilson  I  said  nothing;— to  myself  I  said— 
'There  or  anywhere  he  may  be — ^what  is  he  to  met 
What  he  does— if  anything,  is  mischief  I  What  if  he  be 
Jupiter!  Bo  much  the  worse: — rtfa«f9^l«»  Z«Vr;  the 
cloud-compelling  Jupiter,  heaping  douds  on  clouds. 
When  I  pray,  it  is  with  AJax,  for  dear  daylight :  smoke 
I  abhor,  and  not  the  less  for  its  being  illuminated  with 
flashes.'" 

The  whole  of  the  letter  is  characteristic,  and 
exhibits  Bentham's  mind  in  its  highest  attitude, 
though  wanting  something  of  the  indulgence,  gen- 
tleness, and  diarity  which  he  himself  so  frequently 
and  earnestly  inculcates;  though  his  courteous 
admonition  to  Mackintosh  was  not  altogether  ill^ 
deserved. 

Home  Toofttf.— Speaking  of  Home  Tooke,  in  relation 
to  this  period,  Bentham  said :— ^  Home  Tooke  had  a 
narrow  mind.  His  library  was  narrow.  A  man  may 
be  judged  of  by  his  library.  He  was  of  great  use  to 
Burdett  He  gave  him  some  degree  of  intellectuality. 
Burdett  always  trayelled  with  some  stuff  of  mias — but  I 
could  not  get  him  to  giye  up  the  common  law.  He 
thought  it '  a  beautiful  theory,'  and  Lord  Coke  *  a  beau- 
tifil  person.'  What  a  sad  thing  it  is  that  imaginary 
law  should  be  confounded  with  real  law.  What  autiio- 
rity  has  the  maker  of  the  common  law! 

"  Home  Tooke's  dinners  were  pic-nic  dinners.  Eyery 
man  sent  something,  and  more  than  he  took.  Among 
the  eaters,  Colonel  Bosyille  was  a  republican.  Humph- 
reys was  admitted  on  the  strength  of  a  6on  fsoe." 

From  first  to  last  Bentham  had  that  true  idea  of 
Sir  Francis  Burdett,  which  every  man  of  ordinaiy 
penetration  seems  at  once  to  have  formed,  who  saw 
that  pseudo-patriot  close  at  hand,  Burdett,  who 
had  recourse  to  every  man  who  could  assist  him 
in  bolstering  up  a  factitious  reputation  for  stales- 
manship,  upon  one  occasion  applied  to  Bentham 
to  draw  up  a  Bill  for  Parliamentary  Reform,  which 
he  was,  of  course,  to  introduce  to  the  House — as  his 
own.  From  the  philosopher's  reply  to  this  propo* 
sal,  we  copy  out  one  pithy  sentence  :-^ 

^  I  never  can  bring  myself  to  put  my  name  to  any  plan 
of  Parliamentary  Reform,  under  which  suflhiges  would 
not  be  firee ;  nor  do  I  see  it  possible  how  they  ever  can 
be  f^e,  otherwise  than  by  being  placed  under  the  safe- 
guard of  secrecy." 

The  correspondence  went  on.  Sir  Francis  freely 
promismg,— — 

**  I  shall  not  only  be  happy,  but  proud  to  use  every 
exertion  in  my  power,  to  tax  all  my  fiMultles  to  the 
utmost,  im  order  to  carry  into  effect  your  Irishes  upon 
this  c^eai  and  important,  and  indeed  only  impor- 
tant, subject.  My  tongue  shall  speak  as  you  do  prompt 
Bsine  ear ;  and  I  will  venture  to  promise,  knowing  so 
I  wsU  urbom  I  pronise,  thai  I  will  reftise  attenptiiig  no 


450 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENTHAM- 


hiiBflelf— tlM  hero  of  petee^—of  that  peAoe  which  is  the 
child  of  Justice. 

*'  After  sabdniiig  the  three  kingdoms,  he  attftcked  the 
am  J  of  Uwyen.  Thej  repulsed  him.  They  were  too 
man  J  for  him. 

**  Aboat  sixty  years  ago  I  deserted  from  it,  and  hare 
been  carrying  on  against  them  a  guerilla  war  ever  since. 

« I  have  got  together  a  body,  which  is  every  day  aug- 
menting. I  am  now  on  the  point  of  attacking  them  in  force. 

''The  tMOerid  of  my  army  may  be  seen  in  the  volnme 
accompanying  this,  intitnled,  '  Justice  and  Codification 
Petitions.' 

**  On  the  opening  of  the  next  eampaign  inSaintStephen's, 
ny  Commander-in-chief  (a  truce  to  his  name  for  the 

Et)  will  commence  the  attack.  His  baton,  the  Bill 
I  the  J>€9paUk  Omrt  Bill)  which  I  have  prepared 
I. 

''Under  him  will  serve  some  stout  fellows,  whom  I  am 
occupied  in  enlisting  and  training. 

"But  a  truce  to  allegory.  It  is  time  to  speak  in  plain 
language. 

"  Our  whole  Judiciary  EttabliAmenty  with  the  system 
9tproc4dure,  self-styled  the  regular,  by  which  it  works, 
is  one  entire  mass  of  corruption :  fruits  of  it,  depreda- 
tion and  oppression, — both  upon  an  all-comprehensive 
scale  :  its  proceedings  have,  from  first  to  last,  had  these 
for  its  objects  and  effects.  Mere  illusion  the  so  indefa- 
tigably  trumpeted  purity  of  it.  In  comparison  of  the 
plunderage  made  by  it,  trifiiing  is  that  made  by  the  most 
corrupt,  whichever  it  is,  of  those  whose  corruption  is 
most  notorious.  By  the  plunderage  which  they  make, 
tJuy  are  always  more  or  less  exposed  to  punishment. 
Of  that  which  our  Judges  make,  the  whole  mass  is  in- 
trenched in  impunity  ;  and  by  Parliament  itself,  under 
their  influence,  the  fortress  has  recently  been  maide  im- 
pregnable. I  mean— by  the  Statute  of  the  22d  July, 
1822,  (3  Geo.  IV.  c.  69,)  by  which  the  Judges  are  autho- 
rized to  impose  on  the  amicted  suitors  taxes  without 
stint,  and  put  the  money  into  their  own  pockets. 

"  Open  the  accompanying  volume.  To  one  of  the  pages 
you  will  find  a  keep-place  paper  pinned.  A  single 
glance  vrill  suffice  to  show  you  fourteen  ckarge$.  By 
the  unreserved  confession  even  of  practising  lawyers, — 
lawyers  hi£h  in  practice,— high  even  in  Mr.  Peel's  con- 
fidence,—these  charges  are  incontestably,  every  one  of 
them,  proved. 

"  The  eyes  of  the  people  at  large  are  fast  opening,  not 
io  say  already  opened  :  opened  to  the  slavery  in  which 
they  have  been  so  long  held  by  lawyers.  Soon  will  you 
hear  the  self-emancipated  ilaves,  chorus  upon  chorus,  in 
full  cry  for  justice  \  '  Away,*  say  they,  '  away  with  the 
technical,  the  unintelligible  mode  of  procedure — the  re- 
gular, as  the  so -monstrously-irregular  chaos  so  falsely 
calls  itself.  Give  us  the  only  plain,— the  only  intelli- 
gible,— the  only  honest,— in  a  word,  the  iummary  mode. 
Give  us  the  only  mode  employed  by  those  who  wish  sin- 
cerely, seriously,  and  steadily,  to  give  execution  and 
effect  to  that  nde  of  action  for  the  effectuation  of  which 
this  a<yunct  professes  to  be  employed.  Give  us  the 
mode  employed  in  the  SnuUl  Debt  Court$,  Give  us  the 
mode  employed  in  the  courts  composed  of  Justices  of  ike 
Peace  acting  tingly,  or  in  any  numbers  elsewhere  than 
in  Quarter  Sessions.  Give  us  the  only  mode  employed 
where  evidence  is  to  be  elicited — where  information  is 
to  be  obtained,  by  either  House  of  Parliament, — ^the 
only  mode,  in  a  word,  which  is  employed  where  a  real 
desire  has  place  to  bring  out '  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth.'  Thus  say  already  in  num- 
bers, and  vrill  say  every  day  in  greater  and  greater  num- 
bers, the  people  at  large.  But,  to  crown  all,  speaking, 
as  I  do,  to  the  Head  of  ike  Army,  I  say — Give  us  the 
mode — Uie  only  mode — employed  m  and  by  Cbufts-mar- 
aall 

"  Yes !  give  us  the  simplicity,  the  honesty,  the  straight- 
forwardness, of  Courts-marticU, 

"  Yes :  look  here,  Duke !  Here  you  are  at  home. 
Had  you  a  military  offence  to  try — ^had  you  a  ditpute  to 
settle  between  two  officers — ^would  you  be  satisfied  to  let 
five  yean  pass  before  so  much  as  the  firtt  question  put 
feeeiyed  an  answer  I   Would  the  sound  of  a  «or<f— 4h« 


word  equity,  or  any  other— suffice  to  reeoneile  yon  to  aa 
absurdity  so  palpable,  so  abominable — ^to  every  mouth 
that  can  gulp  it  down,  so  dishonourable  I  But,  if  not,  in 
what  respect  can  such  a  delay,  with  the  expense  aad 
lawyer's-profit  for  vrhich  it  was  created,  be  more  condfi- 
cive  and  fsvourable  to  dml  than  to  Mt/ttory  justice  I 

"No!  the  head  of  the  army— in  BO  far  as  it  depeadei 
upon  him — as  often  as  a  military  wnmg  to(^  pUee  eae 
moment,  would  not  wait  another  moment  before  he  ap- 
plied the  remedy. 

"  There  sits  Lord  Eldon  !  tot  five-and-twenty  yetn 
and  more,  to  the  ruin  of  so  many  thousands  of  fkmiliw, 
head  of  the  law.  What  says  this,  or  any  other  head  of 
the  law,  to  thejtw  years  }  Would  he  abate  eo  mndi  ai 
a  single  moment  of  it !    Ask  him.    Not  he  indeed. 

"  Think  now  of  the  difference  !  and — the  cause  of  it— 
whMi  is  the  cause  of  it  t  What  but  this  ^-11M  beadof 
the  army  would  be  a  ruined  man — his  army  a  miaed 
army — were  he  mad  enough  to  ettaUitk  any  such  match- 
less absurdity  ;  or,  though  it  were  but  for  a  moment, 
permit  it  to  have  place.  But  the  head  of  the  law,  who 
not  only  permits  it  to  have  place,  but  would  be  ready  to 
faint  at  the  thought  of  its  ceasing  to  have  place — ^in  what 
way  iske  h  sufferer  by  it !  Instead  of  being  so,  he  is, 
and  to  a  matchless  amount,  a  gainer  by  it.  Hm  vast, 
his  needless,  his  useless,  his  most  mischievous  income, 
so  many  times  as  great  as  that  of  the  head  of  the  army, 
is  mainly  constituted  by  it. 

"  Theory  !  speculation  !  visionary  !  enthusiast  !  Uto- 
pian  !  Of  words  such  as  these  is  composed  the  only  sort 
of  answer  which  the  opposers  of  Law  Reform — the  de- 
fenders of  established  turpitude — are  wont,  or  can  find, 
to  make  to  such  damning  truths. 

"  Head  of  the  army  !  I  repeat  the  question.  In  any 
Court-martial  that  ever  sits,  would  you  have  tf^  years 
elapse  before  so  much  as  the  first  question  received  aa 
answer  f  Would  you  have  eveir  innocent  man,  who,  by 
some  untoward  occurrence,  had  been  brought  before  a 
Court-martial  regularly  plundered  of  his  last  shilling 
before  he  received  his  acquittal !  Well,  then,  if  you 
would  not,  and  forasmuch  as  you  would  not,  von  are  as 
undeniably  a  theorist,  a  speculatist,  and  so  forui,  as  /  siy- 
self&m. 

"  By  the  last  returns,  a  sum,  within  a  trifle  of 
£40,000,000  was  lying  engulphed  in  Chancery.  By  this 
time  that  sum  must  have  been  exceeded.  By  my  plan, 
this  vast  sum  would,  within  a  trifle,  be  given  to  the  right 
owners,  instead  of  being,  in  so  vast  a  proportion  of  it, 
divided  by  the  lavryers  amongst  the  lawyers,  while  ths 
remainder  remained  in  the  gulph,  ready  to  be  drawn 
upon  by  them,  as  occasion  offered." 

About  this  time  occurred  the  duel  between  the 
Duke  and  the  Earl  of  Winchelsefty  upon  which  the 
octogenarian  sage  reads  his  Grace  a  homily  against 
duelling,  commencing, — 

"  Ill-advised  man  ! — Think  of  the  confosion  into  whi^ 
the  whole  fabric  of  Government  would  have  been  thrown, 
had  you  been  killed  ;  or  had  the  trial  of  you,  fbr  the 
murder  of  another  man,  been  substituted  in  the  House 
of  Lords  to  the  passing  of  the  Emancipation  Bill ! 

"  I  told  you  I  was  your  well'tDi$ker.  Even  in  the 
common  form  of  a  letter  I  never  speak  unadvisedly.  I 
now  prove  myself  so." 

Having  adverted  to  a  plan  which  he  had  in  vieiPF, 
to  put  an  end  to  ^  the  pestilential  practice  of  duel- 
ing,'' he  leads  the  way  to  a  curious  piece  of  private 
history.  Hitherto  it  has  been  generally  imagined 
that  O'Connell  had  never  fired  a  pistol  in  his  lifiB» 
until  he  had  the  misfortune  to  kill  Mr.  D'Estene; 
while,  on  the  contrary,  he  had  been  a  loDg-pnc- 
tised  and  an  admirable  marksman : — 

"T'other  day,  O'Connell  was  with  me.  AnngA 
other  things,  he  gave  me  his  history  in  relation  to  dud* 
ling.  About  a  dosen  years  ago,  it  happened  to  him  to 
kill  his  man.  He  declares  himself,  in  private  as  well  si 
in  public,  and  (strange  as  it  may  seen  W  m»y  9iwB)m 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENTHAM. 


1*51 


ftjr  M  I  cui  Jttdge,  with  einoerity,  to  be  a  believer  in  the 
religion  he  professes  in  public.  Not  without  yisible 
signs  of  emotion  did  he  speak  to  me  of  the  catastrophe. 
The  effect  prodnoed  by  it  on  his  mind  was  (he  said)  such, 
that  he  maide  a  tow,  and  that  tow  was — to  make  atone- 
ment for  the  transgression :  and  that  atonement  consisted 
in  the  determination  neTer  to  engage  a  second  time  in 
the  like  contest ;  but  to  submit  to  any  insult  or  indignity, 
how  atrocious  soeTer,  rather  than  seek  or  accept  of  satis- 
fkotion  in  that  shape.  Yes :  and  to  make  this  determi- 
nation matter  of  general  notoriety  ;  and  to  this  his  de- 
termination he  had  hitherto  maintained,  and  cTer  resoWed 
to  maintain,  the  most  iuTiolable  adherence. 

**  Not  so  much  as  Ato  minutes  had  the  report  of  the 
ooenrrence  reached  me  in  this  my  Hermitage,  when  I 
sat  down  to  write  the  scribble,  which,  in  the  original, 
would  not  haTe  been  legible  to  yon  :  in  the  meantime, 
what  I  hear  is — that  instead  of  being  the  challeng«<;, 
wUch  would  have  been  too  bad,  you  were  actually  the 
eliaUeng#r,  which  is  still  worse.  Friends,  forsooth ! — 
How  narrow  must  haTe  been  the  Tiews  and  minds  of 
fi^ends,  by  whom  adTice,  with  such  effects  in  the  train 
of  it,  could  haTe  been  giTen  ! 

'"These  friends — ^in  name, profession, and  appearance; 
to  whom  Tfere  they  so  in  reality  t  To  yourself,  to  the 
king,  to  Great  Britain,  to  Ireland,  to  the  human  species 
at  this  present  time  1  To  the  same  species  at  any  ftiture 
time  1 — Put  to  each  of  them  these  questions  :  and  take 
note  of  his  answers. 

**  In  the  United  States,  I  am  neither  unknown  nor  un- 
heeded. The  President,  and  the  present  Finance  Secre- 
tary, were  my  familiar  friends.  Propensity  to  duelling 
is,  in  that  country,  the  cardinal  Tice.  In  that  country, 
still  more  than  in  Ireland,  iheplcigue  in  that  shape 
ra^.  If  I  liTe  two  years,  or  at  the  utmost  three  years 
longer,  I  shall  be,  in  no  small  degree,  disappomted,  if  I 
do  not  see  the  plagite  (as  the  Bible  phrases  it)  '  stayed.* " 

The  Duke's  reply  to  this  epistle  was  immediate, 
and  must  hare  been  kind,  for  now  Bentham  ad- 
dresses him,  **  My  dear  Duke,"  telling  him,  that 
he  could  not  afford  to  lose  one  whom  he  wanted 
to  make  ^  greater  than  CromweU,"  and  then  comes 
a  string  of  warning  anecdotes— of  duels : — 

"  Fint,  as  to  O'Connell's.  What  I  did  not  mention 
before  is  this.  O'Connell  was  sure  of  his  mark.  He  had 
made  himself  so  in  an  odd  way.  In  his  part  of  the 
eoontry  reigns  a  commonwealth  of  dogs :  their  practice 
was  te  attack  men  on  horseback,  biting  the  horse's 
heels. 

'^  Think  not  this  incredible.  A  similiar  common- 
wealth had  place  years  ago,  and  probably  has  still,  at 
Constantinople.  .Ajmo  1785,  it  made  war  upon  me  there  : 
fortune  saTed  me.  O'Connell  traTelled  with  pistols,  and 
practised  Tnth  them  upon  those  dogs,  till  he  became  ex- 
pert as  aboTe.    Hence  the  contrition  spoken  of  in  my 

^  2.  Colonel  Burr's  case.  Colonel  Hamilton  stood  in 
the  way  of  his  ambition.  Burr  determined  to  put  him 
oat  of  the  way.  He  too  had  made  himself  sure  of  his 
mark.  Not  confession  this,  but  boast.  I  had  it  from  him- 
self. Anno  1807,  or  thereabouts,  he  was  my  guest  for 
months. 

"3.  Target  Martin's.  John  Wilkes  got  him  christened 
by  this  name ;  the  import  you  see  already.  In  this 
Martin's  case,  it  was  an  affair  of  speculation.  How  to  use 
pistols,  he  had  learnt  from  his  target :  whom  to  use  them 
upon,  from  the  case  of  St.  Becket,  in  Hume's  History. 
George  the  Third  was  his  Henry  the  Second. 

**  4.  Another  case  comes  in  this  moment.  Adam's, — 
Lord  Conunissioner  Adam's  case.  Shooting  at  a  great 
man  by  his  leaTe,then  figuring  away  and  making  a  friend 
of  him.    Speculation  this  in  another  shape.      .     .     . 

.  .  .  With  reminiscences  such  as  these  in  his 
mind,  could  a  man  do  otherwise  than  I  haTe  done,  and 
am  thus  continuing  to  do  I  Had  I  not,  I  should,  in  case 
of  your  falling  a  Tictim,  as  aboTe,  to  rage  or  specula- 
lation,  read  my  own  condemnation  in  my  own  Penal 
Code." 


The  correspondence  between  Bentham  and 
O'Connell  commenced  in  1828,  when  the  latter,  in 
some  public  speech,  had  eloquently  attacked  the 
abuses  of  the  law,  and  eulogized  the  great  philoso- 
phic Law  Reformer,  Jeremy  Bentham.  The  whole 
correspondence  is  highly  animated  and  interesting, 
from  the  characters  of  the  men,  and  also  from 
the  political  views  which  it  embodies,  and  those  with 
which  the  sage  wished  to  indoctrinate  this  new 
and  promising  disciple. 

Lord  Brougham,  whose  forbearance,  and  genuine 
respect  and  regard,  the  somewhat  impatient  and 
testy  octogenarian  jurisconsult  seems  often  to 
have  tried  to  the  utmost  of  man  s  endurance,  was 
about  this  time  not  keeping  so  kindly  or  gently  to 
the  leading  strings  in  which  Bentham  tacitly  in- 
sisted that  all  Ms  ^' boys"  should  walk,  —  and 
O'Connell  was  hailed  as  '^  comforter  of  my  old  age  1 
Illustrious  friend !  Invigorator  of  my  fondest 
hopes ! "  And  certainly  O'Connell's  letters  breathe 
admirable  sentiments,  and  excellent  tendencies. 
His  vehemence  or  impetuosity  of  temperament^ 
and  furious  outbursts  of  abuse,  coarse  invective, 
and  gross  personality,  often  and  deeply  grieved 
his  sage  and  courteous  friend ;  and  after  they  had 
corresponded  for  some  months,  we  find  Bentham, 
who  playfully  styled  now  Brougham  and  now 
O'Connell  his  grandsons,  remonstrating  with  him 

^  Dan,  dear  child, — Whom,  in  imagination,  I  have,  at 
this  moment,  pressing  to  my  fond  bosom,-— put  off,  if  it 
be  possible,  your  intolerance.  Endure  the  conception, 
and  cTen  the  utterance  of  other  men's  opinions,  how  op- 
posite soever  to  your  own.  At  any  rate,  when  you  as- 
sume the  mantle  of  the  legislator,  put  off  the  gown  thai 
has  but  one  side  to  it,— that  of  the  adTocate." 

O'Connell  and  Hunt  were  at  this  time  abusing 
each  other  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  public  and 
their  own  hearts'  content ;  and  Bentham,  who 
endeavoured  to  restrain  Hunt,  conveys  this  afi(ec- 
tionate  admonition  to  O'Connell : — 

^  What  is  past  cannot  be  recalled  ;  but,  in  ftittirt,  if 
he  can  be  kept  from  abusing  you,  so  much  the  better. 
In  his  pericranium,  the  organ  of  abustveness  is  ftill  a 
yard  long.  It  must  be  driving  at  something.  DriTing 
at  what  is  ahutewortky — it  may  do  good  ;  for  there  is  no 
small  strength  in  it :  driving  at  what  is  praiseworthy^ — 
it  either  does  nothing,  or  does  evil.  Driving  at  the  dty 
of  London  abuses,  he  has  already  done  considerable  good, 
and  is  in  the  way  to  do  considerably  more. 

^  All  that  a  vituperative  epithet  proves  is — that  he 
who  uses  it  is  angry  with  him  on  whom  he  bestows  it, 
not  that  he  has  any  reason  for  being  so. 

**  Should  you  ever  again  have  occasion  to  speak  of 
Henry  Hunt,  I  hope  you  will  not  again  bring  it  up 
against  him,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  reproach,  that  he 
sells  Blacking,  or  anything  else  ;  for  besides  that  there  is 
no  harm  in  selling  Blacking,  the  feeling  thus  betrayed  be- 
longs not  to  us  democrats,  but  to  aristocrats  who  make 
property  (and  that  more  particularly  in  a  particular  form, 
the  immoveable)  the  standard  of  opinion.  MoreoTcr,  men 
of  our  trade  should  be  particularly  cautious  as  to  the 
throwing  into  the  ftbces  of  antagonists  Tituperation  as  to 
their  triwie  ;  for  thereupon  may  come  in  reply — Junius' 
aphorism  about  '  the  indiscrimhiate  defence  of  right  and 
wrong.'" 

As  a  literary  curiosity,  we  copy  out  a  Ciceronian 
epistle,  which  must  in  future  times  form  a  portion 
of  the  Derrynane  Papers,  and  of  the  Memoirs  of  its 
remarkable  writer :— 


452 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENtHAM- 


'"Derrynane,  Sept,  13, 1828. 
'^  I  am  here  ftmongst  my  native  moontains,  fov  a  few, 
very  few  weeks.  I  decide  all  the  controyeniea  in  the 
district.  I  never  allow  a  witness  to  appear,  until  the 
plaintiff  and  defendant  have  both  fally  told  their  tales, 
and  agreed  their  points.  In  nine  instances  oat  of  ten, 
other  testimony  is  unnecessary.  This  tribunal  is  so 
cheap,  it  costs  them  nothing  ;  and  is  so  expeditious  (I 
decide  as  soon  as  the  parties  have  exhausted  their  argu- 
ments, and  offered  their  witnesses  on  the  facts,  ultimately 
in  dispute)  that  they  reserve  for  me  all  their  disputes, 
and  it  appears  to  me  that  they  are  satisfied  wiUi  the 
results.  This  deduction  I  the  more  readily  draw  from 
the  purely  voluntary  nature  of  their  submission  to  my 
awards.  It  proves,  however,  nothing,  but  as  fiir  as  it 
shows  me  the  great  value  of  hearing  the  parties  them- 
selves." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  there  was  no  want  of 
*^  soft  sawder"  in  the  epistles  of  the  Liberator  to 
the  Hermit  of  Queen  s  Square  Place  ;  yet  O'Con- 
nell  must  at  the  moment  have  felt  much  of  what 
he  expressed,  and  been  very  sincere  in  making 
those  promises  which  he  has  not  yet  been  able  to  re- 
deem. For  example,  the  one  for  his  long-announced, 
ever-delayed  motion  on  Libel  Law. 

No  one  of  those  eminent  persons,  whom  it  filled 
Bentham  with  pride  and  hope  to  number  among 
his  disciples,  seems  to  have  piqued  him  more  deeply 
than  Brougham ;  who  has  accordingly  been  judged 
with  unreasonable  severity,  and  even  with  intoler- 
ance, as  often  as  his  compliance  stopped  short  of 
the  exact  point  whither  Benthai]}  wished  to  lead 
him.  His  differing  in  opinion  as  to  the  proper 
course  to  be  pursued^  was  too  often,  if  not  uni- 
formly, set  down  as  coldness  in  the  cause,  or  else 
insincerity.  In  1812  occurs,  in  a  characteristic 
letter,  the  first  notice  of  Brougham,  who  then  stood 
very  high  in  the  opinion  and  favour  of  Bentham, 
though  even  thus  early  he  had  probably  not  been 
all  submission,  however  filled  with  regard  and  de- 
ference : — 

^  The  member  by  whom  this  letter  is  franked,  is  the 
fkmous  Mr.  Brougham — ^pronounce  Broom — who,  by 
getting  the  Orders  in  Council  revoked,  and  peace  and 
trade  with  America  thereby  restored,  has  just  filled  the 
whole  country  with  joy,  gladness,  and  returning  plenty. 
He  has  been  dining  with  me  to-day,  and  has  but  just 
gone.  This  little  dinner  of  mine  he  has  been  intriguing 
for,  any  time  these  five  or  six  months  ;  and  what  with 
one  plague  and  another,  never  till  this  day  could  I  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  give  him  one — I  mean  this  year :  for 
the  last  we  were  already  intimate.  He  is  already  one 
of  the  first  men  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  seems  in 
a  foir  vray  of  being  very  soon  universally  acknowledged 
to  be  the  very  fint,  even  beyond  my  old  and  intimate 
friend.  Sir  Samuel  Romilly :  many,  indeed,  say  he  is  so 
now. 

^  The  editor  of  The  Examiner,  Hunt,  has  taken  me 
under  his  protection,  and  trumpets  me  every  now  and 
then  in  his  paper,  along  with  Romilly.  I  hear  so  excel- 
lent a  character  of  him,  that  I  have  commissioned 
Broughun  to  send  him  to  mc 

^  Brougham  is  the  sole  confidential  adviser  of  the 
Princess  of  Wales,  in  her  contest  with  her  husband. 
The  Princess  takes  in  The  Examiner;  and,  as  being  in 
such  pointed  hostility  against  her  said  husband,  reads  it 
with  great  interest.  The  Princess  Charlotte  comes  once 
a-fortnight,  on  a  stated  day  of  the  week,  I  forget  which, 
to  dine  with  her  mother,  and  there  she.  steals  a  peep  at 
the  said  Examiner,  The  Princess  Charlotte  had  been 
taught  by  her  father  to  be  a  great  admirer  of  Charles 
Fox.  Upon  her  father's  casting  off  that  party  without 
reason  assigned,  she  would  not  go  with  him ;  but  be- 
ing disgusted  with  Ids  behaviour  towards  her  mother, 
and  on  so  many  other  accounts,  adheres  to  her  mother, 


and  retains  her  original  political  feelings  in  gteat  force. 
Brougham  and  Romilly  are  the  Princess  Qiarlotte's  two 
great  heroes,  whom  she  is  continually  trumpeting  If 
she  were  on  the  throne,  Romilly  would  of  eoorse  be 
Chanoellor,  Brougham  either  Minister,  or  in  some  other 
high  office.  They  are  both  of  them  more  demooimtie 
than  the  Whigs  ;  and  Erskine,  having  already  been 
Chancellor,  would  probably  have  been  preferred  in  tlat 
office,  to  Romilly,  by  the  Whigs,  had  they  come  into 
power  when  they  were  so  near  it.  Romilly's  is  the  only 
house  I  go  to ;  and  Brougham  one  of  the  very  few, 
indeed,  that  I  admit  into  mine.  When  the  Emxi  of 
Dundonald  dies,  Lord  Cochrane,  who  is  his  eldest  son, 
will  succeed  to  the  peerage  ;  and  then  it  is  underrtood 
to  be  certain  that  Brougham  will  succeed  him  as  mem- 
ber for  Westminster." 

From  his  early  years,  Bentham  indulged  in  a 
playful  strain  of  badinage  in  his  conversation  and 
letters ;  in  which  vein  of  light  pleasantry,  it  must 
however  be  confessed,  that  he  was  not  always  emi- 
nently felicitous.  In  this  style  he  replied  to  an 
announcement  made  by  Mr.  Brougham  in  1827,  of 
'^  Opening  a  Budget  of  L^;al  Common  Law  Enor- 
mities," or  of  hb  purpose  in  his  own  worda— * 

^To  lift  the  fioodgates  of  whatever  stores  I  pomess  or 
can  borrow  (and  herein  don't  doubt  your  reservoirs  be- 
ing .freely  tapped)  of  exposition— detail — ^illustiutioii, 
homely  and  refined — attack,  invective,  sarcasm,  irony, 
broad-joke,  and  drollery — in  short,  every  kind  of  attack, 
not  neglecting  the  pathetic,  on  our  Criminal  Code,  and 
Debtor  and  C>editor  Law.  I  mean,  moreover,  to  earry 
my  motion,  not  by  moving  for  leave  to  brine  in  a  code, 
or  even  one  vfu  of  the  said  code,  for  I  well  know  all 
powers  of  Church  and  State  are  against  that ;  but  by 
moving  for  a  good  commission,  as  good  as  the  charity 
one  was  bad  ;  and  I  knott  that  tiieir  report  must  produce 
some  proofs  of  changes,and  large  changes,  being  requivid. 

.  .  These  things  coming  from  a  practical  mnsi,  who 
is  making  many  thousands  a-year  by  the  craft,  most 
have  a  good  effect.  And  now,  to  answer  your  seeond 
query — Why  out  of  office  is  better  for  this  great  tUUvery 
than  t»?  If  I  were  Attorney  or  Solicitor  General,  they 
would  have  a  right  to  gag,  at  least  to  mitigate  me  ;  and 
I  want  to  be  well  delivered  of  my  burthen  before  that 
happens." 

With  this  announcement  Bentham  was  enchant- 
ed, and  he  instantly  replied  in  his  frtvourite  et^  : 

**  My  dearest  best  Boy. — You  are  not  so  mueh  as 
fifty.  I  am  fourscore — a  few  months  only  wanting  :  I 
am  old  enough  to  be  your  grandfskther.  I  could  at  this 
moment  catch  you  in  my  arms,  toss  you  up  into  the  air, 
and,  as  you  fell  into  them  again,  cover  you  with  kisses. 
It  shall  have — ay,  that  it  shall— the  dear  little  fellow, 
some  nice  sweet  pap  of  my  own  making :  three  sorts  of 
it — 1.  Is  Evidence.  2.  Judicial  Establishment  3. 
CodUlcation  Proposal — all  to  be  sucked  in,  in  the  order 
of  the  numbers 

^'  In  conclusion,  hear  grandpapa  again,  and  accept  his 
blessing,  which,  however,  (remember  I)  is  but  a  eondi- 
tional  one,  and  conditioned  for  your  continuing  as  a  law 
reformer  tUl  the  end  of  the  next  session,  the  same  honms 
vuer  which  you  were  on  the  22d  of  this  instant  Septem- 
ber, 1 827.  Should  you  become  naughty  any  part  of  that 
time,  though  but  in  a  parenthesis,  the  Bite  Noire  shall 
be  set  upon  you,  and  will  gobble  you  up  at  a  montiifbl, 
screaming  and  sputtering  notwithstanding." 

Lord  Brougham  humouring  the  old  man's  fancy, 
replied  in  the  same  vein : — 

**  Dear  Grandpapa,— Many  thanks  for  the  pap^  I  »■ 
aheady/a<  on  it,  I  did  not  acknowledge  it,  being  hosj 
eating  it ;  and  saying  nothing  at  meals  is  the  way  with 
us  little  ones — when  hungry. 

"  I  shall  be  in  town  next  week,  late. — Yours  dnti- 
fuUy." 

The  correspondence  was  not  allowed  to  drop*         j 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENTHAM. 


459 


'*  Deaa  8WKET  LiTiLE  PopPETy-^If  it  continues,  unu$ 
honut  puefy  it  will  toddle  hither  immediately  upon  its 
retam  ;  and  besides  some  more  pap,  made  in  the  same 
saneepaa,  it  will  get  fed  with  some  of  its  own  padding  ; 
for  »  dish  there  is,  which,  in  the  rocabnlary  of  Q.  S.  P. 
goes  by  the  name  of  ^McuUr  Brougham* t  pudding,* 
though,  if,  in  an  indictment  for  stealing  it,  it  were  named 
by  the  name  of  pudding,  defendant  prisoner  would  be 
aoqnitted,  had  the  whole  of  the  noble  army  of  martyrs 
kisaaed  ^eir  thnmbs  in  proof  of  the  fkct. 

**  Seriously,  if  you  think  seriously  of  making  any  use 
of  that  stuff  oif  mine  which  you  hare,  it  will  be  material, 
(as  I  am  sure  you  will  be  satisfied,)  that  you  should 
hdiTe  the  earliest  cognizance  of  a  quantity  of  other  stuff 
that  is  connected  with  it. 

«  J.  B. 
'  At  sight  of  this,  employ  two  words  in  naming  a  day 
when  I  may  expect  you.    All  other  engagements  shall 
gire  way  to  the  one  so  made." 

^  Mr  DSAB  Boy — You  haye  now  been  breeched  some 
time  ;  and,  with  a  little  study,  you  are  able,  I  am  sure, 
to  get  a  short  exercise  by  heart,  and  speak  it  quite  pretty. 
Here  is  one  for  you :  the  next  time  you  toddle  to  Q.  S.  P. 
let  me  hear  you  say  it ;  and  if  you  say  it  without  miss- 
ing more  than  four  words,  I  haye  a  bright  siWer  four- 
pence  for  you,  which  you  shall  take  and  put  into  your 
pocket. 

^  When  you  say  it,  you  are  to  fkncy  you  are  in  the 
House  of  Commons ;  that  I  am  Speaker ;  and  you  sitting 
on  one  of  the  forms,  with  a  pretty  silk  gown  on  your 
little  dioulders,  and  a  fine  bushy  wig  on  your  little  pate ; 
and  then  you  start  up,  as  fierce  as  a  little  lion,  and  say 
what  is  in  the  paper  which  is  here  enclosed. 

**  Do  as  you  are  bid — I  am  sure  you  can,  if  you  will 
— and  the  one  I  haye  mentioned  is  not  the  last  of  the 
silyer  fourpenoes  you  will  reeeiye  from  the  hands  of  your 
loving  guardian, 

«J.B. 
"  Matter  Henry  Brougham,** 

If  Meuier  Henrtf  had  been  docile,  and  taken 
kindly  to  all  of  his  lessons,  he  would,  beyond  a 
doubt,  have  stood  so  much  higher  in  the  good  graces 
of  his  grandpapa,  that  eertahily  no  one  would  hare 
been  found  his  equal.  In  the  instance  in  question, 
Mr.  Brougham's  plan,  when  propounded,  fell  very 
far  short  of  Beniham's  hopes.  He  had  already 
learned  the  important  secret,  which  Brougham  had 
not  then  leameid,  that  it  is  quite  as  easy,  under  cer- 
taincircumstances,to  carry  agreat  and  effectual  mea- 
sure of  reform  of  any  sort,  as  one  of  those  half-ones 
called  ^  a  practical  measure."  Under  the  signature 
of  Misopseudo,  Bentham,  therefore,  wrote  a  letter 
criticising  Brougham's  measure,  which  waQ  intend* 
ed  for  publication,  though  we  are  not  told  in  what 
journal  it  appeared,  or  whether  it  appeared  at  all. 
Though  alloyed  by  some  degree  of  impatience  and 
injustice  to  Lord  Brougham,  much  important  truth 
mingles  with  Bentham's  strictures.  Having  main- 
tained his  own  view  as  to  the  parties  to  every  suit 
appearing  iace  to  face  before  the  Judge, — if  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  Judge  the  plainti£F  has  pre- 
viously made  out  a  case  for  trkJ, — ^he  thus  con- 
tinues:— 

^  Mr.  Brougham's  mountain  is  delivered,  and  behold  I 
— the  mouse.  The  wisdom  of  the  reformer  could  not 
overcome  the  craft  of  the  lawyer.    .... 

**  So  would  the  interests  of  truth  be  served— but  not 
the  interests  of  lawyers. 

^  The  system  of  special  pleading  is  the  pregnant,  the 
prolific  mother  of  lies.  Thmt  is  truly  a  mendacity  li- 
cense,— a  reward  and  an  encouragement  to  falsehood. 
All  lies  are  bad^udioial  lies  are  the  worst  of  all.  Are 
they  not,  Mr.  Peel  1  Are  they  not,  Mr.  Brougham  ? 
Those  who  like  lies  and  lying,  whether  for  the  purposes 


of  selfish  interest  or  those  of  private  and  public  injus- 
tice, let  them  cling  to  special  pleading  with  the  tenacity 
of  tiie  fondest  affection.  But  if  lies  and  iignstice  be 
objects  of  abhorrence,  so  will  speciiJ  pleading  be.  Mr. 
Peel  will  laud  it,  and  so  will  Mr.  Brougham.  Special 
pleading  cried  up  by  both.  Bavins  and  MsDvius !  Mr. 
Peel  and  Mr.  Brougham  !  Those  who  laud  the  one,  may 
laud  the  other.  Boys  of  the  same  school,— heirs  of  the 
same  inheritance, — ^preachers  of  the  same  faith  !  Shake 
them  in  a  bag :  look  at  them  playing  at  push-pin  toge- 
ther. Mr.  Peel  will  have  no  short  pleas  ;  so  he  estab- 
lishes long  ones.  Mr.  Brougham  will  tear  up  this  and 
that  and  t'other  root  of  lies,  with  the  special  care  to 
plant  others  just  as  noxious  in  their  stead.  Mr.  Broug- 
ham !  instead  of  six  hours,  you  may  talk  for  sixty.  The 
public  will  be  enlightened  at  last,  lliey  will  look  upon 
you  as  the  sham  adversary,  but  real  accomplice  of  Mr. 
Peel,  unless  you  can  sacrifice  (hard  sacrifice,  but  how 
illustrious  !)  your  interest  and  profit  in  this  wholesale 
manufacture  of  lies,-— of  lies  as  mischievous  as  were  ever 
devised  by  their  great  author  and  father.  You  know 
their  paternity.    *  Is  it  not  written  in  the  Book  }* " 

The  Wegtmifuter  Renew  was  commenced  in 
1823,  with  the  funds  and  under  the  immediate 
auspicesof  Bentham.  In  that  work,  Lord  Brougham 
was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  very  unceremoniously 
handled,  though  for  his  own  share  in  the  attack, 
whatever  it  had  been,  Bentham  assumed  high 
grounds  of  justification.  But  however  dissatisfied 
Bentham  might  have  been  with  Mr.  Brougham's 
public  conduct  or  backwardness,  or  however  piqued 
upon  personal  grounds,  he  was  always  ready  to 
be  appeased.  This  is  no  small  merit  in  one  who 
has  been  the  aggressor;  which  we  are  afraid 
Bentham  was  in  this  particular  instance.  Broug- 
ham was  already  Lord  Chancellor,  and  it  is  pro- 
bable that  his  appointment  was  generally  known 
when  his  ancient  friend,  on  the  19th  November 
1831,  wrote  this  volunteer  epistle  : — 

'*  Mt  deak  Bbouoham, — It  is  with  no  small  gratifica- 
tion that  I  heard  Doane's  account  of  the  kind  mention 
you  made  of  me  in  the  short  conversation  he  had  with 
you  this  day :  finding  thereby  that  the  state  of  your 
affections  towards  me  harmoniaes  so  exactly  with  that 
of  mine  towards  you.  Whatsoever  may  be  in  the  We$i- 
mintter  Review  notwithstanding,  be  assured  that  no  sen- 
timent of  personal  hostility  has  ever  had  place  in  any- 
thing I  have  said  of  you  there  or  elsewhere. 

''It  is  accordingly  truly  delightful  to  me  to  see  sudi 
good  reason  for  beheving  that  no  considerable,  if  any, 
uneasiness  has  been  produced  in  your  mind  Ji>y  what  has 
been  called  my  '  truoulettee  :*  for  assuredly,  if  you  were 
sitting  opposite  me,  (as  I  hope  you  will  shortly  be  ere 
long,)  it  would  not  be  possible  for  me  to  witness  any 
symptoms  of  uneasiness  on  your  brow,  without  imbibing, 
through  the  channel  of  sympathy,  more  or  less  of  it. 
Not  that  in  substance  my  course  would  be  altered  by 
any  such  irrelevant  observation :  for,  if  you  were  my 
brother  in  the'fle8h,instead  of  beingmy  M>i-<2itaii£grand8on 
in  the  spirit,  (Oh,  naughty  boy  I)  never  could  I  sacrifice 
to  my  regard  for  any  individual  that  affection  for  my 
country  and  mankind,  to  which  my  whole  soul  has  been 
devoted  for  I  forget  how  much  more  than  threescore 
years.  As  I  am  dealing  with  you,  so  dealt  I  by  my 
fHend  Romilly :  for,  on  the  occasion  of  the  Wettmimter 
decHonfhe  being,  in  my  phrase,  no  better  than  a  Whig,  I 
wrote  against  1dm  in  favour  of— I  forget  who,  (Douglas 
Kinnaird,  I  believe,^ — of  whom  I  knew  nothing,  but  that 
he  stood  upon  Badical  ground.  What  the  Seview  has 
said  of  yon,  either  this  time  or  the  fbrmer  time,  I  know 
not ;  nor  do  I  think  I  ever  shall.  Sure  enough  did  I 
send  in  the  me<tt  for  that  meal ;  for  it  was  what  nobody 
else  could  have  done  ;  but,  as  to  the  dressing,  I  neither 
know  how  it  was  done,  nor  who  were  the  cooks. 

^  I  have  understood  that  it  was  you  that  let  slip  the 
dogs  of  war  at  me  in  the  EdMmrgh,  and  periiaps  else- 


454 


MEMOIRS  OF  JEREMY  BENTHAM. 


where.  The  mere  there  are  of  them,  the  more  tickled  I 
shall  be  ;  and  in  so  all-oomprehensiTe  an  assurance  yon 
would  find  a  good  and  ralid  license,  should  you  eTer 
suppose  yourself  to  hare  need  of  any  such  thing. 

"  I  hare  my  Tiews,  you  hare  yours  ;  but,  in  all  other 
respects,  I  am — yours  most  truly,"  &c. 

Brougham,  now  Lord  Chancellor,  immediately 
replied,  and  on  the  day  we  believe  before  the  names 
of  the  Grey  Ministry  appeared  in  an  Extraordi- 
nary Grazette. 

**  Mt  dbar  Sib, — Many  thanks  for  your  kind  letter  ; 
but  how  could  you  listen  to  such  a  tale  of  tales  as  that 
/,  of  all  your  friends,  ever  could  hare  let  slip  the  dogs 
in  the  ^.  12.  at  ^OK? 

**  The  truth  is,  I  had  a  correspondence  of  weeks,  and 
all  but  a  rupture,  with  Jeffrey  on  the  subject.  He  had 
got  committed  on  the  point  before  I  could  remonstrate, 
not  haying  a  conception  of  what  was  doing  till  I  saw  it 
on  my  table  in  print,  and  pablished* 


^  I  succeeded  afterwards  in  stopping  the  nioltw,  M 
worse  than  useless  oontrorersy  between  tarying  or  dif- 
fering allies  ;  for  so  it  was, — ^not  enemies. 

^  I  want  to  see  you  one  of  these  days  ;  and  when  yon 
summon  me  to  dinner,  I  will  attend  ;  but  don't  make  it 
next  Wednesday,  for  I  go  that  day  to  oar  aods/ifi 
monthly  meeting. — Yours  erer." 

It  has  been  whispered,  that  when  this  dinner  wai 
to  take  place,  some  pressing  public  business  pre- 
vented the  Chancellor  from  attending,  and  that  Uiis 
involuntary  failure  on  his  part  swelled  the  mea- 
sure of  his  iniquities,  to  a  degree  that  his  venerable 
friend  could  never  afterwards  forgive.  Of  inten- 
tional disrespect,  or  want  of  regard,  it  is  next  to 
impossible  that,  while  his  mind  was  in  its  pristine 
vigour,  Benthim  could  have  suspected  Broog* 
hiun, 


AFFAIRS  OF  HONOUR. 

**  An  honourable  murderer,  if  you  will ; 
For  nought  I  did  in  hate,  but  all  in  honour.** 

OtMelio. 


Mr.  Ferdinand  Keane  was  tried  at  Balllnasloe 
Quarter  Sessions,  on  the  7th  of  April,  for  horsewhip- 
ping Mr.  Hblop,  with  intent  to  provoke  him  to  a 
breach  of  the  peace.  It  is  an  ancient  practice,  re- 
cognised by  the  laws  of  chivalry ;  but  the  discipline 
used  by  Mr.  Keane  was  more  rude  than  honour  re- 
quired, having  been  administered  with  the  butt-end 
of  a  loaded  whip,  which  he  applied  with  such  force 
to  the  back  part  of  the  prosecutor  s  skull,  as  to 
render  the  attendance  of  a  surgeon  necessary  for 
some  days  thereafter.  Such  a  horsewhipping  being 
deemed  more  than  was  requisite  to  bring  a  man  of 
proper  feeling  outy  the  Jury,  albeit  composed  of 
Gal  way  men,  brought  Mr.  Keane  in  **  Guilty  ;"  and 
he  was  sentenced  to  an  imprisonment  of  six 
months. 

Thb  w&ssarvinff  Mr.  Ferdinand  Keane  ri^hi : — 
for  although  the  code  of  honour  permits  an  appeal 
to  the  whip,  in  the  last  resort,  it  must  be  handled 
with  discretion.  Besides,  a  bludgeon  is  not  a  horse- 
whip. "  Consider  yourself  horsewhipped,  Sir," 
says  your  true  cavalier,  to  an  adversary  who  will 
not  stand  at  twelve  paces  to  be  shot  at,  upon  lesser 
compulsion  ; — and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word, 
a  s^tch  is  then  Ikid  gently  across  the  shoulders, 
as  who  should  say — "  Exert  your  imagination,  Sir, 
to  consider  yourself  horsewhipped." 

Such  a  procedure  is  generally  found  sufficient  to 
rouse  the  lion — if  there  be  a  lion  to  be  roused.  But 
it  does  not  always  lead  to  the  desired  result ;  for  it 
is  impossible  to  draw  blood  from  a  turnip.  Joe 
Miller  cites  a  case  in  point, — in  the  matter  of  a 
certain  Irishman,  who  had  more  brains  than  he 
wished  to  see  blown  out  before  his  face  : — "  Con- 
sider myself  horsewhipped,  indeed !  (said  Pat  ;) 
and  is  that  the  way  of  it  ?  Well,  then—you  may 
just  consider  yourself  whipped  clane  through  the 
lungs,  with  a  short  sword  ;  and  so  we  are  quits." 

Nevertheless,  the  accolade  I  would  describe  is,  in 
most  cases,  found  sufficiently  cutting,  A  great  deal 
must  be  left  to  a  man's  own  feelings  in  such  affairs ; 
M  being  accounted  a  violent  and  unhandsome  pro- 


ceeding to  resort  to  the  peine  forte  et  dmre^  when 
the  object  is  simply  to  draw  out  an  opponent  to  the 
daisied  field.  Honour  is  either  a  very  sensitive  or 
a  very  callous  thing.  If  a  nettle  will  not  sting,  a 
cudgel  cannot  provoke  it. 

But  horsewhipping  does  not  always  go  by  favour, 
or  by  fancy,  in  this  manner.  There  are  in  the 
lists  of  honour,  as  elsewhere,  matter-of-fact  fel- 
lows, like  Mr.  Ferdinand  Keane,  who  look  upon 
words  as  things,  and  whose  minds  can  no  more 
comprehend  the  humour  of  horsewhipping  a  man 
metaphoricfJly,  tlian  their  palates  can  relish  the 
aroma  of  an  ethereal  banquet,  or  their  lips  smack 
of  champaign  sparkling  d /(I  ^inHWJfafA^v.  When 
such  customers  make  up  their  minds  to  inflict  a 
castigation,  they  do  inflict  it  Horsawhippuig  u 
no  joke  in  their  hands. 

Honour  is  not  only  a  nice  thing  with  these  per- 
I  sons,  but  a  serious  thing.    It  abhors  a  squib.    The 
late  Lord  Ffrench  ^*  went  out"  on  a  time,  to  satisfy 
the  punctilios  of  a  gentleman  who  had  been  very 
valiant  over-night ;   but  somehow  the  bite  of  s 
frosty  morning  in  April  so  abated  his  rage,  that  he 
profibred  the  apology  he  had  disdained  to  make 
twelve  hours  before.    "  Why,  see  now,**  said  the 
aboriginal  peer — ^**  that  would  have  done  uncom- 
monly well  last  night :  but  people  are  not  to  be 
taken  out  of  their  warm  beds,  on  ^  such  a  shivering^ 
sort  of  a  morning,  ybr  nofAfii^.    We  must  take  the 
dead  cowld  out  of  the  air,  by  burning  a  little 
powdther ;  but  don't  let  the  gentleman  be  at  aD 
unasy  :  we'll  make  a  thrifle  of  it !"    He  shattered 
the  man's  arm ;  which  was  indeed  a  trifle,  com- 
pared to  what  he  might  have  done  ;  for  with  the 
same  saw-handled  tool,  he  could  just  as  easily  h*ve 
bored  a  hole  in  his  mazzard. 

Let  a  peaceable  man,  who  desires  to  see  length 
of  days,  and  live  in  the  use  and  enjoyment  of  whole 
bones,  avoid  collisions  with  blunt  reasoners,  who  do 
not  know  how  to  abstract.  To  fight  with  the  like,  ij 
to  fight  in  earnest.  They  take  everything  cm  pj^ 
de  la  lettre,  as  French  Barrington  did,  when— being 


AFFAIRS  OF  HONOUR. 


4^5 


dinatisfied  with  »  MaryboTongh  Jury — ^he  was 
AdYised  by  counsel,  learned  in  the  law,  to  ^  chal- 
lenge the  array." 

**  That's  the  reiy  thing  I  was  thinking  of,"  said 
Barrington ;  and  straightway  he  not  only  called 
out  the  twdye,  bat,  lest  the  right  man  should 
escape,  tweaked  the  Ht^h  Sheriff  by  the  nose  into 
the  bargain.  At  the  point  of  day  he  was  on  the 
ground,  with  a  cow's  horn  brimful  of  powder,  and 
a  worsted  stocking  crammed  with  bullets ;  but  the 
gentlemen  of  the  jury  did  not  attend,  and  it  would 
not  answer  to  prajf  a  tdUi  ;  so  he  went  back  and 
fdikd  the  whole  panel. 

It  is  possible,  however,  to  be  too  polite,  as  was 
Heniy  Grattan,  when  he  pinked  Isaac  Corry. 
Gnttan  was  short-sighted,  and  wishing  to  bring  his 
man  within  the  proper  focus,  put  on  one  of  his 
most  bland  and  insinuating  smiles,  which,  as  some 
dd  gentlemen  may  recollect,  was  a  riOua  from  ear 
to  ear ;  then  addressing  Mr.  Corry  in  his  peculiar 
md  measured  accent,  he  said,  ^  Will  the  honour^ 
ible  gentleman  please  to  step  a  little  nearer  % "  The 
honourable  gentleman  most  obligingly  did  so,  and 
WM  winged  accordingly.  This  was  quite  overdo- 
ing the  thing,  on  the  side  of  urbanity.* 

Old  SurCapel  Molynenx  (not  the  last  Sir  Capel, 
but  his  predecessor)  was  one  of  those  ^^  butchers  of 
i  dlk  button,"  who  would  not  allow  friendship  to 
eool  in  the  very  heat  of  a  rencontre.  When  about 
eighty,  he  took  offence  at  something  said  by  the 
late  General  Mahon,  then  a  youngster  and  Major 
in  the  9th  Dragoons,  quartered  at  Armagh ;  and 
he  invited  the  Major  to  come  out  to  Castle  Dillon, 
to  be  shot,  and  then  to  breakfast,  with  what  appetite 
he  might.  They  fired  a  brace  of  pistols,  the  young 
soldier  taking  heed  to  shoot  wide  of  the  grey  head, 
whUe  the  palsied  hand  of  the  old  man  was  a  suffi- 
cient security  against  anything  but  that  which, 

they  say,  may  kill  the  d ^1,  namely,  a  chance- 

thot. 

Six  ronnds  were  exchanged  in  this  manner,  the 
old  cock  stepping  out  at  each  interval  during  the 
ttloadmg  of  the  pistols,  to  interrogate  "  Mahon," 
»  he  familiarly  accosted  him,  about  his  father's 
agricultural  ptursuits,  and  to  enlighten  him  upon 
the  relative  virtues  of  red  and  white  Norfolks.  At 
iwt  the  young  major  got  tired  of  the  amusement, 
wd  sent  a  ball  whizzing  by  the  baronet's  ear, 
^hich  brought  him  to.  "  Thank  you,  Mahon," 
■Md  he,  *•  that  was  well-meant, — ^but  come  along 
now ;  ire've  had  enough  of  it.  My  hand's  not  i«, 
^  morning.  Let's  finish  it  some  other  time." 
So  saying,  he  took  the  major  by  the  arm,  and  they 
^ked  tc^ether  into  the  breakfast-parlour,  where 
^y  Molynenx,  a  pious  woman,  was  waiting  with 
^  femily  Prayer  Book  open, and  wondering  "what 
« the  world  had  kept  them  so  long?" 

It  is  sometimes  well  to  be  of  a  lowly  origin,  and, 

OU^^**'  ^worthy  to  be  kid  in  the  bed  of  honour. 

Id  Begenal  of  Carlow,  the  proudest  man  in  the 

^^8  dominions,  had  a  neighbour  named  Weld, 

ji^^^late  Mr.  Thomas  Galoin,  finiaher  of  the  law  at  Kil- 
^7j*J»  had  a  phrase,  in  ike  line  of  his  business,  rery  like 
tfllid  2!  ^!^^^'  and  Patriol.— **  One  step  farther,"  he 


^y^ 


^  he  settled  his  man  upon  the  dr<m;  **  one  step 


» lOT  your  own  aise,  and  long  fife  to  you  r 


who  was  rich,  and  admitted  into  society  as  » 
gentleman,  but  he  kept  flour  mills.  This  cir- 
cumstance saved  his  life ;  for  his  pigs,  having 
trespassed  upon  the  aristocrat's  demesne,  were  sent 
home  with  their  tails  shaved  off  to  the  stump ;  and, 
of  course  a  challenge  was  the  consequence. 

Bagenal  was  in  a  fit  of  the  gout,  but  he  had 
himself  carried  into  a  church-yard  and  propped  up 
against  a  tomb-stone,  in  which  position  he  received 
the  miller  s  fire.  The  shot  struck  a  Death's  head 
and'erass-banes  under  his  elbow,  scattering  a  hun- 
dred splinters  about  his  ears.  It  was  now  Bagenal's 
turn :  but  he  disdained  even  to  let  off  his  pistol  in 
the  air.  **  Ton  shall  never  boast,"  said  he,  haught- 
ily, ^  that  a  gentleman's  ball  traversed  your  car- 
cass ;"  and  then  letting  down  the  pistol  to  half- 
cock,  returned  it  to  his  second,  and  hobbled  into 
his  carriage. 

There  is  an  esprit  de  corps  in  your  professional 
duellist,  which  will  shrink  firom  nipping  in  the 
bud  a  promising  scion  of  the  feather-spring,  under 
any  provocation.     Bryan  Maguire— who  does  not 

Remember  the  glories  of  Brian  the  brave  t 
— ^was  paraded  one  morning,  to  his  infinite  amaie- 
ment,  upon  Marlborough  Green,  by  a  stripling  of 
sixteen,  named  Rowan  Cashel.  Marlborough 
Green  was  then  classic  ground.  John  Claudius 
Beresford  had  his  famous  riding-house  in  a  comer 
of  it ;  and  it  was  a  convenient  place  for  gentlemen 
who  had  little  difibrences  to  settle,  under  cover  of 
the  fog  that  arose  from  the  marshes  about  the  Cus- 
tom House.  But  like  other  venerable  institutions, 
the  Cfreen  is  "  gone  to  the  bad ;"  being  now  drained 
and  desecrated  to  the  uses  of  the  National  Board 
of  Education.  A  Model  School  stands  on  the  spot 
where  the  twenty-pace  ground  vras  wont  to  be 
measured ;  and  Professor  Magawley  is  teaching 
"the  young  idea  how  to  shoot,"  where  Bryan 
came  down  that  morning,  like  Groliath  of  Gath, 
sending  forth  two  curling  pillars  of  smoke  from 
his  distended  nostrils. 

His  opponent,  a  firm-set,  fierce,  little  fellow,  was 
already  in  waiting ;  and  touching  his  hat  slightly, 
went  to  work  at  once,  like  a  French  falconer, 
without  a  quiver  in  his  eyelid,  or  a  shake  in  his 
hand.  Bryan  stood  his  fire  admiringly ;  and  the 
more  so,  when  he  felt  his  whisker  gently  brushed 
by  the  pa^ng  missile,  as  it  went  on  towards  the 
riding-house. 

"  Ha  !'*  said  he. — *'  You  'U  do,  my  pigeon.  I 
prophesy  that  the  name  of  Rowan  Cashel  will 
stand  high  in  the  roll  of  history  after  I  am  gone. 
Why  should  I  endeavour  to  cut  short  a  career, 
which  opens  with  such  brilliant  auspices  ?  Your 
hand,  young  Sir ;  and  now  come,  let  me  give  you 
a  lesson  in  our  common  art." 

The  champion  s  second,  a  little  midshipman  of 
the  Royal  Navy,  placed  a  fivepenny  piece  on  the 
fiat  head  of  the  ramrod,  and  holding  it  at  arm's 
length,  Bryan,  without  seeming  to  take  aim  for 
an  instant,  sent  the  diminutive  coin  spinning 
through  the  air,  in  pursuit  of  the  youngster's  bul- 
let. His  prognostication  of  the  youth's  future 
fame  proved  him  to  be  a  discriminating  judge  of 
character.  For  Rowan  Cashel  has  since  attained 
great  renown  as  SkFire-eatery  having  killed  his  friend 


456 


AFFAIRS  OF  HONOUR. 


in  a  duel,  ftnd  asdsted,  on  several  occasions,  in 
righUy  placing  other  honourable  genUemen,  bent 
upon  doing  likewise. 

An  antagonist,  who  is  half  a  fool,  is  about  as 
dangerons  a  competitor  '^  as  you  shall  meet  of  a 
summer  day."  I  would  rather  have  an  appointment 
with  Mr.  Ferdinand  Keane  himself ;  seeing  that  an 
ape  is  infinitely  a  more  mischievous  creature  than  a 
bear.  One  of  this  sort,  known  in  the  sweet  county 
of  Tipperary  by  the  nam  de  guerre  of  "Groose 
Ryan,"  sent  a  hostile  message  to  a  dragoon  officer 
quartered  at  Caher ;  and  as  the  bearer  of  the  car- 
tel was  not  to  be  trifled  with,  the  meeting  took 
place  in  due  course.  ^'  The  Groose  "  came  to  the 
ground,  wrapped  up  in  alight  drab-coloured  fleecy 
Peiersham^  which  made  him  about  as  tangible  a 
mark  as  a  haycock,  were  any  man  so  malicious  as 
to  take  deliberate  aim  at  him.  But  the  honest 
soldier  had  no  such  intention ;  as  he  laughingly 
said  to  his  friend^  he  thought  it  ^^  pity  to  singe  a 
goose  80  well  feaUiered." 

After  the  usual  formalities,  however,  had  been 
gone  through  and  the  parties  invited  to  take  tlieir 
ground,  '^The  Groose"  suddenly  flung  aside  his 
covering,  and  appeared  laced  up  in  a  suit  of  black 
from  the  cliin  to  the  toe,  ^^  a  bare  forked  animal," 
like  Romeo*s  apothecary,  and  offering  such  a  pro- 
file to  the  gallant  son  of  Mars,  as  none  but  a  marks- 
man, practised  at  splitting  bullets  upon  the  edge  of 
a  knife,  could  hope  to  hit.  The  word  was  given, 
and  the  unfortunate  dragoon  feU,  while  \h'&  feather- 
less  biped  capered  and  cackled  about  the  field, 
snapping  his  fingers  and  shouting — '*0h,  what  a 
goose  I  am ! — Oh,  what  a  goose  I  am !" 

While  the  Galway  militia  was  under  arms,  a 
scene  occurred  at  the  mess-table,  showing  what 
edged  tools  they  play  with  who  choose  a  half- 
naturcU  for  their  butt.  There  was  a  sleepy,  moping 
lieutenant  in  that  corps,  who  went  about  with  his 
mouth  half-open  and  his  lids  half-closed,  never  ad- 
dressing his  brother  officers,  and  when  spoken  to, 
replying  in  monosyllables  "long  drawn  out,"  vrhich. 
he  delivered  in  a  tone  pitched  between  a  moan  and 
a  whisper.  He  was  patient  of  slight  taunts,  proba- 
bly because  the  trouble  of  resenting  them  would 
have  been  too  great  an  exertion ;  and  as  for  jests 
and  witticisms-— spoken  at  him — ^he  heeded  them 
not  at  all : — ^perhaps  he  heard  them  not. 

But  on  the  occasion  in  question,  one  of  those 
would-be  wits  and  couldn't  be  gentlemen — in 
which  variety,  every  rank  of  the  featherbed  service 
abounded — proceeded  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
quip  modest  and  the  cut  circumstantial,  to  express 
his  wonder,  **  Why  the  d — ^1  Lord  Clancarty  had 
admitted  such  a  spooney  into  his  raiment  at  all  ? " 

The  sleepy  lieutenant  rose  from  his  chair,  strode 
across  the  floor  at  his  usual  pace,  till  he  came  to 
the  door,  which  he  locked,  and  putting  the  key  in 
his  pocket,  drew  forth  his  cut-and-thrust  sword, 
and  called  on  his  laughing  insulter  to  "  dthraw." 
A  broad  grin  was  the  only  notice  taken  of  this 
defiance.  "  Tf  that  won*t  do,"  said  he,  in  his 
wonted  sesquipedalian  snuffle,  "take  this;"  and 
he  gave  him  a  tap  on  the  shoulder  with  his 
"King's-Order." 

The  gentleman's  broad  grin  now  became  a  broad 


stare.  "  Zounds,*'  he  exclaimed,  as  he  lugged  out 
his  reluctant  blade,  "  would  you  cut  my  throat  for 
a  joke?" 

"  ril  thry,"  replied  the  sleepy  lieutenant, 
making  a  pass  at  the  bright  gorget,  with  which  it 
was  then  the  fashion  to  decorate  and  protect  the 
midriff^  of  officers  of  a  certain  rank. 

Great  confusion  ensued,  as  commonly  happens 
when  half  a  score  of  Irishmen,  over  tiieir  third 
tumbler  of  punch,  raise  a  simultaneous  voice  for 
"Paice;"  but  before  order  could  be  restored,  the 
best  uniform  coat  of  the  giber  had  been  spoiled  by 
an  unmannerly  gash  in  the  right  sleeve,  through 
which  a  stream  of  martial  ichor  flowed,  enough  to 
shelve  any  garment  in  the  world. 

During  the  whole  of  this  exciting  oontioversy,  it 
was  remarked,  that  the  gawky  lieutenant  neither 
closed  his  mouth  nor  raised  his  eyelids  above  their 
ordinary  angle  of  inclination;  but  when  all  was 
over,  and  the  key  replaced  in  the  door,  he  uttered 
a  sort  of  chuckle  over  the  remains  of  his  tumbler, 
which  was  the  only  sound  resembling  a  laugh 
that  was  ever  known  to  pass  through  ^  fence  of 
his  teeth.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add,  that  he  was 
let  alone  at  the  mess,  after  that  evening. 

I  knew  a  booby  of  another  description,  who  was 
challenged  by  a  tenant  of  hb  own,  a  gentleman- 
farmer,  who  was  bound  by  lease  to  pay  him  an 
enormous  rent  for  a  large  tract  of  land.  This 
squire  was  extremely  pugnacious,  and  knew  not 
what  fear  meant.  Better  sport  than  fighting  he 
would  not  have  desired,  and  he  was  an  unerring 
shot.  But  like  most  of  the  ThickshOlo-de-Ha^- 
witto  tribe,  he  was  also  remarkably  cunning  and 
fond  of  money.  When  the  challenge  came  then, 
accompanied  by  some  taunting  language,  enough  to 
'^  stir  mood"  in  a  wiser  man,  he  declined  it,  alleging 
that  it  would  be  rare  fun  indeed  to  ^oot  the 
fellow;  but  then,  said  he,  **  who  would  pay  me  the 
big  rent  after  that?" 

The  law,  as  it  is  administered  against  duellists,  is 
as  strange  as  anything  ehse  belonging  to  the  subject. 
Indeed  it  is  the  cause,  that  so  absurd  and  barbarous 
a  practice  still  exists.  Thus,  it  is  much  safer  to  kill 
your  adversary  than  to  thrash  him, — and  attended 
with  less' cost  or  bother,  to  blow  his  brains  out, 
than  to  write  a  letter,  upon  which  a  criminal  infor- 
mation maybe  grounded.  A  stage  coachman,  who  is 
apt  to  meet  with  accidents,  better  consults  the  in- 
terest of  his  employer,  by  breaking  the  necks  of 
the  passengers,  than  by  dislocating  their  limbs; 
because,  in  the  latter  case,  th^  can  sue  for  da- 
mages, but  in  the  former  all  accounts  are  settled : 
and  in  like  manner,  the  law  (as  far  as  its  practice 
goes)  punishes  the  threat  or  provocation  to  fight  a 
duel,  more  surely  and  more  severely,  than  the  ac- 
tual conmiission  of  murder  in  that  form.  It  is 
'^  the  attempt,  and  not  the  deed,  that  confounds." 

Had  Mr.  Ferdinand  Keane  succeeded  in  induc- 
ing Mr.  Hislop  to  go  outy  and  had  he  shot  him 
dead,  after  the  proper  forms  and  moods  of  honour, 
does  any  one  suppose  that  Mr.  Ferdinand  Keane 
would  have  been  sent  to  gaol  for  six  months  as  a 
criminal?  Most  certainly  not.  He  would  have 
gone  out  of  the  way  untO  the  Assizes.  The  police 
would  never  have  made  their  zeal  and  activity  con^ 


AFFAIRS  OF  HONOUR. 


457 


spicnous,  bj  ferreting  out  his  hiding-place  in  tlie 
meantime ;  and  when  the  Judges  had  made  their 
entrSe  into  the  county  town,  this  hero  would  have 
H-alked  into  the  county  gaol,  given  himself  up  to 
jostice,  (as  the  phrase  is,)  and  stood  his  trial ;  if  a 
trial  thai  can  he  called,  where  the  witnesses  are 
not  obliged  to  state  what  tliey  know. 

The  inquiry  would  last  about  half  an  hour;  and 
then  Mr.  Ferdinand  Keane  would  walk  out  of  the 
dock,  an  object  of  universal  sympathy  and  of  par- 
ticolar  congratulation,  ^^the  observed  of  all  ob- 
seirers,"  admired  by  the  young  ladies,  and  envied 
by  all  young  gentlemen  who  had  not  yet  achieved 
distinction  by  killing  their  man. 

I  do  not  advance  this  without  proper  warranty. 
Something  better  than  a  year  ago,  near  to  the 
same  town  of  Ballinasloe,  where  thb  person  per- 
formed his  feat  of  horse  whipship,  and  received  his 
due  meed  for  it,  a  duel  was  fought,  in  which  one  of 
the  combatants  was  mortally  wounded.  It  was  a 
blackguard  affair  (if  one  may  venture  to  call  things 
hy  their  proper  names)  about  a  horse  race. 

Two  of  the  persons  implicated  in  this  affur  were 
tried  before  the  Lord  Chief  Baron,  at  the  Spring 
Assizes  for  Gal  way  in  1841.  Four  individuals 
who  had  seen  the  duel,  were  brought  upon  the 
table  and  sworn  to  tell  the  whole  truth.  But, 
on  being  interrc^ted  as  to  the  circumstances 
which  they  had  witnessed,  they  all  declined  to 


answer,  alleging  that  they  would  not  consent  to 
criminate  themselves. 

One  of  these  persons  was  the  brother  of  tlie 
murdered  man ;  and  the  Judge  expressed  his  opin- 
ion pretty  roundly,  at  his  appearing  to  shrink  from 
the  question.  '^  It  must  be  a  case  of  unparalleled 
atrocity,  indeed,  (said  his  lordship,)  if  the  brother 
of  a  person  who  has  been  killed  in  a  duel,  really 
apprehends  danger  to  himself  from  a  disclosure  of 
what  he  knows  about  the  transaction."  The  re- 
buke had  no  effect.  The  young  gentleman  was 
ffamcy  and  still  refused  to  answer. 

Another  gentleman  who  had  become  accidentally 
a  spectator  of  the  encounter,  and  had  even  exerted 
himself  with  laudable  humanity  to  prevent  mat- 
ters from  being  pushed  to  extremity,  sheltered  him- 
self behind  the  same  legal  fiction,  that  he  feared  to 
inculpate  himself;  and  the  learned  Judge  being 
bound  by  the  decision  of  the  House  of  Lords — 
which  he  was  pleased  to  call  the  Highest  Ck>urt  of 
Justice  in  the  kingdom — was  obliged  to  consent  to 
these  evasions.  That  lofty  tribunal  had  ruled  the 
point  in  Lord  Cardigan  s  Trial ;  and  until  its  deci- 
sion is  qualified  or  reversed  by  an  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment, it  must  henceforth  be  impossible  to  obtain  a 
conviction  in  any  case  of  murder,  upon  the  evidence 
of  eye-witnesses,  unless  they  choose  to  give  their 
testimony  voluntarily  and  without  compulsion. 


THE  CHANT  OF  AN  OLD  EDINBURGH  STUDENT. 


Mt  College  days,— my  College  days  ! 

Ill  still,  whilst  life's  warm  fountain  plays. 

In  glad  remembrance,  chant  the  praise 

Of  days  I  spent  at  College. 
My  labonrs  easy,  studies  hght, 
Lectnres  by  day,  my  friends  at  night 
To  meet,  and  join  in  conyerse  bright 

Of  pleasure  and  of  knowledge. 

The  pleasant  strolls  in  Prince's  Street, 
'Mongst  brilliant  crowds  of  ladies  sweet, — 
Whose  bright  eyes  sparkle  when  they  meet 

Alumni  bold  and  gay  ; — 
Who  fly  from  town  when  classes  close. 
For  then  the  streets  contain  no  beaux 
Worth  their  regard, — Edina  grows 

A  waste  when  we're  away. 

For  where  are  men  like  students  true. 

To  sport,  to  jest,  to  fight,  to  woo  I 

**  AtUd  Reekie"  might  indeed  look  blue. 

Should  they  no  more  retnm. 
The  ladies  pale, — shopkeepers  poor, — 
Ckariep  would  hold  a  sinecure,— 
Professors  beg  from  door  to  door, — 

And  good  old  Murray*  mourn. 


But  let  me  not  desert  my  theme, 
Instead  of  Students'  life,  'twould  seem 
I'm  praising  Students'  selves.    You'll  deem 

Me  rather  egotistical. 
Then  be  those  days  with  roses  strewn, 
In  memory  whilst  she  holds  her  own, — 
Those  days  when  Charleys  were  o'erthrown 

With  arguments  so-fisHcal. 

When  cudgels  rattled, — snowballs  flew  ; 
When  Blueooats  blench'd  and  backwards  drew  ; 
When  Provost,  Baihes,  and  that  crew. 

For  soldiers  sought  in  fear. 
O  swiftly  sped,  and  pleasantly. 
Those  days  of  mirth,— those  nights  of  spree, — 
When  all  was  gladness — all  was  glee, 

Good  humour,  and  good  cheer. 

And  here's  a  health  in  glorious  wine 
To  all  those  comrades  dear  of  mine, — 
To  Students  all  who  still  combine 

Pursuits  of  fun  and  knowledge. 
And  here's  that  fountain-head  of  lore, 
(And  may  her  fame  from  shore  to  shore 
Resound  until  this  earth's  no  more,) 

Hurrah  I  Old  Edinburgh  College  I     A.  C.  G. 
Mr.  Murray  of  the  Theatre. 


LINES 

ON  WOBDSWORTR's  great  sonnet  written  on  WESTMINSTER  BRIDGE. 


Mm,  with  eye  dilate,  from  some  such  perch, 

In  similar  observances,  have  seen 

The  huge,  wide  city  in  its  morning  sheen ; 

And,  though  they  felt  the  longing,  and  the  search 

For  apt  expression,  not  could  call  it  **  fah-." 

Op«i  unto  the  fields  and  to  the  sky. 

The  domes  that  seem  asleep  in  smokeless  airj 

xo.  an,— VOL.  IX. 


"  The  mighty  heart,"  **  the  river  gUding"  by. 
Were  felt ;  not  also  felt  the  power  to  name  ; 
Bewildered  intellect  could,  struggling,  frame 
No  utterance.    But  he,  the  mighty  one. 
Had  but  to  see  to  pour  his  words  divine  ; 
His  eye,  keen  flashing,  instant  seized  upon 
The  mvstery;  gave  cliaructer  aud  sign.  C. 

2P 


458 


SUMMER  READING.— THE  NEW  NOVELS. 

I.— FATHER  CONNELL ;  a  NoveL    By  the  O'Hara.  FAMiLr,    3  vols.    London  :  Newby ;  and 
T.  &  W.  Boone. 

II.— THE  MARCHIONESS ;  A  Strange  ha  True  Tale,    By  Elizabeth  Thornton,  Author  of 
*<  Lady  Alice."    2  vols.     Simpkin,  MarshaU,  &  Co. 
in.  THE  HERBERTS.    By  the  Author  of  «  Elphuwtone."    3  vols.    Saunders  &  Otley. 
IV.— MORLEY  ERNSTEIN,  or  the  TENANTS  OF  THE  HEART.     3  vols.     By  G.  P.  R. 
James,  Esq.,  Author  of  "Damley,"  "  Richelieu,"  &c.  &c.    Saunders  &  Otley. 


The  close  of  the  publishing  season,  if  it  can  now 
be  said  ever  to  know  a  close,  is,  in  1842,  its  most 
brilliant  period ; — so  far  at  least  as  respects  the  daily 
bread  of  the  large  majority  of  the  English  *'  read- 
ing public : "  namely,  novels,  romances,  and  poetry. 
The  works  enumerated  above,  are  among  the  more 
choice  of  their  kind,  and,  at  all  events,  one  of  them. 
Father  CoKNELL, — is  destined  to  an  existence  which 
must  extend  far  beyond  the  season^  and  add  fresh 
laurels  to  the  most  national  and  pathetic  of  the 
imaginative  writers  of  Ireland.  Although  the  name 
of  the  0*Hara  Family  were  not  emblazoned  on  the 
title-page  of  Father  Connell,  no  one  who  has  per- 
used *  Grohoore  of  the  Bill-Hook^  John  Doe^  or  The 
NowlanSy*  could  for  a  moment  remain  in  doubt  as  to 
its  anthorship.  The  new  work  possesses,  in  a  lavish 
degree,  all  the  beauties,  and  also  the  idiosyncracies^ 
the  peculiarities,  the  strong  mannerism  of  Banim. 
It  displays  his  peculiar  power  of  working  out  strong 
effects  by  means  apparently  the  most  rude  and 
simple ;  of  fathoming  the  depths  and  threading  the 
intricacies  of  that  greatest  of  all  puzzles  and  mys- 
teries,— ^the  human  heart;  and  especially  of  those 
hearts  carried  in  Irish  bosoms,  in  which  the  horri- 
ble and  the  ludicrous,  the  piteous,  and  the  humor- 
ously grotesque,  are  either  found  in  close  proximity 
or  in  fantastic  combination.  It  is  the  charm  of  Ba- 
nim's  writings,  that  all  his  pictures^  though  true  in 
design  to  universal  nature,  are  coloured  with  the 
hues  of  Irish  fancy,  and  are,  in  style  and  costume, 
strictly  national.  Banim  is  indeed  nothing  if  not 
Irish ;  and  his  fictions  cannot  be  appreciated  by 
those  who  do  not  relish  them  the  more  for  this  ex- 
clusiveness.  If  lees  national  in  his  feelings,  par- 
tialities, and  even  prejudices,  he  would,  in  our 
opinion,  be  a  much  less  powerful  fictionist,  and 
less  worthy  of  admiration,  thongh  probably  much 
more  popular  with  the  ordinary  class  of  Englbh 
readers. 

Than  Father  Connell,  the  hero  and  the  heart 
of  thb  new  stoiy,  Mr.  Banim  has  never  painted 
anything  more  perfect,  more  true,  or  half  so  mor- 
ally beautiful.  Whatever  is  finest  in  the  charac- 
ters of  Chaucer's  good  Priest,  of  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  or  of  Abraham  Adams,  meets  in  Father 
Connell,  whose  heart  is  a  perpetual  well-spring  of 
overflowing  love,  and  softest  charity,  and  milkiest 
human  kindliness.  As  good  Protestants,  we  could 
be  almost  jealous  of  a  Roman  Catholic  priest 
being  made  so  vtery  fascinating  to  the  aflections, 
while  to  the  judgment  he  is  faultless ;  especially  as 
it  seems  impossible  that  Father  Connell,  unless 
vowed  to  celibacy,  could  have  been,  to  the  same 
degree,  the  pitiful  and  tender  father,  as  well  as  the 
watchful  pastor  of  hb  little  flock.  His  locality  is  one 


I  which  Banim  has  often  painted  ;  a  small  provin- 
cial third  or  fourth-rate  ancient  city,  with  its  old- 
fashioned  shopkeepers,  petty  tradesmen  and  vag- 
rant mendicants;  not  without  its  religious  and 
party  jealousies  and  animosities;  but  with  an 
under  current  of  kindness  and  neighbourly  feeling 
running  through  all,  and  brought  into  play  by 
casual  events.  The  personnel  of  the  good  priest  is  in 
all  probability  a  portrait  from  the  life  ;  which  soine 
minute  traits  of  identity,  such  as  ''his  fingen 
closing  on  the  palms  of  his  hands,  and  ahnost 
always  working  against  them,"  make  almost  a 
certainty.  He  was  a  hale  sturdy  man,  of  at  least 
seventy-five,  "  yet  without  any  indication  of  old 
age  about  him." 

His  face  showed  scarce  a  wrinkle,  and  it  was  florid ; 
— not  red  and  white,  however,  like  some  old  people's 
faces,  nor  yet  purple  like  those  of  otheta,  as  if  the  smaller 
blood  vessels  had  barst,  and  become  congealed  within 
the  surface  of  their  skins  ; — ^bat  it  was  overspread  with 
a  still  rosy  colour  of  health.  His  forehead  was  expan- 
sire,  and,  at  the  temples,  square  ;  his  eyes  were  bine, 
and  generally  expressing  thought,  and  abstraction— in 
which  state,  they  used  to  stare  straight-forward,  almost 
without  ever  blinkinff  ; — yet,  they  often  relaxed  into  a 
smiling,  or,  as  it  might  be,  moistened  expression ;  during 
which  change  they  appeared  half  closed,  and  opened  and 
shut  very  fast  indeed.  His  scarcely  grizzled  eye-brows 
were  bushy  and  protruding ;  his  nose  was  long,  large, 
but  well  formed,  and  with  a  broad  back.  EUs  lips  were 
fhll,  and,  for  his  age,  remarkably  red  and  handsome. 

But  above  all,  there  was  about  his  countenance  the 
indications  of  a  great  singleness,  and  primitiveness,  and 
beauty  of  character  }— so  that  if  yon  met  him,  stepping 
measuredly,  yet  almost  springingly,  along  his  suburb 
street,  or  the  adjacent  roads,  and  silently  moving  his  lips, 
and  working,  as  usual,  the  palms  of  his  hands  with  his 
fingers,  and  taking  no  notice  of  you,  though  perhaps  you 
might  be  an  intimate  friend,  and  his  old  eyes  winking, 
and  his  whole  face  smiling  to  itself,  you  must  ineritablj 
have  said,  that  the  smile  was  not  provoked  by  any  object 
or  circumstance  then  noticed  by  him,  but  rather  that  it 
came  from  a  heart  ei\joying,  at  that  moment,  the  sunshine 
of  a  virtuous,  and  therefore  very  happy  intention  ;  or— 
excuse  poor,  human  vanity,  even  in  its  least  oil^re 
shape — recollection,  perhaps. 

Since  the  day  he  had  become  a  olergynum.  Father 
Connell  had  never  altered  the  form  or  the  texture  of  anj 
article  of  his  attire.  He  still  wore  the  curious  head- 
dress which  his  present  biographers  have  already  en- 
deavoured to  describe — ^in  their  tale  of  John  Doe  in  f^ 
— as  worn  by  father  0*Clery — or  indeed,  if  they  had  told 
the  perfect  truth,  by  the  celebrated  Irish  firiar,  Father 
O'Leary. 

A  painter  could  paint  Father  Connell  from  the 
description  given.  Without  being  the  ideal  of  an 
Apostle,  his  figure,  countenance,  manner^  aiui 
dress  harmonize  well  with  his  genuine  character 
of  the  most  benevolent  of  Irish  priests,  the  most 
kindly-natured  of  human  beings.  And  soch  he  is 
from  first  to  last, — whether  cherishing  the  orphan, 


BANIM*S  FATHER  CONNELL. 


45d 


oomfixrtuig  the  afflicted,  reproving  the  vicious  in 
the  spirit  of  the  purest  love,  or  nutking  the  mofit 
heroic  sserifices  for  those  he  loved,  and  to  whom 
he  was  bound  by  his  personal  feelings  as  much  as 
by  his  pastoral  offiee.  The  following  scene,  beside 
exhibiting  Father  Connell  in  his  most  engaging 
aspeety  as  an  officiating  priest,  shows  Irish  Catho- 
licity in  the  modesty  and  humility  of  past  times, 
and  the  long  way  between  St  Petei^s  at  Rome  and 
that  little  mde  chapel,  which  is  quite  as  near  to 
heaven:-^ 

It  wai  Twelfth  Night  Six  o'clock,  the  hour  for  ves- 
pers in  fkther  CotmelPs  little  parish  ohapel,  jingled  from 
a  little,  cricked  bell,  set  up  at  the  top  of  a  ramed,  sqaare, 
Norman  castle,  some  distance  from  tiie  half  tolerated 
place  of  worship ;  for  st  that  time  there  existed  a  Uw 
that  no  Catholic  hodse  of  prayer  should  summon  its  con- 
gregation from  its  own  walls  by  means  of  a  bell ;  and, 
in  removing  the  illegal  monitor  from  immediate  contact 
with  his  chapel,  the  priest  hoped  to  elude  the  pains  and 
penalties  awarded  by  this  laige-mlnded  piece  of  legisla- 
tion, for  any  breach  of  its  mandate. 

So,  the  little  old  cracked  bell  was  ringing ;  the  candles 
hk  the  two  badly  gilded,  wooden  branches,  which  hung 
tnm  the  eeiliag  of  the  ohapel,  had  been  lighted ;  and  six 
otiicTS,  supported  by  tall  candlesticks,  also  wooden,  and 
badly  gilded,  on  the  altar,  were  in  process  of  illumination, 
by  the  agency  of  a  very  handsome  little  boy,  with  auburn 
hair^  which  curled  and  glittered  over  his  white  suiplioe, 
as&r  as  his  shoulders ;  and  the  people  summoned  te 
evMung  devotion,  were  coming  in  ;  or,  after  bending  be- 
A>re  the  Sacrameiit,  enclosed  fai  the  altar  tabernacle, 
were  decently  taking  their  places  throughout  the  poor 
building. 

In  the  ceutre  of  the  chapel  certahi  moveable  seats, 
teehnicaUv  called  the  choir,  were  arranged.  Whew  put 
together  Ihey  formed  three  sides  of  a  long  parallelogram, 
running  from  the  semicircular  railing  around  the  altar 
(which  enclosed  a  space  called  the  sanctuary)  to  nearly 
the  other  end  of  the  edifice.  The  top  of  this  choir  con- 
sisted of  three  old,  worm-eaten  chairs,  with  high,  trian- 
gular backs,  of  which  the  middle  one  aspired  to  the  dig- 
nity of  an  arm  chair,  and  fhrther  in  assumption  of  ite 
di^ty.  it  stood  upon  a  kind  ot  little  dais,  one  or  two 
steps  above  the  clay  and  mortar  floor.  At  ri|^t  angles 
with  these  old  seate,  and  almost  touching  them  at  either 
handy  were  two  long  benches  with  railed  backs ;  while 
phda  forms  continued  the  side  lines  of  the  parallelogram, 
down  to,  as  has  been  said,  the  railhigs  before  the  idtar. 
It  need  not  be  said  that  the  old  artn  chair,  of  little 
ease,  wis  occupied  by  Father  Connell,  during  vespers ; 
ti^e  Ito  two  humble  attendante  were  filled  by  his  two 
curates.  The  confronting  benches,  proceeding  from  them 
towards  the  altar,  afforded  places  to  very  reUgious  men, 
wearing  long  linen  garmento ;  and  after  them,  to  little 
boys.  Wearing  nice  muslin  surplices— the  most  emfaient 
foi  good  conduct  in  every  way,  to  be  found  in  the  parish, 
as  wen  as  being  the  most  distinguished  for  attention  to 
certain  small  official  duties  of  the  ehtkpel—mfafudeprHn 
in  fisct  And  upon  the  forms  continuing  the  lines  of  the 
benches,  sat  a  second  class  of  pious  men  and  boys,  not 
indeed  robed  In  white,  but  still  honoured  with  the  dis- 
tinction of  immediatelv  assisting  in  the  chant  of  the 
vespers — ^although,  be  It  noticed,  everv  man,  woman,  and 
ddld  of  the  congregation,  might,  if  he  or  she  liked,  do 

the  same  thing. Father  Connell's  curates 

already  stood  robed  ;  and  the  old  priest  himself  knelt, 
it  silent  prayer,  to  a  kind  ot  desk,  m  a  corner^no  one 
around  mm  speaking  above  his  breath. 

He  aroee,  and  proceeded  to  put  on  his  ceremonial  sttr- 
pOce.  To  aid  him  In  this  task,  immediately  bounded 
forward  the  very  handsome,  glossy-haired  boy,  who  has 
been  seen  lighting  the  tall  candles  on  the  altar,  and  who, 
that  business  ended,  had  been  waiting  in  the  sacristy  to 
e^joy  the  honour  of  discharging  a  conferred  duty  of  a 
higher  degree.  In  his  buoyant  eagerness  to  exhibit  as 
UL  expert  priests  talet|h«  happened  to  tread  too  famili- 


arly upon  one  of  Father  Connell's  feet ;  at  which,  smarting 
a  good  deal,  and  therefore  a  little  ruffled  at  first,  the 
clergyman  suddenly  turned  round  upon  him ;  but  so  soon 
as  his  eye  rested  upon  the  half  penitent,  half-lau^^dng 
fkce  of  the  blooming  urchin,  he  could  not  help— for  the 
old  man  loved  the  l^y — smiling  in  sympathy ;  and  then 
he  took  him  by  the  ear,  in  a  make-believe  show  of  punish- 
ing him,  while  thumb  and  finger  pressed  no  harder  tbsn 
could  a  touch  of  velvet  have  done,  and  proceeded  to  ad- 
dress the  oflTender. 

^  Neddy  Fennell,*'  it  was  In  a  whisper  he  spoke,  and 
there  was  a  curious  contrast  between  his  assumed  tone 
of  reproof,  and  the  reflection  in  his  eyes  of  the  glances 
of  his  half-spoiled  pet ;  ^  Neddy  Fennell  will  you  ever 
stop  doing  mischief  I  Neddv,  while  you  are  in  the  house 
of  God,  my  child,  you  must  behave  quietly,  and  with  de- 
corum and  gravity ;  in  the  fields  you  may  jump  and  play, 
Neddy  Fennell,  but  in  6od*s  own  house  you  must,  I  say, 
be  orderly  and  well  behaved."  And  again  he  feigned  to 
inflict  punishment  on  the  boy's  ear,  only  playing  in  the 
meantime  with  the  little  silky-surfaced  organ.  The 
moment  he  let  it  go,  Neddy  Fennell,  covering  it  with  his 
own  hand,  assumed  sudi  a  fkroical  fitce  of  mock  terror 
and  suffering,  and  so  well  acted  the  part  of  pretending 
to  wipe  off  his  surplice  imaginary  drops  of  blood,  which 
had  trickled  on  it  from  the  tyrannical  pressure  of  the 
priest's  finger  and  thumb,  that  his  little  oompanloul, 
amongst  whom  he  now  resumed  his  place,  grew  red  in 
the  face,  with  the  efforte  they  made  to  suppress  their 
laughter. 

The  priest  having  a^Jnsted  his  surplice,  at  the  veet* 
ment  press,  stood  inactive  for  a  moment  as  if  in  thought, 
and  then  turned  round  and  spoke  In  a  low  voice  to  all 
those  who  stood  by : 

''The  men  and  the  boys  of  the  choir  are  to  wait  here 
in  the  sacristy  after  vespers  for  me ;  I  haVe  something 
very  particular  to  say  to  them." 

No  one  distinctly  replied,  but  there  was  a  murmur  of 
assent  with  a  bending  of  many  heads  which  gave  a  enf« 
ficiently  satisfiustory  answer. 

Vespers  ended,  the  priest^  and  his  <mrates,  and 
other  assistants,  were  unrobed,  and  Father  Gonndl 
came  back  to  his  congregation. 

Were  there  none  among  them  who  well  Understood 
what  his  fi>rmal  intimation  befine  vespers  meant  1  Ay, 
Indeed,  a  good  maay>  boys  as  well  as  men  ;  and  they 
eould  scarcely  now  suppress^  although,  under  the  influ* 
ence  of  a  decorous  feeling,  they  had  lately  done  so,  indl* 
cations  of  their  knowledge  of  Father  Connell's  intentions 
towards  them,  for  the  evening.  It  was  Twelfth  Ni|^ 
In  flMt,  and  the  minority  of  them  knew  Ids  praetices 
welL 

He  came  back  to  them  |  he  gravely  unrobed  himse^ 
not  confronting  them ;  he  bent  his  head  over  his  clasped 
hands ;  and  then  he  turned  round,  and,  his  fkee  shining 
with  the  delight  which  he  knew  he  was  about  to  impart 
to  his  auditors,  said— 

'^  My  good  friends  and  little  <Mdren,  this  Is  the  seseen 
for  cdhAig  with  pure  And  light  hearts,  to  a  good  and 
great  God,  praises  both  in  sokmn  hymns^  end  in  CheerfU 
acta,  for  the  wonderftd  and  merdfol  bounty  of  his  oemhig 
to  redeem  and  save  us;  and  my  friends,  and  you  my  little 
children,  we  have  returned  hmte  after  singing  praises  and 
thanksgivings  to  the  Lord  of  Heaven  and  of  earth ;  aad 
He  In  his  love  will  net  be  displeased  if  we  now  enjoy 
ourselves  In  nuiking  use— temperately ,  however,  and  very 
temperately— of  some  of  the  good  thlngi  which  he  has 
placed  at  our  disposal— yes,  my  friends,  big  and  little^ 
we  vriU  now  make  merry  atnonrst  onrselves ;  so  oMie 
after  me,  my  good  friends  andlittle  children:  it  is  Twelfth 
Night,  and  we  ought  to  rejoice,  aad  we  will  ngoioe ;  oome 
—I  have  prepared  a  little  treat  for  you— eome  after  me 
and  let  us  rejoice." 

Father  Connell  and  his  invited  gneste  had  not  for  te 
go  to  their  house  of  entertainment,  for  it  was  not  more 
than  a  hundred  paces  from  the  chapeL  He  stopped  at 
the  head  of  his  troop— the  urohlns  partly  compering  it, 
shouting  shrilly,  though  in  a  low  key,  and  the  pious  mmi 


460 


SUMMER  READING. 


chuckling  at  their  antics— he  stopped,  we  say,  before  the 
hnmble  entrance-door  to  his  thatched  dwelling,  and  after 
laughing  heartily  himself,  knocked  loudly.  His  old 
housekeeper,  whose  business  it  had  been  to  prepare  for 
the  aoirte,  and  who  therefore  expected  the  throng  of 
revellers,  quickly  opened  the  portal  to  his  summons,  and, 
as  amiably  as  her  curious  nature  and  habits  would  per- 
mit, bid  everybody  welcome. 

Mrs.  Mulloy  was  a  peculiarity  in  her  way  ; — ^tall, 
coarsely  featured,  pock-marked,  and  with  an  autho- 
ritative something  like  a  beard,  curling  on  her  doubled 
chin  ;  and  almost  fat  in  person  and  in  limbs.  Her  bear- 
ing was  lofty  ;  her  look  arbitrary  if  not  severe,  and  in 
every  respect  she  seemed  fully  sensible  of  the  importance 
of  her  station  as  house-keeper  to  her  parish  priest ; — 
though  it  was  Whispered  that  even  upon  him,  the  source 
from  which  she  derived  all  her  consequence,  Mrs.  Mulloy 
did  not  always  hesitate  to  forbear  fVom  dictatorial  re- 
monstrances, whenever,  in  the  exercise  of  his  charitable 
extravagance,  she  was  pleased  to  detect  a  wasteful  sys- 
tem of  dissipation.  Let  it  be  added  that  her  voice  was 
the  contrary  of  what  Shakspeare  caUs, — 

**  An  excellent  thing  in  woman.  *^ 

and  that  her  master  was  a  little  afraid  of  its  not  unfre- 
quent  eloquent  exercise. 

Yet  on  the  present  occasion,  allowing,  as  a  great  rarity, 
her  usual  inhospitality  to  unbend  a  little,  Mrs.  Mulloy, 
inspired  by  the  pervading  spirit  of  the  hilarity  of  the 
season,  did,  as  we  have  hinted,  behave  very  graciously  in 
her  capacity  as  portress. 

**  Welcome  then,'*  she  huskily  said,  **  welcome  all,  and 
CMd  tnilU  afauUka,  to  the  Twelfth-night's  faste  ;  come 
in,  your  reverence  ; — come  in,  men  and  boys,  every 
moUier's  son  o'  ye." 

*^Come  in  my  children,"  echoed  the  old  priest,  gleeishly, 
**  come  in,  in  the  name  of  €rod  f*  and  he  bustUngly  led 
the  [way  into  his  white-washed,  earthen-floored,  and 
only  sitting-room  ;  in  the  black  marble  chimney-piece  of 
which  was,  however,  rudely  carved  a  mitre,  indicating 
that  the  paltry  apartment  had  once,  and  very  recently, 
been  inhabited  by  a  Roman  Catholic  bishop  ;  but  such 
was  the  fiict ;  and  such  were  the  times.  Father  Connell 
was  himself  Catholic  dean  of  his  diocese. 

Seats  of  every  description  had  been  airanged  all  round 
the  parlour ;  in  its  centre  stood  a  large  square  table,  at 
the  four  comers  of  which  was  a  mighty  jug  filled  with 
ale,  whose  firoth  puffed  over  and  adown  the  sides  of  each 
vessel.  Rows  of  dellt  mugs  were  placed  at  the  edges  of 
the  table ;  but  the  crowning  feature  of  the  Twelfth-night's 
feast,  was  a  great  two-huidled  osier  basket,  filled  and 
pyramidically  heaped  up  with  brown-skinned,  shining 
cakes  of  a  fragrance  so  delicious  as  to  perfume  the  apart- 
ment, and  penetrating  so  keenly  the  nasal  nerves  of  at 
least  the  younger  portion  of  the  guests  as  to  give  them 
fair  promise  of  the  capability  of  the  contents  of  that 
basket  to  gratify  equally  and  even  more  satisfactorily 
another  of  the  senses.  We  could  dilate  at  great  length 
on  the  marvellous  and  long  inherited  excellence  of  these 
cakes.  In  our  childhood  they  were  termed,  after  the 
name  of  their  then  manufacturer,^  Biddy  Doyle's  cakes ;" 
in  generations  farther  back  they  had  borne,  out  of  rever- 
ence to  their  great  inventor,  the  appellation  of  *' Juggy 
Fowler's  cakes ;"  and  Juggy  Fowler  had  sold  or  be- 
queathed to  Biddy  Doyle  the  secret  of  making  them  ; — 
but  Biddy  Doyle  died  suddenly  and  intestate,  so  that  the 
grand  secret  died  with  her ;  and  alas,  from  that  day  to 
no  succeeding  arti$U  hta  possessed  genius  enough, 
imitate,  in  the  estimation  of  the  experienced, 
iwler's  £y^fluned  and  unique  condiment. 

enumerated  all  the  dainties  provided  by 
ell  for  his  Twelfth-night's  toirie,  nor  did  he 
deem  anything  better  or  rarer  could  have 
'  on  the  occasion,  in  which  opinion  not  one 
y  differed  fh>m  him ;  for  indeed  when  they 
'^r  places,  as  exactly  observed  by  them  in 
vespers,  around  the  board,  but  at  a  dis- 


Father 
inhish* 
been  suppli( 
of  his  comp) 
had  taken 
"the  Choir 


iance  from  it,  a  set  of  happier  faces  could  not  on  that 
same  evening  have  been  seen  at  any  other  board,  no 
matter  how  costlv,  nor  in  any  other  mansion,  no  matter 


how  magnificently  contrasted  with  the  poor  priest's 
parlour.  Our  host  hurried  about,  as  if  his  very  hah 
and  soul  were  in  the  scene  ; — thou^  why  our  myskeriou 
"  as  if!"  There  is  no  doubt  at  all  upon  the  Bubjed; 
his  heart  and  soul  were  in  it.  With  one  or  two  him- 
ites  assisting  him,  he  walked  round  and  round  the  dide 
until  each  individual  of  it  held  a  "  Biddy  Doyle  "ia  ok 
hand  and  a  merry  mug  of  ale  in  the  other ;  sad  he  patted 
the  children  on  the  head  ;  or  rallied  the  men  o&  their 
peculiarities  ;  or  jomed  in  their  homely  jests  up<m  eidi 
other ;  and  loud  and  general  arose  the  frequent  Im^ 
in  which  none  joined  more  gleeishly  than  he  did ;  ud 
almost  as  frequent  as  his  laughter,  and  fiUly  u  lood, 
were  his  calls  upon  "  Peggy,"  to  replenish  tmm  the  hilf 
barrel,  under  the  stairs,  the  gigantic  jugs  which  stood  ti 
the  four  comers  of  the  square  old  oak  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  banquet  hall. 

Be  it  understood  that  all  the  members,  men  and  bo^f, 
of  our  old  friend's  choir  were  unpaid  volunteers ;  and 
moreover,  of  a  very  humble  class  in  society ;  m  fact 
worldng  masons,  or  slaters,  or  carpenters,  and  so  forth, 
or  else  very  inferior  shop-keepers — and  with  few  eisxp- 
tions,  the  sons  of  all  such.  And  yet  with  these  men  ud 
boys  our  good  priest  laughed,  jested,  and  made  merry  *, 
and  anon,  story-telling,  himself  .setting  the  examide, 
became  the  order  of  the  evening. 

Very  curious  and  very  Irish  those  stories  aw, 
in  their  blended  gross  credulity  and  rich  grotesque 
fancy.  These  were  succeeded  by  songs;  man), 
and  the  best  of  them,  old  Irish  ones,  and  then 
Father  Connell  himself  being  called  upon— 

Tried  to  recollect  the  only  song — ^we  do  not  know  whit 
song — that  he  had  learnt  in  hk  early  youth,  but  after 
repeated  failures  in  his  own  mind,  and  half  irritated  by 
his  sense  of  the  necessity  of  contributing  to  the  mirth  of  bis 
revelers,  he  suddenly  broke  out  into  a  joyous  Latin  hymn, 
and  as  suddenly  stopped  short,  grievously  scandalized  at 
himself:  and  then,  to  cover  his  confusion,  he  appealed 
to  "his  boys,"  to  help  him  out  with  "Ids  portion  of 
mirth  ;"  upon  which  all  of  them  became  dumb  and  sheep- 
faced,  except  his  old  pet,  Neddy  Fennell,  who,  when  no 
one  else  would  befriend  his  patron,  in  this  urgency,  nimbly 
stepped  to  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  with  Uie  small 
portion  of  a  "  Biddy  Doyle"  in  one  hand,  and  a  half 
finished  mug  of  ale  in  the  other,  sang  with  much  spirit 
and  fhn,  if  not  vrith  skill  or  science,  "Billy  OHourke 
was  the  boy  for  it — ^whoo  !" 

This  little  display  affected  his  parish  priest  in  a  peculiar 
way.  Perhaps  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  heard 
a  song  of  such  a  cluuracter ;  but  however  that  might  be, 
the  old  man  now  looked  amazed,  and  as  if  admiringly,  on 
such  a  new  proof  of  the  cleverness  of  his  young  friend ; 
and  then,  as  the  little  fellow  swayed  his  body  and  limbs, 
and  frisked  here  and  there,  humouring  the  burden  of  his 
melody.  Father  Connell  smiled  and  winked  his  eyes,  and 
laughed,  and  wagged  his  head  from  side  to  side,  and 
almost  attempted  to  whistle  in  unison  with  the  unex- 
pected talent  and  capers  of  the  public  performer  before 
him ;  and  when  Neddy  had  finished,  he  beckoned  to  him, 
took  the  pretty  boy  in  hia  arms,  kissed  him,  pUkyed  with 
his  auburn  hair,  made  him  promise  over  and  over  again 
to  be  a  good  boy,  slid  a  shilling  into  his  pocket,  although 
at  that  time  neither  Neddy  Fennell  nor  any  of  his  family 
wanted  such  a  donation ;  and  finally,  laying  his  bands 
on  the  urchin's  shoulders,  gently  forced  him  down  on  his 
knees,  to  give  him  his  blessing. 

And  Father  Connell's  $(>irU  almost  so  ended.  Tne, 
he  topped  the  delight  of  all  his  juvenile  guests  bygiring 
them  each  a  silver  sixpence,  as  a  Christmas-box ;  and 
cordially  gratified  and  [made  important  in  their  own 
estimation,  the  seniors  of  "  the  choir,"  by  very  often 
shaking  hands  with  them  at  parting,  whilst  every  one 
received  with  bent  heads  and  knees,  their  old  pastor's 
blessing.  But  with  little  Neddy  Fennell  he  lingered 
at  his  humble  postern  door  when  they  were  quite  alone ; 
again  put  his  arms  round  him,  again  kissed  him,  while 
Neddy  thought  he  felt  a  warm  tear  drop  on  his  sunny 
cheek  ;  and  again,  and  again,  besought  him  to  promise 


BANIM'S  FATHEtl  CONNELL. 


461 


to  be  good :  sighs  of  apprehensive  donbt  for  the  ftiture — 
as  we  know  them  to  have  been — ^now  and  then  inter- 
rupted the  voice  of  the  monitor. 

Neddy  Feonell  is  the  secondary  or  lesser  hero  of 
the  tale ;  and  he  is  worthy  of  his  high  destiny,  and 
of  the  warm  afifection  of  the  good  priest,  who,  lov- 
ing every  one,  had  yet  taken  this  merry  and  kindly 
orphan  boy  into  his  very  heart's  core. 

The  penal  laws,  \mder  which  the  Irish  Catholics 
long  groaned,  were  but  little  relaxed  when  Father 
Connell  first  became  a  parish  priest ;  and,  among 
other  tyrannical  prohibitions,  no  Papist  durst  then 
give  instruction  to  youth,  either  privately  or  in 
the  public  schools.  This  unholy  statute  was  of 
course  at  all  times,  to  some  extent,  eluded ;  but 
when  the  detestable  law  was  abrogated,  and  when 
the  little  ragged  Papist  children  could  legally  be 
sent  to  school,  and  even  placed  under  Papist  in- 
structors, Father  Connell  projected  a  school  for  the 
instruction  of  the  children  of  the  poor.  The  chil- 
dren themselves,  by  a  happy  idea  originating  in 
his  fertile  though  simple  mind — ^fertile  in  schemes 
of  philanthropy,  though  far  from  being  expert  in 
arithmetical  calculations — were,  under  his  inspec- 
tion, made  the  collectors  of  the  stones  and  sand  re- 
quired to  erect  the  wondrous  edifice.  After  an 
immense  mass  of  stones,  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  had 
been  collected  in  the  wooden  bowls  with  which  the 
priest  furnished  each  urchin,  in  lieu  of  a  hand- 
barrow,  sand  was  gathered  in  a  similar  way — ^no 
great  scrupulousness  being  observed  by  the  pur- 
veyors as  to  questions  of  private  property,  the  end 
perhaps  justifying  the  means.  The  history  of 
Father  Connell's  parish  school,  built  and  thatched 
by  tiny  hands,  and  that  of  the  beautiful  Catholic 
CoU^;e,  now  nearly  finished,  at  the  aristocratic  end 
of  his  native  city,  and  already  inhabited  by  Popish 
ecclesiastical  students,  walking  under  handsome 
colonnades  in  academic  caps  and  gowns,  is  that  of 
the  Catholic  faith  in  Ireland  for  the  last  hundred 
years — ^first  persecuted,  then  triumphant.  At  the 
period  in  which  the  story  opens,  the  teacher  of  the 
priest* 8  school  was  a  certain  Mick  Dempsey,  a  poor 
lad,  who  had  been  educated  in  it,  and  who,  from 
the  **  priest's  boy,**  had  been  elevated  to  a  dignity 
which  he  did  not  wield  without  control,  or  single- 
handed.  And  here  we  may  learn  one  of  the  chief 
means  by  which  the  Roman  Catholic  priests  of 
Ireland  gain  the  hearts  of  the  people,  old  and 
young,  and,  by  inspiring  love  and  reverence,  spread 
their  dogmas.  In  a  very  characteristic  scene,  the 
priest,  whose  benevolence  was  unbounded,  though 
his  means  were  narrow,  bestows  a  watch  upon  the 
teacher,  as  a  reward  and  encouragment  to  his  vir- 
tues and  to  his  usefulness,  in  labouring  among  the 
poor  children.  Mick  had  saved  as  much  money  as 
had  bought  him  a  handsome  suit  of  new  cloUies. 
Hitherto— 

Every  Thursday  the  parish  priest  and  his  curates  used  to 
attend,  in  their  very  humble  little  chapel,  for  the  purpose 
of  tnstmcting  the  poor  children  of  the  parish,  principally 
composed  of  the  pupils  of  the  school-house,  in  their  cate- 
chism ;  and,  during  Lent,  every  evening  after  vespers 
was  devoted  to  the  same  purpose.  The  curates  each 
taught  a  class  ;  but  as  the  number  requiring  instruction 
was  large,  and  made  up  of  different  ages  and  capacities, 
it  became  necessary  that  these  clergymen  should  have  | 


lay  assistants,  who  were  also  appointed  by  Father  Con- 
nell ;  and  while  the  boys  on  the  earthen  floor  of  the 
chapel,  and  the  girls  on  the  galleries,  assembled  in  little 
groups,  each  group  attending  to  its  own  instructor,  the 
parish  priest  walked  up  and  down,  firom  place  to  place, 
now  superintending  the  business  of  one  class,  and  now  of 

another Mick  had  been  attired  indifferently 

enough  ;  but  on  a  certain  evening  in  Lent,  in  the  dimly 
lighted  chapel.  Father  Connell  having  listened  to,  and 
observed,  as  usual,  his  catechism  cla^s,  one  after  the 
other,  and  reprehended  or  encouraged,  as  the  case  might 
call  for,  suddenly  remarked  a  tall  and  exceedingly  well- 
dressed  young  man,  in  the  centre  of  a  circle  grouped 
round  him,  very  fitly  discharging  the  office  of  teacher. 
The  old  clergyman  stopped  short  and  looked  hard  at  the 
young  man,  standing  at  some  distance  firom  him.  '^  Who 
was  he  V*  questioned  Father  Connell — ^"  was  he  a  stranger, 
or  had  he  seen  him  before !  ^* — he  thought  he  had  ;  yet 
the  dress,  and  even  the  air  of  the  individual  (for  new 
clothes,  when  a  rarity,  do  alter  for  the  better  even  the 
very  mein  of  their  wearer)  seemed  quite  strange  to  him. 
The  person's  back  was,  however,  at  present,  turned  to 
our  priest,  and  he  longed  to  look  into  his  face ;  but 
feeling  that  it  might  be  an  indelicacy  in  manners  to  go 
at  once  up  to  him  and  stare  into  his  features,  he  walked 
down  the  chapel,  as  if  quite  unobservant,  yet  turning  his 
head  every  now  and  then  in  curious  criticism  :  and 
presently  he  made  a  wide  circuit,  that  the  object  of  his 
interest  might  not  suppose  he  ^was  rudely  inspecting 
him  ;  till,  at  length,  by  prudent  management,  he  stood 
face  to  face  before  his  own  schoolmaster,  Mick  Dempsey. 
And  now  he  opened  his  smiling  blue  eyes,  and  contracted 
his  brows,  and  poked  forward  his  head,  from  its  usual 
erect  position,  and  drew  it  back  again,  and  stood  straight 
as  ever,  and  smiled  and  smiled  until  his  whole  counte- 
nance lighted  up — the  degree  of  severe  authority  which 
he  had  thought  necessary  to  assume  in  it,  as  befltting 
his  character  of  inspector  of  the  catechisticsd  instruction, 
quite  subsiding ;  until,  finally,  he  nodded  with  undis- 
guised delight,  and  almost  with  familiarity,  to  his 
quondam  ^boy,"  now  attired  from  head  to  foot  in  a 
"  spick  and  span  new  suit"  of  elegant  clothes. 

But,  anon,  he  bethought  that  the  young  observers 
around  him  might  notice  his  raptures,  strange  and  un- 
accountable to  them,  and  that  such  an  exhibition  might 
not,  in  their  eyes,  be  seemly  for  the  place  and  the  occa- 
sion ;  so  he  suddenly  resumed  his  former  austere  bearing, 
and  addressing  his  schoolmaster,  said  aloud — laying  a 
particular  stress  on  the  first  word,  and  using  much 
courtesy  of  manner — "  Mitter  Dempsey,  I  shall  be  glad 
to  see  you  below  in  my  house,  when  the  teaching  is  over ; 
and  don't  fiiil  to  come.  Mister  Dempsey  ;  I  have  some- 
thing very  particular  to  speak  about,  Sir."    .... 

The  evening's  instructions  terminated ;  Mister  Demp- 
sey followed  Father  Connell  to  his  house,  and  found  him 
anxiously  awaiting  his  arrival. 

^*  Mick,  Mick,  is  that  you !  Is  that  you,  Mick ! "  began 
the  priest,  gently  rubbing  his  hands  within  each  other, 
and  again  smiling  with  peculiar  pleasure,  while  he  drop- 
ped the  term  Mitter,  which  he  had  deemed  fit  to  assume 
in  the  chapel. 

**  Indeed,  and  it  is  myself  sure  enough.  Sir,"  replied 
Mick. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Mick,  very  good — very  good  indeed, 
Mick,  upon  my  word, — turn  round  Mick,  my  good  boy, 
till  I  can  have  a  full  view  of  you  ;  very  nice,  very  hand- 
some indeed  ;  and  very  good,  Mick,  I  declare  you  are  a 
good  boy  ;  I  do  declare  you  are — a  very  good  boy  ;"  and 
while  thus  addressing  Mick  Dempsey,  he  turned  the 
young  man  round  and  round  by  the  shoulders  ;  now 
viewing  him  in  front,  now  in  the  back,  and  now  upwards 
and  downwards,  and  in  conclusion  walking  round  about 
him,  and  clapping  his  hands  softly  together  and  laughing 
outright. 

**  And  now,  Mick,"  he  continued,  more  seriously,  after 
ftilly  indulging  his  joy  ;  "now  Mick,  I  like  that !  It 
shows  that  you  don't  throw  away  your  little  savings  ; 
and  isn't  it  a  fine  thing,  Mick,  for  a  good  boy  to  buy 
elegant  new  clothes  for  himself,  and  look  so  decent  and 
ref»pectable  in  them,  and  not  lay  them  out  on  whisky, 


4dS 


SUMMER  READIKC. 


or  cookfightingy  or  duicing-hoiiBes,  isn't  it  a  fine  tiling 

Miok ! Sit  down  Mick,  sit  down, 

my  good  boj— Peggy !"  and  here  Father  Connell  cried 
ont  as  lond  as  he  could,  and  the  bnrlj  person  of  his  honse- 
keeper  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the  parlour.  ^  Come 
in,  Peggy,  and  look  at  Mick  Dempeey's  new  clothes, 
Peggy,  ar'n't  they  Tery  nice,  Peggy !  and  all  bought  with 
his  own  earnings  ;  ar'n't  they  Tery  nice,  Peggy  1 "  and 
he  again  made  Mick  Dempsey  revolye  on  his  axis,  for 
Mrs.  Molloy's  iniq>ection,  who,  with  her  hands  and  arms 
thmst  up  to  her  elbows  in  her  capacious  pockets,  criti- 
cally analyzed  her  former  fellow  serrant's  outside,  and 
then  happening  to  be  in  something  Hke  good  humour  on 
the  occasion,  Mrs.  MoUoy  pronounced  Mick  Dempsey  to 
be  a  first  rate  beau. 

**  Brinff  Mick  Dempsey  a  drink  of  ale,  'Btggj,^  eon* 
tinned  Father  ConnelL  ''Ton  my  word  I  think  he 
deserres  a  little  treat,"  and  Mrs.  MoUoy  not  demurring, 
a  pewter  yessel  of  ale  was  shortly  placed  before  Mick, 
who  drank  from  it  to  the  health  of  his  entertainer,  ana 
to  that  of  Bin.  MoUoy  also  ;  and  here  be  it  noticed  that 
to  a  measure  of  sood  ale  was  limited  all  the  libations  in 
which  our  priest  Indulged  his  fkyourites,  or  himself. 

^  Now,  Mick,  don't  you  think  that  something  hand- 
tome,  and  respectable,  and  a  little  like  what  gentlemen 
wear,  would  be  yery  becoming,  with  the  new  clothes, 
Mick  1  a  watch  now,  Mick,  suppose  a  watch !  don't  you 

think  so,  Mick  1 And  now,  Mick,  be- 

eause  I  brought  you  up,  and  because  I  see  that  yon  are 
earefhl  and  don't  spend  your  money  badly,  and  because 
J  am  sure  that  your  good  conduct  giyes  good  example, 
I  will  take  on  myself  to  bestow  a  token  of  my  encourage- 
ment and  approyal,  where  I  think  it  is  so  well  due. 
Ill  giye  you  the  watch  myself,  Mick,  to  wear  with  your 
new  clothes  ;  and  you  may  tell  the  peq>le  when  you 
take  it  out  of  your  fob  to  see  the  hour  of  the  day,  you 
may  tell  the  people,  Mick,  that  your  poor  priest  made 
you  a  present  of  that  watch ;  and  yon  may  tell  them  too 
an  the  reasons  why  he  did  so.  Just  as  you  haye  now  heard 
tiiem  from  his  own  lips, — and  when  I  am  in  my  graye, 
and  you  show  that  watch  as  your  priest's  gift,  it  will  do 
you  no  harm  to  be  a  little  proud  of  it,  and  people  may 
not  think  the  worse  of  you  for  haying  deseryed  it." 

''Take  this  to  Tommy  Boyle,  Mick,"  meaning  by 
Tommy  Boyle,  a  wealthy  and  much  respected  inhabitant 
of  the  town,  ftdly  of  the  middle  age  of  human  beings,  on 
whom,  howeyer,  he  still  continued  to  bestow  the  appella- 
tion, by  which  he  used  to  address  him  a  good  many  years 
befbre,  when  that  person  was  only  a  boy ;  ^  take  this  to 
Tommy  Boyle,  Mick ;  I  haye  told  him  in  it,  to  giye  yon 
a  watch,  to  wear  with  your  new  clothes,  which  he  will 
charge  to  my  account :  'tis  not  to  be  an  expensiye  watch, 
Mick,  because  I  haye  not  much  money  to  spare  ;  but  I 
haye  told  him  to  giye  you  a  watch  to  the  yalue  of  four 
pounds  ;  and  ^en  he  giyes  it  to  you,  which  I  make  no 
doubt  he  wiU.  do,  wear  it  for  my  sake,  Bfick." 

The  young  man  was  sincerely  thankfiil  for  this  hand- 
some gift,  and  now  found  words  to  express  his  feelings. 

Bat  ihoagh  the  prudent  and  well-behayed  teacher 
-wns  thus  handsomely  equipped,  his  poor  little 
scholars  remained  as  ill-clad  as  ever ;  and  it  was 
(Smsimas-tide,  and  the  weather  yeiy  seyerey  when 
father  Connell  went  to  the  schod. 

Father  Connell's  business  to  the  school-house,  on  the 
present  occasion,  was  to  superintend  the  distribution, 
amongst  the  most  deserying  of  his  pupils,  of  certain 
elotiiing  which  he  had  purchased  for  them  ;  indeed  if  we 
laid  the  worst  clad  amongst  the  poor  creatures,  we  should 
be  nearer  to  the  real  motiye  that  guided  him  in  his 
•ekotion  of  objects  for  his  bene&ction. 

About  fifty  suits  of  clothes  awaited  his  arriyal  in  the 
■ehool-house,  some  of  one  calibre,  and  some  of  another ; 
in  ftkct  all  selected  to  the  best  of  his  judgment,  as 
ayailable  to  boys  of  from  about  fiye  to  twelye  or  thir- 
teen. They  were  of  nearly  uniform  material ;  namely, 
a  shirt,  a  felt  hat,  a  grey  frieze  jacket  and  waist- 
eoat,  a  pair  of  worsted  stockings,  and  a  pair  of  brogues, 
Ifrith  the  addition  of  a  yery  peculiar  pair  of  breeches^  or 


small-clothes,  locally  termed  a  **  ma-a."  And  of  eoone 
this  word  ''ma-a,"  requires  some  passing  expknatifle 
from  us.  It  was,  then,  in  the  firrt  place,  bestowed  oe 
the  portion  of  dress  alluded  to,  as  seeming  to  explain  iu 
pristine  nature  and  quality,  by  imitating  the  bleat « 
sound  uttered  by  the  animal,  from  which  the  substuw 
of  the  article  had  been  abstracted.  In  good  truth  tte 
''ma-a  "  was  ftbrioated  from  a  sheep-skin,  thrown  iato 
a  pool  of  lime-water,  and  there  left  until  its  fieshy  parti 
became  corroded,  and  its  wool  of  course  separated  from 
it  ^— and  with  yery  litUe  other  preparation,  it  was  then 
taken  out,  dried  in  the  sun,  and  stitched,  with  scanty 
skill  in  fashioning  it,  into  something  mdely  lesembUig 

a  pair  of  knee-breeches Fifty  ahiiti, 

fifty  littie  felt  hats,  fifty  frieie  coats  and  waistcoats,  fiftf 
pairs  of  the  now  (we  trust)  immortalized  ma-as,  and  at 
least  twenty-fiye  pairs  of  stockings  and  brogues  were 
heaped  before  Father  Connell,  in  his  sehool-heuse ;  ind 
many  more  than  fifty  poot  Uttle  creaturee  asMmbM, 
upon  the  coldest  day  that  came  that  year,  eadi  hepmi 
to  be  chosen  as  a  fit  claimant  upon  the  bounty  of  lug 
parish-priest. 

On  entering  the  school-room,  the  good  man's  eompai- 
sion  had  been  forcibly  appealed  to,  as  many  of  the  alBMt 
naked  childien,  ranged  on  the  forms  at  either  hisd, 
turned  up  to  his  fi^e  (while  their  little  bodies  eriaged, 
and  their  teeth  chattered)  beseeching,  and  yet  doubtiiig 
eyes,  whose  lids  fiuttered,  and  could  not  for  a  moment 
meet  his  questioning  regard.  In  fact  he  knew  the  meta- 
ing  of  these  self-doubting,  mute  appeals  of  the  wretched 
urchins,  and  his  primitiye  notions  of  justice  battling  with 
them,  he  was  made  unhappy.  For  in  truth  his  keen 
glance  discoyered  among  the  greater  number  of  the 
wearers  of  the  petitioning  faces,  indiyidnals  who  were 
yery  irregular  attendants  in  his  school ;  whereas  tht 
Christmas  clothing  had  been  publicly  notified  to  bt 
intended  for  the  most  regular  yisitants  of  it,  takiig 
always  into  account  the  most  generally  deserying  also ; 
so  that  he  plainly  understood  tiiat  a  great  portion  of  the 
present  expectants  were  not,  in  point  of  strict  school 
discipline,  entiUed  to  the  promised  periodical  fkyom. 

And  this  discoyery,  while  it  grieyed,  also  putiltd 
Father  ConnelL  Rigidly,  and  jNroperl^  speaking,  theae 
young  outlaws  and  street  idlers,  who  daily  sinned  against 
his  constant  admonitions,  deseryed  no  suoi  reward.  Yet 
how  could  he  send  out  again,  into  the  snow,  which  drifted 
upon  a  cutting  north-east  blast  against  the  windows  of 
the  school-house,  their  litUe  shiyering  caisases  I  Ho 
turned  his  back  upon  them,  looked  out  throng  the 
window  at  the  weather,  shook  his  head,  prohibitory  of 
the  measure,  while  a  few  drops,  too  warm  and  fresh 
from  tiie  heart  for  that  weather  or  anything  else  to  froose, 
stole  from  his  winking  eyes.  He  quitted  the  window 
and  walked  up  and  down  the  school-room,  poaderiig 
oyer  the  difficulty  in  his  way.*  He  sternly  re^rded  tho 
young  yagabonds  again  and  again  ;  and,  as  if  in  answer 
to  his  eyery  look,  they  dinged  together,  more  and  more 
piteously.  What  was  to  be  done  I— and  he  resumed  Us 
walk  up  and  down  the  room  ;  and  ibally  stopped  abort 


again,  nodded,  but  now  approyinglv  to  himself,  asd 

to  Mick  Dempsey  and 
addressedliim. 


quite  upright  and  austerely,  went  1 


^  Mister  Dempsey,"  for  in  tids  style  ahready  notieed, 
he  always  spoke  to  Mick,  in  the  presence  of  Us  pspQs ; 
"  Mister  Dempsey,  I*d  be  thankftil  if  you  oall  oyer  the 
list  of  your  regular  scholars,  and  then  let  eyeij  bo j  who 
answers  to  his  name,  come  down  to  this  end  of  the  school- 
room|; "  and  he  bowed  and  wayed  his  hand  to  Mr.  Demp- 
sey, while  pronouncing  aloud  his  request. 

Mr.  Dempsey  obeyed  the  command  ;  and  wImi  A* 
muster-roll  had  been  gone  through,  more  than  twes^) 
alas  !  of  unfortunate  young  scamps,  not  comprised  is  0| 
remained  huddled  together  at  the  other  end  of  the  apart- 
ment, with  what  looks  of  bitter  dinppointment  most  he 
imagined. 

The  priest  then  took  Mr.  Dempsey  by  the  an>i  ^ 
led  him  into  a  comer,  where  their  whispered  conferio^ 
could  not  be  oyerheard. 

**  Mick,  the  poor  children  below  are  strangen  ^  otf 
school,  ar'n't  they,  Mick  1 "; 


BANIM'S  FATHER  CONNELL. 


463 


**  I  hardly  eyeir  saw  them  here  before,  Sir,  and  now 
they  only  come  to  impose  on  your  Reverence  for  the 
dirifitmas  clothing/' 

•Mick,  this  ia  bitter  weather,  and  the  unfortunate 
little  wretches  have  scarce  a  tatter  to  coyer  them  against 
ity  my  good  boy." 

**  But  they  have  no  right  to  get  the  clothes,  Sir,  from 
our  own  regular  boys." 

**  That  is  true  ;  very  true,  Mick  ;  and  I  know  it  is  a 
bad  example  to  encourage  the  idle  to  the  loss  of  the 
industrious  ;  so  that  I  believe,  to  speak  honestly  and 
furly,  they  ought  to  be  turned  out  into  the  snow,  with- 
out getting  anjr  clothes  at  all.  But,  Mick,  they'd  perish, 
they'd  perish  in  this  severe  weather,  they  would  indeed, 
poor  little  creatures,  they'd  perish,  Mick  ; "  and  he  took 
the  schoolmaster's  hand  and  squeezed  it,  and  shook  it, 
and  looked  into  his  eyes  appealingly,  as  if  he  would  turn 
him  trffm  the  rigid  justice  of  the  case,  to  its  more  merci- 
ful side. 

**  It  would  be  a  cruel  thing,  Mick,"  he  continued,  **  to 
send  them  out,  to  have  the  snow  and  the  biting  wind 
going  through  their  naked  bodies  ?  " 

*  It  would  indeed  Sir,  but—" 

The  priest  stopped  him,  before  he  could  go  beyond  the 
the  admission  he  sought  for  ;  he  did  not  want  to  hear 
the  other  side  of  the  question  at  all.  "  Well,  well,  Mick ; 
— ay ;"  and  he  more  emphatically  squeezed  the  hand  he 
held,  while  his  old  face  grew  bright  again.  "  I  think  I  see 
how  we  are  to  manage  it ;"  and  now  he  whispered  cer- 
tain instructions  into  the  schoolmaster's  ear,  holding  his 
mouth  very  close  to  that  organ,  lest  a  breath  of  the 
purpose  of  his  plan  should  be  overheard. 

**  Give  me  the  cat-o'-nine-tails.  Sir,"  he  next  said,  in 
a  loud  and  tyrannical  voice. 

And  80,  by  a  truly  pious  fraud,  the  good  priest 
was  enabled  to  distribute  his  pile  of  garments 
among  the  naked  righteous  and  unrighteous  alike. 
In  the  number  of  the  latter  was  Neddy  Fennell, 
who  had  lately  lost  his  father ;  and  whose  mother, 
£ELllen  into  deep  poverty  and  misery,  now  lodged 
in  a  wretched  cabin  in  a  thrice-wretched  suburb 
named  **  The  Green,"  or  "  The  shower  of  houses," 
a  locality  inhabited  by  a  population  which  Banim 
only  coidd  paint,  and  yet,  amid  all  that  is  squalid 
and  repulsive,  contrive  to  interest  the  sympathies 
of  heings,  of  like  nature,  in  the  fortunes  of  the 
miaerable  inmates  of  those  hovels.  But  we  must 
first  tnm  to  Father  Connell,  in  triumph  waiting  to 
aee  his  newly-clad  hoys,  ere  we  follow  him  to  the 
abodes  of  sin  and  poverty. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  old  gentleman  occupied  his  post 
at  the  little  gate  of  the  churchyard  of  his  chapel ;  and 
half  secreted  between  its  piers  he  now  stood.  "The 
Bosheen," — a  solitary,  and  unfrequented  green  lane, 
running  to  his  right  and  to  his  left. 

For  a  few  minutes  he  waited  here,  smiling  to  himself, 
and  clawing  the  palms  of  his  hands  vrith  his  fingers  ; 
and  anon,  lus  ears  were  gratified  by  the  expected  sound 
of  a  great  many  little  feet,  softly  tramping  through  the 
yet  thin  layer  of  snow,  in  the  bosheen ;  and  in  a  few 
seconds  more,  appeared  Mick  Dempsey  heading  his 
army  of  newly-clad  pupils,  who  coming  on  in  great  order, 
only  two  abreast,  formed  a  goodly  column.  They  slowly 
demed  before  their  priest  and  patron,  each  as  he  came 
up,  squeezing  hard,  betwixt  his  finger  and  thumb,  the 
narrow  brim  of  his  little  felt  hat,  chucking  it  downwards, 
and  the  head  it  contained  along  with  it ;  and  then  ab- 
ruptly letting  go,  that  both  might  bob  back  gain,  to  their 
usual  position,  and  so  altogether  performing  a  bow  to  his 
Reverence.  And  for  every  bow  he  got,  every  single  one. 
Father  Connell  save  another  bow,  performed  with  studied 
suavity,  though  his  face  all  the  while  glittered  ;  and  when 
the  troop  had  quite  passed  by,  he  stooped  forward,  lean- 
ing his  hands  on  his  knees,  to  peep  after  them  ;  and  again 
trtanding  upright^  he  clapped  those  hands  softly  together, 


and  laughed,  almost  shouted  forth  his  delight,  while  not 
tears  alone,  but  little  streamlets  of  tears,  of  happy,  happy 
tears,  trickled  down  his  bloomy  old  cheeks. 

It  was  some  time  before  his  outbreak  of  eigoyment 
permitted  Father  Connell's  mind  to  recur  to  his  engjige- 
ment  with  Neddy  Fennell ;  but  now  suddenly  starting, 
he  looked  about  him  for  his  young  friend  ;  saw  the  boy 
standing  timidly  and  alone,  at  a  httle  distance,  walked 
hastily  to  him,  seized  him  by  the  hand,  and  under  his 
guidance  went  to  visit  the  widow  of  poor  Atty  Fennell. 

**  The  Green,"  so  called  by  Neddy  Fennell,  had  not  a 
bit  of  green  about  it,  being  a  space,  enclosed,  at  three 
sides,  by  wretched  cabins,  and  at  the  fourth  side  by  the 
high  wall  of  the  county  hospital,  within  which  that  sedate 
edifice  stood.  The  cabins  were  tenanted  by  the  poorest 
of  the  poor ;  their  thatch  half  rotten,  and  falling  in ; 
with  holes  in  their  clay  walls  for  windows,  and  holes  in 
their  roofs  for  smoke  vents  ;  and  if  ever  the  semblance 
of  a  chimney  rose  above  one  of  them,  it  was  contrived  of 
a  kind  of  osier  work,  plastered  with  mud.  Upon  the 
area  of  the  ground  thus  hemmed  in,  presided  disorder, 
and  want  of  cleanliness,  in  many  inert  varieties  :  heaps 
of  manure  before  each  door,  and  everywhere  about, 
carefully  collected  by  the  inhabitants,  as  their  most 
considerable  source  of  wealth ;  little  pools  of  dirty 
water,  and  puddle  in  all  weathers ;  stones,  great  and 
small,  wherever  they  could  find  room ;  while  through 
these  pleasing  resorts  pigs  grunted  and  wallowed,  vicious 
cur  dogs  barked,  and  gambolled,  or  else  snarled  and 
quarrelled,  and  bit  each  other ;  miserable  half-starved 
cocks  and  hens  «talked  here  and  there,  in  quest  of  some- 
thing to  pick  up,  and  found  nothing  ;  and  half  naked, 
and  sometimes  wholly  naked,  children  ran,  shouting,  and 
playing,  and  eiyoying  themselves. 

Fronting  the  hospital  gate,  but  nearer  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  irregular  square,  the  gallows  destined  for  the 
reception  of  city  malefactors  of  the  highest  degree,  used, 
occasionally — yet,  we  are  bound  to  say,  very  seldom, 
recollecting  the  mass  of  squalid  poverty  around  it — to  be 
erected  ;  and  this  was  one  feature  of  notoriety  for  the 
green,  from  which  it  improved  on  Neddy  Fennell's  ap- 
pellation, and  was  more  emphatically  termed  Gallows 
Green.  But  there  was  also  another  trait  of  its  celebrity, 
now  to  be  indicated. 

It  had,  time  immemorial,  been  a  kind  of  city  corporate 
commonage.  Everything  with  and  without  life  might 
take  possession  of  it ;  no  questions  asked  ;  and  the 
liberal  indulgence  was  not  long  unacknowledged.  When 
the  hospital  was  being  built,  sand  had  been  scooped  ir- 
regularly, here  and  there,  from  beneath  the  surface  of 
the  green,  nearest  to  the  edifice's  site,  so  that,  after  its 
completion,  and  the  erection  of  its  boundary  wall,  hollows 
remained.  Upon  the  verge  of  one  of  those,  or  haply  at 
its  bottom,  some  speculating  vagabond  pauper  experi- 
mentally ventured  to  erect  a  hovel,  still  more  wretched 
than  the  buildings  enclosing  three  sides  of  the  space 
around  it.  How  he  procured  the  materials,  even  for 
such  a  dwelling.  Heaven  and  he  know— not  we.  No  one 
interrupted  his  proceedings,  and  he  lived  for  years,  rent 
free,  and  tax  free  ;  and  in  every  way  luxuriantly  free,  in 
his  new  house.  His  success  emboldened  others  like 
himself  to  imitate  his  example ;  and  in  a  few  years,  copies 
of  his  domicile,  perhaps  to  the  amount  of  one  hundred  or 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty,  were  to  be  seen  on  the  edges, 
or  on  the  sinking  sides,  or  in  the  very  depths  of  the  old 
gravel  pits,  and  the  population  of  the  precious  colony 
soon  became  very  numerous. 

To  get  into  this  jumble  of  miserable  dwellings  was  a 
puzzle  ;  to  get  out  of  it,  once  in,  a  still  greater  one  ;  fer 
it  contained  no  streets,  no  lanes,  no  alleys,  no  enclosed 
spots,  no  straight  vrays,no  level  ways ;  but  hovel,  turned 
its  back  upon  hovel,  or  its  side,  or  its  gable,  or  stood 
upon  the  verge  of  an  excavation,  or  upon  the  declirity, 
or  at  the  bottom  of  one,  as  before  hinted. 

The  fortuitous  squatting  or  tumbling  down  of 
these  hovels,  had  procured  for  the  place  the  quaint 
appellation  of  the  "  shower  of  houses,"  a  genuine 
Irish  Alsatia,  with  this  difference,  that  it  was  to  b^ 


464 


SUMMER  READING. 


found  at  a  not  very  distant  day,  and  is  not  a  thing 
of  tradition  or  of  centuries  long  elapsed.  The  oMrner 
of  the  cabin  in  which  the  Widow  Fennell  lodged  is 
a  rarer  or  more  racy  specimen  of  feminity,  than 
the  pious  and  patient  8u£Pering  creature,  her  lodger, 
whom  Father  Connell  had  come  to  visit  and  to 
relieye,  and  therefore  more  entertaining ;  and  the 
hovel  is  the  perfection  of  squalor  and  discomfort ; 
yet  bright  scenes  of  animal  enjoyment  passed  in  it. 
We  pass  at  once  to  the  mistress  : — 

Before  the  ardent  little  fire,  and  almost  touching  it, 
ftqnatted  a  middle-aged  woman,  dressed  in  rags  and  tat- 
ters ;  cooking  upon  a  "  griddle,"  (a  round  flat  piece  of 
iron,)  a  cake  wWch  occupied  the  full  space  of  her  ap- 
paratus ;  and  curious  to  relate,  she  was  so  happy  in  her 
den  of  seeming  wretchedness,  that  she  endeavoured  to 
shape  her  cracked  voice  into  what  was  intended  for  a 
merry  song. 

Catching  the  sound  made  by  the  old  squeaking  door 
as  Father  Connell  came  in,  the  woman  stopped  short  in 
her  melody,  though  not  in  her  cooking  process ;  and  with- 
out turning  or  looking  behind  her,  she  jocularly  shouted 
out — 

^  Ah,  then,  the  divil  welcome  you,  honey,  and  is  that 
yourself  1" 

A  step  or  two  brought  Father  Connell  close  upon  her. 
These  steps  did  not  sound  like  those  she  had  expected 
to  hear.  She  glanced  sideways  at  th^  feet  and  legs 
which  now  almost  came  in  contact  with  her  own.  The 
friend  she  had  counted  on,  and  for  whom  her  salutation 
was  intended,  certainly  did  not  wear  black  knee-breeches, 
and  large  silver  buckles  in  her  shoes.  She  looked  quite 
up,  and  recognised  the  formidable  hat  and  wig  of  her 
parish  priest ;  and  then,  with  surprising  agility,  up  she 
bounced  from  her  squatting  position,  retreated  as  far  as 
the  dimensions  of  her  dwelling  would  permit,  and  there 
clasping  her  hands,  gazed  in  terror  at  the  old  clergyman. 

**  I  fear  the  word  that  is  on  your  lips  is  in  your  heart," 
he  said  sternly,  **  sinftd  woman." 

**  Och,  then,  may  the  word  choke  me  if—" 

"  Stop ! — or  I  fear  you  may  get  your  prayer ;  I  fear 
you  will  die  with  that  very  word  in  your  mouth." 

^  I  won't — I  won't,  your  rivirince  t—Ill  die  a  good 
Christian." 

"  Well,  well — God  mend  you — God  mend  you !"  and 
Father  Connell  passed  into  the  inner  chamber  of  her 
house. 

Here,  not  able  to  see  distinctly  any  object,  he  called 
at  the  orifice,  through  which  he  had  squeezed  himself, 
for  a  light;  the  woman  without  came  with  some  burning 
straw  in  her  hand,  which  only  flared  for  an  instant,  and 
then  left  him  in  redoubled  darkness.  He  asked  for  a 
candle,  and  unable  to  produce  such  a  luxury  herself,  the 
dame  tucked  up  her  tatters  and  left  the  wigwam  to  hunt, 
as  she  said,  ^  among  the  good  neighbours  for  a  scrap  of 
one ;"  during  which  hunt  she  did  not  fkil  to  telegraph 
through  the  shower  of  houses,  that  their  most  dreaded 
enemy,  their  parish  priest,  was  among  them. 

Having  visited  and  consoled  the  dying  inmates 
of  the  inner  compartment,  and  resolved  upon  what 
was  to  be  done  for  their  immediate  comfort,  the 
priest  passed  out — 

Not,  however,  without  taking  the  poor  young  widow's 
hand  again,  squeezing  it  hard  and  whispering  to  her — 
"  I'm  going  from  you,  my  child,  but  I  won't  be  long  away ; 
rest  you  here  as  quietly  as  you  can  till  I  come  back." 

"  Where  are  you,  Neddy?"  he  called  out:  the  boy  ran 
to  him  from  one  of  the  hobs  of  the  densely  glowing  little 
fire;  **give  me  your  hand,  Neddy,  and  lead  me  out  of 
this  sinfiil  place,  as  you  led  me  into  it ;  and,  after  that, 
come  home  with  me ;  yes,  Neddy,  my  poor  little  boy, 
come  home  vrith  me ;  but  we  vrill  come  back  soon  again 
to  your  mother — ^we  will  indeed,  Neddy — indeed  we 
will.'» 

In  quitting  the  abode,  holding  fast  by  Neddy  Fenneirs 


hand.  Father  Connell  had  no  eyes  for  anything  aMmad 
him.  He  did  not  therefore  perceive,  that  the  woman  ht 
had  first  seen  cooking  her  griddle  cake,  was  now  sitting 
on  her  heels  at  the  fire,  along  with  another  woman, 
habited  very  like  herself ;  the  friendly  visiter,  in  fiurt, 
for  whom  she  had  mistaken  Father  Connell  on  his  coming 
in ;  and  who,  during  his  conference  with  Mrs.  Fennell, 
had  really  returned  to  her  copartner  in  a  certain  traffic, 
her  body  bent  under  a  little  sack  secured  thereon  by  a 
hay  rope  passing  across  her  forehead. 

Upon  the  meeting  of  the  two  friends,  a  subdued 
^  wlust ! " — and  nodiSng  and  winking  towards  the  inner 
room,  on  the  part  of  the  cook,  and  then,  whispering  ex- 
planations at  the  fire,  enabled  them  to  sit  quietly  until 
the  priest  passed  out — not,  however,  without  disagreeable 
apprehensions  of  what  nught  be  his  notice  of  them  before 
he  left  their  house.  But  he  did  leave  it,  paying  no  at- 
tention to  them;  and  then,  after  a  cautious  pause. to  give 
him  time  to  get  far  enough  away,  they  ventured  to  in- 
dulge a  few  sneers  and  jests  at  his  expense ;  turning  by 
and  by  to  other  topics. 

The  two  persons  before  us  were,  what  is  locally  called 
'^potatoe  beggars;"  it  should  be  added  potatoe  sellers 
too,  as  they  certainly  vended  to  good  advantage,  tke 
food  received  as  alms.  Amongst  the  farmers'  vrives, 
whom  in  pursuit  of  their  calling,  they  very  often  visited, 
one  of  them  was  in  the  habit  of  admitting  that  she  *^fteia 
by  the  name  "  of  Nelly  Carty,  and  the  other  by  that  of 
Bridget  Mulrooney;  and  both  used  to  tell  pathetic 
stories  of  their  large  families  of  orphans,  and  how  they 
were  left  alone  in  5ie  wide  world,  vrithout  a  '^  mankind 
to  do  a  hand's  turn  for  them  on  the  flure,"  or  to  earn  as 
much  as  a  cold  potatoe  for  themselves  and  their  starving 
children.  Copartners  in  trade,  it  has  been  said  they 
were ;  joint  owners  of  their  crumbling  hut,  they  also 
were,  and  every  article  of  its  ftimiture  had  two  mistresses; 
and  in  all  the  hardships  of  business,  as  well  as  in  all  its 
profits,  they  had  share  and  share  alike. 

Perhaps  the  majority  of  the  colonists  of  the  shower  of 
houses,  living  upon  chance,  as  we  have  intimated,  were 
made  up  of  potatoe  beggars ;  as  well,  indeed,  as  were  a 
good  portion  of  the  occupiers  of  all  the  miserable  suburbs 
at  that  time  surrounding  our  city ;  yet,  none  of  them 
seemed  dissatisfied  vrith  their  social  position ;  and,  in 
fact,  compared  vrith  the  less  brazen-fkced  paupers  around 
them,  who  were  ashamed  to  beg,  little  reason  had  these 
sturdy  vagabonds  to  be  so.  If  famine  did  not  reign  over 
the  land,  in  consequence  of  the  destruction,  by  an  un- 
favourable season,  of  the  potatoe  root,  *^  there  was  little 
fear  o'  them,"  as  they  said  themselves ;  and  a  passing 
notice  of  the  manner  in  which  Nelly  Ca^rty  and  Bridget 
Mulrooney  drove  their  thriving  trade,  may  prove  the 
assertion,  as  regards  the  whole  of  their  numerous  and 
respectable  body. 

At  break  of  day  in  winter,  and  at  six  o'clock  during 
every  other  portion  of  the  year,  out  sallied  either  one  or 
other  of  them;  her  well  patched  bag  of  indefinite  materul 
chucked  under  her  arm,  leaving  her  helpmate  at  home, 
to  take  care  of  the  house,  and  perform  other  necessary 
duties  of  the  firm.  And  suppose,  Nelly  Carty  went  ont, 
Bridget  Mulrooney  had,  conq>ared  vrith  Nelly's  responsi- 
bilities, a  day  of  exquisite  rest, — and  hence,  by  the  way, 
arose  the  necessity  of  the  extensive  association  of  potatoe- 
beggars  following  their  vocation,  in  couples  at  least,  if 
not  in  trios,  or  quartettes.  So,  Nelly  went  out,  and  after 
clearing  the  tovm  and  its  environs,  traversed  a  pretty 
vride  district  in  mud  and  in  mire,  in  sunshine  and  in  all 
its  contraries,  hail,  rain,  snow,  f^t,  fog,  wind  and  tem- 
pest, and  BO  forth;  along  high  roads  and  bye  roads,  along 
botheau  and  field  paths ;  over  hedge  and  ditch,  over  hill 
and  valley,  until  at  last  she  succeeded  in  amassing  in  her 
sack,  a  creditable  load,  amounting  to  about  one  hundred 
weight,  gained  by  most  plausible  beggary  ttom  all  tiie 
well-known  farm-houses  in  her  chosen  haunt ;  and  abo 
very  often  fVom  the  cabins  of  the  working  peasants  en- 
countered on  her  way. 

But  Nelly  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  carry  her  bag 
fh>m  door  to  door  with  any  appearance  of  plenty  m  it 
So  soon  as  it  began  to  assume  a  plethoric  shape,  die 
knew  well  some  convenient  spot  in  the  open  fields  in 


BANIM'S  FATHER  CONNELL. 


465 


whkh  to  deposit  its  contents ;  after  which,  she  could 
bear  it  qoite  empty  and  open-mouthed  and  beseechingly 
to  the  thresholds  next  to  be  visited ;  and  before  evening 
fell,  after  receiving  the  "  bit  and  sup,"  along  with  her 
osoal  donation  of  raw  potatoes,  at  more  than  one  of  the 
traly  charitable  dwellings  among  which  she  quested, 
Nelly  recurred  with  the  certainty  of  a  raven,  to  the 
hiding  hole  glanced  at ;  secured  the  mouth  of  her  now 
well  distended  wallet ;  passed  a  rope  of  hemp,  or  of  hay 
over  its  middle,  when  she  had  poised  it  between  her 
shoulders ;  repassed  the  rope  across  her  forehead ;  then 
giined  by  the  shortest  cut,  a  place  of  rendezvous  on  the 
hifh  road,  where  she  met  perhaps  a  dozen  of  her  sister- 
hood, though  by  no  means  in  partnership  with  her,  who 
there  had  sat  down  to  rest  a  little  while,  after  the  happy 
termination  of  their  day's  ingenuity;  rested,  and  smoked, 
tnd  gossiped  merrily  and  loudly  along  with  them ;  in 
their  company  walked  home,  bent  double,  though  on 
sturdy  bare  red  legs  and  feet ;  gained  the  rent-free  and 
tftx-f^  dwelling,  of  which  she  and  Bridget  Mulrooney 
were  joint  proprietors ;  entered  it,  and  found  Bridget 
prepared  to  afford  her  in  every  way  a  luxurious  welcom- 
hig,  after  her  tramp  of  at*  least  fi^een  long  Irish  miles ; 
relieved  herself,  with  her  helpmate's  joyous  aid,  of  her 
formidable  fardel,  and  sat  down  at  the  brisk  little  fire  to 
become  very  happy.  And  the  next  morning  Bridget 
Mulrooney  went  out  with  the  bag,  of  course,  and  Nelly 
fltaid  at  home  to  ei^'oy  her  day  of  repose ;  and  so,  day 
after  day,  the  year  round,  the  business  of  their  concern 
was  regularly  carried  on 

When  they  became  quite  assured  that  the  priest  was 
beyond  hearing  or  observation,  Nelly  recurred  to  her 
griddle  cake,  which,  during  his  retreat  into  the  inner 
apartment,  she  had  not  forgotten  to  take  care  of,  and 
now  found  it  done  '^  to  a  turn,'*  and  to  her  heart's  tall 
satisf^ion,  as  it  exhibited  on  both  sides  the  proper 
speckled  surface  of  brown  and  white,  which  demonstrated 
her  culinary  success.  She  removed  it  from  the  griddle, 
cut  it  up  into  measured  portions,and  placed  these  on  edge 
round  the  hob,  to  keep  them  still  comfortably  hot.  ^e 
then  put  a  short  form  in  fh>nt  of  the  smirking  fire ;  and 
using  a  rickety  old  chair  as  a  sideboard,  deposited  upon 
it  her  odd  cups  and  saucers,  as  she  called  them — and 
indeed  "odd  "  they  were  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  of 
different  sizes,  patterns,  and  colours ;  by  their  sides,  or 
among  them,  one  leaden  teaspoon,  a  little  jug  with  a 
broken  nose,  three  white  delft  plates  with  blue  edges,  a 
wooden  ''noggin"  a  little  black  tin  teapot,  and  a  wooden- 
hafled  knife.  This  done,  she  drew  out  of  one  of  her 
capacions  pockets  a  flat  bottle,  containing  whisky,  which, 
when  used  as  on  the  present  occasion,  is  jocularly  termed 
"colliery  orame;"  again  from  the  same  ample  receptacle 
a  small  folded  paper,  holding  one  quarter  of  an  ounce  of 
tea,  and  after  it  a  second  parcel  somewhat  larger,  en- 
Teloping  two  ounces  of  intensely  brown  sugar.  During 
her  proceedings  so  far,  a  small  three  legged  metal  pot 
had  been  boiling  away  gloriously,  after  the  removal  of 
the  cake  and  the  griddle,  on  the  fire ;  with  the  aid  of  the 
wooden  noggin  she  now  abstracted  fVom  this  pot,  water 
to  make  her  tea  in  the  little  dingy  tin  tea-pot;  and,  still 
continuing  her  allotted  household  duties,  split  the  differ- 
ent portions  of  her  cake  with  the  wooden-hafbed  knife, 
and  then  heaped  butter  upon  the  insides  of  each  portion 
until  the  dainty  was  saturated  through  and  through. 

Pending  ^ese  preparations,  Bridget  Mulrooney,  squat- 
ted on  the  floor,  at  one  end  of  the  short  form,  looked  on 
at  Nelly's  process  with  very  pleasing  anticipations,  and 
asking  a  careless  question,  now  and  then,  and  uninter- 
ruptedly extending  the  palms  of  her  red  hands  and  the 
soles  of  her  red  feet  so  closely  to  the  flre  as,  by  nice  and 
liftbitual  calculation,  barely  to  avoid  the  uncomfortable 
Ksult  of  having  them  blistered,  enjoyed,  it  may  be  boldly 
^^ffinned,  a  position  and  situation  of  great  bliss.  Her 
day  of  labour  was  over ;  she  was  deliciously  resting  her- 
seUT;  she  had  not  to  stir  in  the  performance  of  any 
bonsehold  duty;  abundant  and  cheering  reft^shment  was 
f lose  at  hand ;  and  she  was  not  to  go  on  the  tramp  for 
one  whole  day  again :  what  earthly  lot  could  surpass 
ketsi    Ask  a  queen! 

Everything  being  in  readiness,  Nelly  Carty  also  squat- 


ted herself  at  the  end  of  the  form  opposite  to  which 
Bridget  Mulrooney  sat.  The  pair  rubbed  their  hands 
in  gleeish  anticipation;  and  the  pig,  nestled  in  his  comer, 
thrust  out  his  snout  from  his  straw,  regarded  his  mis- 
tresses, and  good  humouredly  grunted  his  satisfaction  at 
seeing  them  so  comfortable  and  so  near  the  point  of 
perfect  enjoyment. 

Our  hostess  of  the  evening  poured  out  the  scalding  hot 
tea,  sweetening  it  well  with  the  thoroughly  brown  sugar, 
and  more  than  once  sipping  with  the  little  leaden  spoon 
fh>m  both  the  cups  before  her,  to  ascertain,  as  in  dnty 
and  etiquette  bound,  the  quality  of  the  beverage,  aooord- 
ing  to  the  judgment  of  her  own  palate.  She  next  infWd 
into  each  cup  no  stingy  portion  of  the  **  colliery  crame," 
which,  as  it  gurgled  through  the  neck  and  mouth  of  the 
flat  bottle,  so  tickled  the  ears  of  both  ladies  as  to  produce 
a  pleasant  chuckle.  And  again  the  smiling  Hebe  of  the 
feast  stirred  the  compound  mixture  with  her  little  leaden 
spoon,  again  took  a  sip  out  of  each  cup,  wagged  her 
head  in  approval  of  the  final  fitness  of  the  beverage;  and 
handing  over  one  measure  of  it  to  her  Helpmate  Bridget, 
cried  out  in  a  tone  of  utter  joviality — 

**  Here,  my  ould  Duchess — will  that  lie  in  your  way, 
we  wondher!" 

**  That's  nate  tay  sure  enough,  Nelly,"  after  swallow- 
ing a  mouthfhl  so  hot  and  so  pungent  that  it  obliged  her 
to  close  her  eyes  during  its  descent  through  her  throat — 
^  but  I  think  yourself  is  as  much  of  an  ould  Duchess  as 
I  am,  Nelly?" 

"  'Faith  we're  a  pair  of  ould  Duchesses,  Bridget;  and 
much  good  may  it  do  us,  I  say." 

**  There's  them  is  worse  off,  Nelly,  wid  our  good  tay 
and  our  butthered  cake." 

''Well,  well  Bridget,  alanah  machree,  if  you  were 
lookin'  at  me  to-day  evenin'  when  the  ould  priest  came 
in  I  By  this  same  blessed  tay,  I  thought  the  ground  would 
open  and  swally  me.  Sure  I  thought  that  'twas  your 
four  bones  that  lifted  the  latch;  and,  so,  what  does  I  do, 
but  sings  out '  divil  welcome  you,  honey,'  to  the  fkce  iv 
his  big  wig." 

**  Oh-a,  oh-a !  and  what  did  he  say  to  you,  Nelly  I" 

"  He  has  no  good  will  to  me  of  ould — and  he  tould  me 
I'd  die  with  that  word  in  my  mouth— but  I  won't— I'll 
die  a  good  christian  yet,  Bridget,  as  I  tould  him." 

"  And  we'll  all  do  that,  NeUy,  and  why  not!" 

"  If  there's  anything  comes  across  you,  Bridget,  the 
grass  won't  grow  under  my  feet,  till  I  hunt  out  the  priest 
for  you,  and  bring  him  to  the  bedside  to  you — and,  by 
ooorse,  you'll  do  the  like  for  me,  Bridget?" 

^  By  coorse,  Nelly,  by  coorse ;  but  tell  me  what's  the 
rason  that  Father  Connell  would  have  an  old  grudge 
against  you,  Nelly?" 

While  these  luxurious  dames  were  still  enjoying 
themselves,  and  seasoning  their  repast  with  remin- 
iscences of  early  adyentures  in  love,  and  in  war 
with  the  church  or  the  law.  Father  Connell  re- 
turned to  their  door  on  his  errand  of  mercy. 

Upon  now  hearing  a  loud  thumping  and  kiddng  at  it, 
considerable  was  their  surprise,  if  not  alarm.  Up  they 
bounced  together,  and  together  bawled  out,  through  the 
chinks  in  their  door,  a  questioning  challenge  to  the  un- 
expected visiters. 

*^  Let  me  in,  ye  unfortunate  creatures,"  answered  the 
tones  of  Father  Connell's  well-known  voice,  not  angrily 
however. 

Suppressing  their  screams,  shouts  indeed,  if  they  had 
let  them  escape,  one  of  the  ladies  hastened  to  hide  away 
as  quickly  as  possible,  all  evidences  of  merry-making ; 
while  the  second,  with  frank  and  hearty  avowals  of  an- 
swering the  priest's  request,  seemingly  fumbled  with 
great  zeal  to  try  and  open  the  door ;  and  when  at  last 
she  did  pull  it  open,  great  was  her  astonishment  to  see 
Father  Connell  and  little  Neddy  pass  in,  each  heavily 
laden  with  different  kinds  of  burdens. 

These  consisted  of  clothes,  bed-clothes,  straw,  and 
food  for  the  perishing  Invalid,  Nelly  Carty  and 
Bridget  Mulrooney's  lodger,  which  the  priest,  from 


466 


SUMMER  READlNfl. 


dread  of  his  thrifty  housekeeper's  opposition^  had 
ingeniously  purloined  from  his  own  stores,  and 
from  her  hed  and  wardrobe.  Having  performed 
the  burglary  on  his  own  house,  he  called  to  his 
accomplice,  Neddy  Fennell,  whom  he  had  secreted 
in  the  stable  loft.  He  had  felt  little  scruple  in  ab- 
stracting Mrs.  MoUoy's  blankets  and  linen  robes ; 
but  the  few  shillings  which  he  borrowed  for  a  time 
£rom  the  money  begged  for  the  support  of  his 
parish  school,  was  matter  of  deeper  concernment 
to  his  conscience,  until  compassion,  and  the  resolu- 
tbn  and  power  of  making  future  restitution,  made 
pity  triumph  over  scrupulosity.  When  his  thefts 
were  concluded, — 

Master  Neddy  Fennell  saw  so  mnoh  droUerj  in  the 
whole  affiur  that,  in  aaaiBting  with  all  possible  grarity, 
as  he  was  desired  to  do,  in  every  necessary  proceeding, 
a  looker  on  might  have  detected  in  his  eye  and  manner 
signs  of  a  waggish  eigoyment,  which,  however,  folly 
escaped  Father  Connell's  notice. 

But  Father  Connell  was  not  to  escape  so  easily. 
His  '^  boy,"  Tom  Naddy,  though  he  had  detected 
«  the  manoeuvres  going  forward,  winked  where  he 
had  been  appomted  by  Mrs.  MoUoy  to  watch, 
and  did  not  at  all  interefere  to  prevent  the 
petty  larency  conmiitted  in  that  lady's  bed-room. 
Tom  Naddy,  the  "  priest's  boy,"  becomes  a  person 
of  great  consequence  in  the  oourse  of  the  story. 
He  is  the  ingenious,  scheming,  and  most  devoted 
roguish  friend  of  the  hero,  Neddy  Fennell,  the 
prune  mover  in  the  complicated  machinery  of  the 
plot  of  the  romance.  His  portrait,  as  we  see  him 
at  first,  is  inimitable.  He  is  seen  left,  by  the 
housekeeper,  who  had  gone  abroad  for  a  gossip, 
**  in  ohaige  of  the  place,"  and  taking  but  small 
chaige  of  it. 

As  the  evening  was  bitterly  cold,  Tom  Naddy,  the 
^  priest's  boy,"  resolved  to  establish  himself,  while  keep- 
ing watch  and  ward,  in  the  most  comfortable  position 
possible,  within  the  hoase — which,  as  every  one  knows, 
or  ought  to  know,  must  have  been  upon  one  of  the  huge 
hobs  within  the  capacious  kitchen  chimney.  Yet  he 
paused  for  an  instant,  refinedly  canvassing  the  question 
as  to  which  hob  he  ought  to  prefer  to  the  other.  That  on 
which  the  cat  reposed  he  finally  resolved  upon  preferring, 
and  so  displaced  madam  puss,  and  sat  down  exactly 
where  she  had  been,  his  knees  up  to  a  level  with  his 
chin;  and  as  some  recompense  to  her  for  his  unceremoni- 
ous usurpation  of  her  throne,  he  then  fixed  puss  across 
his  thighs,  speaking  fondly  to  her,  and  stroking  her  down, 
upon  which  his  kitchen  companion  winked  up  at  him 
with  both  her  eyes,  and  began  to  purr  gratefully.  Thus 
established,  the  east  wind  might  whisUe,  and  the  snow 
flt^e  might  dance  to  the  tune,  but  neither  Tom  Naddy 
nor  the  cat  chattered  their  teeth  in  unison  with  it. 

Tom  Naddy  began  to  dose.  The  sound  of  a  latch- 
key turning  in  the  door  of  the  house,  tally  restored  him 
to  his  powers  of  observation.  It  was  either  Father  Con- 
nell or  Mrs.  Molloy  who  was  about  to  enter.  If  Mrs. 
MoUoy,  he  did  not  care  very  much ;  if  his  master,  he 
did  fear  a  remonstrance  against  sloth  and  idleness,  ac- 
companied perhaps  by  some  hard  pulling  at  his  ears ;  so 
without  absolutely  disturbing  himself,  he  prudently  bent 
his  faculties  of  hearing,  to  interpret,  to  his  own  mind, 
the  sound  of  the  footstep  which  must  follow  the  other 
sound  he  had  just  heard.  Be  it  remarked,  that  Mrs. 
Molloy  had,  as  well  as  Father  Connell,  a  latch-key  to 
the  house  door. 

In  one  instant  he  became  convinced  that  it  was  the 
priest  who  had  come  in. 

But  we  have  already  seen  the  part  which  Tom 


Naddy  thought  it  expedient  to  enact.    Here  i| 
Tom  :— 

You  were,  at  this  time,  about  sixteen  or  seventeeq 
though  no  one  could  venture  to  say  as  much  by  looking 
at  you.  You  were  very  significantly  described  by  yow 
homely  neighbours,  as  a  "hard-grown  brat ;"  short  fo 
your  years,  and  not  making  up  in  bulk  what  you  want«j 
in  height.  You  had  a  jackdaw-coloured  eye,  of  which  ij 
was  not  easy  to  define  the  expression.  It  did  not  wi 
hope  mean  dishonesty ;  for,  according  to  Lavater's  ral^ 
you  looked  straight  into  one's  face;  yet  there  was  9omt* 
thing  in  your  glance,  which  made  your  philosophical 
observer  curious  to  find  out  what  that  something  wae 
Again,  according  to  the  sage  mentioned,  your  nose  had 
no  hypocritical  droop  in  it,  but  was  on  the  contrary— i 
goodly  broad  snub ;  and  a  further  and  a  greater  puzzle 
about  you  was,  that  nobody  could  ever  say  whetiier  it 
was  a  smile  or  a  grin,  which  always  played  around  j<m 
fieshless  lips.  And  moreover,  Tom  Naddy,  there  ap* 
peared  no  boyishnsss  about  you.  To  be  sure  you  had  a 
certain  easy  slowness  in  your  whole  manner;  not  ladnm^ 
as  your  poor  master  would  have  called  it,  but  a  pecnlki 
self-possession,  often  broken  up  by  an  unexpected  brisk^ 
ness;  and  you  were  not  a  person  of  many  words,  althong^ 
you  whistled  a  great  deal — not, however,  it  is  coi^'ectared, 
for  want  of  thought ;  because  your  queer  face  never  looke^ 
vacant ;  and  even  while  seemingly  given  up,  mind  and 
soul,  to  produce  the  ftill  pathos  of  "  Molly  Asthore,1 
there  used  to  be  occasionally  an  abstract  meaning  iu 
your  eye,  foreign  from  your  harmony,  and  you  would 
wink,  or  grin,  or  smile,  or  wag  your  white-haired  head^ 
in  the  very  middle  of  the  tune. 

So,  no  sooner  had  Father  Connell  ascended  to  his  own 
bed-room,  than  Tom  Naddy,  starting  into  one  of  his  un- 
usual instants  of  energy,  very  unceremoniously  remoTed 
puss  from  his  lap,  darted  through  the  open  doorway  of 
the  house,  and  through  that  of  the  little  yard  also,  and 
almost  the  next  minute  was  shouldering  into  the  cabin 
where  he  guessed  Mrs.  Molloy  to  be  stationed ;  his  a9> 
sumption  of  briskness  being,  however,  now  forgotten, 
just  as  suddenly  as  it  had  seized  upon  him,  while  be 
moved  very  leisurely,  and  whistled  slowly  and  beauti- 
fully. 

When  he  confronted  her,  Mrs.  Molloy  paused  in  thej 
midst  of  a  holding  forth,  her  hand  suspended  in  mid  air, 
and  her  tongue,  for  a  novelty,  between  her  open  lips. 

**  Didn't  I  lave  you,  well  latched  in,  to  mind  the  house  f 
she  asked  in  stem  astonishment. 

"  There's  some  latch  kiLVS  that  opens  what  other  latch 
kays  shets  in,"  answered  Tom. 
**  What's  that  you  say ! " 

"Fhul"  (shivering)  **it's  a  cowld  bitther  night  t« 
sleep  widout  blankets,"  was  Tom's  fkr-off  answer,  and 
he  resumed  his  interrupted  whistling. 

"  Didn't  you  hear  me,  Tom  Naddy !— didn't  I  lare  f  on 
in  charge  of  the  place?" 

"  Yes  ma — ma'am];  but  mostha,  I  couldn't  stop  his 
hand,  if  'twas  his  liking  to  sthrip  the  house  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  tatch  on  the  roof  in  it,  what  I  b'liere 
hell  do  afore  he  laves  off." 

*•  It's  the  masther  at  his  work  again,  neighbours,"  cried 
Mrs.  Molloy,  starting  up  and  seizing  her  cloak,  **  jist  as  I 
was  telling  you !  He  won't  lave  himself,  poor  fool  iv  » 
man,  a  blanket  to  cover  his  bed — no,  nor  a  shirt  to  coTer 
his  ould  skin !  I'll  tell  ye  something  he  done  thatH)-way, 
for  the  hundredth  time,  a  little  while  agone — I* 

Tom  Naddy  deemed  that  she  was  staying  too  lom 
from  home,  and  interrupted  her— "there's  other  bknkets 
in  the  house  as  well  as  his  own,  and  other  things  like 
shirts,  too." 

She  started  back,  asking  in  her  gutteral  tones,  wiii 
utter  surprise — ^**  Is  it  my  blankets,  or  any  of  siy  things 
you'd  spake  of!" 

Tom  broke  up  his  whistling  only  with  a  sedate  nod  of 
assent. 

Mrs.  Molloy  bounded,  as  well  as  she  could,  out  of  tl^ 
cabin.  She  encountered  Father  Connell  and  Neddy 
Fennell  in  the  middle  of  the  yard,  each  heavily  ladeo« 
and  just  about  to  escape  with  their  spoil.    She  wbi«kw 


BANBTS  FATHER  CONNELt. 


467 


le  tiflfl  of  her  eloak  oyer  eftoh  arm,  thus  having  her 
indfl  at  Ubert/  to  stretch  themselyes  oiit>  while  her 
rice  oroaked  more  than  xusahX,  and  the  beard  on  her  two 
linB  Bight  be  said  to  stir  and  bristle. 
*  Well  to  be  sore !  Isn't  this  a  poor  case !  I'm  down- 
ffiA  adiamed  o'  yon,  Sir !  It's  a  burning  scandal,  Sir 
•an'  will  yon  neyer  give  np  these  doings! — an'  111  not 
and  this,  Silvan'  I^  not  put  up  with  it,  Sir— an'  I'll 
ITS  you  to  know  that  I  won't,  Sir ! " 
Fa&er  Connell,  thus  detected,  after  all  his  precautions, 
ily  smiled  inwardly,  however,  as  he  said  in  a  temporis- 
I  voice, "  Peggy 9  Peggy,  auger  is  a  deadly  sin !" 
"An'  what  kind  of  a  sin  do  you  call  thievin',  Sir. 
M,  thievin'— /  can  call  it  by  no  other  name,  Sir." 
"Let  me  pass  out,  good  woman,"  said  the  priest  sternly, 
tttoQfh  he  vras  now  more  disposed  to  laugh  heartily ; 
sad  be  patient,  Peggy,  be  patient." 
"Patient in  troth!  patient!  I  can't  be  patient— and 
>old  Nick  I  pitch  patience! — Look  at  that  big  hape 
idther  your  arum — ^my  own  things  rowled  up  along 
td  yours!— patient!  why,  if  a  holy  saint  was  sent  o' 
npoce  down  to  keep  house  for  you,  and  to  look  afther 
melf  and  yourself,  you'd  torment  the  very  life  and 
iwl  out  iv  her  in  a  week,  so  yon  would ;  here  I  am. 
«B  Sunday  SMming  to  Saturday  night,  striving,  an' 
ispiog,  aa^  piecing,  an'  patching,  for  the  two  ov  us— 
i'  til  to  no  purpose— no,  but  worser  and  worser  for  all 
<an  do ;  an'  now  to  make  up  the  matther,  you  come  ov 
eh  in  evening  as  this,  and  ov  sich  a  night  as  this  will 
s,  to  make  me  an'  you  get  our  death  o' could  in  tour  beds." 
"Tliere  is  no  fear  of  that  Peggy ;  we  can  still  manage 
k  TMt  eomfortablv  for  one  short  night,  in  a  good,  warm 
rate ;  bat  I  must  go  vdth  these  ^ings,  to  the  help  of 
Ve  poor,  naked  women,  who  might  rrally  perish  before 
toning  on  the  damp  earth,  and  without  covering  of  any 
M ;  so  yon  had  belter  let  us  go  on  our  way  peaceably,. 


t£"i 


.  IfoUoy  darted  ^nieUy  at  Neddy  Fennell,  making 
gTaq»  at  his  burden,  as  she  vociforated— '^  go  on  your 
rsy !— the  long  and  the  short  ov  it  is,  since  you  put  me  to 
\f  thsre  is  no  blanket  to  lave  this  to-night— no,  nor  the 
bstd  ov  a  blanket." 

Hsr  master  now  became  really  severe  and  determined. 
U  removed  her  arm  from  the  boy's  fardel,  put  her  to 
M  lide,  and  saying,  ^^  be  silent,  my  good  woman,  be 
ikit,  and  stand  out  of  my  way ;— more  than  once  since 
ou  came  in  here,  you  have  uttered  sin  vrith  your  lips, 
Bd  ofllmded  me— of  that  we  vriU  speak  another  time; — 
•w,  go  out  of  my  way,  I  say — I  command  you; — come, 
feddy  Fennell  come  |"  and  vdthout  farther  opposition 
rom  Mrs.  Molloy,  who  became  perfectly  stunned  at  this 
Bdden  and  most  unexpected  annihilation  of  her  authority 
-the  piisst  and  his  follower  cleared  the  premises. 

A  moment  after  their  departure,  Tom  Naddv  lounged 
» her  side  from  the  comer  of  an  end  wall  of  ue  stable, 
Mtnd  which  all  along  he  had  been  listening  and  peeping; 
■d  while  Mis.  Molloy  still  stood  sUent  and  utterly  oon- 
tuded,  remarked — ^  Ho  !  ho ! — so,  the  priest  is  to  do 
rhatevtr  he  likes  in  the  house  for  the  ftiture." 

"Get  out,  you  kiln-dried  brat ! "  was  the  housekeeper's 
>ly  Kply,  as  she  stumped  in  much  dignity,  into  her 
men;  while  on  his  part  Tom  only  sauntered  after  her, 
id  resumed  his  place  and  his  eat  upon  the  hob. 

We  shall  oondnde  Father  Coanell's  day,  having 
^et  to  touch  veiy  briefly  npon  the  more  exciting, 
iioagh  not  more  pleasing  scenes  of  the  story.  His 
RUkd  of  mercy  is  speeded.  He  has  made  the  bed 
'  the  sick,  spread  comfort  and  peace  around 
he  couch  of  the  desolate,  new-made  widow ;  who 
Md  but  lately  been  a  younff,  beautiful,  and  thrice 
^  enature,  the  cherishea  wife  of  a  loving  hus- 
•nd,  the  moUier  of  little  merry  Neddy ;  and  now 
^  good  man  takes  his  way  back  to  his  own  humble 
abin,  where- 
in a  very  short  time  afterwards,  Father  Connell,  and 
«•  Mo%,  and  Tom  Naddy,  were  as  good  friends  as 
1^  ibey  had  been  in  their  lives*    iSe  housekeeper 


J  placed  before  him  the  little  measure  of  ale,  with  a 
baming  head  on  it,  which  he  emptied  every  night  be- 
fore going  to  bed,  and  which,  vdth  a  crust  to  eke  it  out, 
vras  his  beau  ideal  of  luxurious  indulgence.  A  good  fire, 
renewed  by  cinders,  heated  his  outstretched  limbs,  and 
glittered  in  the  large  silver  buckles  of  his  shoes.  To  his 
left  hand,  was  his  allowance  of  ale  ;  to  his  right,  pen  and 
ink ;  and  while  he  sipped  his  beverage,  and  munched 
his  crust,  we  may  transcribe — peeping  over  his  shoulders, 
as  well  as  the  protuberance  or  the  great  wig  above  his 
ears  will  allow,  the  followmg  entries,  made  by  him  in  a 
curiously  covered  book,  which  he  called  his  journal,  and, 
in  which,  for  very  many  years,  he  had  made  some  daily 
notes. 

"  I  got  up  at  three  o'clock  this  morning  to  say  my 
usual  matins :  it  threatened  to  be  a  bitter  day,  and  a 
bitter  day  it  has  been.  I  went  to  bed  at  four,  and  slept 
very  well  until  seven  ;  attended  the  chapel  at  eight :  the 
snow  was  pelting  in  my  face.  God  help  the  poor !  Will 
the  disbeliever  persuade  the  poor  man  that  there  is  no 
Heaven ! — ^he  would  then  make  the  lot  of  the  poor  a  hard 
one  indeed.  Those  who  sleep  on  beds  of  the  softest  down, 
and  need  but  to  wish  for  everything  in  order  to  have  it, 
are  they  as  good  Christians  as  the  Widow  Fennell  and 
her  aunt  have  been  I  Grod  bless  the  good  friends  whose 
bounty  enabled  me  to  put  warm  clothing  on  so  many 
naked  children  and  boys  this  day.  Mick  Dempsey  would 
cover  the  shivering  body  of  only  a  good  boy.  Alick  does 
not  remember  that  the  blast  is  as  bitter  to  the  bad  boy 
as  to  the  good  boy ;  and  that  the  Lord  does  not  send  the 
sunshine  to  the  good  only.  It  is  not  wise  to  drive  even 
the  most  wicked  to  despair ;  if  they  have  no  hope  of 
being  better,  they  will  not  try  to  be  so ;  and  Mick 
Dempsey  was  not  right  when  he  gave  me  to  understand 
that  I  was  encouraging  idleness.  I  humbly  hope  that  I 
was  doing  something  that  may  help  to  change  it  into 
industry.  Neglected  my  middle  of  the  day  prayers. 
Miserere  mei  JJotnine  I  Our  prayers  should  never  be  over- 
looked, especially  by  a  priest ;  a  priest  is  bound  to  give 
good  example ;  he  cannot  hope  to  do  this  vrithout  grace ; 
and  grace  is  chiefly  to  be  obtained  by  prayer.  Repre- 
hended Peggy  Molloy  for  her  ton^e  and  bad  language 
— ^not  too  severely,  I  think — and  she  seems  the  better  of 
it ;  she  is  fiuthf^  and  honest ;  a  ftkithflil  and  honest 
servant  is  a  treasure  ;  but  Peggy  must  be  taught  not  to 
fall  into  a  passion  ;  violent  anger  is  like  drunkenness — 
for  the  drunken  and  the  angry  man  both  forget  their 
wisdom  ;  almost  as  many  crimes  spring  from  the  one  as 
the  other.  The  first  foir  day  I  have,  I  must  beg  all 
through  the  town,  and  then  in  the  country,  for  the  Wi- 
dow FennelL  her  poor  aunt,  and  young  Neddy.  God 
help  them  all  I  love  that  little  boy  in  my  very  heart ; 
and  with  God's  help  mH  be  an  earthly  father  to  him." 

And  so  ended  our  priest's  entries  in  his  Journal  for 
one  day. 

Micah  Balquhidder,  in  his  own  parish,  nor  yet  Dr. 
Pringle  of  the  Ayrshire  Legatees,  was  neither  more 
admirable  than  their  Roman  Catholic  brother; 
though,  for  the  honour  of  Protestantism^  they  may 
oope  with  him  in  warmth  of  charity  and  ainglenesM 
of  mind. 

Nelly  Carty's  tales  of  her  youth,  related  over 
their  U^  to  Bridget  Mulrooney,  her  co-partner  in 
the  potato-begging  oonoem,  found  an  eager  list- 
ener in  Neddy  Fennell,  who  heard  with  astonish-* 
ment  and  some  doubt,  that  in  an  old  vagrant, 
ruffian  beggarman,  followed  by  three  children,  and 
lodging  for  the  night  in  the  adjoining  hovel,  Nelly 
had,  with  love's  own  eyes,  disooversd  that  very 
Robin  Costigan,  whom  forty  years  before  this—; 
but  the  deed  done  by  a  woman  for  her  lover  is,  so 
feur  as  we  recollect,  quite  original  even  in  romance, 
— and,  moreover,  who  oould  relate  it  like  the 
heroine  of  the  wonderful  tale :— • 

<^ell,Nelly,"  said  Bridget,^here  we  are  on  the  hunkers 


468 


SUMMER  READING. 


before  our  little  fire  again,  and  what  is  left  of  the  tay 
and  the  cake  a'most  as  good  as  ever ;  and  its  mad  intirely 
I  am,  yis  indeed,  to  hear  the  rest  that  you  have  to  tell 
about  that  Robin  Costigan." 

"  Well  an*  sure,  lanna  maehree,  Nelly  Carty  won't  be 
long  till  she  satisfies  you.  Well,  Bridget,  sure,  as  I  gare 
you  to  untherstand  afore  the  ould  priest  kem  in,  Robin 
and  myself  were  great  cronies,  and  fabc.  111  never  deny 
that  I  liked  the  boy  well.  Bud,  Bridget,  sure  it  hap- 
pened once  of  a  time,  that  my  poor  Robin  borry'd  the  loan 
iy  a  horse,  widout  axin  lave ;  an'  sure  OTer  again,  he  was 
cotcb  on  the  back  of  that  horse  at  a  &ir  in  the  Queen's 
county ;  and  they  brought  the  poor  boy  to  his  thrial  afore 
the  judge,  an'  I  thought  my  heart  would  break,  they 
found  him  guilty,  an'  sintinced  him  to  die.  An'  sure 
enough,  the  ugly  lookin'  gallows  was  put  up  for  Robin 
on  the  Green  abroad,  and  sure  enough  he  was  walked  to 
the  gallows,  and  it  was  the  same  Father  Connell  that 
quitted  us  a  little  while  agone,  that  stepped  out  by  his 
side  to  the  gallows'  l\it  Well,  asthore,  the  day  that 
was  in  it,  was  a  winter's  day.  Ill  never  forget  it,  one 
o'  the  dark,  black  days  afore  Christmas ;  and  the  eyenin' 
began  to  ffdl  a'most  before  he  was  turned  off ;  an'  when 
the  time  come  to  cut  the  rope,  cut  it  was ;  and  sure  mee- 
self  was  the  very  girl  that  caught  him  in  my  arms." 

"Yourself,  Nelly?"  half  shrieked  Bridget.  As  for 
Neddy  Fennell,  his  jaws  stopped  grinding  his  loaf, 
while  he  stared  in  startled  surprise  at  the  narrator. 

'^Meeself,  Bridget.  Well,  alanna-machree,  sure  I 
thought  I  felt  a  stir  in  my  poor  Robin,"  Neddy  Fennell 
had  taken  another  bite  at  his  loaf,  but  again  stopped 
short  in  his  preparations  to  masticate  it. 

"  An'  you  couldn't  count  twenty  afore  I  had  him  in  a 
good  warm  bed,  and  Darby  Croak  the  bleether  there  by 
his  side  ;  an'  surely,  surely,  the  stir  in  poor  Robin  got 
more  life  in  it  firom  time  to  time ;  an'  surely,  surely,  oyer 
agin,  many  hours  didn't  go  by  till  we  had  my  poor  fellow 
aliye,  an'  as  well  as  ever — ay,  an'  laughin'  heartily  too 
at  the  braye^escape  he  had — tho'  that  afther  all  might 
be  a  little  bit  iy  a  secret  betuxt  himself  an'  the  ikibbeah 
— an'  faix  we  spent  as  pleasant  a  night  as  kem  from  that 
to  this — ^in  wakin'  the  poor  corpse,  as  we  called  it." 

«  Are  you  tellin'  the  truth,  Nelly  Carty  1"  gasped  Neddy 
Fennell  quite  aghast. 

"  Wait,  Neddy,  my  pet — sure  there's  a  little  more  to 
come.  It  was  about  an  hour  afore  day-break,  when  my 
poor  Robin  strolled  out,  just  to  see  how  his  legs  would 
go  on  along  some  iy  the  roads  conyanient  afther  the  dance 
upon  notMn'  they  had  the  day  afore.  In  the  coorse  iy 
the  night,  sure  he  swore  a  big  oath  to  us,  that  he'd  never 
borry  a  horse  agin,  beoase  they  war  unlooky  cattle  ;  but 
he  made  no  oath  agin  cows ;  and  it's  as  thrue  as  that  I'm 
sittm'  here  tellin'  it,  afore  the  momin'  quite  broke,  Robin 
borryed  a  nice  fat  cow,  out  of  a  field  by  the  road-side. 
Well,  dlanna  maehreey  the  cow  didn't  turn  out  a  lookier 
baste  for  Robin  nor  the  horse." 

**  What's  that  you're  goin'  to  say  now !"  again  inter- 
rupted Neddy  Fennell,"  was  he  hanged  oyeragain,NeUy!" 

**  Faix  an'  if  he  wasn't,  Neddy,  my  honey,  he  had  very 
little  to  spare  that  he  wasn't ;  for  the  man  that  thought 
he  had  a  betther  right  to  the  cow  than  Robin,  soon  missed 
her,  an'  ran  thro'  the  town  clappin'  his  hands,  an'  got 
all  the  help  he  could ;  an'  sure  they  all  kem  up  with  the 
poor  boy,  on  tiie  road  to  the  fair  oy  Bennet's-bridge,  an' 
lie  in  the  cow's  company ;  an'  so  they  laid  hoult  on  him, 
an'  made  him  turn  back,  without  the  cow,  and  they 
rammed  him  into  their  gaol  again." 

"Well,"  whispered  Neddy. 

"Well,  o-cttiiA^aw^a^maflArM,  there  he  was,  shure 
enough — only  not  for  a  long  time,  for,  well  became 
Robin,  he  found  manes  oy  breaking  out  ov  their  gaol,  an' 
from  that  blessed  hour  to  this  no  Uvin'  creature  but  my- 
self ever  set  eyes  on  him  in  the  town.  But  now  listen 
well  to  me,  Bridget,  and  you,  Neddy  Fennell;  afther  five 
an'  thirty  years  is  past  an'  gone,  an'  I  an  ould  woman, 
I  seen  Robin  Costigan  this  day,  as  sure  as  I  now  see  ye 
both  forenent  me." 

Many  were  the  ejaculations  of  surprise,  and  indeed 
almost  of  terror,  uttered  by  the  listeners.  "  And  to-day, 
Nelly!  when!  where?  how!"  they  asked  together.) 


"  Whist !  spake  lower ;  none  oy  us  spoke  very  loud  vet, 
but  now  we  are  to  spake  lower  than  eyer^--aiid  f<n-  a 
good  rason.  I  said  that  Father  Connell  b&d  &  diaip 
eye,  and  that  he  ought  to  remember  Robin  Costigan,  ftr 
wasn't  it  he  that  made  his  sowl  for  him  at  the  gaUovs* 
futi  But  the  ould  priest  couldn't  know  him  nov, 
Bridget,  for  Robin  is  changed  by  years,  and  he  is  chan;e4 
by  conthrivances,  but  /  knew  him  well,  Bridget,  froa 
the  mmute  I  saw  him.  I  can't  say  that  he  had  the  ease 
knowledge  of  me  when  he  looked  me  in  the  fSace — but  / 
used  to  be  too  fond  iy  him  long  ago,  ever,  ever  to  fi^^get 
him.  And  I  tell  you  I  saw  him  this  very  day,  and  1 
tell  you  more  than  that ;  I  saw  him  in  the  yery  next 
house — in  Joan  Flaherty's  house." 

Bridget  Mulrooney  thumped  her  breast,  crossed  her- 
self, and  turned  up  her  eyes.  Neddy  Fennell  jumped 
off  the  hob,  breathing  hard,  and  frowning  arbhorringlT, 
and  it  would  seem  indignantly,  at  the  remote  end  wall 
of  the  hovel,  which  divided  him  from  Joan  Flaheitj'i 
house.  This  wall  however,  did  not  rise  higher  than  the 
point  at  which  the  vtrattles  of  the  roof  commenced ;  » 
that  an  inmate  of  either  abode,  could,  by  standing  os  a 
chair  or  even  upon  a  stool,  peep  into  the  other. 

After  a  few  moments,  Nelly  Carty  resumed  sbvij, 
and  in  whispers;  and  Neddy  again  seating  himself  on  tiSe 
hob,  changed  his  wide-opened,  glowing  eyes  &om  the  end 
wall  to  her  face. 

"  An'  he  is  a  beggarman  nowiv  you  plase;  and  he  has 
a  poor,  withered  limb,  morya,  an'  I  seen  three  childbe; 
wid  him  that  he  takes  into  the  street,  when  he  goes  a 
begging." 

"  Tell  me  this,  Nelly,"  asked  Neddy  Fennell  suddenlj, 
and  as  if  wishing  for  an  answer  in  the  affirmatiye,  '^'if  j 
the  judge  heard  he  was  alive,  wouldn't  he  haye  him  hius  I 
over  again !"  I 

"  Faix,  an'  I'm  thinking  he  would,  my  Utnna;  sure  Uiej 
owe  him  the  last  hanging  at  any  rate ;  an'  I'd  go  bail 
that  if  they  had  a  hoult  iv  him  now,  they'd — bat  be  a^y 
wid  your  Uiricks,  ye  young  limb." 

A  handlhl  of  small  peebles,  as  it  seemed,  olatteriBi 
and  jingling  among  Nelly's  "  tay  things "  caused  her 
suddenly  to  interrupt  herself. 

"  It  wasn't  I  that  did  it,  NeDy,  though  I  often  played 
you  a  trick  before  now,"  answered  Neddy  Fennell  verj 
slowly,  and  in  the  least  possible  whisper — ^  it  was&H  I 
that  did  it ;  but  just  turn  your  head  behind  you,  and  loofc 
towards  the  far  end  of  the  room." 

"  Don't,  Bridget !  Don't  for  the  world  wide,»*  admon- 
ished Nelly— "it's  himself  is  in  it — I  know  it  is;  for 
there  is  no  male  crature  living  on  Joan  Flaherty's  flue 
along  vrid  him." 

So  neither  of  the  good  ladies  obeyed  Neddy  Fennell*» 
command.  The  boy,  however,  saw  indistinctly^  in  th* 
almost  complete  darkness,  at  the  remote  point  he  peered 
at,  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man  elevated  over  the 
imperfect  division  wall. 

"Is  the  ould  priest  gone!"  asked  this  apparition, ia 
stealthy  and  husky  tones.  Nelly  winked  at  Bridget  to 
answer,  and  Bridget  accordingly  said — ^"he  is  gone  these 
three  hours,  neighbour." — ^"  Will  he  oome  again  to  night, 
ye  ould  coUochsl**  continued  the  same  voice.  "No, 
surely,  neighbour,  he  is  gone  for  this  night,  sartin."— 
"  Bannath  IcUhj  then,"  and  the  head  and  shoulders  dis- 
appeared. A  dead  silence  succeeded.  Nelly  Carty  held 
up  her  hand,  and  significantly  looked  her  meaning  u 
Bridget  Mulrooney,  who,  in  return,  nodded  her  head. 

"  Neddy  Fennell,"  added  NeUy, "  for  the  worth  of  the 
life  that's  in  you,  and  that's  in  all  our  bodies,"— «be 
whispered  these  words  into  his  very  eai^-"  don't  let  out 
o'  you  a  breath  of  what  you  have  heard  here  this  n%ht; 
mind  my  words." 

They  all  went  to  bed,  Neddy  lying  down  on  wm 
straw,  confronting  that  side  of  the  house  occupied  h; 
Monsieur  the  pig ;  while  his  gentle  hostesses  unfolds^ 
certain  roUed-up  parcels  in  the  comers  to  the  right  aoti 
left  of  the  fire-place,  but  which,  after  all,  contained  only 
straw  pallets,  vrith  very  wretched  covering,  made  their 
own  couches  thereof. 

The  idea  of  the  man  nearly  twice-hung  long; 


BANIM'S  FATHER  CONNELL. 


469 


lefore  his  own  mother  was  born,  and  now  alive  and 
rithin  a  few  yards  of  him,  took  such  possession 
f  Neddy  Fennell's  head  that  he  could  not  sleep. 
feddy  and  Robin  Costigan  were  not  thus  to  part. 
[Tie  excited  boy's  nocturnal  watch,  and  their  early 
ncounters,  exhibit  Neddy  as  the  most  brave  and 
lenerous  of  Lilliputian  heroes.  Having  moved  the 
tearts  of  all  *^  the  Christian  people/'  and  especially 
f  the  women,  by  his  pathetic  street  appeals  for  his 

desolate  orphans,"  the  felon  beggar,  a  brutal  ruf- 
tan,  who  is  portrayed  with  great  force,  returned  to 
ds  lair,  and  was  attacked  by  Neddy  for  ill-treating 
.  lovely  little  girl  who  accompanied  him. 

The  opportune  appearance  of  Father  Connell, 
it  this  time,  saved  both  Nelly  and  Neddy,  the 
me  from  the  dangerous  recognition,  the  other 
rom  the  summary  vengeance  of  the  ferocious 
uffian, — ^but  Neddy  had  thenceforward  a  deadly 

nemy, ^Years  pass  away,  and  Neddy's  school- 

oaster,  and  school  companions,  and  the  folks 
f  note  in  his  native  town,  give  the  author  an 
pportnnity  of  writing  what  may  be  his  actual 
eminisoences,  and,  in  part,  genuine  autobio- 
Taphy.  We  give  but  one  scene,  which  is  highly 
haractenstic  of  the  time  in  which  it  passed,  and 
he  place  in  which  it  is  laid.  Something  resem- 
ling. Dicky  Wresham's  school  may  still  be  found 
Ingering  in  quiet  out-of-the-way  country  towns; 
hough  reading-rooms,  newspapers,  politics,  and 
eriodicals,  have  made  great  encroachments  on  such 
eminaries: — 

It  is  still  a  bitter  December  morning,  not  a  great 
lany  removed  from  that  with  which  we  have  last  had 
» do.  Dicky  Wresham  nms  to  his  open  door,peep8  npand 
own  the  street^  rans  in  again  to  his  drugs,  and  oat 
gain  in  a  few  minutea,  to  ta^o  another  peep.  He  evi- 
ently  expects  the  arrival  of  some  person,  or  persons, 
od  he  is  very  anxious  and  fidgety  on  the  point.  And 
DC  by  one  the  wished  for  visiters  arrive,  and  one  by  one 
e  greets  them  heartily. 

Are  thej  easterners ?  No:  they  are  individuals  who, 
rery  day  in  the  year,  come  to  polish  the  bottoms  of  the 
Id  black-leather  chairs,  within  doors,  if  it  be  inclement 
reather ;  or  else  the  window  stools  in  the  street,  if  it  be 
Lir  weather ;  and  they  come  each  to  empty  his  budget 
r  small  gossip,  or  to  have  a  similar  one  emptied  into 
im;  or  to  join,  open-mouthed,  in  scandal,  not  always  of 
harmless  nature,  or  to  make  remarks  on  all  passers  by 
1  the  streets  ;  or,  in  a  word,  idly  to  spend  their  idle 
me,  in  the  best  way  they  can  possibly  devise.  So  Dick 
i^resham  has  them  almost  all  about  him  for  the  day,  at 
iiich  he  rubs  his  hands  and  looks  tuUj  happy — ^and  he 

so;  for,  doubtless,  a  stock  of  capital  gossip,  and  scur- 
lity,  and  ftm,  is  now  laid  in  for  him ;  and  Dick's  craving 
[ipetite  ibr  such  mental  food  would  be  satisfied  every 
iorning  as  soon  as  ever  he  had  powdered  his  head  and 
wt  collar. 

And  this  assemblage,  in  Dick's  laboratory,  was  fami- 
Illy  known,  through  the  town,  as  ^  Dick  Wresham's 
'hooL'*  They  also  styled  themselves  ^  gentlemen  ; " 
id  Dick  and  many  others  admitted  the  title,  though  a 
)od  many  people  besides  questioned  whether  the  stand- 
rd  used  by  the  little  apothecary  and  his  immediate 
lends,  for  measuring  a  ''gentleman,"  agreed,  in  all  re- 
>ecte,  with  that  adopted  for  the  same  purpose  by 
Ulster  King-at-arms."  But  however  this  may  be,  the 
hool  has  now  assembled.  All  the  scholars  are,  upon 
is  particular  morning,  within  doors,  of  course,  the 
eather  not  permitting  a  meeting  in  the  open  air.  Two 
'  their  number  post  themselves  as  sentinels  of  observa- 
m,  Ikce  to  face,  against  the  jambs  of  the  doorway,  and 
eir  business  is  to  look  out  for  objects  and  sul^ects  of 
ttmentary,  among  the  simple  people  who  pass  by ;  or 


haply  (for  the  videttes  are  great  wagb)  to  beckon  some 
one  of  the  simplest  among  the  simple  into  Dick  Wres- 
ham's school-room,  and  there  exercise  some  practical 
joke — that  smaUest  and  most  country-townish  way  of 
pretending  to  wit.  A  few  of  Dick  Wresham's  school 
may  just  be  pencilled  in. 

Gaby  Mac  Neary  was  one  of  them.  He  had  begun 
life  with,  as  he  himself  would  beautifully  express  it,  '^  a 
blue  look-out ;"  that  is,  with  little  to  recommend  him, 
except  a  handsome  person,  and  a  good  fiow  of  red  Pro- 
testant blood  in  his  veins.  These  two  qualities,  however 
slender  they  might  prove  in  other  countries,  gained  him 
a  rich  enough  wife  in  Ireland;  legacies  ftt>m  her  relatives 
afterwards  dropt  in,  so  that  he  was  now,  at  an  advanced 
age,  able  to  live  ''  genteelly,"  that  is,  without  doing  any 
one  earthly  thing,  except  to  eat,  drink,  and  sleep,  and 
have  his  own  way,  right  or  wrong;  and  Dicky  Wresham 
accordingly  vnx>te  him  down  '^  gentleman." 

Gaby  was  tall  and  bulky,  but  stooped  in  his  shoulders. 
He  could  not  be  said  to  have  an  ill-tempered  face ;  but 
it  had  a  domineering  look,  befitting  a  person  of  much 
importance  in  the  world,  both  as  to  rank  and  religious 
creed ;  and  this  was  one  of  the  characteristics  of  what 
the  Papists  of  the  time  used  to  term  a  ^  Protestant  faoe." 

Jack  Mao  Carthy  was  another  of  the  school;  whilom 
a  ganger,  but  now  retired  on  a  pension  and  some  money 
to  boot.  He  was  a  sturdy-built,  low  sized  **  gentleman  " 
of  about  sixty,  with  tremendous  grey  eye-brows,  always 
knit  together,  and  a  huge  projecting  under  Up.  He 
seemed  as  if  ever  revolving  some  unpleasant  subject;  and 
Jack  was  said  to  have  a  ^  Protestant  &ce  "  too ;  that  is, 
he  looked  as  if  he  did  not  Uke  a  Papist,  and  was  there- 
fore conscious  that  a  Papist  could  not  Uke  him. 

And  Kit  Hunter  was  upon  this  morning  at  '^  school " 
also ;  and  he  possessed  property  sufficient,  we  will  not 
stop  to  say  exactly  how  obtained,  to  satisfy  Dick  Wres- 
ham of  his  pretensions  to  be  admitted  into  his  seminary. 
The  wrinkles  about  Kit's  mouth,  had  formed  themselves 
into  a  perpetual  smile.  He  was  known  as  the  shadow 
of  the  great  personage  of  the  town,  whether  a  lord  or  a 
baronet  shall  not  nowbe  told.  He  constantly  attended  the 
great  man's  levde,  was  honoured  by  being  leant  upon  by 
him,  whenever  he  flattered  the  streets  by  walking 
through  them;  he  was  always  ready  to  run  on  his 
errands ;  and  to  crown  all  his  glory,  firequently  invited 
to  dine  with,  and  drink  the  choice  old  wines  of  the  high, 
and  for  the  present,  mysterious  personage. 

An  easy  tempered,  middle-aged  man  was  Kit,  with  a 
great  talent  for  picking  up  gossip  of  every  kind,  and  for 
retailing  it  too ;  for  it  may  be  fairly  conceded  that  the 
sack  of  a  news-gatherer  gapes  almost  equally  at  both 
ends.  In  person  he  was  tall,  slight,  thin,  almost  emaci- 
ated, and  bent  and  weak  in  the  hams ;  and  always  drest 
careAilly  and  sleekly,  in  the  best-brushed  clothes  of  the 
leading  fashion  of  the  day. 

After  the  sages  here  particularly  noticed,  there  were 
two  or  three  others  of  less  interest ;  the  sentinels  who 
filled  the  door-way  were  younger  pupils,  ^gentlemen, 
bloods  of  the  city,"  roystering,  swaggering  blades ;  and 
hoaxers  or  practical  jokers  by  profession. 

The  **  school "  has  repeated  some  of  its  lessons  for  its 
master,  and  for  each  other,  conned  since  they  last  as- 
sembled before  him.  Dick  Wresham  occasionally  eyeing 
a  prescription,  continues : — 

"<  Ah  Kit,  what  about  the  old  friar  and  his  bell  I" 

**Ay  Kit,  my  worthy,"  echoed  one  of  the  sentinel 
wags,  ''tell  us  about  the  friar  and  his  belU—h^  ha,  ha!" 

And  the  ha,  ha,  ha !  ran  through  the  whole  '^  school " 
— ^for  a  sparklhig  and  original  witticism  had  been  uttered. 

•*  Ay,  joke  away  on  it,"  said  Gaby  Mac  Neary, — 
''but  by  Gog, — "  and  he  banged  his  stick  across  Dick 
Wresham's  "genteel"  and  delicate  subterfuge  for  a 
counter,  "  you'll  soon  have  them  friars  devouring  up  the 
fkt  of  the  land  again.  Ha,  'tisn't  onld  times  with  them 
now;  they're  creeping  out  of  their  holes  among  us  again, 
— an  honest  man  can't  walk  the  streets  without  being 
jostled  by  one  of  them." 

"  And  how  divilish  sleek  the  rascaUi  look,"  sputtered 
Jack  Mac  Carthy,  knitting  wickedly  his  awftal  grey 
eyebrows. 


470 


SUMMER  READING. 


<"  Well,  bat  Kit  Himttr,  toll  us  about  Father  Mnxphj;' 
oommanded  Diok  Wresham  impatiently. 

*^  Why,  you  muit  know,  he  has  built  a  kind  of  a  little 
steeple  on  the  gable  of  his  chapel,  and  hung  up  a  small 
bell  in  it ;  and  this  he  rings  out  for  his  mass,  as  sturdily 
as  if  there  was  no  law  to  preyent  it." 

"  Ho  1 "  grunted  Gaby  Mao  Neary,  ''if  that's  not  popish 
impudence,  the  diril's  in  the  dioe.  Gog*g  blng  l**  h»  con- 
tinued in  a  kind  of  soliloquy,  puckering  his  lips  into  a 
fleroe  snarl,  as  he  stumped  about  the  school-room,  and 
punched  his  stick  downwards  at  every  step* 

''  Well,  Kit !"  again  asked  Dick  Wresham. 

**  Well :  the  dean  was  made  acquainted  with  the  mat- 
ter, and  requested  to  use  his  authority,  in  having  the  bell 
taken  down;  and  so  he  called  on  Fatber  Murphy  for  the 
purpose.  The  friar,  you  know,  is  a  big,  bluf^kmd  of  an 
ould  fellow — and  hah  !  he  said  to  the  dean — and  can't  I 
have  a  bell  to  call  my  coaehman,  and  my  grooni,and  my 
footmen,  and  all  my  other  man  servants,  and  ould  Alley 
the  cook,  to  their  dinners — eh  I — ha ! " 

Some  laughed  at  Kit  Hunter's  anecdote;  but  Gaby 
Mao  Neary  and  Jack  Mac  Carthy  could  only  ejaculate 
their  indignation  at  such  a  piece  of  audacious  Papistry. 

Other  anecdotes  of  Papist  audacity  are  related, 
and — 

Gaby  and  Jack  expressed  a  huger  indignation  than 
ever.  Gaby,  in  particular,  though  not  feeling  half  of 
the  real  asperity  ezperienoed  by  his  friend  Jack,  burst 
fbrth  in  his  might.  He  imprecated,  he  cursed,  and  he 
swore,  he  bellowed  as  he  stumped  about ;  and  **  the 
vagabonds  ! "  he  went  on, "  there  is'nt  a  friar,  no  nor  a 
priest  of  'em,  that  1  woald'nt  hunt  out  of  the  counthry, 
over  again  !  Why,  theyll  ride  rough  shod  over  us,  as  they 
did  before,  by  Gog  !  They  walk  Uie  very  middle  stone  of 
the  street,  already— Wur-aa-«^  / " 

**  And  here  is  one  of  them  walking  the  middle  stone 
of  the  street,  this  tery  moment,"  reported  one  of  the 
sentinels. 

**  Father  Connell,  no  less— hat  and  wig,  and  all," 
added  the  other. 

The  charitable  qnest  on  which  Father  Connell 
was  bound  this  morning,  had  for  its  object  the 
relief  of  the  Widow  Fennell ;  and  Gaby  Mac  Neary, 
one  of  those  hot-brained,  peppeiy,  irascible,  Hiber- 
nian Celts,  of  whom  it  is  proyerbially  said  that 
^  their  bark  is  worse  than  their  bite,"  got  into  a 
Protestant  fame  upon  the  occasion.  Gaby  is  very 
probably  a  bit  of  genuine  life,  transferred  to  the 
canvass  of  fiction.  He  is  the  father  of  the  true 
heroine  of  the  tale^  who  is  neither  Nelly  Carty,  nor 
yet  the  lovely  little  mysterious  beggar-girl.  The 
dialogue  in  the  school-room,  after  Uie  priest  had 
been  summoned  in,  and  had  told  his  tale  in  few 
words,  is  characteristic  of  the  time*  It  thuB  pro- 
ceeded:— 

^  Ah,  yes.  Sir,"  resumed  the  young  ^  gentleman."  **  I 
might  have  guessed  that  it  was  for  one  of  the  fair  portion 
of  the  creation  your  reverence  took  so  much  trouble  ^s 
cold  day!" 

^  And  indeed  it  is  to  the  credit  of  clergymen  in  general 
that  they  are  such  champions  of  the  weaker  sex,"  re- 
sumed Us  comrade. 

^I  remember  the  little  Widow  Fennell  right  weU,'* 
quoth  Dick  Wresham,  **  and  a  plump  little  bit  of  fle^ 
she  was,  and  must  be  to  the  present  hour." 

At  these  words,  to  the  surprise  of  all  who  caught  the 
aetion.  Gaby  Mae  Neary  suddenly  turned  his  head  over 
the  back  of  his  chair,  and  scowled  very  angrily  at  the 
speaker. 

**  There  certainly  is  some  satisfaction,  in  bestovring 
charity,  on  such  a  pretty  little  widow,"  continued  the 
diief  sentinel— ^  one  of  her  smiles,  is  good  value  for  a 
guinea,  any  day—*'  and  he  took  out  of  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  a  glittering  coin,  and  with  a  face  of  much  ear- 


iiestnes^  placed  it  on  ike  priest's  palm  and  dosed  tk 
old  man's  fingers  upon  it. 

Father  Connell  glaticed,  however,  at  the  oiMAg,  iid 
then  redosed  his  &iger8  upon  it  himself.  Tha  wiggo; 
and  the  sparkling  wit  went  forwMd. 

^  By  nj  oath  and  conscience,"  said  the  really  wfiiM 
Jack  Mac  Carthy, "  I'd  five  a  leg  of  mutton  and  'thria* 
mine'  to  any  one  that  ud  tache  me  the  knaok  of  maki^ 
friends  among  the  women,  as  the  priests  do.** 

<<Why,  Father  Connell  might  give  yon  an  iot^' 
said  another,  ^  but  nothing  fsr  nothing  aU  tlie  werii 
over ;  no  money,  no  pathw-nosther — eh,  Father  Om- 
neU!" 

Gaby  Mac  Neary  did  not  now  look  roilnd,  but  k 
seemed  to  grow  very  uneasy  or  very  hot  on  his  ekiir. 

^Father  Connell  is  a  spmee  omld  back,"  cried  Mm 
Dicky  Wresham  **  and  there  is  no  wonder  that  the  ws- 
men  should  be  friendly  to  him." 

**  But  how  does  he  make  the  hat  and  wig  so  down  witk 
them !"  resumed  the  brutal  Jack  Mac  Carthy. 

**  Blur-an'agei-an'by-Chg  I "  exploded  Gaby  Mm 
Neary,  jumping  up  at  the  same  time,  and  jostling  ht* 
ward  to  where  Father  Connell  stood— <*  and,"  ht  «i- 
tinned  during  his  progress,  ^  and  every  kind  of  swmI 
damnation  seize  upon  my  soul,  if  1  can  stand  it  uf 
longer,  or  if  1  noiU  stand  it  any  longer  I— give  me  yoif 
hand  Father  Connell— how  do  you  do.  Sir  f" 

Father  Connell  did  as  he  was  bid,  standing  soaiwlal 
aghast,  however,  at  the  roaring  i^pioach  of  such  a  fbitf • 
horse-oath  engine. 

''Why,  what  are  you  at  now.  Gaby  T  asked  the  ^ 
dpal  hoaxer— **  you  that  swore,  as  no  other  maa  mi 
swear,  but  you,— a  little  while  ago,  that  you'd  hi^ 
every  rascally  priest  of  them,  sky  high." 

**  You  lie,  you  whelp  ! "  answered  Gaby,  **  I  aefB 
swore,  nor  said  any  such  thing,  you  young  rascal !  aid 
you're  all  nothing  but  a  pack  of  rascab— nothing  el»- 
to  bring  this  good-hearted  ould  gentlemm  it  hen^  M 
scoff  at  him,  and  to  insult  him." 

^  Well  done,  Gaby,"  shouted  the  seoond  hoaxer,  aid 
he  slapped  old  Gaby  on  the  dioulder. 

^Do  that  again, ye  ibml,  and  111  dust  your  psppj'i 
jacket,  while  a  dusting  is  Mod  for  it  or  you  I"  and  be 
flourished  his  stick  about  him,  at  a  rate  that  made  liii 
old  friends  jump  out  of  his  way ;  while  the  only  okfjtci 
he  hit  was,  the  hat  of  the  very  person  whose  duuBpiei 
he  now  was,  and  tlus,  vrith  the  violence  of  his  oniatsuM 
blow,  flew  some  distance  off  its  accustomed  resting  pUee. 
But  Gaby  soon  picked  it  up,  replaced  it  on  the  apsi  ^ 
the  wig,  and  then  slapped  it  down,  with  a  foros  tbtt 
betokened  in  Ids  own  flitting  apprehension,  muchfricadlf 
eneigy,  and  a  liberal  promise  of  chivalrous  protsctMS 
towimls  the  wearer. 

^ Come  away,  Father  Connell,  out  of  this  bladuari 
place,"  he  went  on,  passing  the  priest's  arm  throsp  Vf 
**  come  along.  Sir,  come  along  I  tell  you  !" 

"<  My  dear,"  said  Father  Connell,  laying  his  band  oa 
the  arm  of  his  doughty  defender,  **  do  not  get  aagiTy  d9 
not  curse  or  swear  on  my  account ;  these  gentlemsa  liav» 
done  me  no  harm  ;  I  wish  I  could  say  they  had  doot 
themselves  any  good  ;  nor  have  they  been  as  saooem 
in  ridiculing  me  as  Uiey  think  ;  neither  my  yean»  b«w 
nearly  four  score,  nor  my  hat  and  vrig  have  nudt  ■•  >* 
very  stupid  as  they  suppose.  As  for  the  witty  joajl 
gentleman  who  gave  me  this,"  and  he  held  <^^^ 
counterfeit  guinea  on  Ids  open  palm,  and  then  sl^oww 
it  to  drop  on  the  floor  at  his  foot— *1  won't  say  W 
reward  him,  no,  no  ;"  the  old  man  shook  hii  M 
touched  the  brim  of  his  hat,  and  looked  uswardp  »i 
revirard,  if  my  poor  prayer  were  heard,  mi|pt  ^*  *■  5!!! 
portion  to  the  gilt )  but  I  can,  and  1  do  say— Ood  w* 
give  him."  „ 

"^ Hah !  take  that,  youdirty  ous!"  triunHphedCtebTlb^ 
Neary,  as  he  and  Father  Connell  turned  lato  the  stn** 

Gaby  became  one  of  the  most  Ubeial  eoatiO«- 
tors  to  the  fhnd  raising  for  the  widow  and  h»V^ 
family,  and  from  that  time  forward  the  ^ 
tempered  Protestant  and  the  Papist  priest  becan* 
the  best  of  firiends*    Gabjr  waa  a  widowtry  w 


BANIM'S  FATHER  CONNELL. 


471 


-one  ikir  child,  Helen,— -but  here  is  the  heroine— the 
belored  from  girihood  of  Neddy  Feimell:— 

Her  age  was  not  more  than  ten  years.  No  description 
of  her  f^  or  person  is  about  to  follow  ;  bnt  it  is  asserted 
o^er  again  that  little  Helen  Mac  Neary  was  very,  very 
lovely,  and  bright,  laughing,  joyons — a  very  sun-burst  of 
beauty,  fl*i»>iing  oyer  the  fi^shness  of  life's  almost  break 
of  day. 

Daring  the  priest's  statements,  howeyer,  little  Helen 
showed  none  of  her  usual  brilliant  joyousness.  Her 
features  became  gently  sorrowful,  and  tears  started  from 
her  eyes.  Father  Connell  took  leave  of  his  new  friend. 
At  the  door  of  the  house  he  felt  his  jock  pulled,  and  turn- 
ing round,  he  saw  this  beautiful  little  being  looking  up 
earnestly  at  him,  and  moving  her  fingers  in  a  mute  re- 
quest that  he  might  bend  down  to  her.  He  laid  his 
open  palm  upon  her  shining  hair — of  the  same  colour,  by 
the  way,  as  that  of  the  poor  little  beggar  girl — ^gazed  in 
smiles,  for  a  space,  upon  her  glowing,  up-turned  features  ; 
and  muttered  involuntarily — "  May  the  Lord  bless  you, 
my  little  angel." 

She  beckoned  tohim'again,  and  he  bent  his  ear  to  her  lips. 

*^  I  got  this  for  a  Christmas  box,"  she  whispered,  sliding 
half-a-gninea  into  his  hand — ^"  but  will  you  give  it.  Sir, 
alon^  with  the  rest  you  have,  to  poor  Mrs.  Fennell,  and 
her  old  aunt,  and  to  poor  little  Neddy ! — Oh,  you're 
hurting  me.  Sir  ! "  she  suddenly  cried  out,  pained  by 
Father  Connell's  ardent  pressure  of  both  her  tiny  hands 
in  his.  He  relaxed  his  unconscious  clasp  ;  but  still  held 
her  tightly,  and  he  still  gazed  at  her,  his  Ups  working  to 
keep  in  his  emotion. 

•*  Helen,  Helen  1  where  are  you,  girl ! "  bellowed  out 
her  &ther,  descending  the  staircase. 

^  Good  bye  to  you.  Sir,"  she  continued,  again  endea- 
vouring to  extricate  her  fingers. 

** Blng^a^xmni I  what's  all  this?"  questioned  her 
fother,  noaking  his  appearance. 

"Your  little  daughter,"  answered  Father  Connell, 
'^  is  a  blessed  child.  She  is  beautiful  to  look  upon  ;  but 
her  fi-eah,  young  heart  is  more  beautiftil  still.  She — she 
has  given  me  for  the  poor  widow,  what  was  bestowed 
upon  her,  these  happy  Christmas  times,  to  buy  playthings 
and  sweet  things — and  she  is  only  a  little  girl  still," — 
he  inclined  his  head,  and  laid  his  cheek  to  Helen's — **  I 
thought  at  first  of  giving  back  her  little  gift  ;— and  I 
thought  too  of  bestowing  upon  her,  a  Christmas  box,  and 
a  good  one,  out  of  my  own  pocket ;  but  I  won't  do 
either.** 

"  Don't,  don't,"  roared  Gaby  Mac  Neary,  half  crying, 
"  biug-an-agM  /" 

*  No  :  I  will  not ;  no  my  child  I  will  not.  111  leave 
it  in  the  hands  of  your  God,  to  repay  you  for  your  charity. 
Here,  Sir, — ^take  your  little  daughter  to  you,  and  kiss 
her,  and  be  proud  of  her."  He  took  up  the  child,  placed 
her  in  her  father's  arms,  and  left  the  house. 

This  sweet  little  creature,  who,  though  not  so 
beantifnl,  greatly  resembled  the  beggar-girl  Mary 
Cooney,  was  the  worthy  counterpart  of  Neddy  Fen- 
nell who  gained  her  heart  at  school  by  his  gallant 
conduct.  While  Neddy,  left  an  orphan  by  the  pre- 
mature death  of  his  motiier,  resided  under  the  hos- 
pitable roof  of  the  priest,  the  darling  of  Mrs  Molloy, 
and  the  belored  of  Tom  Naddy,  he  was,  with  his 
patron,  a  frequent  visiter  of  Gaby  Mac  Neaiy,  and 
the  playmate  of  the  pretty  and  gentle-hearted 
Helen.  These  were  happy  days,  but  they  soon  fled 
away.  Seren  years  are  gone,  and  Neddy  is  now 
the  gay  apprentice  of  Nick  MacGrath,  a  comical, 
old,  litUe,  fat,  oil  and  colour  man,  and  indeed  a  very 
general  dealer  ;  a  bachelor  well  to  do  in  the  world, 
and  a  brilliant  character  at  the  Comic  Club,  though 
his  mirth  was  now  a  good  deal  sobered  down  by 
the  burthen  of  years.  With  Nick,  and  his  old 
honse-keeper  Nelly  Brehan,  the  sprightly  Master 
Neddy,  now  almost  out  of  his  teens,  was  quite  as 


much  a  favourite  as  he  had  been  in  the  family  of 
Father  Connell ;  and  although  he  could  not  always 
refrain  from  playing  off  those  mischieyous  tricks 
upon  his  master,  to  which  the  simple  credulity  of 
Nick,  who  believed  in  ^^the  good  people,"  tempted 
the  light-hearted  lad  and  his  merry  companions,  he 
was  warmly  attached  to  him.  Among  the  bene- 
ficences of  Nick  was  suppering  and  lodging  in  hie 
hay-loft  all  the  vagrant  pauper  lunatics  and  idiots 
of  the  neighbourhood.  The  catalogue  of  his  noc* 
tumal  guests,  and  the  varied  forms  of  their  insanity, 
from  the  ravenous  brutal  idiot  to  the  *^  fantastic 
madman,"  are  depicted  with  wonderfal  discrimina- 
tion and  great  force  ;  yet  the  general  effect  is  pain« 
ful  and  repulsive.  There  are  things  over  which 
the  skilful  artist  is  bound  to  draw  a  veil,  if  not  to 
keep  altogether  out  of  sight  and  thought.  Along 
with  the  common  horde  of  the  idiotic  and  insane, 
there  came  one,  on  a  particular  night,  who,  for  his 
own  ends,  outdoes  them  all  in  acting  the  extrava- 
gances of  insanity.  Yet  there  is  horrible  truth  and 
wild  eloquence  in  the  seemingly  insensate  reiterated 
cry  of  Robin  Costigan,  the  gallows-bird,  who  is 
'^  purshooed  1  purshooed  ! "  Young  Gloster's  mad* 
ness  is  not  better  feigned :— * 

^  A  poor  boy  that's  burned  wid  the  ftx>8t,"  whlnlngly 
appealed  a  fresh  visitant,  a  man  clothed  in  shreds  and 
patches,  and  different  portions  of  his  attire  kept  on  him 
by  the  aid  of  small  hay  ropes.  As  he  announced  himself 
he  leaned  lazily  on  a  long,  thick  wattle. 

As  on  the  former  occasion,  the  little  half-door  quickly 
opened  to  him  ;  and  as  he,  too,  very  leisnrely  plodded  his 
way  into  the  inside  of  the  house — ^he  continaed  his  ego- 
tistical account  of  himself. 

^  My  fut  is  complainin'  agin  the  road,  an*  my  bones  is 
grumblln'  agin  the  weather  ;  an'  I  can't  stop  anywhere 
at  all — an'  I'm  always  goln'  about  over  an  hether— an' 
I  don't  see  any  business  I  have  goin'  about  anywhere-^ 
no,  no  more  business  nor  a  starved  bee  in  a  fallow  field." 
And  at  these  words  his  voice  died  away,  in  the  distance. 

**  They're  purshuin'  me  over  an'  hether,  an'  here  an* 
there,  an'  through  the  bogs,  an'  across  the  hills,  an'  over 
the  river,  an'  into  the  thick  woods — ^they're  purshuin' 
me  ever  an'  ever." 

At  this  crisb  the  thrilling  dramatic  interest  of 
this  powerful  story  properly  commences,  and  never 
again  lags  until  the  close  of  the  narrative.  The 
midnight  murder,  burglary,  and  arson,  committed 
by  this  ruffian  and  his  confederate  imp  in  the 
dwelling  of  the  hospitable  Nick,  is  depicted  with 
the  same  dramatic  power  and  skiU  which  Mr. 
Banim  has  so  frequently  displayed  in  similar  deli- 
neation. In  the  thrilling  and  horrible  he  is  more 
original,  and  excels  as  much  as  in  the  quaintly 
humorous. 

Were  we  to  be  guided  by  the  desire  of  giving  an 
idea  of  the  story,  our  specimens  should  be  in  a  differ- 
ent style  from  those  selected :  but  this  we  leave  toM[r. 
Banim,  contented  with  one  or  two  isolated  passages 
recommended  by  their  delicacy  or  their  pathos. 
By  the  generous  interference  of  Ned  Fennell,  the 
beautiful  beggar-girl  is  brought  under  the  notice 
of  Father  Connell,  who  at  once  took  her  home.  The 
developement  of  her  affections  and  the  expansion 
of  her  intellect,  her  progress  in  the  arts  of  civiliz- 
ed life  are  beautifully  depicted.  She  had  been 
emancipated  from  the  tyrannous  yoke  of  Robin 
Costigan,  which  she  had  borne  from  infancy, 
when  that  ruffian  fled  from  justice,  after  attempt- 


472 


SUMMER  READING. 


iug  the  robbery  aud  murder  of  poor  Nick  and  his 
old  houBekeeper,  and  tried  to  conceal  his  crimes 
by  setting  the  premises  on  fire.  There  is  a  mag- 
naniminous  disregard  of  ordinary  romance  in 
making  this  gifted  creature  merely  the  illegiti- 
mate daughter  of  Craby  Mac  Neary,  the  half-sister 
of  Helen,  and  the  child  of  the  potato-beggar,  Nelly 
Carty,  from  whom  she  had  been  stolen  in  infancy 
by  Robin  Costigan.  Nelly  now  recognises  her  for 
her  lost  child,  and  clings  to  her  with  the  most 
passionate  yearnings  of  a  mother's  heart,  yet  keeps 
the  secret  in  her  own  bosom  lest  she  should  bring 
di^race  or  injury  upon  her  "  beautiful  Colleen,'* 
resolving,  that  though  she  is  not  herself  a  good 
woman,  her  child  shall  be  good  and  happy,  as  she 
is  fair  and  loving.  There  is  much  insight  into  the 
depths  of  the  heart,  and  knowledge  of  elementary 
nature,  of  the  universal  sympathies  of  motherhood, 
shown  in  the  character  of  the  potato-b^;gar. 

We  do  not  know  what,  in  this  story,  becomes  of 
the  theory  of  the  bashful  instincts  of  woman.  Poor 
Mary  never  once  attempts  to  conceal  her  passion- 
ate tenderness  for  Ned  Fennell.  By  an  accident, 
she  becomes  the  casual  witness  of  the  celebration 
of  his  clandestine  marriage  with  Helen  Mac  Neary, 
which,  by  a  trick  of  the  well-meaning  rogue  Tom 
Naddy,  Father  Connell  had  been  induced  to  solem- 
nize, though  at  great  personal  risk,  it  being  then 
highly  penal  for  a  Roman  Catholic  priest  to  cele- 
brate a  marriage  between  a  Papist  and  a  Protes- 
tant. Her  deep  sorrow,  her  maiden  shame,  her  low 
piteous  wailing,  are  all  beautifuUy  pathetic ;  but 
we  must  not  mar  their  effect  by  garbled  extracts. 
Her  initiation  into  the  arts  of  domestic  life,  of 
which  she  knew  as  little  as  a  native  of  the  shores 
of  New  Holland,  are  not  only  charming  in  them- 
selves, but  allow  the  reader  at  once  to  trace  the 
expansion  of  her  knowledge,  and  the  details  of  the 
good  priest's  humble  household,  with  many  points 
of  his  benevolent  character,  and  of  the  condition  of 
the  Irish  Catholic  clergy.  On  the  morning  after  he 
had  rescued  her  from  ^Uhe  shower  of  houses,"  and 
committed  her  to  the  guidance  and  instructions  of 
the  dignified  Mrs.  Molloy,  while  that  self-impor- 
tant personage  prepared  the  priest's  breakfast,  we 
are  told  that  Mary  still  looked  on  in  silence  with 
great  wonder  and  curiosity. 

Father  Connell  had  been  oat  about  an  hoar.  He  now 
retamed,  and  called  out  from  the  parlour,  for  **  Peggy!** 
and  Peggy,  answering  his  summons,  found  that  he  had 
brought  home  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  a  pair  of  stockings,  for 
his  new  prot^g^e ;  together  with  materials,  very  humble 
indeed,  for  dressing  her  out,  ftt>m  head  to  foot.  But 
imtil  the  latter  could  be  made  up,  he  earnestly  consulted 
Peggy  upon  the  best  thing  to  be  done,  towards  obtaining 
present  substitutes  for  them.  Peggy,  after  a  pause,  and 
bargaining  for  permission  to  have  her  own  way  in  the 
matter,  sallied  forth  ftt>m  the  house,  and  quickly  came 
back,  laden,  however  she  had  procured  them,  with  a  little 
stock  of  the  necessaries  required.  They  had  been  used 
indeed,  but  were  clean,  neat,  and  respectable,  and  Mrs. 
Molloy  averred,  would  fit  Mary  to  a  T,for  she  thanked 
Providence  she  had  eyes  in  her  head.  Her  master,  ap- 
proving of  everything,  Mrs.  Molloy  swept  the  table  clear 
of  its  little  heap  of  habiliments  ready  made  and  raw  ma- 
terials for  the  same ;  and  the  next  instant,  she  and  her 
young  friend  were  busily  engaged  in  the  housekeeper's 
bed-room,  off  the  kitchen. 

Father  Connell  would  not — could  not  sit  down  to 
breakfkst  pending  the  great  change  that  was  going  on 


under  his  roof.  He  walked  about  his  parlour,  bolt  up- 
right, champooiug  the  palms  of  his  hands,  very  vetj  hstf 
and  smiling  smiles,  as  fresh  as  those  of  childhood.  At 
last  the  parlour  door  opened,  and  Mary  Cooney,  ablutioni 
and  the  other  business  of  the  toilet  all  gone  through,  ap- 
peared before  him ;  Mrs.  Molloy — as  if  Mary  bodily  and 
altogether  were  of  her  construction,  and  not  merely  the 
tie  of  the  bau-knot  of  her  cap,  leading  her  in^  with  so 
air  of  great  self-approbation.  The  old  man  stood  still,  and 
his  smiling  features  half  changed  into  an  expression  of 
surprise,  at  the  vision  of  the  beautiful  creature  he  now 
gazed  upon.  Her  newly  polished  face,  burning  with 
blushes,  caused  by  her  shyness  of  her  fine  elothM,  and 
her  blue  eyes  scintillating  and  enlarged,  with  a  new- 
come  excitement,  the  be^ar  girl  did  appear,  indeed, 
surpassingly  lovely. 

He  was  struck,  too,  with  her  likeness  to  Helen  Mac 
Neary — as  any  one  might  have  been ;  and  he  thanked 
Hearen,  in  a  silent  aspiration,  that  his  good  child,  Neddy 
Fennell,  had  been  the  means,  under  God,  of  directing  his 
attention  to  the  salvation,  here  and  hereafter,  of  a  crea- 
ture so  interesting  in  every  way. 

But  this  purely  grave  state  of  feeling,  anon  and 
quickly  passed  into  a  characteristic  mode  of  expressing 
his  deliglit  in  the  change  for  the  better  wrought  upon 
her  outward  appearance.  As  he  has  been  seen  to  do, 
while  the  little  ma-a-clad  boys,  were  passmg  him  in  the 
bosheen,  he  bent  himself,  resting  his  hands  upon  hii 
knees,  admiring  her  finery,  and  then,  standing  strai^t, 
and  laughing  to  himself,  clapped  the  palms  of  his  haodi 
together  softly,  and  declared  to  Peggy,  that  nothing  oa 
the  face  of  the  earth  could  be  better ;  and,  as  will  also 
be  called  to  mind,  in  the  same  way  that  he  had  tumed 
Mick  Dempsey  round  and  round,  and  walked  round  and 
round  him,  in  approbation  of  Mick's  first  new  suit  of  re- 
spectable clothes,  he  now  tumed  Mary  Cooney  roond 
and  round,  and  walked  round  her.  At  length,  tiie  in- 
spection over,  he  dismissed  Mary  and  her  new  protec- 
tress, to  their  breakfasts  in  the  kitchen,  and  then  sat 
down  to  his  own,  very  happy. 

But  though  Mary  was  happy  too,  even  to  tears,  which 
constantly  streamed  on,  she  made  but  little  impression 
on  the  dainties  before  her,  at  least  not  one  half,  nor  one 
third  enough,  to  satisfy  the  ostentatious  hospitality  of 
Mrs.  Molloy.  The  poor  girl's  mind  had  been  suddenly 
stopt,  and  tumed  back  in  the  circle  in  which  it  was  woot 
to  revolve,  and  though  all  was  very  blissful,  all  was, 
from  its  novelty,  still  very  confusing.  She  did  not  jret 
understand,  nor  distmctly  feel  her  changed  position.  She 
glanced  shyly  firom  one  point  to  another  of  her  new 
attire.  She  studiously  regarded,  above  all  things,  her 
new  shoes  and  stockings,  and  particularly  admired  the 
smallness  of  her  feet,  now  shut  up,  for  the  first  tine, 
within  limits  which  controlled  their  usual  flatness  and 
expansion.  Opposite  to  her  was  a  mirror  hanging  on  a 
nail  in  the  wall,  of  about  six  inches  in  height  and  three 
in  breadth,  at  which  Birs.  Molloy  upon  a  sudden  call 
ih>m  the  parlour  used  to  adjust  her  cap,  and  her  strong 
vriry  hair;  and  into  this  Mary  could  look  at  her  own  hot, 
with  its  recent  decorations;  and  all  these  little  things  at 
first  deeply  occupied  her,  almost  to  the  exclusion  of  any 
other  sentiment  or  feeling. 

Father  Connell  went  out  on  business,  and  she  was 
left  alone  with  the  housekeeper,  at  the  kitchen  fire. 
After  a  while,  recollection  began  te  engage  her.  Dvby 
Cooney,  was  she  indeed  safe  from  his  hand !  She  asked 
Mrs.  Molloy  to  give  her  assurance  on  the  subject.  The 
housekeeper,  still  obeying  her  master's  instracti<nis,aslml 
in  return,  how  could  she  know  anything  about  it!  And 
who  was  Darby  Cooney !  But  wasn't  she  safe  at  present; 
and  wasn't  she  with  friends,  who  would  keep  hart  and 

harm  far  away  fVom  her! Mary  hi*' 

other  questions  to  ask,  but  she  suppressed  them.  She 
arose,  stumbling  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  fnm  the 
cramping  effects  of  the  first  pair  of  shoes  she  had  eier 
worn,  her  feet  swollen  by  the  influence  of  the  firo,  as 
well  as  by  their  novel  state  of  captirity ;  and  followed 
Mrs.  Molloy  on  the  proposed  tour  of  discoveiy. 

She  had  been  in  the  parlour  for  a  moment  before,  bnt 
under  such  circumstances,  as  only  to  have  felt  enhar' 


BAMM'S  FATHER  CONNELL. 


473 


rmssed  with  an  oyerpowering  sense  of  its  importance. 
Now  she  dwelt  under  Mrs.  Molloy's  special  instructions, 
on  each  article  of  famitnre  it  contained.  A  small  glass 
bookcase,  filled  with  books,  sparingly  and  smearingly 
gilt  on  the  backs,  particularly  attracted  her  attention 
aod  her  wonder ;  she  did  not  think  that  there  were  so 
maoy  books  in  the  world,  she  said.  Leaving  the  parlour. 
Ml  old  eight-day  clock,  almost  eight  feet  high,  placed  in 
the  little  haU,  with  an  old  brass  dial-plate,  struck  her 
with  great  awe,  as  well  it  might  indeed.  She  stopped 
before  it,  and  listening  to  its  clogged  and  wheezing  tick, 
tick,  she  shrank  back,  asking  in  a  whisper,  if  there  was 
not  someUiing  alire  within  it !  Mr?.  MoUoy  then  pointed 
out  to  her  the  cellarage,  under  the  open  stairs,  with  its 
eonstant  occupant,  the  half  barrel  of  beer  ;  and  Mary 
coneeived  great  notions  of  the  abundance  of  the  house. 

Thej  proceeded  up  stairs  to  the  priest's  bed-room. 
Here  were  a  few  little  religious  prints,  "framed  and 
glazed,"  as  Mrs.  Molloy  desired  Mary  to  observe  well ; 
and  in  a  comer,  hung  upon  great  brass  hooks.  Father 
Conncirs  Sunday  hat  and  best  wig ;  together  with  the 
mysterious  old  chest  of  drawers :  and  the  young  girl  felt, 
sh«  knew  not  why,  an  indefinable  sense  of  a  something — 
almost  dread,  which  made  her  hurry  out  of  the  apartment. 

They  passed  into  the  yard.  The  stable  containing 
Father  Connell's  fat,  strong  mare;  the  step-ladder  going 
np  to  it's  hay  lofl;  Neddy  Fennell's  black  hole  of  yore— 
the  eosl-shed ;  the  cask  to  catch  rain-water ;  the  lines  to 
hang  the  house-linen  on  for  drying ;  all  this,  and  much 
more,  were  pointed  out  to  Mary,  whose  mind  still  con- 
tinned  to  fill  and  fill  with  great  conceptions  of  the  mag- 
nificenoe  of  the  establishment.  From  the  yard  into  the 
narrow  strip  of  garden— and  Mary  clapped  her  hands, 
and  almost  screamed  out  with  pleasure.  Small  as  was 
the  little  plot  of  ground,  it  was  neatly  kept,  at  all  seasons 
of  the  year,  and  even  now,  on  a  November  day,  looked 

trim  and  pretty She  glowed  with  a 

new  pleasure.  It  was  as  if  a  garden  had  suddenly  and 
freshly  sprung  up,  amid  the  hitherto  moral  wilderness 
of  her  own  mind.  She  prayed,  she  begged  of  Mrs. 
Molloy  to  let  her  pluck  one  rose — ^no,one  rosebud— only 
one;  the  old  lady  consented,  and  as  Mary  placed  it 
nnder  her  young  bosom,  it  sparkled  with  her  tears. 

They  left  the  enchanted  spot,  and  proceeded  up  the 
silent  little  approach  to  the  chapel,  walled  in  at  either 
side.  They  arrived  at  the  very  limited  space  before  the 
chapel,  almost  entirely  covered  with  the  branches  of  a 
hugo  lime,  having  a  stone  bench  under  it.  Mary  sat 
down  on  the  bench,  looking  earnestly  around  her. 

«  And  was  that  a  chapel  I  A  '  chapel  of  God  r  "  she 
adced  of  Mrs.  Molloy  in  a  whispering  voice,  pointing  to  the 
low  bnilt  and  rude  little  edifice,  now  straight  before  her. 

Maiy's  only  concern  now  was,  that  her  "tender- 
hearted boy,"  whom  she  innocently  told  the  priest 
she  longed  to  see  "  for  the  great  love  was  in  her 
heart,"  never  came  near  her.  Her  religious  know- 
ledge, or  rather  devotional  feelings,  ripened  by  cul- 
ture ;  she  was  baptized,  and  received  her  first  com- 
manion. 

Ob,  happy,  happy  was  >Iary,  while  she  went  tlirough 
the  business  of  that  day,  clad  in  her  white  muslin  dress, 
and  her  cap  with  white  ribbons  in  it.  Happy,  and  yet 
tearful  ;  proud  of  the  day,  and  of  herself,  and  yet  the 
humblest  of  the  humble.  It  was  a  time  of  fiowers,  too, 
and  Mary  had  them  all  around  her. 

But  Father  Connell  encountered  a  little  more  difilculty 
in  removing  from  her  mind  a  certain  impression.  Recur- 
rence must  again  be  made  to  the  first  days  she  spent 
under  his  roof.  Her<question  of— "bud  when  would 
Masther  Neddy  Fennell  come  ! "  was  almost  ceaseless, 
and  the  priest  at  first  only  told  her  why  he  could  not 
come.  His  old  master  vras  so  ill,  and  he  was  so  much 
engaged.  "  But  if  the  whole  world  was  dyin'  I'd  go  see 
my  tender-hearted  boy,"  she  said.  Nick  Mac  Grath  died, 
and  she  allowed  some  days  to  lapse,  but  then  repeated 
her  question.  Father  Connell  now  met  her  with  an 
account  of  Edmund's  great  occupation  in  superintending 
the  old  man's  affiiirs,  and  with  a  ^tatcme^t  ofhi^  noTvly- 

XO.  CI1I.— VOL.  IX. 


acquired  riches,  according  to  the  will  made  in  his  favour 
by  his  master.  Mary  was  glad  he  was  so  rich,  but  sorry 
that  his  great  business  kept  him  away.  Days  parsed 
over  and  she  said  she  should  like  to  go  out  on  the  roads, 
and  walk  here  and  there.  The  priest  himself  accom- 
panied her  forth,  and  led  her  for  a  walk,  by  tbo  adjacent 
river's  brink — a  delightful  walk,  during  the  course  of 
which  everything  around  her  was  arrayed  in  nature's 
fully-matured  gorgeousnes<(.  Thoroughly  did  she  enjoy 
this  recreation ;  but  still  she  came  back  to  Father  Con- 
nell's  house,  dispirited,  and  feeling  a  great  want. 

Some  more  days  passed  on,  and  Father  Connell  told 
her  that  Edmund  Fennell  was  to  come  and  dine  with 
him,  previous  to  his  going  a  great,  great  way  ofi*— to 
Dublin,  in  fact — there  to  engage  in  new  pursuits,  which 
the  good  man  tried  to  explain  to  her.  Mary  changed 
colour,  but  listened  meekly,  and  only  said — '*  God  spread 
the  good  luck  an'  the  happiness  in  his  road,  wherever  he 
goes !" 

Edmund  did  come  to  dine  with  Father  Connell,  and 
Mary  was  summoned  to  speak  with  him  in  the  parlour, 
in  Father  Connell's  presence  ;  but  though  her  heart  at 
first  bounded  to  meet  his  heart,  and  though  herself  first 
bounded  forward  to  be  encircled  in  his  arms,  and  though 
Edmund  was  not  wanting  in  all  show  of  affectionate 
interest,  still  the  poor  girl  began  to  feel  vaguely  that 
there  was  in  future  to  be  a  distance  measured  between 
them,  and  she  retired  weeping  to  her  kitchen.  Dinner 
came  on,  and  she  received  the  impression  more  strongly 
when  she  observed  that  Edmund  and  Father  Connell 
dined  together,  and  that  she  and  Father  Connell's  servant 
dined  together. 

Edmund  was  retiring  for  the  evening — the  last  he 
was  to  spend,  for  some  time,  in  his  native  city.  Mary 
was  again  called  in,  that  he  might  bid  her  farewell.  She 
entered  the  parlour  with  a  humiliated  and  touching  air 
— ^but  not  a  bit  of  ill  temper  in  it.  Edmund  shook  her 
hands,  kissed  her  cheek,  and  spoke  still  most  affection- 
ately to  her.  In  return,  she  kissed  his  lips  and  prayed 
the  blessing  of  God  "  on  his  road,  wherever  he  went." — 
He  left  the  house,  attended  to  the  outside  door  by 
Fatlier  Connell.  The  priest  returned  to  Mary,  and 
found  her  sitting  stupified  on  tlie  fioor. 

**  When  he  was  a  very  little  boy,  my  poor  child,"  the 
priest  said,  **  he  promised  you  if  ever  he  should  be  rich, 
he  would  share  his  riches  with  you  ;  and  now,  my  poor 
child,  see  whether  he  does  or  not — only  see  ; "  and  he 
emptied  a  purse  of  gold  into  her  lap. 

Mary  put  her  hand  under  the  guineas  and  let  them 
drop,  almost  one  by  one,  back  again  into  her  lap,  and  at 
last  dolefully  said — **  May  the  good  God  reward  him  for 
his  charity  ;  but  I'd  rather  have  the  love  from  Neddy 
Fennell  than  all  this  goold.  Sir." 

It  was  after  this  that  Mary  became  the  hidden 
witness  of  the  marriage  of  him  she  loved.  Much  of 
the  machinery  of  the  plot  henceforth  hangsuponthe 
agency  of  the  potato-beggar,  who,  in  the  strength  of 
her  one  passion,  a  mother's  love,  moved  heaven  and 
earth  to  promote  the  happiness  of  her  child.  She 
was  besides  entirely  ignorant  of  the  marriage  of 
Edmund  and  Helen  Mac  Neary,  though  not  of  their 
attachment,  which  seemed  the  only  barrier  to  her 
darling's  felicity.  It  was  now  her  first  object  to 
establish  the  identity  of  her  Mary  as  the  child  of 
Gaby  Mac  Nearj^  and  to  alarm  that  hot-blooded 
Protestant  gentleman,  for  the  honour  of  his  house 
and  of  his  legitimate  daughter,  who  had  clandes- 
tinely bestowed  her  affections  upon  the  "  Papist- 
beggar."  Kind  as  Squire  Gaby  had  been  to  the 
priest's  proteg^y  the  orphan  boy, — Edmund,  as  a 
future  son-in-law,  as  the  accepted  lover  of  his  sole 
heiress  and  darling  child,  was  despised  and  hated. 
Yet  Edmund  was  now  studying  in  Dublin  for  the 
bar,  and  the  wealthy  heir  of  the  grateful  master 
he  liad  rescued  from  the  knife  of  Robert  Costigan, 

2Q 


474 


6tJMM£It  ItEADINa. 


though  poor  Nidk  dUkd  of  tho  flight.  In  a  yeiy 
striking  scene,  Nelly  Carty  the  poor  potato-beg 
gar,  threw  herself  in  the  way  of  the  father  of  her 
abandoned  child,  to  warn  him  of  the  danger  in 
which  his  legitimate  daughter  was  placed^  and  to 
which  his  family  honour  and  fierce  'pride  were 
exposed  by  her  degrading  attachment.  The  violent 
rage,  the  sensitive  pride  of  a  good-natured  man  of 
loose  principles,  who  has,  without  remorse,  prac- 
tised upon  female  ignorance  and  «implicity,  (for 
we  dare  not  call  it  innocence  in  Nelly,)  when  he  is 
touched  or  menaced  with  danger  to  himself,  is  in- 
structive as  well  as  strik  ing :  one  of  those  moral  les- 
sons which  society  requires.  Poor  Nelly  Carty 
the  potato-beggar,  had  once  been  rich  in  beauty, 
and  hot  without  womanly  virtues.  Her  ruin  and 
shame  were  no  cause  of  regret ;  yet  touch  the 
Squire  in  his  own  person,  in  Ills  daughter,  and  who 
•0  jealously  sensitive  to  female  honour  and  disgrace? 

The  contending  interests  and  passions  of  the 
more  important  personages  of  the  drama  are  now 
complicated  and  contrasted  with  great  dramatic 
skill.  The  unconscious  sistersare  the  innocent  rivals 
of  each  other.  The  skulking  felon,  Robin  Costigan, 
burning  for  revenge  on  Edmund,  and  finding  that 
his  own  safety  depends  upon  the  removal  of  the 
beggar-girl  by  any  means,  resolves  on  her  mur- 
der. Nelly  Carty  b  watchful  for  Mary  as  a  she- 
bear  over  her  cubs ;  Squire  Oaby  is  raving  over  the 
presumed  dishonour  of  his  daughter,  and  Tom 
Naddy,  the  scheming  oi'gan  of  much  of  the  mis- 
chief, is  driven  to  his  wits*-ends.  Father  Connell 
alone,  feeling  deeply,  yet  ignorant  of  much  of  the 
complicated  misery  and  villany  around  him,  is  true 
to  his  character  of  the  most  exalted  Christian  love, 
tempered  by  the  tenderest  human  charity.  We 
have  said,  that  we  purposely  refrain  from  marring 
the  effect  of  a  highly  interesting  plot,  by  hinting 
at  its  progress  and  developement.  After  many 
thrilling  scenes  have  harrowed  the  reader,  it  ends 
happily.  Poetic  justice  is  rigidly  dispensed ;  and 
the  sudden  death  of  the  aged  Father  Connell,  while 
tn  an  errand  of  love  and  mercy  for  his  orphan 
protege,  to  which  his  feeble  strength  was  unequal, 
is,  at  last,  more  a  transfiguration,  an  apotheosis, 
forming  a  suitable  close  to  his  divine  life,  than  the 
mortal  agony  of  death.  At  first  sight,  one  is  in- 
deed disposed  to  grumble  at  this  stroke,  and  to  wish 
that  the  venerable  Father  had  lingered  yet  a  little 
while  on  earth,  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  happiness 
which  he  had  so  long  ministered  to  create.  But  it 
is  better  as  it  is. 

We  opened  with  the  service  in  Father  Connell's 
rude  chapel.  We  may  aptly  close  with  that  per- 
formed in  the  same  place  at  his  obsequies.  The 
Influence  of  a  life  like  his  does  not  end  with  the 
term  of  existence.  Father  Connell  had  dropped  at 
the  feet  of  the  Lord-Lieutenant,  while  presenting  a 
memorial  craving  a  respite  for  his  proteg^,  when 
Edmund,  by  a  strange  tissue  of  circumstantial 
evidence,  had  been  condemned  to  death  as  the  mur- 
derer of  his  own  wife— of  his  beloved  and  adored 
Helen.  The  priest's  remains  had  been  brought 
from  Dublin.  It  had  been  his  dying  wish,  sent 
with  his  blessing  to  Neddy  Fennell,  to  be  buried 
with  the  former  parish  priests  in  his  own  old 


churchyard.    Great  prepamtioBt  wtre  taiad4  to  4s 
honour  to  the  memory  of  the  beloved  pastor,  and— 

Before  daybreak,  next  morning,  people  might  be  seat 
walking  slowly,  in  two's  and  three's  at  a  time,  toward 
the  Dublin  road—rich  and  poor,  all  clasees,  in  alterna- 
tion. No  public  intentien  had  been  made  known  on  the 
occasion ;  but  the  news  that  the  body  might  be  expecttd 
to  leave  Dublin,  at  an  hour  already  mentioned,  gtt 
abroad,  and  this  silent  movement  was  the  result. 

A  very  great  crowd  had  congregated  about  two  miles 
from  the  town,  and  still  the  day  hid  not  dawned.  The 
people  timed  their  motions  very  well,  calculating  on  the 
decent  and  slow  progress  which  would  be  made  IHk 
Dublin.  Presently,  the  red  glaring  lamps  of  a  vebiek, 
steadily  approaching,  appeared  in  view.  Soon  after,  thi 
stepping  of  the  horses  was  heard  ;  and  then  the  Boddag 
of  the  plumes  of  the  hearse  became  visible,  together  with 
the  white  scarf  and  hatband  of  the  driver.  Up  to  this 
moment,  there  had  been  a  death-like  silence  among  the 
crowd ;  now  there  was  one  low  oatbreak,  made  ap  of 
the  suppressed  groans  of  men,  and  the  wailing  of  wonsa. 

All  heads  were  uncovered,  and  many  knelt  in  rent- 
ence  or  in  prayer. 

The  hearse  passed  by ;  two  mourning  coaches  followed 
it.  In  the  first  of  these,  visible  by  the  light  of  the  lamps 
which  it  also  bore,  and  muffled  up  to  the  brows  in  his 
mourning  cloak,  and  without  motion  or  a  glance  aronad 
him,  sat  Edmund  Fennell.  In  the  other,  the  peoflt 
discerned,  to  their  great  delight  and  admiration,  the 
former  bishop  of  their  diocese  ;  the  former  resident  b 
Father  Connell's  little  thatched  house,  and  the  fbner 
intimate  and  affectionate  friend  of  the  ancient  -prissL 
He  was  himself  now  a  very  old  man. 

There  was  a  third  vehicle)  containing  snch  of  the  nesr 
relations  of  Father  Connell  as  had  time  so  to  arrange  u 
to  go  a  little  way  to  meet  him,  on  his  last  earthly  jooney. 

The  sad  little  cortege  moved  slowly  on.  The  gmt 
throng  of  people  proceeded  with  it  at  either  side,  or  closed 
behind  it.  Profound  silence  again  reigned  amoo|it 
them.  Arrived  at  the  suburbs  of  the  town,  very  littie 
way  was  to  be  made  to  Father  Connell's  late  dwelling ; 
and  here  the  people  left  the  hearse,  and  retamed  iat* 
the  town.  The  morning  came  through  clouds  and  nlats 
upon  the  little  city ;  but  a  moral  gloom,  deeper  Una 
that  cast  by  the  weather,  also  fell  upon  it  There  wis 
no  man,  woman,  or  child,  among  its  population  who  was 
not  acquainted  vrith  Father  Connell's  character,  who  did 
not  venerate  and  love  him  when  alive,  and  who  did  notaow 
mourn  him  dead.  This  assertion  is  literal ;  it  makes  bo 
exception  for  social  degree,  or  for  sect,  or  for  party.  1^ 
glorious  and  the  great  charity,  in  the  ezeroiae  of  whid 
he  had  spent  a  long,  long  life,  and  at  last,  braved  and 
met  death ;  the  glorious  and  the  great  charity,  wWA 
had  been,  as  it  were,  the  very  essence,  and  the  veiy 
breath  of  his  being— that  charity,  now  filling  with  td- 
miration  and  affection  all  hearts,  made  all  nnite,  fiir  s 
time  at  least,  in  one  demonstration  of  feeling.  It  was 
the  pouring  out  of  oil  upon  the  spitefbl  though  paltiy 
ways  of  their  sectarian  personalities  and  passions,  until 
it  stilled  them  into  a  glassy  stillness.  And  thns,  charity 
begat  charity.  Their  common  love  for  one  man,  whoa 
they  loved,  because  he  was  charitable,  made  theia  also 
charitable  in  themselves,  and  to  one  another. 

It  was,  and  is  the  custom  in  Father  Connell's  town,fv 
the  shopkeepers  partially  to  close  their  shop  vrindowi, 
upon  the  death  of  a  neighbour.  On  this  day,  every  iljop 
window  was  fully  closed.  Every  passing  bell  toUsd— 
the  almost  unheard,  illegal  little  bells  attached  to  Oi- 
tholic  chapels,  and  the  more  sonorous  ones  in  the  legal 
church  steeples.  The  citizens  of  every  grade,  »et  in 
little  groups  about  the  streete  ;  and  you  could  pa«BO« 
of  them,  who  were  not  talkini^  in  low  voices  of  the  ■« 
and  the  event,  whom  all  mourned  and  deplored,  aad  « 
arrangements  to  be  made  for  a  public  fhneral  ia  v6 
honour— and  Protestant  and  Catholic  discussed  the  «t- 
ject  together.  And  there  was  somehow  a  strange  sileace 
through  all  places  of  usual  public  resort  and  bustle^ta™ 
thrilled  yon.  Andno  manwasseeii  te  laighdniiagtbe 
day. 


BANIM»S  FATHER  CONNELL. 


its 


At  ftboni  ndon,  hnndredfl  tiitUr  hundreds  began  to  risit 
Father  Connell's  little  chapel.  There,  upon  an  elerated 
frame-work,  a  kind  of  bier,  they  found,  as  they  expected, 
his  mortal  remains,  laid  out  in  the  eoffin,  in  the  middle 
of  the  building.  The  body  was  draped  in  its  priest's 
Testuents,  with  shoes  and  stockings  on,  and  a  chalice 
seemed  to  be  held  between  its  hands — so  are  Catholic 
priests  arrayed  for  the  graye.  A  number  of  candles 
snrroaiuied  the  coffin.  The  features  of  the  corpse  wore 
their  usual  liring  smile  ;  and  the  glittering  benevolence 
«f  the  handsome  old  blue  eyes,  was  only  wanting,  to 
make  it  appear  life  indeed.  Many,  many  who  looked 
upon  it,  remembered  it  well  as  the  blessed  harbinger  of 
eonsolation  and  relief  to  them,  in  former  days  of  suffering 
and  sorrow. Apart  from  the  rest,  imme- 
diately under  the  head  of  the  body,  stood  one  mourner 
wfaom^  though  no  one  could  see  his  features,  on. account 
•f  the  arrangement  of  his  black  cloak,  all  knew  well ; 
and  they  knew  that  since  the  body  had  arrived  from 
Dablin,  he  had  never  quitted  it  for  a  foment,  tasting  no 
food,  no  drink — partaking  of  no  kind  of  refreshment — 
speaking  with  none,  and  addressed  by  none — for  his 
mighty  grief,  and,  the  people  believed,  his  remorse  was 
respected,  nay,  almost  feared,  to  an  extent  which  made 
all  loath  to  communicate  with  him. 

There  he  remained,  the  livelong  day,  wordless  and 
motionless,  except  that  now  and  then,  and  very  seldom, 
he  would  change  his  standing  position  for  a  sitting  one. 
Night  came  on,  and  he  was  still  on  his  post.  Messages 
reached  him  ttom  the  good  old  archbishop,  who  had  taken 
np  his  temporary  residenoe  in  the  priest's  abode,  near  at 
hand,  entreating,  nay,  commanding  him,  to  leave  the 
body  fbr  a  time,  and  take  some  repose  and  nourishment 
— ^bnt  he  only  answered  these  oommnnications  with  a 
denyiof  and  most  moumfhl  motion  of  his  head.  His 
lkthsr*in-law.  Gaby  Mac  Neary,  being  applied  to,  came 
personally,  and  even  with  requests  fh>m  his  young  wife, 
ia  soUeit  him  on  the  same  sulgeot ;  but  these  appeals 

also  hs  scareely  heeded. During  the  mass, 

ens  little  oosurrsncs  should  not  be  forgotten  in  this 
BOtise.    The  shapsl  was  crowded  to  inconTsnienoe.   At 


a  certahi  pause  in  the  ceremony,  a  priest  turned  round 
on  the  altar,  and  strove  to  pronounce  aloud,  while  bis 
voice  failed  him,  the  following  words : — 

'^Pray  for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  the  Reverend 
Phelim  Connell,  your  late  parish  priest," — ^all  the  peo- 
ple had  been  standing — the  moment  the  words  were 
heard,  man,  woman  and  child,  suddenly  knelt,  and  there 
was  a  burst  of  weeping  petition  to  Heaven,  smothered 
in  sobs  and  groans,  over  which,  women's  stifled  shrieks 
partially  arose,  and  the  bitter  crying  of  the  little  boys 
of  Father  Conneirs  school,  was  distinctly  heard. 

The  people  would  not  permit  the  body  to  be  conveyed 
to  the  grave,  as  was  first  proposed,  by  the  directors  of 
the  ftineral,  in  the  hearse,  which  had  borne  it  ttom  Dub- 
lin— senseless  animals,  they  said,  should  not  move  it  on 
that  occasion,  while  they  had  arms  and  shoulders  to 
perform  the  duty.  So  they  provided  a  handsome  little 
thing,  a  miniature  hearse,  still,  with  plumes  and  velvet 
trappings,  fringed  with  gold  lace  ;  and  in  this,  almost 
exactly  fitting  it,  the  coffin  was  placed,  and  borne,  paUa- 
quin-like,  upon  men's  shoulders.  On  coming  out  of  the 
chapel,  the  approach  or  lane  leading  to  the  little  edifice, 
the  churchyard,  the  priest's  yard  and  garden,  and  the 
suburb  street  without,  were  found  crowded  vriUi  the 
more  respectable  citizens  of  all  ranks — and  after  what 
has  been  said,  it  will  be  unnecessary  to  add,  of  all  sects 
and  parties,  wearing  ample  scarfb  and  hat-buidp  of  white 
linen,  and  waiting  to  form  into  fhneral  procession.  There 
could  not  be  less  than  thousands  of  them.  Similar  badges 
of  mourning  had  been  provided  for  the  boys  of  the  paridi 
school ;  and  amongst  the  general  train,  little  fellows, 
almost  children,  the  sons  of  the  citizens,  were  also  scarfbd 
and  hat-banded  ; — let  it  be  permitted  to  us  to  record, 
that  of  these  childish  participators  in  the  general  demon- 
strations of  sorrow,  three  little  O'Haras  were  included. 

Do  the  established  clergy  wish  to  recover  their 
influence  over  the  people  of  England  and  Scotland? 
Let  them  look  to  Father  Connell,  and  go  and  do 
likewise. 


THE  MARCHIONESS. 


Tbb  MABCRtOHSsB,  the  second  book  on  oar  list,  if, 
in  substance,  true  history,  reads  like  ^  the  wildest 
fictions  of  a  heated  brain.*'  The  story  is  drawn 
^m  the  records  of  the  Criminal  Tribunals  of 
France— from  thoee  records  which,  in  every  civil- 
ized country,  embody  the  most  marvellous  combin- 
ations of  facts,  with  the  darkest  tragedies,  tt 
might  have  been  judicious  in  Mrs.  Thornton  to 
have,  (if  such  an  Iricism  be  allowable,)  placed  her 
preface  at  the  end  of  her  tale.  Not  one  reader  In 
a  hundred  would  have  known  or  remembered  aught 
of  the  singular  case,  which  she  has  embellished  with 
many  felicitous  incidental  circumstances,  and  in 
various  ways  altered  and  adapted  to  her  purpose, 
while  adhering  to  the  outline  of  the  original  nar- 
rative of  the  extraordinary  circumstances  detailed. 
The  investigation  of  this  remarkable  cattse  ciUbre^ 
occupied  the  criminal  courts  for  more  than  twenty 
years ;  and  yet  the  whole  hinges  on  the  single  cir- 
cumstance of  a  lady,  the  Countess  St.  G^ran,  hav- 
ing given  birth  to  an  heir,  which  a  hold  and  in- 
triguing sister-in-law,  next  heir  to  the  family 
estates,  contrived  to  send  away  at  the  moment  of  its 
birth,  though  in  the  midst  of  numerous  attendants, 
and  in  presence  of  the  anxious  grandmother  of 
the  long-expected  heir.  The  disappointed  husband 
was  persuaded,  by  the  arts  of  his  sister,  that  his 
hopea  had  been  fallacious.    No  one,  in  ^ort,  long 


doubted  that  the  young  Countess,  and  thoie  of  hir 
medical  advisers  who  had  pronounced  her  preg- 
nant, had  been  deceived  by  appearances.  The 
Countess  alone,  drugged  as  she  had  been,  and  left 
wholly  in  the  power  of  her  guilty  sister-in-law,  and 
her  creatures,  a  midwife,  a  surgeon,  and  another 
and  higher  accomplice,  clung,  through  years  of  pin- 
ing and  sorrow,  to  the  absolute  belief  that  she  had 
given  birth  to  a  child.  She  never  bore  another, 
and  the  idea  came  to  be  considered,  even  by  her 
husband,  as  a  grievous  and  melancholy  delusion ;  as 
a  case  of  complete  monomania  in  a  woman  lan- 
guishing for  offspring  and  denied  that  blessing. 

The  story,  which  is  exceedingly  well  told 
throughout,  opens  Anely.  The  Count  had  married, 
at  the  age  of  nineteen,  a  lady  several  years  younger 
than  himself.  Marriages  in  very  early  life  were 
quite  common  among  the  hereditary  nobility  of 
France,  as  indeed  they  are  among  the  established 
families  of  the  upper  rank  in  every  country.  The 
only  drawback  on  the  happiness  of  the  young 
couple,  was  the  want  of  an  heir ;  but  at  the  end 
of  three  years, 

The  derangement  of  the  Countess's  health,  and  certain 
symptoms  which  accompanied  her  indispositiou,  sgain 
roused  the  hopes  of  the  Count  and  the  other  members  of 
his  family.  Tbe  most  eminent  medical  men  were  eon- 
salted,  but  «  who  fihaUdedde  when  doetors  disagrser 


47« 


SUMMER  READING. 


as  they  did  in  this  in«tancc.  Tlie  sliapo  of  the  Coanteas 
Tisibly  changed  ;  t!ic  sylph-like  slimness  of  her  figure 
disappeared,  givm;?  place  to  more  matronly  outlines ; 
and  at  length,  Ikiiulame  la  Man^chale  de  St.  Gdran,  the 
mother  of  the  Count,  sent  orders  to  Paris  for  a  magnifi- 
cent la^e,  and  came  herself  to  the  chatean  to  wait 
the  event :  as  did  aUo  the  Marchioness  dc  BouiU^,  her 
dangl^ter,  and  sister  of  the  Count. 

0^  the  morning  of  the  16th  of  August,  the  Countess, 
daring  the  celebration  of  mass  in  the  cat^tle  chapel,  was 
taken  ill  and  duly  conveyed  to  her  apartment ;  the  mid- 
wife summoned,  and  an  express  sent  off  for  the  Count 
He  arrived  early  in  the  evening,  and,  after  a  short  inter- 
view with  his  wife,  retired  to  the  library,  somewhat  fa- 
tigued with  the  heat  of  the  day  and  the  business  with 
which  he  had  been  occupied. 

Anxiously  waiting  for  news  from  the  chamber  of  the 
C<Hidtess,  he  sat  down  to  his  solitary  snpper  with  little 
inclination  to  eat ;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  removed  he 
pat  on  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  and  began  a  rest- 
less promenade  up  and  down  the  room.  It  wa«  large, 
and  several  of  its  windows,  or  rather  sash-doors,  opened 
on  to  the  broad  terrace  which  ran  along  the  front  of  the 
chateau.  The  day  had  been  intensely  hot,  and  they  had 
been  left  open  to  admit  the  cool  evening  air.  He  passed 
through  one  of  them  on  to  the  terrace  ;  the  fresh  air  re- 
vived hipi,  and  he  stood  gazing  at  the  placid  beauty  of 
the  scene  which  spread  around. 

Impatient  and  restless,  he  returned  again  to  the  room, 
and  rang  a  little  silver  bell  which  lay  on  the  table. 
Pierre,  a  cherished  and  much-favoured  domestic,  who 
had  been  reared  in  the  fiimily,  descending  from  ances- 
tors originally  vassals  of  the  house  of  La  Guiohe,  opened 
the  door  and  entered. 

**  Pierre,"  said  the  Count,  "  why  do  they  not  let  me 
know  how  the  Countess  is?    Go  and  inquire." 

He  disappeared,  and  came  back  after  a  short  interval 
with  the  information  that  she  was  better. 

«  Better  I"  said  the  Count.  **  What  am  I  to  under- 
stand by  that !    Who  sent  the  message  !" 

•*  Madame  la  Martfchale,"  replied  Pierre. 

The  Count  resumed  his  walk.  After  a  short  silence, 
he  inquired  whether  the  Marquis  St.  Maixant  had  re- 
turned. (The  Marquis  was  a  relation,  and  then  residing 
in  the  ch&teau  as  a  visiter.) 

**  Yes — no,  no,  my  lord,"  replied  Pierre.  "  Monsieur 
le  Marquis  said  he  should  not  return  to-night." 

"  And  Father  Aldrovand,  where  is  he  !" 

^  My  lord,  he  is  gone  to  administer  the  sacrament  to 
a  dying  man." 

Once  again  the  Count  was  left  alone  to  his  uneasy 
lucubrations.  A  short  time  elapsed,  and  again  the  little 
bell  rang.    A  servant  opened  the  door. 

"Where  is  Pierre!" 

*  I  do  not  know,  my  lord." 

"  Go  and  inquire  how  your  lady  is." 

Tlie  answer  was, — ^^  Madame  la  Comtesse  is  much 
better  :  the  spasms  are  quite  gone." 

^  Spasms  ! "  exclaimed  the  Count.  ^  These  people  are 
all  fools  I    I  vnll  go  myself." 

He  lighted  a  taper,  and,  traversing  the  intervening 
apartments,  ascended  the  great  staircase  and  entered  a 
corridor,  into  which  opened  the  principal  sleeping-rooms. 
The  bed-room  of  the  Countess  was  somewhat  distant 
fh>m  the  staircase.  He  was  proceeding  towards  it,  when 
he  was  struck  with  the  figure  of  a  man,  so  like  the  Mar- 
quis St.  Maixant,  that  he  stopped  for  a  moment  aston- 
ished ;  then  rapidly  advancing,  he  saw  it  glide,  with  a 
step  as  noiseless  as  his  own,  into  another  room,  which  he 
knew  was  appropriated  to  the  Marquis.  He  knocked  at 
the  door,  which  was  closed  but  not  fastened  :  no  answer 
was  returned.  He  opened  it  and  went  in  ;  no  one  was 
there  :  he  passed  into  a  dressing-room  ;  it  was  empty. 
Positive  he  had  seen  some  one  enter,  he  proceeded  to  a 
room  beyond,  where  the  valet  of  the  Marquis  slept ;  and 
there,  in  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  sat  the  Marquis 
liimself,  with  his  arms  thrown  on  a  little  table,  and  his 
head  resting  on  them. 

He  raised  it  as  the  Count  approached  him  ;  his  face 
T\  a;}  pale  as  death,  and  a  wild  and  haggard  expression 


indicated  that,  whatever  were  the  passions  by  which  his 
mind  was  agitated,  they  were  terrible  in  their  excess. 

This  was  the  accomplice  and  loverof  the  Marchion- 
ess de  Bouille.  The  Marquis  pretended  that  he  was 
ill,  and  had  drank  too  niucli>vine — ^and  an  equivo- 
cal conversation  passed,  though  the  Count  enter- 
tained no  suspicion. 

The  Count  left  the  room  without  replying,  and  ^na 
about  to  enter  that  of  his  wife,  but  the  Marchioness  de 
Bouilltf  advanced  as  he  opened  the  door,  and  laying  her 
finger  on  her  lip,  in  token  of  silence,  stepped  into  the 
corridor  and  gently  closed  it  after  her. 

"  The  Countess  must  not  be  disturbed,"  said  she ; 
^  Blondeville  has  given  her  a  composing  draught  K«- 
tum  to  the  library,  and  I  will  come  to  yon  immediatelj." 

Her  instructions  were  obeyed,  and  again  the  haruMd 
nobleman  returned  to  traverse  the  terrace.  It  was  now 
past  midnight,  and  all  was  still,  except  that  now  aad 
then  an  owl  hooted  from  a  ruined  building  in  the  wood, 
or  a  watch-dog  bayed  in  the  valley  below.  The  li^ 
in  the  cottage-windows  of  the  village  were  all  extin- 
guished ;  the  air,  which  had  been  hot  during  the  day, 
felt  damp  and  chill,  and  the  Count  was  aboat  to  reenter 
the  room,  when  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  close  to  the 
terrace,  struck  his  ear.  The  next  minute  he  heard  it 
descending  the  avenue  which  led  to  the  high-road,  at 
what  appeared  a  fearftil  speed,  under  those  ai«hing  trees, 
which,  even  at  mid-day,  hardly  admitted  a  ray  of  light. 
Much  surprised,  he  returned  to  the  library,  and  was 
about  to  ring,  when  the  entrance  of  his  sister  directed 
his  thoughts  into  another  channel. 

The  Marchioness  de  Bomll^  was  at  this  time  ahoot 
twenty-four  years  of  age,  handsome,  well-formed,  and  of 
graceftil  air  ;  of  an  active  and  enterprising  character. 
Not  unfeminine  in  her  person,  but  possessing  a  bold  and 
masculine  spirit,  which,  had  she  been  a  man,  would  pro- 
bably have  led  her  to  a  rank  as  distinguished  in  the  armie« 
of  her  country  as  that  of  her  father  ;  while  the  Count,  her 
brother,  on  the  contrary,  was  somewhat  supine  and  in- 
dolent. These  were  also  the  characteristics  of  the 
Mardchale  her  mother. 

This  quiet,  easy  indolence,  rendered  the  promptitude 
and  decision  of  the  Marchioness's  character  doubly  v^n- 
able,  and  gave  her  a  power  and  .influence  over  bin, 
which,  fitf  from  seeking  to  resist,  he  leaned  on  as  a  prop 
which  saved  him  the  trouble  of  supporting  his  own 
weight.  She  was  the  wife  of  the  Marquis  de  BouilK,  a 
man  of  sixty,  who  seldom  quitted  the  neighbourhood  d 
his  chateau  in  Auvergne,  where  he  resided,  and  the  mo- 
ther of  a  daughter  two  years  of  age. 

"My  dear  brother,"  said  she,  as  she  entered  the  lib- 
rary, "  I  have  been  anxiously  wishing  to  come  to  yon, 
for  I  am  aware  how  wearily  the  time  must  have  passed 
with  you  ;  but  I  could  not  leave  her  while  she  was  » 
ill.  The  Virgin  be  praised  I  those  terrible  spasms  are 
gone.  Will  you  come  and  see  herl  you  will  not,  I 
think,  disturb  her  now." 

"  Spasms  again  !"  exclaimed  the  County  impatiently. 
*^  Am  I  to  have  an  heir  to  my  name  1" 

The  Marchioness  shrugged  her  shoulders,  withont 
other  reply.  After  a  pause  she  said,  "  We  must  wait, 
— ^we  must  have  patience." 

"  But  what  is  your  opinion !  What  do  yon  think  will 
be  the  result !" 

**  Dear  Gaude,"  she  replied,  **  what  can  I  say  f-yw 
already  know  my  opinion  ;  I  have  never  concealed  it 
fh)m  you." 

"  You  still  think,  then,  that  the  Countess  has  deoeiTed 
herself?" 

Another  shrug  was  again  the  only  reply. 

«  This  is  incredible  I "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  tone  of 
vehemence  to  which  his  voice  was  a  stranger,  and  the 
blood  flushed  into  his  face,  which  wore  an  expression  of 
disturbance  and  vexation  that  contrasted  strongly  with 
its  natural  placidity. 

«  This  is  incredible  I"  he  repeated  ;  « the  most  caj- 
nent  menof  Paris,— my  mother— I  myself— I  could  mj^lt 
have  sworn  she  was  right,— all— all  to  have  been  a^ 
ceived  !  you  yourself  appeared  to  be  convinced  !** 


THE  MARCIIIOXESS. 


47: 


**  Alas  !"  said  she,  **we  are  all  but  too  apt  to  believe 
true  that  which  we  wish  to  be  so.  We  must  wait : 
time  will  decide." 

She  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  but  as  she  reached 
the  door  she  stopped,  and  seemed  to  hesitate,  undecided 
w^hether  to  go  or  not,  then  slowly  returning  to  the  Count, 
added,  ^  I  am  wrong ;  'tis  better  you  should  know  the 
truth,  painftil  as  it  is.  It  is  cruel  to  suffer  you  to  enter- 
tain hopes  which  will  never  be  realised  ;"  and  taking  up 
tlie  beU,  she  rang  it.  A  servant  opened  the  door,  to 
Tvhom  she  said,'' Request  Madame  Groillard  to  come  here." 

Madame  Goillard,  the  midwife,  almost  immediately 
made  her  appearance.  She  was  a  good-looking  woman, 
apparently  about  forty  years  of  age. 

**  Madame  CroiUard,"  said  the  Marchioness,  ^  the  Go- 
vernor wishes  to  know  whether  the  accouchement  of  the 
Countess  is  likely  to  take  place  soon, — ^whether  it  is 
likely  to  take  place  at  all." 

The  woman  looked  frightened  and  bewildered  ;  she 
remained  silent,  and  evidently  trembled. 

**  Come,  ma  mhre  /"  said  the  Marchioness ;  **  take 
coarage  !  You  tremble, — you  are  afraid  !  It  is  better 
the  GoTemor  should  know  the  truth,  and  he  will  not  be 
angry  with  yon  for  telling  it,  as  you  seem  to  fear." 

The  woman  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  face  of  the  Marchion- 
ess, while  the  appearance  of  fear  and  hesitation,  which 
had  before  marked  her  countenance,  gave  place  to  a 
strong,  but  singular  and  nndefinable  expression,  as  it 
appeared  to  the  Count,  who  watched  her  with  the  keen- 
est interest,  as  one  on  whose  fiat  his  fate  seemed  to 
hang,  as  she  said,  '^  I  am  to  tell  Monseigneur  the  truth!" 
then  stopped,  and  remained  silent. 

^  Gome,  ma  mere  !  "  again  said  the  Marchioness,  lay- 
inf^  her  hand  on  the  woman's  shoulder,  as  if  to  reassure 
her,  "  tell  us,  do  you  believe  the  Countess  will  give  birth 
to  a  child  say  within  a  month, — two — three  months  I " 

^  No,"  replied  the  woman,  in  a  low  voice ;  then  added, 
in  a  lender  and  more  assured  tone,  **  no  I  I  am  sure  she 
wUl  not." 

**  Sure  ! "  cried  the  Count. 

**  I  have  had  much  experience,  my  lord,  and  I  am  sure 
the  Countess  is  not  enceinte." 

She  was  no  longer  so.  The  false  sister  pretended 
to  sympathize  in  his  sorrow,  and  urged  him  to  visit 
his  poor  wife. 

The  Count,  silent  and  abstracted,  mechanically,  as  it 
seemed,  followed  his  sister  to  tho  bed-chamber  of  his 
wife,  who  lay  sunk  in  sleep,  so  quiet  and  profound,  and 
with  a  face  so  totally  colourless,  that  the  Count  bent 
anxiously  over  her  to  assure  himself  that  she  lived.  He 
took  her  hand,  which,  when  he  relinquished  it,  fell  back 
on  the  bed-clothes  like  the  hand  of  a  corpse,  except  that 
it  was  warm  and  supple.  He  turned  from  the  bed, 
aroand  which  many  persons  were  standing,  with  a  heavy 
sigh,  and  advanced  to  an  arm-chair,  where  sat  the  Mar^- 
chale,  his  mother.  She  seemed  overpowered  with  sleep 
and  fatigue;  her  half-closed  eyes,  as  she  raised  them  for 
a  moment  to  the  fi^^  of  her  son,  were  dull  and  heavy, 
and  the  Marchioness  in  vain  endeavoured  to  rouse  her 
sufficiently  to  enable  her  to  speak.  For  a  few  minutes, 
she  kept  them  open,  but  they  bore  a  glazed  appearance, 
as  she  stared  vacantly  round,  then  closing  them,  sunk 
back  in  a  profound  and  motionless  sleep. 

**  She  is  wholly  worn  out,"  said  the  Marchioness ; 
**  she  has  been  in  constant  attendance  in  the  sick-room, 
fretting  and  anxious,  since  the  morning." 

Next  morning,  a  message  was  sent  to  the  Count 
by  his  wife,  requesting  to  see  him,  and  he- 
Repaired  to  her  bed*room,  where  she  was  lying,  pale 
and  apparently  weak,  but  awake,  and  anxiously  watch- 
ing for  him.  As  he  approached  the  bed,  she  said — 
•*  Where  is  my  child,  Claude !  They  will  not  let  me  see 
it" 

The  Count,  much  distressed,  knew  not  what  reply  to 
make.  At  length,  he  answered,  ^  We  have  no  child,  my 
love;  it  is  not  the  vnll  of  heaven  that  we  should  have  an 
heir.  We  have  many  other  blessings,  and  mustmot  re- 
pine that  ooe  wish,  however  strong,  remains  ungratified. 


God  and  ilie  Holy  Mary  best  know  what  to  give  and 
what  to  withhold.  We  must  endeavour  to  bear  our  dis- 
appointment cheerfully." 

The  Countess  raised  herself  on  the  pillow,  and  fixing 
an  earnest  look  on  her  husband's  f&ce,  she  said, "  Have 
they  then  been  trying  to  persuade  you  also  of  this! 
Claude  de  la  Quiche  !"  she  added,  in  a  solenm  voice, '*  as 
there  is  a  God  in  heaven,  I  am  the  mother  of  a  child — a 
living  child — I  heard  it  cry  !" 

Much  affected,  the  Count  endeavoured  to  tranquillize 
and  soothe  her;  and  again  he  said,  ^  Let  us  entreat  the 
Blessed  Virgin  to  intercede  for  us,  that  we  may  be  en- 
abled to  submit  with  patience  and  resignation  to  the  will 
of  Heaven,  which  has,  for  some  wise  purpose,  crossed  our 
wishes.    It  is  the  will  of  God,  my  love,"  he  added. 

^  'Tis  not  the  will  of  God,"  cried  she,  vehemently. 
^  Claude  de  la  Guiche  !  it  is  not  the  will  of  God  :  God 
has  given  us  a  child, — seek  for  it,  and  bring  it  to  me. 
Let  me  see  my  child — your  child,  Gaude.  Seek  for  it, 
or  they  will  destroy  it.    Oh,  let  me  see  my  baby  1" 

The  earnest  and  imploring  air  with  which  she  uttered 
the  last  words  served  to  destroy  the  small  portion  of  firm- 
ness the  Count  had  hitherto  retained.  He  sunk  into  a 
chair  by  the  bed-side,  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands,  ashamed  of  the  tears  he  could  not  controL  Al- 
most immediately  rising,  he  said, "  Be  tranquil,  my  dear 
Susanne;  I  will  go,  and " 

** Do,  Claude,"  said  she — "do;  and  do  not  let  them 
persuade  you  that  I  am  deceived.  I  know  not  what 
passed  before  or  after :  I  cannot  recollect — I  cannot — 

my  head  is — is "      The  last  words  were  uttered 

through  her  closed  teeth,  as  if  her  jaw  was  paralyzed. 
She  sunk  back  on  the  pillows — her  eyes  closed,  and  she 
lay  in  the  same  motionless  stupor  in  which  he  had  seen 
her  before. 

The  Count  quitted  the  room  with  a  slow  step  and  sor- 
rowful air.  Harassed  and  bewildered,  he  hardly  knew 
what  to  think.  His  mind  filled  with  a  wild  chaos  of 
contradictory  ideas,  the  only  thing  that  appeared  clear 
to  him  was,  that  he  was  most  unhappy.  As  he  traversed 
the  long  corridor  to  the  suite  of  apartments  occupied  by 
his  mother,  the  earnest  and  imploring  look  of  his  wife 
seemed  to  pursue  him,  and  her  words  still  to  ring  in  his 
ears, "  Seek  for  my  child — for  your  child,  Claude,  or  they 
will  destroy  it ! " 

He  found  the  Mar^chale  in  her  dressing-room,  not  yet 
recovered  from  the  fatigue  and  anxiety  she  had  under- 
gone the  preceding  day.  Hcc  eye  was  still  glazed  and 
heavy,  and  she  appeared  to  wake  from  a  doze  as  the 
Count  entered  the  room. 

''Mother!"  said  he,  **  Susanne  declares  she  is  the 
mother  of  a  child  !" 

The  aged  lady,  herself  grossly  deceived,  entertained 
the  common  notion,  that  her  daughter-in-law's 
brain  was  turned ;  and  from  this  period  the  Countess 
was  treated  as  one  harmlessly  but  hopelessly  in- 
sane. The  husband  became  estranged  from  his 
wife.  His  sister,  and  the  rest  of  her  family,  took 
their  departure,  and  he  made  frequent  and  long 
visits  to  Paris,  where  he  fell  completely  under  the 
influence  of  the  Marchioness.  When  at  home  he 
was  engaged  in  the  aiFairs  of  his  government,  or 
the  chase ;  so  that  his  young,  melancholy,  and 
neglected  Countess  was  left  to  nearly  unbroken 
solitude ;  to  wander  in  the  woods  of  the  domain,  or 
solace  herself  with  the  society  of  the  kind-hearted 
old  domestic  chaplain.  Nearly  three  years  had 
passed  on  in  this  sad  way,  when  Pierre,  the  maiire 
d' hotel  of  the  Count,  brought  a  lovely  boy  to  the 
chateau,  whom  he  called  his  nephew.  The  Countess 
became  strongly  attached  to  the  fine  and  engaging 
child,  who,  in  his  turn,  became  very  fond  of  her. 
Little  Bernard  was  gradually  installed  a  member 
of  her  family,  and  the  Countess  began  to  recover 
hcv  spirits  and  health.     The  boy  was  her  own 


47S 


SUMMER  READING. 


child — she  knew  it,  she  felt  it  by  a  mother  b  in- 
stinct ;  and  Pierre,  moved  by  remorse,  pity,  and 
gratitude,  at  last  owned  the  truth.  It  was  he  that 
had  carried  off  the  newly-born  infant,  at  the  mo- 
ment of  its  birth.  It  was  the  feet  of  his  horse 
which  the  watching  father  had  heard  in  the  avenue ; 
but  now,  as  she  valued  the  life  of  her  precious  boy, 
the  Countess  was  warned,  by  the  repentant  agent 
of  the  Marchioness,  to  conceal  the  fact,  even  from 
her  husband,  and  to  treat  the  child  as  the  nephew 
of  Pierre,  until  the  truth  could  be  made  known, 
with  safety,  to  dl  concerned. 

One  day  that  the  child's  life  was  endangered  by 
his  falling  into  the  water,  while  walking  with  the 
Count  and  Countess,  the  frantic  mother,  plunging 
into  the  stream  after  him,  proclaimed  her  secret. 
The  Count  was  shocked  at  thb  imagined  sudden 
bunt  of  insanity,  but  he  rescued  them  both.  The 
extraordinary  attachment  which  the  Countess 
showed  to  the  young  peasant  began  to  be  com- 


mented on  in  the  household  ;  and  some  of  tlie  sei^ 
vants  protested  that  he  was  the  very  image  of  the 
Count,  while  others  thought  he  resembled  the  lady. 
Strange  rumours  spread  over  the  country  ;  and  tha 
Marchioness  arriv€4  from  Paris ;  when  it  was  judged 
prudent  by  Pierre  and  his  lady  that  little  Bernard 
should  be  sent  away.  But  it  would  be  impossible 
to  do  any  justice  to  the  curious  chain  of  facts  by 
which  the  truth  is  finally  evolved,  in  spite  of  the 
constant  intrigues,  machinations,  and  crimct  of  the 
woman  who,  once  plunged  into  guilt,  is  compelled 
to  go  deeper  and  deeper.  The  gracious  superin- 
tendence of  a  special  Providence  was  never  more 
manifest  than  in  the  facts  of  this  case.  We 
warmly  recommend  the  Talbofthb  Maschiombb, 
as  one  worked  up  with  great  talent,  and  rendered 
exceedingly  impressive.  It  indeed  required  bo 
adventitious  aid  to  deepen  its  interest.  The  autho^ 
ess  has  inwoven  that  indispensable  ingredieiii  in  ill 
novels^  a  love  story,  into  her  romance  of  real  lift. 


THE  HERBERTS. 


This  Is  a  sensible,  or  common-sensical,  and  soberly 
satirical,  didactic  novel,  in  which  the  prevailing  foibles, 
and  the  most  easily  besetting  sins  of  the  different  classes 
•f  English  soeiety,  are,  in  the  course  of  an  agreeable, 
easily-flowing  story,  exposed  and  taeitly  rebuked.  The 
hero,  William  Herbert,  is  indeed  somewhat  of  a  David 
Simple  ;  almost  a  ninuy  in  his  primitiye  honesty,  and  pro- 
found ignorance  of  the  world  ;  but  how  else  could  the 
author  have  brought  out  the  heartlessness  of  the  great, 
the  pride  and  sensuality  of  bishops,  the  treaehery  and 
neanness  of  attorneys  and  tradesmen ;  and  the  pitifhl 
ambitions  of  the  aspiring  devotees  of  fashion  among  the 
middle  ranks.  As  a  characteristic  specimen  of  the  novel, 
we  choose  the  great  establishment  of  WeUin^ton  Hou$e, 
where  Herbert,  after  having  in  vain  sought  the  patronage 
of  the  aristocratic  friends  of  his  late  father,  and  failed 
in  obtaining  that  of  the  publishers,  in  the  despair  of 
utter  destitution  applies  for  employment  as  a  draper^s 
assistant  in  eonsequence  of  an  advertisement : — 

William  directed  his  course  towards  Tke  Wellington 
H<mu  establishment,  but  as  he  approached  it  he  was 
considerably  mortified  to  find  the  house,  which  altoge- 
ther was  a  very  brilliant  affair,  ticketed  from  cellar  to 
attic  with  the  words,  **  Selling  Off,"  in  letters  of  colossal 

magnitude The  shop  was  a  very  large 

one  indeed,  although  rather  plain  compared  with  the  as- 
semblage of  magnificent  colours  in  the  window.  The 
shop,  indeed,  consisted  of  the  whole  ground  floor  of  the 
house,  the  ftont  being  looked  into  from  the  street,  and 
Ihe  back  consisting  of  a  range  of  windows  of  ground 
glass,  to  let  in  a  little  muddy  light  from  the  couple  of 
square  yards  behind  the  house,  which  were  dignified  by 
the  name  of  "The  Court."  The  walls  of  this  large 
room  were  of  course  divided  into  niches,  stuffed  full  of 
all  imaginable  productions  of  the  loom  ;  following  the 
sinuosities  of  which  were  a  range  of  mahogany  counters, 
and  between  the  two  a  regiment  of  obliging,  but  conse- 
quential-looking young  gentlemen,  rather  under  the 
middle-size,  dressed  in  clothes  of  a  very  fashionable  cut, 

with  remarkably  white  shirts wristbands  and  collars 

♦o  hide  all  conclusions,  and  every  one  adorned  with  a 
head  of  elaborate  curls,  which  even  the  perpetual  bowing 
did  no  more  discompose  than  it  would  those  other  polite 
gentlemen — the  Mandarins  in  grocers*  windows.  The 
fronts  of  the  counters  were  lined  with  cane-bottomed 
chairs,  every  one  of  which  contained  a  lady  when  Wil- 
liam entered  ;  and  for  one  moment  he  was  at  a  loss  to 
whMi  to  address  himself,  since  it  i4>peared  that  every 


I  individual  young  gentleman  had  attached  hioMelf  to  n 

I  individual  lady,  with  a  devotion  that  rendered  him,  as  tt 

I  were,  insensible  to  the  existence  of  all  others  ;  so  that  if 

I  William  had  been  very  fkncifril  instead  of  very  hungry 

that  morning,  he  might  have  thought  of  the  ttee  when 

every  knight  was  bound  to  perform  such  strange  ftets  ts 

show  his  allegiance  to  his  lady-love,  as  we  read  of  is 

those  truest  historians — the  poets  and  romancers. 

But  neither  Spenser  nor  Ariosto  occurred  to  Wllliim 
in  the  draper's  shop  ;  and  the  hesitation  as  to  whom  ht 
should  address,  which  1  mentioned  above,  did  not  Isft 
many  moments ;  for  a  young  gentleman,  eut  out  after 
the  same  pattern  as  those  he  had  already  seen,  spru^ 
from  some  invisible  door,  advanced,  with  a  smiling  oosi- 
tenanoe,  behind  the  row  of  young  gentlemen  already  en- 
gaged, until  he  faced  Mr.  Herbert,  when  he  insinuated 
himself  between  two  of  his  fellows,  looked  earnestly  st 
William  to  attract  his  attention,  and  as  he  drew  nigh  ts 
the  counter,  spread  open  the  fore-finger  and  thumb  of 
both  hands,  put  the  tip  of  each  perpendicularly  on  Ibi 
counter,  laid  the  weight  of  his  whole  body  on  then,  besl 
kindly  and  confidentially  towards  him,  and  looking  veiy 
serious,  said,  in  the  low,  gentle  tones  of  the  tmeslsfiM- 
tion — 

**  Good  morning  to  you.  Sir— a  very  fine  moning,  Sir. 
What  shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  showing  jon,Sir  T 

<*  1  wish  to  see  Mr.  Wiggins,  if  you  please,"  WillisB 
replied. 

**  Thank  you.  Sir ;  oh,  yes,  to  be  sure,  immediatsly,'* 
the  young  gentleman  replied.  **  May  I  ask  you,  Six,  if 
you  wish  to  see  him  on  business  1" 

**  Yes,  on  business,"  William  replied,  rather  at  s  kn 
to  know  why  one  man  should  vrish  to  see  anothtf  ,  vakm 
he  had  some  kind  of  business  with  him. 

**  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  said  the  young  geatlsitis* 
"  Mr.  Wiggins  is — rather— that  is — ^he  is  engaged  ab«st 
this  time.  1  should  be  happy  to  show  you  anything  b7' 
self,  Sir;  and  1  flatter  myself  you  could  do  business  vitk 
me  to  advantage  ;  or,  if  your  business  be  private,  Sit,  I 
should  be  happy  to  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Scorum,  Mr. 
Wiggins*s  principal  secretary,  what  is  his  confldentiil-' 
quite." 

William  was  not  aware  thai  great  mea  ia  tnds  i> 
these  latter  days,  however  sharply  they  may  look  sftv 
their  profits,  sometimes  dislike  to  soil  their  hands  «iA 
the  dirty  details  of  business,  so  that  he  did  not  ksfw 
that  there  could  beany  impropriety  in  wishing  toseetfal 
master.  This  he  was  the  more  anxious  to  do,  as  it  wsitb* 
name  Wiggins,  snd  not  the  name  Soonun,  whidi  was  is 
the  list  ot  the  chariUble  ;  and  William  knew  Just  iti- 
cient  cT  the  world  to  be  aware,  that,  though  a  mstftf 
might  be  a  very  liberal  aad  exeeUent  auMp  il  dU  ■** 


TBB  HERBERTS. 


#79 


MWw  tbfti  bis  semnts  mntt  possess  the  bvo»  character. 
He,  therefore,  persisted  in  hia  request;  and  at  length  the 
JwiBg  gentleman  led  the  way  through' the  shop,  and  up 
a  circular  flight  of  stairs,  at  the  top  of  which  he  opened  a 
Hoor,  and  led  William  into  a  magnificent  room,  where 
ami  Mr.  Cornelias  Wiggins,  the  great  linen-draper.  This 
woom  excelled  in  grandeur  of  proportion,  and  splendour 

of  fitting  up,  all  tlutt  William  had  ever  seen 

Ill  the  drawing-room  of  Wellington  House,  there  was 
ererything  that  money  could  purchase,  and  everything 
^pas  in  good  condition,  bnt  everything  seemed  quite  new. 
The  paper  on  the  walls  was  a  delicate  mixture  of  pink 
and  silver,  seemingly  upheld  by  a  cornice  of  heavy  gold 
work,  all  of  which  looked  infinitely  finer  than  the  old 
tapestry  of  The  Hall,  [Herbert's  ancestral  home.]  The 
floor  was  covered  with  a  Turkey  carpet,  containing  only 
one  flower  or  pattern,  exactly  the  size  of  the  room.  There 
were  two  fireplaces,  each  with  its  polished  grate  deco- 
rated with  designs  in  bronze  from  the  antique,  and  sur- 
rounded  by  a  colossal  structure  of  white  marble,  em- 
hodjing  the  fronts  of  two  of  the  most  celebrated  porticoes 
of  ancient  Greece.  A  dozen  of  tables,  of  different  shapes 
and  materials,  were  placed  in  various  parte  of  the  room, 
aboot  which  were  a  profusion  of  couches,  ottomans,  and 
sofasy  adorned  with  crimson  and  purple  velvet,  embel* 
liabed  with  designs  elaborately  executed  with  the  needle, 
aod  innnmerable  chairs,  of  snoh  variety  of  form,  that  they 
8«emed  like  samples  of  the  distorted  fancies  of  a  hundred 
iBdividnals  who  had  much  more  money  than  taste ;  some 
of  them  round-backed,  some  square,  some  oval,  some 
GothtCy  some  Norman,  some  of  no  definable  shape  ;  some 
high-backed,  some  low,  some  upright,  some  slanting,  and 
foine  moveable  at  pleasure  into  every  kind  of  angle ; 
aome  were  of  mahogany,  some  of  rosewood,  some  of  ivory ; 
and  the  sitting  parte,  of  every  variety  of  form,  were  as 
fay  as  the  rest,  with  all  that  could  be  done  with  satin, 
cotton,  cane,  wood,  wool,  and  velvet.  Three  or  four 
first-rate  historical  paintings,  a  couple  of  magnificent 
pier-glasses,  and  three  seto  of  gigantic  hands  in  or-moln, 
grasping  the  window-curtains,  which  were  of  rose-col- 
oured silk,  completed  the  furniture  of  the  room,  which 
seemed  worthy  the  occupation  of  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies, 
or  that  which  suggeste  all  the  most  beautifhl  ideas  which 
cater  fche  mind  of  man — ^a  fair  and  accomplished  woman. 

Bat  there  was  very  little  of  the  fairy-Uke  about  Mr. 
Wiggins ;  and,  indeed,  William  was  somewhat  disap- 
pointed at  the  first  sight  of  that  gentleman,  since,  in 
q^^culation  on  his  benevolent  character,  he  had  conjured 
up  a  thousand  pictures  of  tall  men,  with  grey  hair  and 
beneficent  smiles,  not  one  of  which  agreed  entirely  with 
ihe  realitv  before  him.  Mr.  Wiggins  was  a  rather  short 
Bian*  with  a  pale  face,  and  long  black  hair,  brushed 
smooth  over  his  forehead,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  well- 
bmshed  black,  with  white  cravat,  and  high  shirt  collar. 
But  if  William  felt  that  his  anticipations  of  the  person 
of  a  benevolent  man  were  not  borne  out  by  present  ex- 
pentnee,  he  was  as  mnch  surprised  at  Mr.  Wiggins's 
personal  appearance  and  apparent  habite,  contrasted 
with  the  splendour  of  the  room ;  for  that  gentleman 
was  sitting  at  one  of  the  tables,  on  which  stood  a  pewter 
pot  of  porter,  an  upright  tobacco-box  with  a  blackamoor*s 
liea4oD  the  top,  with  a  clay-pipe  at  its  side,  while  a  very 
forcible  reminiscence  of  tobacco  pervaded  the  room.  But 
aU  this  rather  pleased  William  than  otherwise,  since  it 
proved  to  him  that  the  benevolent  man,  although  the 
owner  of  the  great  riches  about  him,  was  one  contented 
with  the  humble  pleasures  of  inferior  men. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  last  two  pages  of 
dea^ption  were  acquired  by  William  as  slowly  as  they 
hare  been  written  or  read  ;  for  everything  here  set 
down  he  discovered  at  a  single  glance  round  the  room, 
as  he  walked  fh>m  the  door  to  the  table  at  which  Mr. 
Wiggins  was  seated. 

**  I  have  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Mr.  Wiggins,  I 
presume  T'  William  inquired. 

**  That's  my  name,**  replied  Mr.  Wiggins. 

^  I  believe,  Sir,  this  is  your  advertisement,"  said  Wil- 
ttam,  displaying  the  advertisement  of  Wellington  House, 
whidi  had  created  such  hopes  in  his  mind. 

^XlMlJitlMadwtifsmtntofthis  fixm*"  replied  Ifok 


Wiggins  ;  ^  but  i  never  attend  to  the  retail  trade  myself. 
I  will  ring  for  Mr.  Scomm,  my  secretary^  who  will  be 
happy  to  receive  your  commands.'' 

**  Pardon  me,'^  William  replied,  "  pardon  me.  Sir ; 
but  my  business  is  with  you.  I  am  no  stranger  to  the 
benevolence  of  your  character ;  and  1  would  rather  ap- 
peal to  you  than  to  your  secretary." 

"  1 — I  understand — a — "  said  Mr.  Wiggins,  with  con* 
siderable  hesitation  ;  *'  benevolent— if  you  come  with  a 
case  of  distress — a — I  am  sorry,  but  really.  Sir,  so  many 
calls — a " 

**  You  entirely  misconceive  my  object,"  interrupted 
William  ;  ^  I  come  to  yon  on  my  own  account  only  ;  and 
I  should  not  doubt  my  success  with  a  gentleman  of  your 
liberality,  if  I  had  not  had  the  pain  of  discovering  that 
you  are  selling  off"." 

**  Selling  off' !"  cried  Mr.  Wiggins,  in  a  tone  of  aston- 
ishment,  not  unmixed  with  anger,  and  rising  suddenly 
from  the  sofa,  as  he  spoke  :  "  I  don't  understand  you. 
Sir!    What  do  you  mean  I" 

Mr.  Wiggins  was  always  selling  off.  To  cut  short 
the  story,  William,  though  his  academical  acquirement! 
were  of  no  use  at  Waterloo  House,  was  engaged ;  his 
certificate  from  the  vicar  of  his  parish  being  ^  quite 
satisfactory  to  the  firm."  William,  though  a  sad  dunes 
behind  the  counter,  was  of  some  use  at  the  desk  ;  but 
especially  when  a  customer  dropped  in  who  spoke 
French  or  Italian,  as  native  gentlemen  speak  those  Ian* 
guages.  He  was  consequently  an  acquisition  to  the  firm 
in  this  particular. 

Persons  who  are  but  little  acquainted  with  the  details 
of  trade  may  be  surprised  at  the  confidence  Mr.  Wiggins 
placed  in  William  Herbert,  in  taking  him  into  his  house 
on  such  slight  recommendation.  But  the  fact  was,  as 
William  saw  in  a  few  seconds  after  sitting  down  at  his 
desk,  that  it  was  nearly  impossible  for  any  one  to  be  dis- 
honest, in  consequence  of  the  very  nice  arrangement  of 
the  shop  proceedings  ;  for  not  only  had  every  shopman 
a  premium  offered  for  the  detection  of  a  delinquent — so 
that  the  whole  establishment  was  a  set  of  spies  one  on 
the  other — but  the  shopmeu,  instead  of  receiving  money 
and  putting  it  in  a  till,  were  compelled  to  make  out  a 
bill  for  every  purchase,  and  carry  the  bill  and  money  to 
a  row  of  clerks  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the  shop,  on  an 
elevated  bench,  which  gave  them  an  uninterrupted  view 
of  everything  passing  in  the  busy  scene  below.  The 
money  was  taken,  and  passed  on  to  another  clerk,  who 
entered  it  in  a  ledger  ;  the  bill  was  filed,  and  a  copy  of 
it,  made  by  a  junior  clerk,  and  receipted  by  Mr.  Scorum, 
was  handed  to  the  shopman  for  the  customer.  During 
every  moment  of  the  day  this  was  going  on,  so  that  there 
was  actually  no  time  for  dishonesty,  to  say  nothing  of 
its  impossibility  on  other  grounds 

It  happened  that  the  foreigner  was  a  Frenchman  an4 
a  gentleman,  and  discerning  that  William  also  behaved 
in  a  manner  somewhat  above  that  of  his  supposed  class, 
the  gentleman  was  very  glad  to  converse  vrith  hinu 
But  if  he  was  glad,  Mr.  Scorum  was  more  so :  for  it 
seemed  to  him  astonishing  how  any  people  could  make 
such  a  stupid  noise  as  they  made,  and  yet  understand 
each  other  as  well  as  if  they  spoke  good  English.  He 
could  not  help  wishing  to  make  Mr.  Wiggins  a  witness 
of  this  strange  phenomenon,  and,  vrith  his  very  best 
bow,  he  accosted  the  Frenchman,  and  asked  him  to  do 
him  the  extreme  pleasure  of  walking  into  the  drawing- 
rooDL  Monsieur  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart  in  return  ibr 
Mr.  Scomm's  smile,  bowed  in  return  for  his  bow,  and 
made  him  a  speech  in  good  French,  unintelligible  to  See* 
rum,  in  return  for  his  unintelligible  English,  when  Wil- 
liam repeated  the  invitation  in  the  foreigner's  language, 
and  they  walked  up  stairs. 

Mr.  Wiggins  also  was  pleased  vrith  William's  great 
skill  in  languages,  by  which  he  gave  such  evident  plea- 
sure to  a  stylish  customer,  who,  periiaps,  bought  more  on 
William's  account  than  he  would  otherwise  have  dons, 
and  whose  order  must  have  been  certainly  lost,  if  he  had 
not  been  understood. 


480 


SUMxMER  READING. 


When  the  stranger  left,  William,  on  veij  good  terms 
with  Mr.  Wiggins,  went  again  to  his  desk  with  Mr. 
Scorum,  who  immediately  ordered  20,000  copies  to  be 
printed  of  the  following  notice,  some  of  which  were 
stack  up  in  the  window  before  night : — 

^  Messrs.  Wiggins  and  €k>.,  bog  to  inform  their  fHends 
from  the  Continent,  and  others  who  do  not  understand 
the  English  language,  that  they  will  find  no  difficulty  at 
their  establishment,  Wellington  House,  980,  Oxford 
Street,  since  Messrs.  W.  &  Co.  have  engaged  first-rate 
persons  to  conduct  their  continental  business. 

^  Messrs.  W.  &  Co.,  would  suggest  the  favour  of  an 
early  call  at  their  establishment  as  aboye,  since  they 
offer  the  most  extensive  stock  in  Europe,  at  such  a  tre- 
mendous sacrifice,  as  will  make  it  worth  the  purchaser's 
notice. 

**  N.B. — French,  Mathematia,  a  nd  Italian^  are  fpohen 
by  Meisn,  W,  ^  Co." 

When  Mr.  Scorum  removed  the  candle,  as  was  his 
nightly  custom,  and  descended,  the  young  men  had  a  free 
chat  in  the  dark,  Mr.  Simpson,  a  man  of  note  among 
them,  commencing — 

^  I  say,  Mr.  Wizzle,  did  you  see  that  there  young 
female  in  purple  poplin,  red  beads,  and  green  silk  bonnet 
with  Frenoh-white  lining,  at  the  grodynap  counter !" 

*<  I  think  I  did,"  Mr.  Wizzle  replied,  from  the  next 
bed. 

^  An  uncommon  fine  girl  —  the  Honourable  Miss 
Thingamy — I  forget  her  name.  Oh,  what  eyes  I — and 
you  should  have  seen  the  look  she  gave  me  !  I  do  think 
that  she — I'll  bet  anybody  sixpence  that  she'll  come 
again  to-morrow." 

^  There  was  a  very  handsome  young  lady  at  my  coun- 
ter, quite  top-up,  as  looked  very  hard  at  me,"  said  another 
young  gentleman. 

^  So  there  was  at  mine,"  another  replied. 

**  And  at  mine  too,"  said  a  third. 

•*  There's  nothing  very  curious  about  that  there,"  said 
the  fourth  and  last,  who  had  not  yet  spoken  ;  *<  there's 
not  a  day  as  passes  but  what  I  gets  a  vricked  look  from 
some  first-rate  or  other." 

'^  Oh,  Higgins,"  replied  Simpson,  in  a  tone  of  gentle 
reproach — **  Higgins,  my  dear  fellow,  there's  no  better 
fellow  than  you  in  all  the  West  End ;  but  why  don't  you 
pay  more  attention  to  your  language,  as  I  have  so  many 
times  told  you  ?" 

**  Now,  don't  be  offended,  Higgins,  my  dear  fellow," 
said  Mr.  Simpson,  very  blandly ;  "  what  I  say  is  for  your 
own  good,  and  I  know  it's  not  your  fault  as  you  don't 
talk  so  fa^ionable  as  us.  The  fact  is  this  here : — you've 
been  a-spending  all  your  days  in  the  city,  and  got  hold 
of  their  uncorrect  talking ;  but  I'm  sure  you'll  rub  it  off, 
if  you'll  only  listen  to  us,  and  I  shall  be  very  happy  to 
correct  you  a«  often  as  you  make  a  fawx  pass.  You 
see,  Mr.  Herbert,  we  know  a  little  Greek  here,  without 
going  to  the  university.  But,  gents,  about  this  here  gal, 
the  Honourable  Miss — Miss  What's-her-name ! — 111  be 
hanged  if  I  know  what  to  make  of  it !  She  wouldn't 
have  looked  as  she  did  for  nothing — and,  my  eye,  such  a 
fortune  !  Who  knows,  Mr.  Nobbles,  whether  a  young 
fellow  may  not  have  a  chance  !" 

Passing  over  the  Sunday  morning  toilet  of  the  young 
gentlemen,  and  the  service  at  the  dissenting  chapel  which 
the  pious  Mr.  Wiggins  attended  and  in  which  he  officiated, 
and  also  the  evening  amusements  of  the  young  gentle- 
men of  the  Establishment  in  their  stroll,  which  savour  a 
good  deal  of  Tittlebat  Titmouse,  we  come  to  business. 
William  puts  this  natural  query  to  the  principal  person 
among  his  companions : — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Simpson ;  but  I  wish  you 
wonld  explain  one  thing  that  has  a  good  deal  pus^Ied  me. 
You  speak  confidently  of  remaining  here  six  months, 
while  the  house  is  covered  with  bills  stating  that  our 
employers  are  selling  off.    I  do  not  comprehend  it." 

At  this  remark  all  the  young  gentlemen  united  in  a 
quiet  laugh,  and  Mr.  Simpson  said— 


^  Why,  yon  don't  suppose  as  they're  a  going  to  shut 
up  a  concern  like  this  here,  do  you  V 

^  I  certainly  feared  that  such  was  the  case,"  William 
replied. 

^  Well,"  said  Simpson,  "  I  didn't  think  any  joong 
man  in  the  world  was  so  little  down  to  the  move,  as  th^ 
there.  Why,  we  only  put  up  the  '  selling  off'  go,  to 
make  people  believe  as  they'll  buy  bargains." 

'*  Indeed  ! "  said  William,  in  amazement ;  '^  and  do 
you  consider  that  honest  1" 

'^  To  be  sure,  I  do.  Why,  there's  hundreds  of  houses 
that  does  it.  But  who's  to  shut  an  establishment  op  like 
this  here  1" 

**  Why,  the  master,  Mr.  Wiggins,  I  should  suppose." 

*<  Stuff!— that's  all  gammon.  Why,  Wiggins  oonld 
no  more  close  the  concern  than  Scorum  could.  Why  he 
and  Scorum  are  only  put  in  by  other  parties  to  sell  off 
what  they  send  in.  Perhaps  Wiggins  is  a  partner,  too, 
and  Scorum  isn't— but  that's  all  the  difference  ;  and 
Scorum  is  as  much  a  spy  over  Wiggins  as  Wiggins  is 
over  him  ;  and  though  Wiggins  is  master,  he  can't  tun 
Scorum  out.    Don't  you  see  the  dodge." 

^  1  don't  exactly  understand,"  William  replied. 

"  Well,  then,  look  here.  Wiggins  is  a  very  pioos  man, 
and  he  knows  a  precious  lot  of  pious  men  and  parsons, 
in  town  and  country,  too ;  in  fkct,the  parsons  know  one 
another,  all  through  the  country.  Now  this  here  first- 
rate  concern  belongs  to  a  lot  of  these  here  pious  men ; 
and  a  precious  lot  of  them  there  is.  Well,  they  puts 
in  so  much  a-piece,  and  starts  it,  and  puts  in  Wiggins 
as  manager ;  but  puts  in  Scorum,  too,  to  see  all  &ir 
play ;  and  they've  got  him  in  such  a  way  that  be  and 
Wiggins  can  never  put  their  heads  together  to  do  the 
rest  of  the  firm.  Now,  you  see,  as  these  here  pious  people 
knows  each  other  throughout  the  country,  whenever  one 
of  'em  is  down  in  his  luck,  and  want's  to  make  a  move 
to  America,  or  somewhere,  all  he's  got  to  do  is  to  t^  his 
parson  he  wants  to  sell  his  stock,  and  he  writes  np  to 
town,  and  one  of  the  firm  goes  down,  and  if  it's  a  stock 
that'll  sell,  he  gives  a  sum  quietly  for  the  lot,  and  sends 
it  up  at  onoe — and  the  pious  man  cuts  off.  And  besides 
that,  he  deals  sometimes  with  nobs,  as  witness  the  draw- 
ing-room. I'll  he  hang'd,  if  the  house  ha'n't  been  famish- 
ed throughout  three  or  four  times,  the  last  two  yean,  m 
the  way  of  trade.  There's  no  end  to  the  business  we're 
done  of  that  kind,  and  'tis  a  business  that  pays,  let  me 
tell  you." 

"^  But,"  asked  William,  ^  how  does  the  creditor  get 
his  money  1 " 

"  Oh,  he's  done,  of  course." 

"  Well,"  said  William,  with  some  hesitetion,  «I  don't 
exactly  understand  this — there  seems  to  be  something 
very  dishonest  in  it ;  but  I  should  think  business  of  that 
kind  must  be  extremely  dangerous,  since  it  holds  out  a 
temptation  to  the  dishonest  debtor  to  stretch  his  oedit 
to  the  utmost,  when,  on  the  eve  of  bankruptcy  or  abscond- 
ing, he  knows  he  can  sell  his  stock  secretly  for  ready 
money." 

^  Oh  !  I  dare  say  that  game  is  kept  np  pretty  well," 
Simpson  replied  with  a  laugh. 

"  Not  with  Mr.  Wiggms's  knowledge,  surely ! "  replied 
William ;  for  transactions  of  this  kmd  cannot  be  oUled 
honest." 

"  Honest !  honest  I"  repeated  Mr.  Simpson,  donbtiog- 
ly,  as  though  he  were  beating  his  brains  to  miUce  out  tiie 
possible  meaning  of  a  Greek  word  which  he  had  jnst 
heard  for  the  first  time.  **  Honest !— well,  now,  I  don't 
know  about  that ;  we  don't  learn  about  that  kind  of 
thing,  you  know,  when  we  are  serving  our  time  ;  bat  I 
can  tell  you,  all  the  best  houses  do  a  good  deal  in  that 
way." 

^  But  you  don't  suppose  that  Mr.  Wiggins  would  en- 
gage in  such  business  I" 

**  Why,  I  should  think  'tis  the  very  thing  to  suit  him." 

**  What !  do  you  suppose  that  Mr.  Wiggins  is  not 
honest!" 

^  Oh,  no ;  I  mean  to  say  as  Mr.  Wiggins  is  a  highly 
respectable  man — very.  He  has  knocked  up  for  hiouKlf 
three  times — that  is,  compounded  with  his  ci^tors  twice 
—•and  passed  through  the  court  once^  and  made  lets  of 


THE  HERBERTS. 


481 


money.  Nobody  knows  what  be*s  worth.  You  see,  be-  { 
ing  such  a  religious  man,  he  got  capital  credit,  and  when 
he  was  in  pretty  deep,  he  smashed.  But  the  worst  of 
thai  trick  is,  it  won't  last.  The  trade  get  down  to  it, 
and  won't  stand  tick  any  more  ;  so  that  he  embarks  in 
this  here  concern,  with  other  parties,  and  does  a  profit- 
able business  besides,  in  discounting  bills  in  the  connexion 
Uiat  he  belongs  to.'' 

**  I  can't  believe,"  William  replied,  '*  that  a  man  of 
Mr.  Wiggins's  strict  principles  could  be  guilty  of  what 
you  say." 

"  Guilty  ! — that  be  hanged,"  cried  Simpson ;  "  every- 
body does  it ;  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  it  isn't  a  good  move. 
Bat  I  say,  we  must  get  into  bed,  or  we  sha'n't  be  up  by 
five." 

Herbert  was  so  very  unsuccessful  in  coaxing  ladies 
and  their  maids  to  make  purchases,  when  sent  out  to 
show  goods,  that  he  must  at  once  have  been  dismissed 
ftom  Wellington  House,  save  for  his  knowledge  of  lan- 
guages. In  consequence  of  the  dismissal  of  one  of  the 
young  men,  William  is  placed  at  a  counter,  and — 

The  day  passed  away  pleasantly  enough,  as  he  fbund 
sufficient  work  to  keep  himself  constantly  employed :  but 
one  or  two  things  in  this  first  day  of  counter-business 
puzzled  him  a  good  deal ;  the  first  of  which  was,  that, 
after  selling  a  variety  of  articles  to  a  lady  who  had  a 
servant  with  her,  and  laying  them  on  the  counter  in 
readiness  to  make  into  a  parcel  when  the  order  was 
finished,  they  were  made  up  by  another  shopman,  who 
rapidly  substituted  other  articles  of  similar  appearance 
to  those  which  he  had  sold.  The  other  thing  which 
pozxled  him  was,  that,  after  he  had  served  a  li^y,  who 
had  no  servant,  vrith  some  goods  which  she  said  she 
would  herself  carry  home,  another  shopman  came  up 
and  requested  to  be  allowed  to  send  them.  This  the 
lady  would  not  permit,  as  she  said  she  could  take  them 
with  the  greatest  convenience;  but  as  the  shopman 
wmxed  more  pressing  as  the  lady  appeared  more  deter- 
mined not  to  trouble  them,  and  at  length  went  so  far  as 
to  assure  her  that  it  was  a  rule  of  the  establishment 
never  to  allow  a  lady  to  be  burthened  with  goods  pur- 
chased there,  she  at  length  consented,  and  expressing 
her  thanks  for  their  politeness,  went  away,  followed  by 
a  shopman  bearing  the  parcel.  Now,  during  this  little 
altercation,  William  had  observed  a  young  man  at  an- 
other counter  making  up  a  packet  composed  of  articles 
seemingly  the  counterpart  of  those  the  lady  had  bought, 
which  immediately  after  she  had  departed  a  young  man 
took  up  and  carried  into  the  street.  After  a  few  minutes, 
the  latter  young  gentleman  returned,  bearing  a  parcel 
which  he  laid  before  William,  and  which,  when  he  opened 
it,  he  found  to  be  the  very  parcel  he  had  sent  out.  In 
obedience  to  his  instructions,  he  put  the  articles  on  the 
shelres  whence  he  had  taken  them ;  but  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day  was  puzzled  to  comprehend  the  mean- 
ing of  this  transaction. 

When  William  expressed  his  astonishment  at  these 
things,  he  only  got  laughed  at — ^in  an  under-tone,  how- 
erer ;  for  laughing,  among  other  ill  practices,  was  not 
allowed  at  the  WelUngton  House. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Herbert,"  inquired  Simpson,  **  didn't  Sco- 
nun  instruct  you  in  the  counter-business  ?" 

'^  The  counter-business  I  why,  now  yon  mention  it,  I 
remember  that  he  said  something  about  it.  He  told  me 
the  young  gentlemen  would  instruct  me  in  it." 

**  Well,  you  know,  in  course,  that  all  our  ticketed 
prices  are  gammon  I" 

'^  What,  do  you  mean  that  they  are  fictitious !  I  was 
not  aware  of  it." 

**  Well,  you  know  it  now.  Of  course  we  can't  sell  by 
those  prices,  as  we  always  mark  those  goods  twenty  per 
cent,  under  prime  cost.  This,  you  see,  is  only  for  a  draw. 
People  sees  slap-up  articles  in  the  windows,  and  about 
the  shop,  marked  at  astonishing  low  figures,  and  they 
come  in  for  what  they  want,  expecting  everything  beside 
is  as  cheap.  But  if  the  person  fixed  her  mind  on  the 
ticketed  things,  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  persuade  them 


that  other  articles,  which  you  show  them,  are  of  better 
quality,  and  then  you'll  do  very  well.  But  if  the  cus- 
tomer is  an  obstinate  fool,  and  will  have  the  very  things 
with  the  tickets  on  them,  and  you  have  no  means  of  per- 
suading, or  no  other  things  just  handy,  you  will  do  up 
the  things  on  the  counter,  and  another  young  gent  will 
change  them  for  things  which  we  can  get  a  profit  out  of 
at  such  a  price.  Why,  didn't  you  see  Hickson  a-putting 
a  piece  of  black  silk  in  the  parcel  this  morning,  instead 
of  the  one  you  sold }" 

**  Is  this  all  true  ?"  William  asked,  in  amazement. 

^Truel"  cried  Simpson,  ^  to  be  sure  it  is.  It  is 
what  we  do  every  day — ^we  could  not  keep  our  places 
without  it." 

"  And  do  you  not  consider  it  very  dishonest  ?" 

**  Why  a— BIr.  Nobbles— what  do  you  say !  The  fact 
is  this,  Mr.  Herbert,  it's  all  honest  enough  in  the  way 
of  trade.  We  can't  afford  to  sell  a  shawl  for  a  pound 
that  cost  us  thirty  shillings,  and  therefore,  when  a  per- 
son takes  a  liking  to  one  with  that  mark,  we  are  obliged 
to  manage  so  as  not  to  lose  anything  by  it,  and  so  put 
in  a  fifteen  shilling  one  instead." 

^  I  did  not  suppose  such  villany  was  practised  in  the 
world,"  said  William. 

^  Villany  ! "  exclaimed  Simpson,  in  surprise ;  '^  I  as- 
sure you  the  young  gentlemen  in  this  establishment  are 
as  respectable  as  any  that  I  know;  and  Wiggins  and 
Scorum  are  really  as  good  fellows  as  we  generally  meet 
with  in  the  trade,  and  I  am  sure  would  not  cheat  any- 
body out  of  a  farthing,  unless  in  the  way  of  trade — which 
is  no  harm,  or  they  would  not  have  such  a  precious  lot 
of  prayers  said  over  us.  They're  a  little  shaip  with  their 
young  gents,  to  be  sure,  but  that's  their  only  fault.  But 
about  this  window  business,  we  don't  force  people  to 
come  into  the  shop ;  we  only  put  up  low  prices  to  per- 
suade 'em ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  we're  a 
going  to  sell  at  a  loss.  No,  we  sell  them  what  we  can 
get  a  profit  out  of,  like  any  other  concern  in  the  trade. 
All  houses  do  the  same  as  ours,  and  if  you  or  I  was  to 
take  a  concern  to-morrow,  we  should  do  the  same — for 
it's  the  only  way  of  carrying  on  business.  Besides, 
people  as  keeps  shops  must  sell  as  much  as  they  can  ; 
and  its  people's  ownfaults  if  they're  took  in~eh,  Nobbles  1 
Do  you  think  they'd  do  us  1 — not  they.  People  should 
learn  to  be  awake.  .  .  .  I'll  be  hanged  if  anybody 
'ud  ever  do — ^me — very — brown." 

William  finally  ruins  himself  by  selling  a  muff  to  a 
lady  at  the  price  at  which  it  was  ticketed  in  the  window. 
The  victim  of  old-fashioned  notions  of  honesty  and 
ignorance  of  trade  was  sharply  rebuked  for  his  misde- 
meanours by  Mr.  Wiggins — ^who,  however,  after  a  pause 
of  reflection,  waxed  milder.    He  said — 

In  a  very  religions  voice,  '*  But,  young  man,  I  will 
not  put  you  forth  at  this  late  hour  without  hope ;  for  we 
are  just  going  to  prayers,  and  you  may  stay  till  we  have 
done,  and  who  Imows  but  a  word  or  two  may  fkll  on 
your  heart,  and  bring  forth  fruit." 

William  said  that  he  doubted  whether  any  form  of 
prayer  could  make  him  a  rogue  ;  and  left  the  room  and 
the  house  without  a  single  **  God  speed  you"  from  any 
individual  in  the  Wellington  House. 

Wellington  Route  is,  no  doubt,  a  caricature,  but  it 
has  truth  for  its  basis.  We  do  not  consider  it  a  &vour* 
able  specimen  of  the  novel,  as  a  literary  work,  but  it  has 
a  useful  and  definite  moral. 


But  we  have  already,  under  the  foscinations  of  the  fle- 
tionists,  so  far  exceeded  our  limits,  that  we  are  forced 
till  next  month  to  postpone  Moriey  Emttein,  though  it 
is  named  in  our  list  of  the  new  novels  as  deserving  a  spe- 
cial and  lengthened  notice.  In  it,  the  accomplished  and 
fertile  author  has  come  out  in  a  new  character  as  an 
imaginative  writer,  and,  in  our  opmion,  increased  his 
reputation,  if  he  has  not  at  last  discovered  the  tme 
bent  of  his  genius.' 


48t 


VESTIARUM  SCOTICUM,  OR  THE  BOOK  OF  TARTANS. 


This  splendid  book  belongs  to  a  class  of  works 
inrhich  must,  from  their  cost,  be  of  rare  appearance 
^y  where,  and  which  are  rare  indeed  in  Scotland. 
It  is  a  book  for  the  rich  and  the  aristocratical ;  or 
for  what  are  called  "  historical  families."  It  be- 
longs as  much  to  the  decorative  arts  as  to  litera- 
ture; though  national  costume  certainly  falls  with- 
in the  province  of  the  literary  antiquary.  The 
author  or  editor  of  this  unique  publication  must  be 
"well  known  in  Scotland  and  the  North  of  Eng- 
land, especially  to  the  Roman  Catholic  and  the  old 
Jacobito  families,  or  those  who  once  were  Jaco- 
bites. The  phrase,  publication,  is,  however,  hardly 
applicable  to  a  work  of  which  there  were  only 
forty  copies  for  sale  ;  and  of  which  it  may  soon  be 
difficult  to  obtain  even  a  sight.  We  therefore 
■size  the  first  opportunity  to  (kscribe  to  our  clan- 
Ifllsh  readers  the  Book  of  Clans  and  Tartans, 

In  the  possession  of  Mr.  John  Sobieski  Stuart, 
tliere  is  an  old  MS.  black-letter  quarto,  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  containing  thirty-four  pages  of 
Vellum,  illuminated  with  small  plain  capitals,  such 
as  the  ordinary  initials  of  infeiior  missals.  In  this 
Volume,  the  tartans  of  each  of  the  great  feudal 
families  of  Scotland  are  minutely  described.  It 
was  at  one  time  in  the  possession  of  John  Lesley 
Bishop  of  RosB^  but  of  the  author,  save  that  he 
would  appear  to  have  been  a  Sir  Richard  Urquhart, 
r— and  even  that  is  indistinctly  intimated, — nothing 
whatever  is  known.  The  MS.  volume  was  deposit  • 
ed,  no  one  can  tell  when,  in  the  library  of  the 
Scots  College  at  Pouay,  along  with  many  other 
papers  belonging  to  the  Bishop.  When  Prince 
Charles  Edward  visited  that  seminary,  some  time 
between  1749  and  1754,  he,  according  to  Mr.  Stu- 
art, obtained  from  the  Fathers  this  singular  relic 
among  many  other  papers.  How  or  when  it  came 
into  his  own  possession,  or  of  its  history  since 
1754,  we  do  not  learn.  The  MS.  has  been  collated 
by  Mr.  Stuart,  with  the  transcript  of  another  copy 
stated  to  be  in  the  library  of  the  Monastery  of  St. 
Augustine  in  Cadiz,  which  bears  internal  evi- 
dence of  having  once  belonged  to  *'  ane  honerabil 
man,  Maister  James  Dunbare,  wMn  y^  burg  of  In- 
nernesee,"  and  which,  it  is  imagined,  may,  through 
the  hands  of  some  refugee  or  Irish  priest,  have 
passed  into  Spain.  Between  these  copies  there 
exist  merely  the  slight  differences  and  omissions 
which  arise  from  inaccuracy  in  copying,  or  clerical 
errors;  but  there  is  a  third  copy  very  much  vitiated 
and  mutilated,  that  is  also  in  the  possession  of  Mr. 
Stuart,  of  which  the  history  is  even  more  romantic 
than  that  of  the  other  copies ;  the  fathers  and  monks 
of  the  religious  houses  of  the  Continent  being  much 
inore  likely  to  prove  faithful  custodiers  of  rare 
MSS.  than  old  illiterate  Highlanders,  transferred 
from  the  mountains  to  city  lanes.  This  last  "was 
obtained  from  an  old  Highlander  named  John  Ross, 

*  "  VestUkrum  Scot! cum:  from  the  Manuscript  formerly  in 
tiie  Library  of  the  Scots  College  at  Douay.  With  an  Intro- 
4iietioaiaid  NatM,  bv  John  Sobieski  Stuart.  Imperial  quarto, 
splendidly  illuitrated.    Edinburgh :  Tait. 


one  of  the  last  of  the  sword-players,  who  may  yet 
be  remembei-ed  by  those  who  recollect  the  porfen 
of  Edinburgh  twenty  years  ago."  It  is  writteo 
negligently  and  inaccurately,  and  differs  in  sevenl 
particulars  from  the  MS.  of  the  Bishop  of  Ross. 

It  is  as  difficult  to  fix  the  date  as  the  authorship 
of  the  Vestiarium  ScoHcum,  though  it  is  presumed  by 
Mr.  Stuart  to  be  not  later  than  the  reign  of  Jamei 
III.  of  Scotland,  and,  consequently,  long  prior  to 
the  time  when  it  could  have  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  learned  and  loyal  John  Lesley,  the  adherent 
and  historian  of  Queen  Mary,  who  was  somewhat 
contemptuous  of  "  Hieland  vanities,"  and  of  **  conn 
pilin  ane  bulk  upon  the  stripb  and  colourls  ol  a 
common  garment,"  though  he  has  fortunately  pn- 
served  this  curious  volume.    It  contains  a  roll  of 
the  clans,  of  date  1571,  which  is  consequently  very 
long  subsequent  to  what  Mr.  Stuart  imagines  the 
date  of  the  original  document.    Having  given  this 
roll  which  must  be  of  interest  to  all  feudal  familieii 
and  to  all  who  boast  clan  blood,  Mr.  Stuart  pro- 
ceeds with  his  Introduction,  which,  together  with 
the  numerous  foot-notes,  fills  66  quarto  pages  with 
antiquarian  dissertation  upon  ''  the  tartan  f  which 
is  shown  to  be  <^  very  ancient  date,  and  which  in 
all  probability  is  nearly  as  old  as  the  art  of  weav« 
ing  cloth  of  different  colours,  the  chequer  or  cross- 
stripe  being  quite  as  easily  invented  as  the  simple 
stripe.    Indeed  no  sort  of  cloth  for  garments  ha^ 
been  more  generally  diffused  over  the  civilized 
globe  than  chequered  cloth  or  tartan,  (the  hrtacan 
of  the  Highlander,)  and  that  from  periods  of  the 
highest  antiquity  down  to  our  own  age.     **  From 
the  Highlanders  of  Scotland  to  the  mountaineers  of 
Burmah,  from  the  Calmucs  of  the  north  to  the  Bis- 
cayans  of  the  south,"  may  be  found  variegated  or 
parti-coloured  garments,  together  with  other  relics 
and  usages  of  a  common  family,  now  very  widely  dis^ 
persed*    The  antiquity  and  universality  of  tartan, 
or  of  chequered  or  parti-coloured  garments,  among 
different  nations,  is  abundantly  demonstrated ;  but 
until  the  eighth  century  no  mention  is,  we  are  told, 
made  of  it  in  oral  Gaelic  poetry,  or  by  manuscripts 
in  the  Gaelic  language,  though  the  omission  is  ns 
proof  of  its  non-existence.     Tartan  or  Br^aoam  is 
now,  however,  chiefly  of  interest  from  the  exclusivf 
appropriation  of  different  and  fixed  patterns  or  fsttf 
by  the  leading  clan  families  of  the  Highlands,  an4 
as  it  now  appears  from  the  Vestiarium  Scatieum, 
by  those  of  the  Lowlands  also,  who  were  of  any 
note  previous  to  the  16th  century.     Indeed  the 
leading  object  of  the  work  is  to  prove,  that  to  eadi 
of  these  families  a  particular  sett  or  pattern  was 
exclusively  appropriated,  by  which  every  man  of 
the  tribe  could  be  recognised  from  his  plaid,  as 
readily  as  from  his  surname  or  the  badge  or  ensiga 
of  his  clan.     Its  splendid  illustrations  are  embla- 
zonings  of  these  tartans  in  every  brilliant  rain- 
bow dye.    The  tartans  so  enamelled  are  in  as  grest 
variety  as  the  number  of  the  great  families,  of  whem 
each,  according  to  the  Vestiarium  Seatiewn^  had 
a  jpattem  of  their  own«    There  are  between  ierfSi^ 


VESTUMUM  SCOTICUM,  OB  THE  BOOK  OF  TARTANS. 


in 


and  €ightj  specimens;  forty-two  Highland,  and 
thirty-one  Lowland  and  Border  families  being  enu< 
merated  as  each  having  its  own  tartan.  These, 
taken  alphabetically,  are  of  Highlanders : — 

BaehanaD,  Cameron,  Campbell,  Chisbolm,  Clanranald, 
FarqnbarsoD,  Fraser,  Grant,  Gun,  Lamont,  MacArthur, 
ManDonald  of  tbe  isles,  MacDougall,  MacDuff,  Mac- 
Farlane,  MacGrigor,  Macintosh,  Maclntyre,  MacKay, 
MacKenzie,  MacKinnon,  MacLaucblan,  Mac  Lean,  Mac- 
Leod, MacNab,  MacNeill,  MacPherson,  MacQueen, 
Menzies,  Monro,  Robertson,  Ross,  Prince  of  Rothesay, 
The  Royal  Stuart,  Sutherland. 

The  Lowland  and  Border  Clans  who  had  tartans 
were,  the 

Armstrong,  Barelay,  Brodie,  Bmce,CoIqnhonn,Comyn, 
Cnnnhigbam,  Cranstomi,  Crawford,  I>ongla8,  Dmmmond, 
Danbar,  Dnndas,  Erskine,  Forbes,  Gordon,  Graham, 
Hamilton,  Hay,  Home,  Johnston,  Kerr,  Lauder,  Leslie, 
Lindsay,  Maxwell,  Montgomery,  Murray,  OgiWie,  Oli- 
phant,  Ramsay,  Rose,  Ruthven,  Scott,  Seton,  Sinclair, 
Urqohart,  Wiilace,  Wemyss. 

The  peculiar  tartan  of  each  of  those  families  is 
accurately  described  in  the  Vestiarivm^  otherwise 
^  ydeped  the  garderope  of  Scotlande,"  and  for  the 
foUowing  weighty  reasons  : — 

For  sameikle  as  in  thir  pres^  tymes  bene  sene  dyuers 
TneTthe  chaTuges  in  the  avid  scottysche  fassoune,  and 
men  do  nowe  effect  foreigne  and  stravnge  fantasyes,  rad- 
der  nor  sic  holsom  Tse  and  ordyr  as  crmethe  of  y'  ain 
Batiae  gviss,  and  hM  ben  rnt  be  owr  forbeiris  yn  the 
aolde  tyme,  for  nowe  all  do  tak  pryd  to  bupke  y™  yn 
heich  cromit  hattis,  frensche  claukis,  Englische  hndes, 
lang  pykit  schnne,  and  ydder  syk  lyk  yncovthe  braueries, 
the  qabilk  wes  Tnknawen  till  owr  antecessories  of  gude 
fiunen  qnha  wes  conteintit  to  gang  w^  ane  bonnette  of 
Kelsheu-blewe,  and  ain  mantil  or  playde  lyk  as  affore 
tym  wes  Ysit  be  ther  faderis  begone^  w'  ane  payr  of  rouch 
rowlyns,  or  hemands  of  harteshyd,  as  wes  moche  veit  be 
owr  rmqnhile  lorde  and  sonraine  King  Jamee  of  nobil 
Menarye  ;  for  he  had  ener,  besyd  thai  of  hys  awin 
eeolourifi,  twa  or  thre  pladis  of  diuers  kyndes  in  hys 
gnarderobe,  qnhilk  he  Tsit  yn  his  iomayes  quhen  that  he 
wald  not  be  knawen  openlye  ;  and  for  that  sic  fassovns 
be  not  of  Tse  in  Tther  cvntryes  nor  foraine  reaulmes,  for 
thir  cawsis  I  bane  taken  on  hande  to  compil,  accordand 
to  my  prir  habylitye,  a  trewe  ensample  off  alle,  or  the 
naist  parte,  the  pryncyppol  tartanis  of  Scotlonde,  sic 
as  I  maye  disceme  y"*,  baithe  for  the  trewe  witting  and 
pleasannce  of  alle  cvriovs  straungeris,  and  to  y*  ende  y* 
gif  paraTannture,  qnhilk  God  forbyd,  that  herefter  OTr 
comtrye  fihssonne  sail  alle  to  fayl  and  baillilie  cvm  to 
Boeht,  as  heth  bene  sene  w*  monie  rtharit  of  mair  and 
greater  renome  and  puissannoe  ;  as  to  wyt,  y*  nobyll 
reenlmis  of  Babyloun,  Troie,  and  Jewerie,  Egyptia,  Car- 
tegMi,  and  of  lyk  wyse  gloriovs  and  ymperiall  Rom, 
qnhilk  wes  STmtym  qwene  and  ladye  of  alle  the  wordle ; 
seit,  Beoerthelease,  hathe  her  anticke  and  hethen  fassovn 
aU  to  peirischtt  owt  of  Tse  and  mynd  throach  y*  mycht 
ef  orr  Lorde  and  halye  croste,  quhilk  heth  put  donne 
theyr  idollii  lyk  as  wes  y*  dewil  Dagoune  and  tbe  fenlie 
dragonne  of  Kinge  Cyrvs,  w*  y«  fowle  ymage  bel,  w* 
sindrie  sick  pagovne  herreseye  ;  qnharfor,  if  so  be  befkl 
on  lyk  sort  that  ovr  gndlye  oys  sail  be  decayit  and  cvm 
to  aeohi,  y^  then  alle  men  may  knawe  the  anlde  gvyse  of 
theyr  forberis  ;  for  yn  sae  moehe  as  we  tiutt  be  in  thir 
daies  be  cTrioTse  and  desyrons  to  seke  efter  and  dys- 
eooer  the  ftimoos  gestis  of  orr  anteoessoris  in  theyr  avid 
tym  of  renowme,  swa  yn  lyk  mannere  I  donbt  not  that 
thai  qnhilk  sail  cvm  eftir  vs,  sail  be  carefiil  to  knawe 
owr  manor  of  gyse  ^nd  ydder  manneris,  to  the  end  y^ 
thai  maye  vnderstonde  yn  quhat  we  be  lyk  ynto  y^'^lnis, 
and  alsna  qnharin  we  be  dyiiers  from,  and  do  ynlyk 
TBtil  y". 

The  manner  of  forming  "  the  settis  or  gtryppis^^ 
is  next  described,  and  also  the  different  chequers 
frop«r  lor  hots  and  trews^  which  admitted  of  great 


variety ;  every  man  being  allowed,  in  those  inferior 
articles,  to  follow  his  own  convenience  or  fancy^ 
though  the  plaid,  the  war-garbs,  the  garments  of 
honour,  were  not  to  be  tampered  with.  The  women 
were,  however,  allowed  unlimited  license  in  tbe 
patterns  of  their  plaids  and  dresses.  Some  of  the 
setts,  as  they  are  blazoned  in  this  work,  and  upon  the 
authority  of  the  Veatiarium,  differ  materially  from 
the  tartans  usually  recognised  under  the  respective 
clan  names.  The  tartans  given  here  as  those  of 
the  Mackays,  the  Mackenzies,  the  Grants,  and  the 
Macgregors,  for  example,  are  not  those  usually  ra^ 
cognised  as  the  tartans  of  those  clans.  We,  how- 
ever, only  speak  to  the  best  of  our  recollection,  aa 
we  have  not  lately  visited  a  Clan  Tartan  Ware- 
house to  refresh  memory  with  a  sight  of  those  bril- 
liant fabrics. 

The  Vestiarium  Scoticum  must  henceforth  be  ihe 
book  of  authority,  the  final  arbiter,  in  this  impor- 
tant question  with  manufacturers  as  well  as  clans- 
men ;  and  we  suspect  that  its  fiat  will  reduce  many 
pretty  patterns,  with  clan  names,  to  the  anomalous 
list  of  fancy  or  mongrel  tartans.  Many  of  the  tar- 
tans in  Mr.  Stuart's  work  must  be  quite  new,  even 
to  those  who  have,  from  commercial  reasons,  of 
late  paid  considerable  attention  to  this  fatdiionable 
and  favourite  manufacture  ;  such  are  those  of  the 
Cranstouns,  the  Landers,  the  Brodies,  the  Ramsays, 
and  80  forth.  The  description  of  one  pattern  from 
the  Vestiarium  will  give  a  perfect  idea  of  the  whole ; 
though,  of  course,  the  description  is  short  or  length- 
ened according  to  the  simplicity  or  intricacy  of  the 
sett.  Thus,  the  tartan  of  "  the  Macifarlan  of  ye 
Arroquhar,"  is  described  in  half  a  dozen  words. 
It  "hath  thre  stryppis  quhite,  vpon  ane  blak  fyeld  f 
while  the  tartan  of  **  MakDonnald  of  ye  Ylis,"  and 
of  the  Clan  Ranald,  require  this  long  explana- 
tion :— 

MakDonnald  op  t«  Ylis,  qnhilk  is  the  chiefest  and 
maist  nobil  of  alle  elanned  names,  howbeit  the  clann 
Grigor  and  y*  Clan  chattane  of  aulde  sail  be  consawit  of 
lyk  avnoient  stocke  ;  yet,  in  respect  of  ponste  and  dig- 
nitie,  we  call  none  lyk  vnto  hym  :  he  heth  ane  blue  set, 
and  ane  greine  sett,  quharoff  y«  blew  sett  hathe  twa 
greit  panes  of  blak,  ane  vpon  y*  ylk  bordure  y'off  and 
y1)y  twa  gross  sprangis  of  y»  samen,  and  in  j*  myduard 
of  y«  ylk  gren  sett  ane  stryp  quhite,  the  maist  pairt  of 
half  ane  finger  breid,  and  yn  y  mydward  of  j*  blew  ane 
gross  spraing  reidd. 

The  clan  Raynald,  y*  second  hovse  of  y«  Clandonald. 
howbeit  y'be  y*  say  he  svld  be  y«  f^rst  off  rycht,  bot  y* 
Donald  mak  Ian  mak  Angus  gat  y*  herytage,  contrar  to 
y»  mindis  of  ye  men  of  y*  Yllis :  he  hath  ane  sett  of 
blewe  and  ane  settof  grene,  quharoff  y*  blewe  sett  hath 
vpon  y*  ylk  syd  sue  blak  stryp,  and  y'by  vpon  y«  ynward 
syd  y'off  ane  sprainge  scarlatt,  and  yn  y«  myddest  of  y* 
blewe  be  ither  tua  sprangis  of  ye  samen  a  littel  asonder, 
as  of  fovrty  threidis  betuix  y™  or  thairby,  and  the  greine 
sette  hath  ane  quhite  spraing,  and  be  y"  ylk  syd  y'off  twa 
of  redd,  ain  greiter  and  ane  less,  quharof  y*  greiter  sail  be 
vtterward,  and  hathe  avfhte  threidis,  and  y*  ynnerward 
hath  fovr  threidis,  and  betuix  y"  reidd  and  the  qnhite 
sallbe  y*  space  of  aughteen  threidis  or  thairbye,  and 
vtheris  y'  be  of  y»  famylyes  of  ye  clann-donald,  lyk 
as  the  clan-huistein  in  Sky,  makconei  of  y«  glennis, 
makiane  of  ardnamurackane,  and  vtheris  y^  have  y* 
samen  w^  diuers  smal  diuersities,  of  y*  qufaiik  1  speke 
not  yn  respect  I  knawe  yhaim  not  parfkicUy. 

Many  of  these  tartans  are  truly  beauttfol; 
though  no  doubt  they  may  owe  part  t^thaur  ^len- 


484 


VESTIARIUM  SCOTICUM,  Ott  THE  BOOK  OF  TARTANS. 


dour  to  the  artist  or  illumiaator.  But  the  style  in 
which  they  are  executed,  and  their  dazzling  effect, 
must  be  seen  to  be  comprehended.  We  do  not  pre- 
tend to  describe  by  words  either  the  process  of  paint- 
ing them,  or  to  give  any  idea  of  the  brilliant  re- 
sults. One  may  easily  conceive  the  idea  of  a  massy  im- 
perial quarto  volume,  very  beautifully  printed  upon 
drawing  paper,  and  magnificently  bound,  gilt,  and 
emblazoned  with  the  royal  arms;  but  the  illustra- 
tions, the  illuminatumsy  the  tartans,  are  the  novel 
feature  of  the  work;  and  without  the  actual  vivid 
representations  of  these  beautiful  and  delicate 
fabrics  be  seen,  glowing  in  all  the  colours  of  the 
rainbow,  no  adequate  idea  of  the  work  can  be 
formed.  We  would  therefore  advise  all  who  have 
the  power  of  inspection  not  to  rest  content  with 
description,  but  to  procure  at  least  a  sight  of  the 
original  work. 

The  Vutiarium  describes  the  badges  of  the  differ- 
ent Highland  dans,  which  also  differ,  in  some  in- 
stances, from  those  which  have  hitherto  been  re- 
ceived ;  and  it  gives  the  ensigns  of  several  Lowland 
and  Border  families,  which,  we  presume,  will  be 
quite  as  new  to  many  of  the  descendants  of  these 
families  as  are  their  tartans.  The  badge  of  Bruce 
is  rosemary ;  of  Lyndsay,  rue ;  of  Hamilton,  bay ; 
Dundas,  bilberry;  and  sa  forth.  On  these  botanical 
badges  Mr.  Stuart  has  a  long  and  curious  note. 


from  which,  from  its  local  interest,  we  copy  the 
following  anecdote : — 

During  the  occupation  of  Edinburgh  by  the  Prinee, 
Charles  Edward,  in  1 745,  he  paid  a  visit  to  the  daughters 
of  Sir  Alexander  Seaton,  at  the  Grange  House,  thea 
the  property  of  their  brother-in-law,  William  Dick  of 
Grange,  and  now  of  their  successor,  Sir  Thomas  Dick 
Lauder  of  Fountainhall.  Upon  the  steps  of  the  entraace 
he  was  received  by  the  ladies  with  a  glass  containing  a 
bottle  of  Madeira.  The  Prince  having  drank  to  his  fair 
entertainers,  saluted  them  on  the  cheek  in  the  fashioB 
of  that  period,  and  taking  the  vhiJU  rose  from  his  bonnet 
presented  it  to  Miss  Seaton.  Both  the  flower  and  tht 
glass  were  preserved  with  that  zeal  by  which  the  female 
adherents  of  all  ages  have  sympathized  in  the  ill  fortimes 
of  their  cause,  and  which,  if  equally  shared  by  men, 
would  no  longer  have  claimed  sympathy,  for  it  woold  no 
longer  have  been  unfortunate. 

After  the  death  of  the  last  Miss  Seaton,  the  rose  and 
the  glass  passed  through  several  hands,  and  are  now  in 
the  possession  of  William  Blair,  Esq.  of  Aventon.  The 
badge  is  an  artificial  flower  such  as  are  osuaUy  made  by 
florists. 

The  work  contains  much  curious  and  erudite  in- 
formation on  ancient  Highland  costume  and  usages, 
and  a  few  lithographed  illustrations.  But  all  must 
give  place  to  the  rich,  glowing,  and  resplendent 
specimens  of  the  several  tartans ;  which  if  they  give 
the  book  its  high  price,  also  give  it  its  singular 
value  as  a  rare  and  splendid  work,  and  an  heirloom 
for  Scottish  families,  and  those  connected  with 
Scotland. 


LITERARY  REGISTER, 


JBtfd^s  on  English  Surnames.  By  Mark  Antony 
Lower.  12mo, cloth.  Pp.240.  London:  John 
Russell  Smith. 

This  is  a  curions  book  of  its  kind,  written  by  a  man  of 
some  antiquarian  reading,  and  possessed  of  a  certain 
vein  of  dry  hnmour.  He  apologizes  to  the  utilitarians  for 
the  frivolity  of  his  subject;  but  the  history  of  the  origin 
of  surnames  is  a  branch  of  the  history  of  the  formation  of 
language,  and  of  the  natural  operations  of  the  mind  in 
making  known,  or  supplying  its  wants.  The  first 
essay  is  introductory,  and  treats  the  subject  in  a  general 
way,  adverting  to  the  uses  and  origin  of  surnames,  and 
the  different  principles  which  have  regulated  their  adop- 
tion in  different  countries,  ancient  and  modem.  Thus 
the  Scotch  Highlanders  employed  the  «tr«-name  with  the 
addition  of  Mae ;  the  Irish,  the  name  of  the  sire,  with 
MaOf  a  son,  or  0,  a  grandson  ;  the  Normans,  F'ltz ;  the 
Russians,  TTtts ;  the  Poles,  Sky,  Surnames  are  not  older 
than  the  fourteenth  century  in  Sweden ;  and  until  a  much 
later  period  the  Welsh  had  nothing  beyond  their  Ap. 
Among  them, — 

It  was  not  unnsual,a  century  or  two  back, to  hear  of  such 
combinations  as  £van-ap-Grifflth-ap-Darid-ap-Jenkin, 
and  so  on  to  the  seventh  or  eighth  generation,  so  that 
an  individual  often  carried  his  pedigree  in  lus  name. 
The  church  of  Llangollen  in  Wales  is  said  to  be  dedi- 
cated to  St.  CoUen-ap-Gwynnawg-ap-Clyndawg-ap- 
Cowrda-ap  -Caradoo  -Freichfiras-ap  -Llyn-Merin-ap-Eini- 
on-Yrth-ap-Cunedda-Wledig,  a  name  that  casts  that  of 
the  Dutchman,  Inkvervankodtdortpanckinkadrachdernf 
into  the  shade.  To  burlesque  this  ridiculous  species  of 
nomenclature,  some  wag  described  cheese  as  being 
Adam^i  own  cousin-german  by  its  birth, 
Ap-Curdt-ap-Milk-ap-Cow-ap-OraM-ap-Earth ! 


The  second  essay  gives  a  history  of  English  g 
and  one  is  somewhat  surprised  to  learn  that  they  were  not 
permanently  settled  before  the  era  of  the  ReformatioiL 
Parish  registers  tended  much  to  fix  surnames,  as  it  was 
not  likely  that  a  man  could  be  baptized  by  one  name,  and 
married  or  buried  nnder  another. 

The  Rev.  Mark  Noble  affirms  that  ^  it  was  late  in  the 
seventeenth  century  that  many  families  in  Yorkdiire, 
even  of  the  more  opulent  tort,  took  stationary  names. 
Still  later,  about  Halifax,  surnames  became  in  their  dia- 
lect geneidogical,  as  William,  a  BilU,  a  Tome,  a  Luke  J* 

On  the  remark  of  Tyrwhitt,  in  his  edition  of  Chancer, 
that  it  is  '^  probable  that  the  use  of  surnames  was  not  ia 
Chaucer^s  time  fully  established  among  the  lower  class 
of  people,**  a  more  recent  editor  of  the  same  poet  says, 
**  Why,  the  truth  is,  that  they  are  not  iioip,  even  in  Ae 
nineteenth  century,  fully  established  in  some  parts  of 
England.  There  are  very  few,  for  instance,  of  the  min- 
ers of  Staffordshire,  who  bear  the  names  of  Uieir  fiUheis. 
The  editor  knows  a  pig-dealer,  whose  Other's  namenv 
Johnson,  bnt  the  people  call  him  Pigwutn,  and  Piyman 
he  calls  himself.  This  name  may  be  now  seen  over  the 
door  of  a  public-house  which  this  man  keeps  in  Stafford- 
shire." 

But  this  is  nothing  to  the  practice  of  bearing  a  doabk 
set  of  names,  which,  we  are  assured,  prevuls  amoo; 
these  colliers.  Thus  a  man  may  at  the  same  time  bear 
the  names  of  John  Smith  and  Thomas  Jonea,  without  anj 
intention  of  concealment;  but  it  must  not  be  imapne^ 
that  such  regular  names  are  in  common  use.  These  are 
a  kind  of  bat  names,  which,  like  their  Sunday  dotkef, 
they  only  use  on  high-days  and  holydays,  as  at  christes^ 
ings  and  marriages.  For'  everyday  purposes  they  use  » 
appellative,  except  a  nick-name,  as  Nosey,  Soiden-me^ 
Soaker,  or  some  such  elegant  designation  ;  and  this  is 
employed,  not  by  their  neighbours  alone,  bnt  by  their 
wives  and  children,  and  even  by  themselves !  A  corre- 
spondent of  Knight's  Quarterly  Magazbe^  who  is  dj 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


485 


aothority  for  those  ftUtements^  says,  *^  I  knew  an  apo- 
thecary in  the  collieries,  who,  as  a  matter  of  decorum, 
ilways  entered  the  real  names  of  his  patients  in  his 
books ;  that  is,  when  he  could  ascertain  them.  But  they 
stood  there  only  for  ornament ;  for  use  he  fonnd  it  ne- 
cessary to  append  the  sobriquet,  which  he  did  with  true 
medical  formality,  as,  for  instance,  "  Thomas  Williams, 

fw/^o  diet.  Old  Puff Clergymen  have  been 

known  to  send  home  a  wedding  party  in  despair,  after 
a  Tiin  essay  to  gain  from  the  bride  and  bridegroom  a 
sound  by  way  of  name,  which  any  known  alphabet  had 
the  power  of  committing  to  paper  I"  A  story  is  told  of 
ui  attorney's  clerk  who  was  professionally  employed  to 
serre  a  process  on  one  of  Uiese  oddly-named  gentry, 
whose  rc^  name  was  entered  in  the  instrument  with 
legal  accuracy.  The  clerk,  after  a  great  deal  of  inquiry 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  party,  was  about  to  aban- 
don the  search  as  hopeless,  when  a  young  woman,  who 
hsd  witnessed  his  labours,  kindly  yolunteered  to  assist 
him. 

•*0y  say,  BuUwed"  cried  she,  to  the  first  person  they 
met,  *'doe8  thee  know  a  mon  neamed  Adam  Green  1" 

The  bull-head  was  shaken  in  token  of  ignorance. 

''Loy-a-bedydositheeV* 

Lie-a^  bed's  opportunities  of  making  acquaintance  had 
been  rather  limited,  and  she  could  not  resolre  the  diffi- 
culty. 

Stuwif^,  (a  man  with  a  wooden  leg,)  Cowskin,8p%ndl€' 
Aanks,  Cookeye,  and  Pigtail,  were  severally  inroked,  but 
in  Tain ;  and  the  querist  fell  into  a  brown  study,  in  which 
she  remained  for  some  time.  At  length,  howeyer,  her 
eyes  suddenly  brightened,  and  slapping  one  of  her  com- 
panions on  the  shoulder,  she  exclaimed  triumphantly, 
"  Dash  my  wig !  whoy  he  means  moy  feyther !"  and  then 
tnmmg  to  the  gentleman,  she  added,  ^  Ye  should'n  ax'd 
tor  Ode  Blackbird  r 

I  coold  adduce  similar  instances,  where  persons  among 
the  peasantry  of  my  native  county  are  much  better  known 
by  $obriquet$  th&n  by  their  proper  surnames ;  and  many 
only  know  them  by  the  former.  This  is  particularly  the 
ease  where  sereral  families  in  one  locality  bear  the  same 
name.  A  friend  of  mine  informs  me,  that  he  lately  knew 

fifteen  persons  in  the  small  town  of  F ,  on  the  coast 

of  Kent,  whose  hereditary  name  was  Ifo//,  but  who  gra- 
tis dittinctionity  bore  the  elegant  designations  of— 
Doggy-Hall,  Feathertoe,  Bumper,  Bubbles,  Pierce-Eye, 
Faggots,  Cuh^  Jiggery,  Pumble-Foot,  Cold  Flip,  Silver- 
Eye,  Lumpy,  Sntty,  Thick-Lips,  and  Old  Hare. 

Local  surnames,  which  form  a  very  numerous  class, 
naaies  derived  from  dignities  and  offices,  from  personal 
and  mental  qualities,  frt>m  Christian  names,  from  acci- 
dents, from  natural  objects,  signs  of  houses,  and  from 
changed  names  or  corruptions  of  names,  &c.  &c.,  furnish 
the  subject-matter  of  several  essays,  plausible  in  their 
reasonhig,  and  often  amusing.  Yet  we  should  not  sup- 
pose the  author  a  very  &r-read  or  profoundly  learned 
antiquary.  A  slight  acquaintance  vrith  the  Gaelic  and 
Scottish  languages  would  have  saved  him  from  some  ob- 
vious blunders.  Yet  a  great  deal  of  guess-work  must, 
in  any  event,  go  to  the  explanation  of  surnames;  though 
one  man  may  be  a  more  sagacious  guesser  than  another. 
A  few  detached  specimens  will  show  the  nature  of  the 
book;  which  is  fully  better  adapted  to  popular  than  to 
learned  readers. 

Plebeian  Ai^mQiriTY.  —  The  manors  of  Ripe  and 
Newtimber,  in  Sussex,  are  mentioned  in  Domesday,  as 
having  been,  before  the  Conquest,  the  estates,  respective- 
ly) of  Cane  and  of  JElfeck.  Now  these  names  are  still 
fonnd  in  the  county  as  $ur%amei ;  the  former  under  its 
ancient  orthography,  and  the  latter  under  that  of  El- 
fiick ;  but  were  these  ever  used  as  Christian  names ! 
iElfech  may  be  the  same  with  Alphage,  a  Saxon  fore- 
name ;  but  Cane  was  certainly  never  so  used.  By  the  bye, 
U  is  an  extraordinary  fact  that  the  name  of  Cane  is  still 
borne  by  two  respectable  fumers  at  Ripe,  in  which 
oefghbonrhood,  I  have  scarcely  a  doubt,  their  ancestors 


have  dwelt  from  the  days  of  the  Confessor,  and  all  bear- 
ing the  same  monosyllabic  designation :  an  honour  which 
few  of  the  mighty  and  noble  of  this  land  can  boast ! 

Mr.  Lower  derives  the  surname  Bain  or  Bayne  from  the 
French  bath ;  whereas  the  Gaelic  and  Irish  bane,  fair,  as 
Donald  Bane,  is  a  much  more  probable  derivation.  For 
the  uKmeBPende  and  Slack,  of  which  he  queries  the  mean- 
ing, he  may  consult  Jamieson's  Scottish  Dictionary. 
Pend  is  an  arch — and  generally  one  under  which  there 
is  a  passage  or  road-way.  Wordsworth  or  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd  could  tell  him  what  a  Slack  is.  We  have  never, 
till  now,  understood  that  Bucdeuek  was  a  surname. 
The  surname  of  the  Duke  of  that  title  is  Scott,  not  Buo- 
clench.  The  derivation  of  the  name  Ilay  is  from  a  hedge, 
which  is  quite  as  probable  as  the  Scottish  current  tradi- 
tion of  the  name  being  given  to  the  ancestor  of  the  Erroll 
ikmily  on  the  field  of  Lnncarty.  In  speaking  of  names 
derived  from  apartments  of  houses,  he  remarks  that  they 
were 

Most  likely  first  given  to  menial  servants  who  served 
in  the  respective  rooms.  Like  the  foregoing,  they  gener- 
ally occur  in  old  records  in  the  form  ofj^n  V  the  Kit- 
ehen,  William  atte  Chamber,  &c.  Besides  these  two  we 
have  Garret  and  Stair,  and  Camden  says  Sellar  and 
Parier,  which  I  have  never  seen. 

SeUar  is  still  a  common  surname  in  Scotland.  In 
speaking  of  names  derived  from  occupations  it  is  re- 
marked— 

*^  Lb  Boucheb,"  says  Saintfoix,  ''was  antiently  a  noble 
surname  given  to  a  general  after  a  victory,  in  commemo- 
ration of  his  having  slaughtered  some  thirty  or  forty 
thousand  men  !  **  Morribile  dictu  !  henceforward  let  iJl 
lovers  of  peace  exclaim, 

One  murder  makes  a  villain ;  millions,  a  Butcher  ! 

We  should  doubt  a  good  many  of  Mr.  Lower's  deriva- 
tions, were  it  not  certain  that  the  same  surname  may 
sometimes  have  been  derived  fh>m  distinct  sources  ;  as 
that  of  Wight,  which,  our  author  imagines,  comes  fh>m 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  is  hence  a  local  surname;  but 
which,  as  we  presume,  is  as  probably  derived  from  a 
personal  quality.  In  Scotland  we  say,  Wallace  wight, 
and  the  toight — t.  e.  the  strong  Wallace.  There  is  a 
lively  and  learned  dissertation  upon  the  syllable  cock, 
which  forms  a  part  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  English  snr~ 
names.  The  theories  of  different  antiquaries  are  mer- 
rily discussed.  That  some  of  these  names  are  derived 
fh>m  cock,  a  hillock,  as  Cockbum,  Cockham,  Cockfield,  is 
probable ;  and  so  may  others  be  fh>mcok,  a  cook;  and  a 
third  class  fh>m  birds,  as  Peacock,  and  Woodcock  ; 
though  Mr.  Lower  reprobates  the  cook,  and  denies  him 
to  the  teeth  of  a  certain  J.  C.  N.,  a  learned  writer  in 
that  refhge  for  such  mighty  points.  The  Gentleman*s 
Magazine,    J.  C.  N. — 

Quotes  the  Great  Rolls  of  the  Exchequer  for  25  Henry 
III.  1241,  in  which  one  Adam  Coc  or  Cok  is  commis- 
sioned by  the  king  to  superintend  certain  repairs  at 
Clarendon  palace,  **  and  to  instruct  the  workmen,  so 
that  the  kitchen  and  stables  might  be  enclosed  within  the 
outer  wall."  Having  hit  upon  this  clue,  he  thinks  it 
leads  to  an  explanation  of  some  of  the  names  ending  in 
COCK,  as  Meaeock,  the  MEAT-oook  (I)  Salcock,  the  salt- 
UEAT-cook  (!I)  Sloeoek,  the  SLow-cook  (I!  I)  and  Bad- 
cock,  the  luPERFECT-cook  (!!!!) Orocoke  is  the 

OBOss  or  wholesale  cook  ...  or,  perhaps,  le  gros  eok,  or 
fat  cook  ( ! !)  and  those  compounded  with  Christian  names 
are  thus  readily  accounted  for.  Wilcox,  will  be  William 
the  Cook  ;  Hancock,  Johan  the  Ck>ok ;  Sanoeroock, 
Alexander  the  Cook ;  Jeffcock,  Jeffi7  the  Cook,  &c. 
The  Alloocks  may  be  descended  from  Hal  the  Cook, 
unless  their  great  ancestor  was  Auleeoous,  the  Hall 
Cook.*'     Some  others  he  thinks  have  originated  fh>m 


«B6 


UTSRAKY  REGISTER. 


n»mH  otpUemy  i«  LiToocs  from  huotk,  in  WUtahire, 
Ae.  &o. ;  others  from  the  bird^  from  their  being  persons 
of  noisy  or  pngnAcioas  dispositions,  or,  perhaps  from 
their  practice  of  early  riting  (!)  Cockerell  (he  jastly 
says)  is  derived  **from  cockerell,  a  young  or  dwarf 
bird  of  that  species." 

Is  J.  C.  N.  not  all  this  while  slily  joking !  Our 
author  treats  it  seriously  however.    As  to 

J.  C.  N.'s  record  in  the  Exchequer  Rolls,  it  is  a  most 
amusing  piece  of  nonsense  to  imagine  that  the  said  Adam 
tloe  was  the  royal  cook.  Who,  indeed,  ever  heard  of  a 
•oek's  possessing  any  architeotnral  skill  beyond  what  is 
required  in  the  eonstruotion  of  the  walls  of  a  gooseberry 
tart  or  a  venison  pasty  t  Besides,  what  had  a  cook  to 
do  with  walling  in  the  royal  sUbles  t  We  have  just  as 
much  right  to  assume  that  he  was  the  king's  fkrrier. 
But  even  admitting  this  said  Adam's  surname  to  have 
been  originally  derived  from  that  necessary  office  of  the 
kitchen,  does  it  at  all  explain  Meacock,  Salcook,  &e. ! 
I  do  not  consider  the  question  deserving  of  a  serious  re- 
ply. 

What  then  is  the  meaning  of  cock  !  Why,  it  is  sim- 
J)ly  a  diminutive,  the  same  as  or  or  kin.  This  opinion  I 
had  fbrmed  long  before  I  saw  the  correspondence  just 
noticed,  and  It  is  supported  by  numerous  proofs.  I  do 
not  proffess  to  assign  a  satisfactory  meanin«  to  all  the 
names  with  this  termination  ;  yet  I  think  I  have  been 
successful  in  affixing  that  of  (Ive-sixths  of  all  such  names 
a$  I  have  ever  met  with.  And  I  doubt  not  that  the 
remainder  might  be  explained  with  equal  facility,  were 
not  the  Christian  names,  of  which  they  are  the  diminu- 
tives, extinct.  Badcock  and  Salcock  in  J.  C.  N.'s  list 
are  evidently  **  Little  Bat,**  that  is,  Bartholomew  ;  and 
^  Little  Saul,"  which,  however  unenviable  a  name,  was 
fcometimes  used  by  our  ancestors.  In  like  manner  we 
may  account  for  WUcocke  or  WUeox,  "  Little  William," 
Aiooeky  "  little  Hal  or  Harry,"  Luckoek, « little  Luke," 

and  the  rest The  term,  in  its 

simple  form,  was  probably  never  nsed  except  in  a  fkmi- 
liar  colloquial  manner,  and  in  this  way  the  lower  orders 
in  the  south  of  England,  are  still  accustomed  to  address 
« little"  boys  with  **Well,  my  little  Cock,"  a  piece  of 
tautology  of  which  they  are  not  at  all  aware.  I  was 
long  pnssled  with  the  surname  Coxe^  which  I  have  now 
no  hesitation  in  calling  a  synonyms  of  Little,  Mr.  Cox- 
head  is  probably  Mr.  Little-head, fin  contradistinction 
1  presume,  to  Mr.  Greathead.)  What  a  pity  it  is  the 
iyllables  of  that  gentleman's  name  were  not  transposed, 
fbr  he  might  then  stand  a  fklr  chance  of  obUining  the 
preferment  of  Head-Cooe  in  J.  C.  N.'s  kitchen  1 

From  the  essays  on  oddities  in  surnames,  and  on  those 
derived  from  flselings  of  contempt  fbr  the  original  bearer, 
we  extract  this  lively  passage : 

Names  of  this  kind  are  not  very  numerous  in  Eng- 
land ;  still  we  have  Body  Trollope,  that  is,  slattern  ; 
Stnnt,  that  is,  fool ;  ParneU,  (an  immodest  woman,)  Bos- 
tardy  Trashy  Hneseyy  Gubbinty  (the  reftise  parts  of  a  fish,) 
and  Gallowty  which  strongly  implies  that  the  founder  of 
that  family  attained  a  very  excUtcdy  though  at  the  same 
time  unenviable,  station  in  the  world  !  Kennard,  an- 
ciently Kaynard,*  from  cai<jnard  (Ft.)  literally  signifies 
«  you  dog  1"  which  assuredly  merits  a  place  among  sur- 
names of  contempt  The  same  word,  in  a  figurative 
tense,  means  a  sordid  fellow,  a  miser.  Craven,  the  sur- 
name of  a  noble  family,  might  be  thought  to  belong  to 
the  same  class,  but  this  is  a  local  name  derived  from  a 
'  ^lace  in  Yorkshire. 

Many  of  the  names  mentioned  in  fbrmer  Essays  might 
be  placed  among  these  surnames  of  contempt.  Such  also, 
are  a  variety  of  those  indicative  of  ill-formed  limbs  or 
fratures,  as  Crook^nkt,  Longtkankt,  SkeepekankiyGhreat- 
head,  Lotufneue,  &c.  The  ancient  Romans,  like  our- 
selves, had  many  family  names  implying  something  de- 
fective or  disgraceful.  Their  Plauti,  Pandi,  Vari,  Scanri, 

*  Kinnaird,  ss  a  Scottiih  name,  is  mueh  more  probebly  de- 
rived from  two  Gaelic  words  signifying  the  head  of  the  point 
or  promontory.— jB,  2*.  M» 


and  Tnditani  would  have  been  with  nt  the  S^y^lMi, 
the  Baady-legt,  the  In*knees,  the  Club^ooti,  aad  4e 
Hammer-heads  1  The  meanness  of  the  origin  of  sems 
of  the  patrician  families  was  hinted  at  in  their  nanst. 
The  illustrious  Fabii  derived  their  name  from  being  ex- 
ceilent  cultivators  of  beans,  and  the  Pimmm  thein  htm 
their  having  improved  the  growth  of  peas.  The  Arifii 
were  descended  and  denominated  ftt>m  a  swine  hsrt, 
the  BubuCei  from  a  cow-herd,  and  the  Porei  from  a  bof- 
butcher  1  Strabo  would  have  been  with  ne  a  Ifr . 
Squintum,  Naso  (Ovid)  a  Mr.  Bumote,  and  PnUins  tk 
propretor,  a  Mr.  Snubnom.  Cinoinnatns  and  the  eeriy 
poll  of  the  Dainty  Davie  of  Seottish  song  are,  atru|e 
to  say,  identical  ideas.  The  modem  Italians  ars  Mt 
more  conrteons  than  their  ancestors  of  **  old  R^ome,**  in 
the  names  they  give  to  some  flimilies ;  as,  for  inateoss, 
Malatesta,  ohnekle-headed ;  Boooanigras,  bla^*mttBlsd; 
Porcina,  a  hog  ;  and  Good,  ohnbby-chops. 

To  this  place  may  also  be  referred  the  by^aames  of 
kings,  as  Unready,  Shorthose,  Sans-terre,  Crookbask. 
William  the  Conqueror  was  ao  little  ashamed  of  tbe 
illegitimacy  of  his  birth,  that  he  sometimes  oommeaiai 
his  charters  with  William  the  BAtTARD,  fto.  1 

Among  other  names  not  yet  mentioned,  may  be  io- 
Uced  fKAa/s6s//^,  (for  which  with  all  the  rest  that  fellow, 
I  have  authority,)  the  designation,  probably,  ef  sob* 
corpulent  person  ;  Rotten,  Bubblejaw,  and  RoUenkerrpt§y 
a  name  which  occurs  in  some  ancient  records  of  ths 
town  of  Hull,  and  was  most  likely  given,  in  the  first  ta- 
stanoe,  to  a  dishonest  dealer  in  fish.  Indeed,  I  have  lit- 
tle doubt  that  these  odd  appellations  all  applied  witt 
great  propriety  to  those  who  primarily  bore  them. 

Mr.  Lovrer,  who  has  a  keen  relish  for  a  joke,  or  fer  a 
good  story,  and  is  not  fastidious,  so  that  it  ^  shake  tbt 
sides,*'  has  enlivened  his  essays  with  nnmerons  iUnstrar 
tive  bon-mots  and  aneedotes;  nor  does  he  slip  any  fiur 
oeoasion  of  a  sly  stroke  of  irony  at  the  fend  Tanity  dis- 
played in  surnames.  Taken  as  a  whole,  the  book  ii 
really  entertaining  as  well  as  informing. 

Guide  to  th^  Highlands  and  Islands  of  Scotlml 
By  G.  and  P.  Andenon,  of  Invemott*  Pp.  7^ 
With  ft  Mftp  of  Scotland,  ftc.  &c.  A  Second  and 
greatly  improved  Edition*  Edinbui^h :  William 
Tait. 

Some  summers  ago,  when  Murray  brought  oat 
this  Highland  Guide,  we,  in  common  with  the  bott 
of  our  brethren  of  the  periodical  and  the  bmsd- 
sheet,  hailed  it  as  the  best  description  of  the  Higb- 
lands  of  Scotland  that  had  ever  appeared,  independent!/ 
of  its  merits  and  usefblness  as  a  Gnide-Book.  IV 
authors  (brothers),  well-educated  and  accomplished  meo, 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  Highlands  fh>m  diild- 
hood,  have,  fer  a  series  of  years,  literally  made  their  hp 
their  compasses  in  exploring  many  a  glen  and  momitaifi 
ravine,  dell  and  forest,  hardly  known  even  by  name  save 
to  the  deer-stalker,  and  of  late  years  to  the  botanist  aad 
geologist.  These  sciences  were  among  the  earlier  objeds 
of  the  Messrs.  Anderson  in  their  pedestrian  exennfoafl, 
and  the  results  were  apparent  in  the  fermer  editiofi  of 
the  work.  But  in  the  present  they  hare,  wisely  ss 
we  think,  abstained  fh>m  formal  dissertations  en  sdea* 
tific  and  antiquarian  subjects,  contented  with  embodyiv 
whatever  was  necessary  in  their  local  descriptions.  Vnj 
have  thus  gained  more  space  to  fkrther  popabn* 
their  work  ;  as,  besides  the  directions  to  pedsstiitfs 
for  threading  their  way  through  the  more  wild  tad 
inaccessible  scenery  of  the  west  coast  of  Ross,  InTe^ 
ness,  Sutherland,  and  Argyle  ehires,  numeronf  ^ 
path  and  erou-ronta  are,  for  the  firat  time,  deseribsd 
in  this  editiooy  which  will  be  foind  highly  is 


LIT&RARY  REGISTER. 


4ffr 


to  tha  tonriBt,  the  nlbgUtT,  the  d66^•hnnteT,  the  gronse- 
•iio^ier,  woA  the  artist.  We  do  not  reeonunend  the  An- 
4eiBoiia'  Qnide  merely  as  sneh  ;  but  equally  aft  a  prepara- 
tire,  at  a  prerious  useful  study,  to  those  who  intend  risit- 
ing  Sootland  beyond  the  Forth ;  and  as  a  highly  entertain- 
ing work,  the  prodnot  of  full  miuds,  to  those  who  wish  to 
gun  an  accurate  acquaintance  with  the  Highlands.  The 
work  contains  a  mine  of  raried  and  interesting  inf»rma- 
tion,  well  selected  and  skilftilly  condensed,  besides  those 
4eiAil»  needftil  to  tourists  of  every  description. 
The  Horse  and  the  Rounds  their  tarious  Uses  and 
TreiUtnenty  including  Practical  Instructions  in 
Horsemanship^  and  a  Treatise  on  Horse-dealing, 
By  Nimrod.  Pp.  654.  With  numerous  Ulus- 
tratiom.  Adam  &  Charies  Black. 
This  is  a  good  book,  opportunely  published.  It  con- 
tains all  the  articles  written  by  Nimrod  on  the  aboye 
subjeets  for  The  EncydopcBdia  Briiannicay  oarefhlly  re- 
vised, and  tastefully  embellished.  A  treatise  on  Hort«- 
deaiin^t  the  most  ticklish  of  all  transactions,  is  published 
fbr  the  first  time,  and  forms  a  suitable  conclusion  to  the 
work,  as  a  manual  and  instructor  in  all  relating  to  the 
Horde  and  the  HoHndy  to  honemanship  and  hunting. 
Those  who  care  not  much,  or  who  have  no  particular  in- 
terest in  either  horse  or  hound,  will  yet  find  it  neither 
unpleasant  nor  unprofitable  to  gallop  or  course  through 
Nimrod's  lively  pages.  As  everybody  has  a  chance  of  a 
fkll  ftrom  a  horse  at  some  time  or  other,  vre  give  Nim- 
rod's directions  toer  fklling  as  easily  as  possible,  and 
Averting  the  ill  consequences  of  the  misadventure  :— 

In  all  falls,  the  horseman  should  roll  away  fVom  his 
horse  as  soon  as  he  possibly  can,  lest  in  his  struggle  to 
rise  again  he  strike  him  with  his  legs  or  head.  It  flre- 
qnenily  happens  that  the  horse  himself  rolls  after  he 
&lls,  and,  if  in  the  direction  in  which  his  rider  lies,  is 
apt  to  crush  and  ii\jure  him.  Indeed,  there  is  scarcely 
any  hard  rider  who  has  not  been  thus  served;  but  here, 
again,  self-possession  often  stands  his  fViend.  When  he 
sees  the  body  of  his  horse  approaching  him,  he  frequent- 
ly saves  himself  by  meeting  it  with  one  of  his  feet,  and 
by  obtaining  a  fblcrom,  shoves  his  own  body  along  the 
ground  out  of  bis  reach.  Coolness  in  this  hour  of  peril, 
likewise  serves  the  sportsman  in  another  way.  Instead 
of  losing  hold  of  his  reins,  and  abandoning  his  horse  to 
his  own  will,  as  the  man  who  is  flurried  at  this  time  in- 
variably does,  he  keeps  them  in  his  hand,  if  not  always, 
perhaps  in  nine  falls  out  of  ten,  and  thus  secures  his 
horse.  It  was  the  remark  of  a  sentleman  to  whom  we 
have  before  alluded,  and  who  {nngulus  ta  arte)  was, 
from  his  desperate  system  of  riding,  and  despite  of  his 
fine  horsemanship,  known  to  have  more  falls  than  any 
other  man  during  the  time  he  hunted  Leicestershire,  that 
iiothing  had  so  low  an  appearance  as  that  of  a  man  run- 
ning on  foot  over  a  field,  calling  out  ^  Stop  my  horse." 

Nimrod  has  mooted  the  interesting  question.  Did  the  | 
Ancients  cheat  in  horse-dealing !    We  shall  see  how  he  | 
settles  it.    Poor  human  nature  is  indeed  much  the  same  ! 
in  all  ages.    Our  ancestors  at  all  events  will  have  no  right 
to  sneer  at  ns  for  their  superior  honesty. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  us  to  be  informed  in  what 
way  this  traffic  (in  horses)  was  conducted,  generally,  in 
the  eariy  ages  of  the  world  ;  whether  the  cheating,  the 
tricks,  and  the  frauds  now  in  practice,  and  so  often  suc- 
cessful among  the  lower  orders  of  horse-dealers,  were 
resorted  to  then ;  and  whether,  amongst  those  of  a  higher 
grade,  the  wholesome  precaution  of  **  eawat  emptor,^* — 
**  let  the  buyer  beware,"  was  as  necessary  as  it  is  at  pre- 
sent. We  know,  from  the  history  of  our  own  country, 
that  cheating  in  horse-flesh  was  carried  to  such  an  ex- 
tent during  the  reign  of  Richard  the  Second,  that  in 
1386,  a  statute  was  passed  regulating  the  price  of  all 


horses,  and  which  statute  was  proehdned  in  Ihe  oSiief 
breeding  eonnties  of  England,  fiut,  according  to  Pom- 
ponious,  the  law  of  nature  allows  of  over-reaching  in 
buying  and  selling — (what  a  good  father-confessor  this 
Pomponious  would  have  made  to  some  of  our  modem 
horse*  dealers  !) — and  Erasmus  appears  neariy  to  saiM- 
tion  a  license  to  horse-dealers  in  these  words :— **  Ssis 
quanta  impostura  sit,  apud  nos,  in  his  qui  vendunt  eques." 
That  some  rules,  however,  should  be  establi^ed,  for  the 
protection  of  the  ignorant  against  the  arts  of  the  design- 
ing, appeared  absolutely  necessary  to  British  legisktors; 
and  the  laws  relating  to  selling  horses  on  Warranty, 
have  been,  in  themselves,  rendered  as  protective  to  the 
purchaser,  as^  we  believe,  it  is  possible  for  words  to 
make  them. 

Nimrod  is  not  more  an  admirer  of  the  helter-skelter 
neck-or«nothing  of  the  modem  steeple-chasei  than  of  the 
wholesale  slaughter  of  the  modem  batime, 

*^  A  new  system  of  racing  Jockeyship  has  oome  into 
fashion  in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  within  the  last 
twenty  years,  which,  however  in  character  with  the 
daring  spirit  of  our  present  race  of  sportsmen,  we  cannot 
commend.  We  think  it  an  unreasonable  demand  on  the 
noble  energies  of  the  horse,  to  require  him  to  go  so  rtrv 
nearly  at  a  racing  pace  (for  such  we  find  to  be  the  case) 
over  rough  and  soft  ground,  instead  of  upon  smooth  and 
elastic  turf,  with  the  addition  of  having  too  often  a 
country  selected  for  him  to  run  across,  abounding  in 
almost  insurmountable  obstacles,  as  well  as,  in  some 
cases,  deep  rivers  ;  likewise  under  a  heavy  weight.  Hn- 
man  lives  have  already  been  the  victims  of  this  practise, 
and,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  several  horses  have  died  f^xn 
over-exerting  themselves^  as  well  as  by  accidents,  in 
steeple-races. 

Sketches  of  Life  and  Character.  By  Alexander 
Campbell.  Edinburgh  Printing  Company. 
This  is  a  collection  of  short  papers,  principally  illus- 
trating points  of  character,  and  the  manners  of  the  hnm- 
bler.  portion  of  the  middle  classes  ;  which  originally 
appeared  in  Chatuben^  Journal,  and  in  the  London  iSshtr- 
day  Journal,  Some  original  pieces  are  added.  The 
papers  are  clever  and  lively ;  they  were  well  adapted  to 
their  primary  purpose,  and  they  form  very  pleasant  read- 
ing in  their  collected  fbrm.  Their  exact  nature  may 
often  be  pretty  nearly  guessed  f^m  their  titles,  as.  The 
Poor  Dandy,  The  Reduced  Family,  The  Steady  Man, 
The  Particular  Man,  The  PatHeular  Man*s  WifitBor- 
rovers,  and  such  like. 

The  Life  of  the  Admiral  Viscount  KeppeL    By  the 
Hon.  and  Rev.  Thomas  Keppel,  rector  of  War- 
ham.  2  vols.  8vo,  cloth.  With  Portrait.  Colbum. 
This  work  is  too  important  and  valuable  to  be  huddled 
into  our  limited  monthly  Register  of  current  literature. 
At  present,  therefore,  we  merely  announce  the  appear- 
ance of  so  valuable  an  addition  to  the  biography  of  enr 
great  British  Naval  Commanders,  which  the  author's 
access  to  official  correspondences,  and  family  papers  of 
all  descriptions,  has  rendered  unusually  attractive. 

A  Trip  Homey  with  some  Home-spun  Yams*  I2mo, 
cloth.  Pp.  424.  Saunders  &  Otley. 
An  anonymous  gentleman,  of  the  genus  pleasant  fal- 
lows, who  has  something  funny  to  say  upon  every  theme 
that  either  occurs  naturally  or  can  be  lugged  in,  lately 
returned  from  the  West  Indies,  was  put  on  shore  by  the 
Falmouth  pilots,  and  before  he  had  got  clear  of  Corn- 
wall, wrote  this  big  book  of  his  travels,  and  could,  he 
avers,  have  made  it  three  times  bigger.  It  is  very  well 
as  it  is,  and  right  pleasant  reading  for  those  who  neither 
look  for  much  thought  in  a  book,  nor  much  specific  in- 
formation. 


488 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


The  Recreations  of  Christopher  North.  Volume 
I.  Christopher  in  his  Sporting  Jacket.  Blackwood 
&  Sons,  Edinburgh. — This  volume,  the  first  of  three, 
which  we  rejoice  to  see  announced  as  shortly  forth- 
eoming,  labours  under  one  manifest  disadvantage — 
and  but  one.  Nobody,  that  is  anybody,  who  has 
ever  once  read  the  papers  which  it  contains,  can  have 
forgotten  them.  We  do  not  mean  that  all  these 
four  hundred  pages,  and  the  many  more  that  are  to 
follow,  can  be  remembered  word  for  word  ;  but  their 
spirit,  their  scope  remain,  and  the  recollection  may,  after 
all,  rather  enhance  the  pleasure  of  reperusal.  At 
all  events,  here  they  are,  in  a"  self-contained"  volume, 
not  forming  part  and  parcel  of  a  voluminous  work, 
which  rr  nred  to  be  hunted  over  if  one  wished  to  re- 
f^h  th^.r  hearts— to  recreate  their  spirits— to  grow 
green  and  glad  again.  The  book  is  besides  a  very  hand- 
some one  ;  its  typography  neat,  jacket  Lincoln  green  and 
gold.  The  contents  are  the  three  Fyttes  of  Ckrittopher 
in  his  Sporting  Jacket ;  the  powerful  but  painfhl  Tale  of 
Expiation ;  the  Morning  Mondcgue ;  the  Field  of  Floverf ; 
Cottages ;  and  an  Hour's  Talk  about  Poetry,  (one  of  the 
most  vital  pieces  of  modem  criticism  with  which  we  are 
acquainted  ;)  Inch  Cruin  ;  and  a  Day  at  Windermere. 
The  selection  is  admirable.  These  papers,  wliich  it 
would  be  an  impertinence  to  suppose  require  to  be 
described  to  any  modem  reader,  are  the  very  flowers 
of  their  author's  mind — ay,  and  the  ftruitage  too — glow- 
ing together  on  the  same  richly  laden  bough. 

NEW  POEMS  AND  DRAMAS. 

I.  Tales  and  Poehs,  By  Sir  Edward  Lytion  Bulwer, 
Bart.  Foolscap  Svo,  cloth,  pp.  215.  Saunders  &  Otley. 

II. — Poems  by  Alfred  Tennyson,  in  2  vols.    Moxon. 

III.— The  Poetical  Works  of  Miss  Susanna  ^la- 
mire.  With  a  Preface,  Memoir,  and  Notes;  by  Patrick 
Maxwell.    Foolscap  octavo,  cloth,  pp.  262. 

IV. — The  Maid  of  Orleans,  and  other  Poems,  trans- 
lated ftvm  the  German.  By  E.  S.  and  F.  S.  Turner. 
Foolscap  octavo,  cloth,  pp.  247. 

v.— A  Voice  from  the  Town.  By  Bolton  Rogerson, 
Author  of  "  Rhyme,  Romance,  and  Revery,"  &c.  12mo, 
cloth,  pp.  193. 

VI.— HoEL  the  hostage.  By  M.  E.  Jeffreys.  Post 
Gvo,  cloth.    Saunders  &  Otley. 

VII. — Poetical  Recollections  of  Irish  Histort. 
By  Jane  Emily  Herbert— A  small  and  very  neat  vo- 
lume, bound  in  silk,  gilt,  and  emblazoned  vrith  the  Irish 
harp. 

VIII.— SoNOS,  written  by  Andrew  Park.  Griffin, 
Glasgow. 

IX.— Poems  and  Songs.  By  Alexander  Maclagan. 
Edinburgh :  Tait. 

This  is  a  long  catalogue  for  one  brief  month.  It  is  there- 
fore quite  impossible  to  do  anything  like  justice  to  new 
aspirants  for  laurels,  who  are  as  numerous  as  the  Muses 
themselves.  Besides,  we  have  registered  a  vow  in  Par- 
nassus, not  to  speak  of  even  the  greatest  poet  alive,  until 
we  shall  be  able  to  accord  the  praises  due  to  Andrew 
Park  and  Alexander  Maclagan. 

Plighted  Troth,  or  a  Woman  her  own  Rival. — A 
dramatic  Tale  in  Five  Acts.    Saunders  &  Otley. 


SERIAL  WORKS. 

Selby's  History  of  British  Forest  Trees.  Psiii 
VII.,  VIII.,  IX.,  and  X.— These  Parts  contain  the  His- 
tory  of  the  Oak  in  its  several  varieties, — ^tho  beech,  tbe 
chestnut,  the  hombean,  the  plane,  the  yew,  the  Tarieties 
of  the  pine,  and  the  fir.  EaOh  species  is  illustrated  wiUi 
a  fine  woodcut  of  the  kind  of  tree  described,  and  the 
work  is  studded  with  vignettes  in  the  tasteful  style  of 
all  Van  Voorst's  illustrated  publications.  Another  Part 
vrill  complete  this  elegant  work.  In  describing  these 
trees,  we  are  glad  to  find  the  historian  more  anecdoticaU 
and  paying  more  attention  to  the  history  of  remarkable 
sylvan  individuals  than  in  the  previous  Parts.  He  has  given 
a  charming  history  of  particular  oaks  and  ytws,  aod 
other  trees,  found  in  different  places  of  England  and  Scot- 
land. He  has  also  given  much  additional  value  to  his 
work  by  the  liberal  and  judicious  use  which  he  has  mada 
of  the  writings  of  others  upon  the  same  subject. 

Yarrell's  History  of  British  Birds.  Parts  XXIX. 
to  XXXI. — These  Parts  contain  the  numerous  species 
of  the  Duck  genus — Natatores  ^natuics,  which  is  impor- 
tant from  its  extensive  diffusion,  the  beauty  of  its 
plumage,  and  its  value  to  man,  both  as  food  and 
bedding.  The  difflerent  species  are  exquisitely  repre- 
sented, and  vrith  the  same  troth  and  life  vrfaioh  dis- 
tinguish all  the  bird-portraiture  of  this  work.  The 
history  of  the  duck  is  highly  interesting,  fh>m  its  con- 
nexion with  man. 

The  London  Saturday  Journal,  Vol.  III.  Con- 
ducted by  John  Timbs,  thirteen  years  Editor  of  the 
Mirror,  Brittain,  Paternoster  Row. — The  present  volume 
contains  a  great  mass  of  entertaining  snatch-reading. 
The  cuts,  though  inferior  to  those  of  the  previous  vol- 
umes, have  their  own  uses,  in  showing  up  the  Exquisites 
among  the  Crows  and  the  Blackfeet,  and  other  monsters, 
vital  or  skeleton,  and  holding  the  mirror  up  to  nature,  as 
seen  in  our  own  streets  and  parlours. 

Knight's  Pictorial  Shaksperb.  Part  XLIV. 
Plays  ascribed  to  Shakspere  concluded. 

Smee*s  Elements  of  Electro-Metalluroy-    Part  III. 

Thornton's  History  of  British  Indla.  Part  IL 
Vol.  III. 

Martin  Doyle's  Cyclop.sdia  of  Practical  Hus- 
bandry.   Part  II. 

The  Gabbrlunzie's  Wallet.    No.  VI. 

PAMPHLETS. 

Statement  Explanatory  of  the  Independent  System 
of  Emigration.    By  C.  S.  M^Laws,  Merchant,  Glasgow. 

Anti-Corn  Law  Tracts.— No.  1,  A  Plea  for  Total  tnd 
Immediate  Repeal  of  the  Com  Laws.  No.  2,  Sir  Bo- 
bert  Peel's  Burdens  on  Land. 

The  CoNsnTunoNAL  Right  to  the  Revision  of  thi 
Land-Tax,  being  the  argument  submitted  to  Counsel  on 
behalf  of  the  National  Anti  Corn-Law  League.— An  able 
argument  on  an  important  question. 

Report  of  the  Proceedings  at  the  Conference  of 
Delegates  of  the  Middle  and  Working  Classes  held 
at  Birmingham  on  April  5th  and  the  following  days. 

A-  Letter  to  his  Excellency  the  Earl  db  Grey  ob 

the    AMEUORATED  CONDITION  of  IrBLAND,  with  8U0019- 
TIONS  for    FURTHER  IMPROVEMENT   of  the   AORICULTUlU 

Classes.    By  W.  W.  Simpson. 


Printedfby  William  Tait,  107,  Prince's  Street,  Edinburgh. 


TAIT'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


AUGUST,  1842. 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


BY  MRS.  GORE. 


(GonHnued  fnm  page  343  of  our  July  No.) 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Though  the  gift  bestowed  by  Abednego  upon 
young  Annealey  must  at  all  times  haye  been  a 
most  welcome  one,  it  could  not  have  chanced  at  a 
more  auspicious  moment  than  now ;  when,  for  the 
first  tune  since  the  renewal  of  their  acquaintance 
in  England,  he  found  himself  banished  from  the 
presence  of  Esther  Yerelst.  He  was  himself 
moreover  on  the  eve  of  exile  to  an  opposite  quarter 
of  the  town ;  so  that  even  chance  encounters  in 
the  street  were  improbable  ;  the  company  of  the 
Guards  to  which  he  belonged  being  tmder  orders 
to  march  into  the  Tower  the  very  day  following 
his  acceptance  of  the  miniature  from  Abednego. 

These  Eastern  quarters  are  rarely  very  inviting 
to  the  young  men  of  fortune  and  family  of  whom 
the  Guards  are  chiefly  composed ;  unless  during 
the  summer  months,  when  they  can  preyaU  on 
their  gay  friends  of  the  West  End  to  steam  it  to  the 
Tower,  and  breakfast  with  them,  on  pretence  of 
viewing  the  lions  of  the  place  ;  and  examining  the 
interesting  autographs  cut  in  the  walls  of  their 
mess-room,  by  Peveril  of  the  Peak  and  other  pri- 
soners of  note.  But  it  was  just  then  peculiarly 
disagreeable  to  Basil  to  find  himself  moated  up 
with  WUberton  and  Maitland,  whose  secrets  had 
been  accidentally  placed  in  his  keeping  ;— or  even 
with  Loftus  and  Blencowe,  whose  insight  into  his 
own,  and  veant  of  delicacy  in  their  railleries  on  the 
subject,— he  had  more  tiian  once  found  occasion  to 
itsent.  There  vww  no  remedy,  however.  With  so 
little  to  complain  of  in  the  hardships  of  his  mili- 
tary duties,  BasU  Annesley  was  conscious  that  it 
would  be  absurd  to  murmur,  as  an  evil,  against  a  few 
keeks'  banishment  to  a  remote  quarter  of  the  town. 

It  happened,  howeyer,  that  within  a  few  days  of 
^king  up  his  new  quarters,  he  was  attacked  with 
indisposilion :  either  the  result  of  his  exertion  and 
attendance  upon  the  Money-lender,  or  of  the  humid 
atmosphere  of  the  Tower ;  which  amounts  almost 
to  mal'  aria,  and  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year  is 
sure  to  engender  a  low  fever  in  the  garrison.  In 
compassion  to  his  illness,  perhaps,  the  two  fayourite 
ram  established  for  his  persecution  by  his  facetious 
friends,  (hb  intimacy  with  tlie  Verelsts  and  with 

NO.  CIV.— VOL.  IX. 


A.  0.,)  were  suffered  to  heal  unmolested.  There 
was  not  sufficient  resource  in  the  place  to  dispense 
with  his  aid  for  picquet,  or  whist ;  and  the  little 
mess-table  was  accordingly  undisturbed  by  the 
bickerings  too  often  produced  elsewhere,  by  the 
perpetual  system  of  quizzing  in  yogue  in  the  Mait- 
land set.  Basil  did  not  hear,  above  half  a  dozen  times 
a-day,  allusions  to  his  midnight  attempt  to  break 
into  the  house  of  the  Westminster  Jew ;  and  only 
yery  remote  hints  of  his  passion  for  the  arts. 
Nevertheless,  the  first  day  he  was  able  to  shake 
off  his  inr'isposition  so  far  as  to  visit  the  west  end 
of  the  tovm,  in  spite  of  the  bantering  to  which  he 
had  been  subjected,  one  of  his  first  visits  was  to 
Delahaye  Street.  He  was  anxious  to  inquire  after 
his  patient, — ^he  was  anxious  to  inquire  after 
his  friend ; — ^yes  !  his  friend  /r-for  how  could  he 
otherwise  estimate  the  man  to  whom  he  was  in- 
debted for  the  semblance  of  that  beloved  face  which 
never  quitted  his  bosom  for  a  moment  of  the  day 
or  night?  Abednego  appeared,  indeed,  to  have 
contemplated  such  an  appropriation  of  the  minia- 
ture ; — ^for  it  was  set  in  a  plam  gold/ot«*«  montre^ 
with  a  loop  for  suspension  round  the  neck. 

"  I  swear  I  am  now  nearly  as  ill  myself,"  mur- 
mured Basil,  as  he  drove  along  Great  George 
Street,  "  as  poor  Abednego  on  the  bitter  niglit  I 
brought  him  home  here  ;  an  exploit  which,  I  verily 
believe,  was  the  cause  of  all  my  own  indisposition !" 

At  the  end  of  Delahaye  Street  he  got  out,  and 
proceeded  on  foot  to  the  Money-lender's  door. 

So  accustomed  was  he  now  to  the  untoward- 
nesses  of  that  rugged  household,  that  he  did  not  so 
much  as  expect  any  notice  to  be  taken  of  his  rap 
at  the  door  for  the  first  ten  minutes. 

To  his  great  surprise,  however,  scarcely  ttoo  were 
allowed  to  elapse,  before  it  was  opened  i—mt  by 
the  rough-headed  sweeper, — not  by  the  rotund 
nurse  ;  but  by  a  stranger,— an  old  Jew  in  all  the 
nursery  force  of  the  term,— of  sinister  countenance 
and  squalid  attire, — stooping  shoulders,— rusty 
beard,— and  the  physiognomy  of  Barabbas ! 

Now  that  Basil  was  certified  of  the  disconnexion 
of  Abednego  with  the  hated  tribe,  to  which  his 
name  appeared^  proclaim  him  attached,  he  could 
not  forljear  beinir  surprised  and  disgusted  at  hb 

2R 


490 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


choosing  to  entertain  so  unsavoary  an  individoal 
in  his  household. 

*^  I  wish  to  speak  to  Mr.  Osalez,"  said  he. 

"You  vish  vat  1**— demanded  the  new  porter, 
with  an  ungracious  air. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  your  master.—" 

^  To  the  tevilsh  wid  your  mastersh — "  retorted 
the  Jew,  ahout  to  close  the  door  in  his  face. 

"I  have  husiness  with  A.  O.!"  cried  Basil,  re- 
solved to  forestall  the  measure  hy  adopting  the 
phraseology  of  the  place. 

**  Theresh  no  A.  O.  here  now !  The  housh  ish 
shold,"  replied  the  man.  ''  The  housh  ish  mine  own ; 
—bought  wid  mine  lawful  monish, — and  vat  have 
you  to  shay  againsht  it  ?  " 

"  Will  you  favour  me  with  the  present  address 
of  Mr.  Osalez?  He  was  ill  when  I  left  him  a  fort- 
night ago,  and  I  am  anxious  to  inquire  after  him." 

"  He  may  be  ted  now,  for  vat  I  or  any  one  caresh ! " 
retorted  the  Jew, — now  really  fulfilling  his  inten- 
tion, and  slamming  the  door  in  the  face  of  the 
troublesome  intruder. 

Gone  ! — ^vanished  like  a  Will  of  the  Wisp ! 
Most  provoking — ^most  perplexing!  Basil,  who 
had  despatched  the  book  back  to  his  mother  on  the 
day  of  his  parting  from  Abednego,  with  only  a 
few  words  of  apology  for  the  liberty  he  had  taken 
in  borrowing  it  from  her  room,  had  in  the  interim 
made  up  his  mind  to  appeal  strenuously  to  the 
sympathy  of  Abednego,  for  further  information  on 
a  subject  concerning  which,  at  his  present  age,  he 
felt  himself  entitled  to  explanation; — and  the  un- 
expected disappearance  of  the  old  man  was  the 
heaviest  disappointment  he  could  have  undergone. 

Under  a  sudden  impulse  of  irritation,  instead  of 
quitting  the  door  which  had  been  closed  upon  him, 
he  knocked  loudly. 

"Vat  ish  your  pleashure  to  make  dis  tevil's 
noish  at  my  gatesh  ?  "  cried  the  angry  new  pro- 
prietor, instantly  reopening  it. 

"My  pleasure  is  to  offer  you  a  sovereign  for 
tidings  of  the  present  residence  of  Mr.  Osalez," 
cried  Basil,  following  the  axioms  of  A.  0.,  and 
coming  at  once  to  the  point. 

The  individual  thus  abruptly  apostrophized, 
coolly  jerked  the  proferred  coin  into  tiie  pocket  of 
his  dirty  coat,  and  referred  him  to  Abednego's 
former  residence  in  Greek  Street. 

"  Fool  that  I  was,  not  to  think  of  it  myself ! " 
muttered  Basil ;  and  away  he  hurried  to  drive  off, 
like  mad,  towards  Soho. 

Arrived  in  Greek  Street,  however,  his  hopes  were 
again  frustrated.  Scaffolding  was  established 
against  the  walls ; — and  bricklayers  and  plasterers 
were  at  work.  The  house  was  let,  it  appeared,  for 
twenty-one  years ;  and  the  workmen  knew  not  so 
much  as  the  name  of  the  former  proprietor. 

"  I  was  in  hopes  they  were  going  to  refer  me 
back  to  Paulet  Street,"  said  Basil  to  himself,  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  heart.  "  Nay,  without  their 
reference,  I  suppose  it  will  end  with  my  having 
to  travel  once  more  to  St.  Agnes  le  Clare. — ^A 
better  alternative,  certainly,  than  advertising  in 
the  Times  or  Hue-^md-Ory  for  the  nresent  abode  of 
A.  O."!  • 

In  the  excitement  of  feeling  produced  by  his 


disappointment,  he  even  determined  on  a  personal 
inquiry  at  the  door  of  Verelst,  which  he  had  pro- 
mised himself  never  again  to  approach  till  recalled 
by  the  artist ;  and  though  he  had  the  vexation  of  hear- 
ing, syllable  by  syllable,  the  same  message  delivered 
to  him  a  fortnight  before,  that  the  young  ladies  were 
"  out,"  and  the  painter  and  his  wife  "engaged," 
he  had  at  least  the  comfort  of  finding  that  Mrs. 
Verelst  was  convalescent. 

"The  young  ladies  are  well,  I  hope?"  said  he, 
turning  away  his  face  as  Jie  hazarded  the  inquiiy. 

"  Quite  well.  Sir, — ^that  is,  except  Miss  EsUio-, 
who  has  been  poorly  for  some  time,"  said  the  maid, 
in  a  confusad  manner. 

"  But  you  said  she  was  mrff" 

"  Yes,  Sir, — ^that  is — Sir; — the  family  don't  see 
no  more  company.  I  was  ordered  on  no  account  to 
let  nobody  in,"  said  the  girl,  still  more  embarrassed ; 
and  BasiJ^  vexed  as  he  was,  having  no  further  plea 
for  inquiry,  had  only  to  express  his  regret  at  the 
young  lady's  indisposition  and  walk  away. 

He  returned  that  day  to  the  Tower  in  a  mood  of 
mind  rendering  it  extremely  fortunate  that  his 
companions  received  him  on  hb  arrival  with  yawns, 
rather  than  pleasantries.  Maitland  and  Wilberton 
were  growing  too  dull  to  find  spirits  for  quizzing ; 
and  finding  that  he  brought  them  no  news  from 
St.  James's  Street,  they  soon  returned  to  the  snooae 
before  a  roasting  fire,  from  which  his  retom  had 
bestirred  them. 

Esther  ill, — Abednego  vanished  ! — No  means 
of  inquiry  after  either ! — At  his  next  visit  to  the 
West  End,  Annesley  hastened  to  pay  his  tardy 
compliments  to  Madame  Branzini,  as  a  channel  by 
which  he  might  at  least  gain  intelligence  of  the 
former.  But,  alas !  the  Consul  and  his  wife  were 
gone  down  to  Brighton  for  the  remsinder  of  the 
holidays. 

By  degrees  the  state  of  suspense  to  which  An- 
nesley was  reduced,  became  too  intolerable  to  be 
borne.  In  the  dreary  isolation  of  the  Tower,  be  had 
nothing  better  to  occupy  his  time,  than  to  ponder 
over  his  perplexities;  till  he  finally  became  so 
overmastered  by  his  feelings,  as  to  take  the  Ati- 
perate  resolution  of  applying  to  Wilberton  and 
Maitland  for  information.  He  had  every  reason 
to  infer  that  thty  at  least  must  be  cognizant  of 
the  Money-lender's  removal ;  and  at  the  risk  of 
incurring  their  sneers,  boldly  inquired  of  them  one 
night,  as  they  were  separating  for  bed,  whether 
they  could  favour  him  with  the  present  address  of 
A.  O.  Each  looked  at  the  other, — the  one  with 
surprise, — ^the  other  with  indignation.  Wilberton 
with  his  usual  boisterous  foUy  burst  into  a  horse- 
laugh ; — ^but  John  Maitland  accepted  the  questioB 
almost  as  an  insult.  He  had  not  foigotten  fiasiTs 
allusion  to  the  Money-lender  in  Arlington  Street, 
a  day  or  two  after  A.  0/s  awkward  appearance  cm 
the  scene ;  and  felt  convinced  that  Annesley  m^ 
be  foUy  aware  of  his  family  difficulties. 

"  You  had  better  look  in  the  Court  Guide,"  said 
he ; — "  or  in  the  Directory,  under  the  head  rf 
Money-lender,  ^ould  these  resources  faU,  I  daressy 
the  thief-takers  of  Bow  Street  can  give  you  ib- 
formation  concerning  your  friend." 

Maitland  had  quitted  the  room  b^ore  Basil  r&- 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


491 


cohered  breath  to  reply.  Resolyed  to  carry  out 
their  mutoal  explanations  on  the  morrow,  when 
John  MaiUand's  groundlees  anger  would  have  sub- 
sided, he  returned  to  the  comer  where  he  had  been 
seated,  and,  more  from  listlessness  than  with  any 
settled  purpose,  took  up  from  the  table  the  Court 
Gaide,  which  was  lying  beside  the  Annual  Army 
List,  (Ihe  two  classics  of  London  mess-rooms,)  and 
turned  to  the  letter  0. 

The  patronymic  of  Osalez  was  too  foreign  to  admit 
of  much  expectation  of  finding  it  there  at  aU. 
Nevertlieless,  immediately  preceding  a  long  cata- 
logue of  O'Shannessy's,  tliere  appeared  the  name 
of  Osalez  three  times  repeated  : — 
Osalez,  Bernard  Esq.,  14,  Poland  Street. 
Osalez,  R.  Esq.,  4,  Abbey  road.  Regent's  Park. 
Osalez,  A.  Esq.,  7^  Bernard  Street,  Russell  Square. 

Now,  though  A.  Osalez  Esq.,  might  import 
Andrew,  Augustus,  Alfred,  Allan,*-or  fifty  other 
names, — Ba^  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  but 
hope  and  believe  that  the  auspicious  initial  stood 
forno  other  than  "Abednego."  There  might  be 
dikpidated  houses  to  be  bought,  sold,  or  exchanged, 
in  Bernard  Street  as  well  as  elsewhere ;  at  all  events, 
he  was  determined  that  the  morrow  should  clear  up 
his  doubts ;  and,  accordingly,  at  the  very  time  he  had 
previously  promised  hiniself  to  have  a  clearing  up 
with  Ifaitland,  was  approaching  on  foot  the  door 
of  a  substantial-looking  house  in  Bernard  Street, 
Russell  Square. 

"What  a  thrice  double  ass  I  must  to  be,"  was  his 
secret  commentary  on  his  own  weakness,  ^  to  femcy 
that  such  a  man  as  A.  0.  would  allow  his  abode 
to  become  a  matter  of  advertisement  in  Boyle's 
Court  Guide." 

The  nearer  he  approached  the  house,  the  more 
he  became  assured  of  his  folly.  Not  a  vestige,  in 
the  comfortable,  dean,  and  mcKlem  residence  before 
him,  of  the  tumble-down  nature  of  A.  O.'s  habitual 
resorts, — not  a  token  of  occasion  for  a  "  repairing 
lease,"  in  Bernard  Street,  Russell  Square ;  not  a 
hrick  discoloured,-^ not  an  atom  of  mortar  dis- 
placed in  the  pointing.  The  door  was  varnished, — 
the  knocker  lustrous, — ^the  steps  bath-bricked  into 
snowy  whiteness^  not  a  speck  under  the  scraper;  and 
the  A.  Osalez  of  the  Court  Guide  would  have  become 
sn  old  maid  of  independent  fortune,  in  Basil's  ap- 
prehension, but  for  the  qualifying  designation  of 
"esquire." 

**  At  all  events,  as  I  am  utterly  unknown  in  this 
quarter  of  the  town,  I  can  knock  and  make  in- 
quiry,"—cogitated  Basil ;  and  the  summons  having 
heen  answered  by  a  grave-looking  family  butler, 
he  WHS  informed,  in  answer  to  his  formal  demand, 
that  <*  Mr.  Osalez  was  out." 

**  Has  he  not  been  recently  indisposed,"  demanded 
young  Annesley. 

**  My  master,  Sir,  is  just  returned  to  town." 

BeooUecting  Abednego's  diatribe  against  the 
nunous  waste  of  pampered  menials,  and  estimating 
the  expenses  (perquisites  included)  of  so  respect- 
able-looking a  gentleman  as  he  had  the  honour  of 
addressing  at  between  two  and  three  hundred  per 
annum,  Basil  almost  smiled  at  his  own  infatuation 
in  persisting  in  his  inquiries.  He  was  duly  sensible 
ef  the  impossibility  of  the  Money-lender  having 


affinity  with  the  proprietor  of  an  abode  so  comfort- 
able, a  servant  so  much  its  master. 

"  I  called  here  for  the  purpose  of  inquiring  after 
a  relation  of  Mr  Osalez," — hazarded  Biasil,  by  way 
of  excuse  to  the  butler  for  not  leaving  his  card. 

^  I  am  not  aware.  Sir,  that  my  master  has  any 
relations,"  replied  the  man,  assuming  an  air  of 
dignity  and  mistrust. — "I  have  been  some  years  in 
his  service,  and  never  heard  of  any.*' 

**  In  that  case,"  said  Basil, — **1  am  mistaken.-— 
I  understood  that  Mr.  Ahednego  Osalez  was  con- 
nected with  him." 

"  My  master^s  name.  Sir,  is  Ahednego,"  replied 
the  butler,^vidently  growing  impatient  of  so  long 
an  interrogatory  on  so  cold  a  day,  the  chilly  breezes 
of  which  had  already  dislodged  a  portion  of  powder 
from  his  cauliflower  head. 

**  At  what  hour  is  Mr.  Osalez  likely  to  be  at 
home  ?" — inquired  the  overjoyed  Basil. — 

**  I  really  can't  take  upon  me  to  say.  Sir.  His 
time  of  returning  from  the  city  is  very  uncertain." 

Young  Annesley  longed  to  hazard  an  inquiry 
what  especial  business  or  calling  took  him  habitu- 
ally to  the  city ;  but  destitute  of  pretext  for  such 
impertinent  curiosity,  he  found  nothing  better  to 
say  than  that  he  would  call  again, — ^nothing  better 
to  do  than  to  slink  away ; — leaving  the  dignified 
butler  of  opinion  that  he  had  been  summoned  from 
his  afternoon  doze  in  the  pantry  (or  more  probably 
beforethedining-room  fire,  with  ihs  Morning  Herald 
in  his  hand  by  way  of  a  screen)  to  very  little  purpose, 
and  by  a  very  suspicious  young  gentleman. 

Meanwhile,  scarcely  had  Basil  reached  the  comer 
of  the  street,  when  there  drove  past  him,  at  a  brisk 
pace,  a  plain  but  handsome  chariot,  to  which  he 
should  have  scarcely  raised  his  eyes  in  Arlington 
Street;  but  which,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Russell 
Square,  assumed  something  of  an  aristocratic  grace, 
— ^nay,  as  it  glanced  along,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
a  head  within,  which,  but  for  the  impossibility  of 
such  a  transition,— he  could  have  sworn  to  be  that 
of  A.  0.— 

"  The  old  man's  face  is  running  in  my  head,"— 
said  he,  vexed  at  his  own  folly :  ''and  like  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  when  writing  upon  quincunxes, 
I  descry  one  in  every  object  in  nature. — Not  an 
old  clodiesman  passes  me,  but  I  fancy  I  can  trace 
a  resemblance  to  Ahednego ! — And  now  to  be  equally 
struck  by  the  likeness  of  the  proprietor  of  a  pair 
of  horses  worth  four  hundred  guineas,  to  a  man 
who  grudges  himself  a  hackney  coach!" 

At  th^t  moment,  however,  he  recalled  to  mind 
his  collision  with  a  similar  carriage,  when  driving 
with  Blencowe  opposite  to  Hatchell's  nearly  a 
month  before ;  and  the  assertion  of  his  companion 
that  it's  solitary  inmate  was  none  other  than  the 
renowned  A.  0. ! 

He  had  half  a  mind  to  return  and  verify  the  fact ; 
but  already,  while  pursuinghistrainof  recollections, 
and  trying  to  recall  to  mind  whether  he  had  actually 
seen  tiie  face  of  the  Money-lender  in  the  brown 
chariot,  on  the  day  in  question,  he  had  reached 
half  way  across  Russell  Square ;  and  by  the  time 
he  retraced  his  steps  into  Bernard  Street,  the  car- 
riage had  disappeared. — He  had  not  courage  to 
reconfront  the  portly  butler  in  order  to  ascertain 


4J>2 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


^vhether  in  the  interim  it  had  deposited  its  inmate 
at  the  door  of  Mr.  Osalez. 

Moreover,  he  had  a  commission  to  execute  for 
Wilherton  at  Lawrence's,  concerning  the  progress 
of  a  new  dressing-hox,  the  huilding  of  which  had 
only  reached  the  second  story,  requiring  him  to  he 
in  Bond  Street  at  a  certain  hour,  to  meet  a  work- 
man who  was  to  receive  orders  concerning  the 
admeasurement  of  the  compartments ;  and  there 
was  no  time  to  lose. 

Still,  the  suhject  nearest  his  heart  was  not  for- 
gotten amid  the  perplexities  of  patent  hinges,  and 
the  shades  of  green  morocco  or  purple  velvet ; — 
and  after  taking  a  sandwich  and  glass  of  sherry  at 
the  Cluh,  and  asking  every  one  in  vain  for  news, 
to  carry  hack  to  the  ark  from  which  he  had  heen 
permitted  to  escape,  he  sent  for  Wilberton's  cah, 
which  he  had  promised  to  drive  back  to  the  Tower, 
and  prepared  for  departure. 

"  Surely,"  argued  Basil  with  himself,  with  singu- 
lar disregard  to  metropolitan  topography, — ^^'it 
would  make  little  difference  were  I  to  drive  round  by 
Russell  Square,  and  «o  along  the  City  Road? — I  feel 
that  I  shall  not  sleep  till  I  have  cut  through  the 
heart  of  this  perplexing  mystery." 

It  is  surprising  how  vaguely  we  admeasure 
distances,  when  they  regard  the  legs  and  horses  of 
other  people.  Having  convinced  himself  that  he 
was  taking  almost  the  nearest  way,  by  half-past 
live  o'clock,  Basil  was  dashing  along  through  the 
lighted  streets,  towards  Bernard  Street,  Russell 
Square  ;  and  emboldened  by  a  couple  of  glasses  of 
sherry,  he  desired  Wilberton's  tiger  to  knock  at 
the  door  before  which  he  checked  his  horse,  and 
inquire  whether  "  Mr.  Osalez  were  at  home." 

A  footman  in  a  plain  livery  now  appeared  to 
reinforce  the  butler;  and  who  having  answered  in 
the  affirmative,  Basil  had  no  alternative  but  to  jump 
out  and  follow  the  servant,  who  was  already  pre- 
ceding him  to  the  drawing-room  with  the  name  he 
liad  received  from  the  tiger,  up  the  richly-carpeted 
and  well-lighted  stairs.  Basil's  heart  almost 
quailed,  as  he  followed  his  pilot  in  tliis  vague 
voyage  of  discovery.  How  was  it  possible  that  this 
could  be  the  new  abode  of  A.  O.  ?  All  was  as  well 
established  and  regular  as  if  the  proprietor  were 
already  a  grandfather,  succeeding  in  name  of  in- 
heritance to  a  grandfather  of  his  own. 

The  door  of  the  drawing-room  being  now  thrown 
open,  and  the  name  of  "  Mr.  Annesley  "  articulately 
announced,  there  was  no  receding ;  and  struck  by 
the  unusual  gleam  of  light  within,  it  occurred  to 
Basil,  that  the  rooms  were  prepared  for  d  dinner- 
l)arty,  and  that  he  passed  with  the  servants  for  one 
of  the  guests ! 

Nor  was  he  mistaken.  On  clearing  the  thres- 
hold, he  perceived  that  half  a  dozen  grave-looking 
gentlemen  were  assembled  round  the  fire-place ; — 
one  or  two  seated  in  cozy  arm-chairs,— one  or  two 
standing  chatting  together  upon  the  hearth-rug. 
He  would  have  given  worlds  to  retreat! — Never 
had  he  felt  himself  so  complete  an  intruder! — Not 
a  face  in  the  room, — all  of  which  were  turned  to- 
wards him, — ^had  he  ever  beheld  in  his  life! — 

Nevertheless,  tlie  servants  liad  now  retired, 
closing  the  door  behind  them ;  while  he  looked 


around  in  indescribable  dismay,  hoping  to  deter- 
mine, from  the  attitude  of  the  persons  present, 
which  of  them  was  the'master  of  the  house,  to 
whom  his  apologies  were  due.  But  a  dead  siknee 
had  followed  the  announcement  of  his  name  ;  and 
no  one  seemed  more  particularly  sarprised  than  the 
rest  at  his  joining  the  party. 

At  lengtii  thb  portion  of  the  mystery  was  ex- 
plained. A  solemn-looking  old  gentlemen  with  a 
high  narrow  forehead,  a  pair  of  nankeen  shorts  and 
discoloured  white  silk  stockings,  many  degrees  in- 
ferior in  external  presentment  to  the  butler,  stepped 
graciously  forward  from  the  rug  to  the  carpet^  to 
announce  to  the  confused  young  man, — that  **  Mr. 
Osalez  would  make  his  appearance  in  a  moment, — 
having  had  letters  of  importance  to  answer,  after 
his  return  from  the  city." 

Annesley  bowed  and  tried  to  be  thankful.  At 
all  events,  he  judged  that  it  would  be  better  to 
await  the  coming  of  the  master  of  the  house  and 
make  apologies  to  him,  than  to  hurry  through  ex- 
planations unintelligible  and  unimportant  to  the 
guests,  and  sneak  off  with  the  air  of  a  detected 
pickpocket.  He  had  time,  therefore,  to  examine 
the  apartment ;  which  though  simply  was  richly 
furnished; — with  two  or  three  striking  pictures 
and  two  or  three  noble  bronzes  by  way  of  orna- 
ment.— The  conversation  his  arrival  had  interrupt- 
ed was  now  resumed,  though  litUe  to  his  advantage 
— for  not  a  syllable  uttered  by  the  five  elderiy 
gentiemen  conveyed  the  smallest  meaning  to  his 
ear ! — It  was  a  mystery  of  which  he  did  not  possess 
the  key ; — ^being  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
jargon  of  bankers  and  stock-brokers ! 

Not  daring  to  seat  himself  he  stood,  hat  in  hand, 
awaiting  the  opening  of  the  door,  and  wishing 
himself  fifty  fathoms  under  the  foundations  of  the 
White  Tower,  or  anywhere  else,  rather  than  a 
drawing-room  in  Bernard  Street,  Russell  Square. 
Had  there  been  women  present,  he  would  have  feh 
less  embarrassed  ;  the  tact  and  courtesy  of  the  sex 
readily  supplying  excuses  for  the  indiscretion  of  one 
of  his  age  and  appearance. — But  those  five  solemn 
old  men  in  their  knee-breeches  and  buckled  shosH, 
— ^their  white  side  curls  or  bald  crowns, — amounted 
to  the  awful. — He  would  as  soon  have  interrupted 
a  solemnization  of  the  priests  of  Isis  and  Osiris  in 
the  Great  Pyramid. 

At  length,  a  step  approached  the  drawing-room 
door;— ^and  though  Basil's  blood  nm  cold  with 
nervousness,  his  cheeks  glowed  with  blushes  as  the 
door  opened,  and  the  master  of  the  house  made  his 
appearance ! 

*^I  have  a  thousand  apologies  to  offer  you,  goitle- 
men,"  said  a  voice  which  yielded  instant  confirma- 
tion to  the  astounding  conviction  which  a  first 
glance  had  produced  in  the  mind  of  Basil,— ''I 
have  a  thousand  apologies  to  offer  you  ! — a  me«- 
senger  from  Downing  Street  was  awaiting  me  o& 
my  return. — I  fear  I  have  appeared  very  long.  But 
dinner  will  be  served  in  a  moment." 

Mr.  Osalez  now  shook  hands  in  turn  with  his 
elderly  guests,  addressing  to  each  some  distingiiish- 
ing  word  of  compliment.  When  it  came  to  the  tnm 
of  Basil  to  be  noticed,  the  young  man's  heart  sink 
within  him.  He  was  prepared  for  a  start  of  surprise 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


493 


• — a  darcasiic  reproof ! — It  did  not  occur  to  him  that, 
his  name  having  been  ahready  privately  announced 
to  his  host  by  the  servants,  no  surprise,  at  least, 
would  be  manifested. — So  far,  however,  from  hear- 
ing the  sarcasms  he  had  anticipated,  even  his 
apologies  were  forestalled  by  the  well-bred  courtesy 
of  Mr.  Osalez. 

"  I  rejoice  to  see  you,  my  dear  Annesley,"  said 
he.  ^  You  must  leave  it  to  «m  to  apologize  to  my 
old  Mends  here,  for  your  appearance  among  them 
in  your  morning  drees, — ^my  invitation,  I  know, 
reached  you  too  late  this  evening,  to  admit  of  your 
dressing  to  join  our  party.  You  have  shown,  indeed, 
far  higher  breeding  than  myself, — ^by  preferring 
your  own  discomfort  to  keeping  others  waiting." 

So  perfect  was  the  self-possession  of  A.  0.  while 
uttering  this  explanation,  that  Basil  was  for  a 
moment  really  posed  to  determine  whether  he 
might  not  really  have  been  invited,  and  the  letter 
of  invitation  missed  him. 

^  Believe  me,  I  had  not  the  smallest  intention  of 
intruding  upon  your  party — "  he  was  beginning. 
But  Osalez  stopped  him  short.  ''  I  have  sent  away 
your  cabriolet  till  eight  o'clock,"  said  he—"  that 
hour  will,  I  believe,  admit  of  your  returning  in 
time  to  the  Tower." 

There  was  something  so  collected  and  so  positive 
in  the  manner  of  his  host^  that  Basil,  seeing  at 
once  he  was  resolved  to  detain  him,  conceived  that 
the  best  thing  he  could  do  for  the  furtherance  of 
his  own  objects,  was  to  coincide  in  the  decision  of 
his  extraordinary  friend.  He  had  no  leisure  for 
deliberation,  indeed,  for  at  that  moment  dinner 
was  announced ;  and  on  proceeding  to  the  warm 
and  comfortable  dining-room,  he  saw  that  a  seventh 
cover  had  been  added  to  the  richly-laid,  round 
table. 

Never  had  Basil  felt  more  embarrassed  than  on 
taking  his  place ! — Never  had  he  felt  more  tho- 
roughly out  of  place! — Those  grave-looking  old 
men,-— ^e  mysterious  host,  who,  by  his  composed 
manner  of  deposing  of  him,  seemed  to  possess 
some  preternatural  influence  over  his  destinies. — 
But  by  degrees  the  influence  of  light  and  warmth, 
capital  wines,  and  an  excellent  dinner,  exercised 
their  genial  influence  on  soul  and  body.  Basil  had 
been  accustomed  to  feast  with  the  great.  The  tables 
of  the  Duke  of  Rochester  and  Lord  Maitland,  of 
both  of  whom  he  had  been  of  late  a  frequent  guest, 
were  cited  by  the  world  as  uniting  all  that  a  cordon 
bUUf  a  first  rate  French  cook,  Italian  confectioner, 
and  German  nkdire  d^haUly  could  produce  in  the 
way  of  sancir  vhre. — ^But  it  struck  him  that  he  had 
never  seen  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  in  such  exquisite 
perfection  as  now ;  and  it  amused  him  not  a  little 
to  hear  the  venerable  gentlemen  treat  of  such 
matters,  not  only  with  the  intense  ffusto  invariably 
attributed  by  old  books  to  Aldermen,  (a  proof 
among  many  others  that  we  derive  our  civilisation 
from  the  East^)  but  as  though  the  city  were  the 
fountain-head  of  the  good  things  of  this  world ; 
and  that  Billingsgate,  Smithfield,  and  Farringdon, 
despatched  to  the  West  End  only  their  refuse  pro- 
duce, after  dedicating  the  finest  to  the  heavier 
purses  of  the  aristocracy  of  Guildhall.  He  had 
not  been  accustomed  in  Arlington  Street  to  hear 


turtle  and  venison  treated  of  as  things  unknown, 
in  perfection,  on  the  Western  side  of  Temple  Bar ! 
But  it  was  not  the  mere  gastronomy  of  the 
dinner  that  warmed  his  heart.  It  was  most  edify- 
ing to  see  the  grave  faces  of  the  six  old  gentlemen 
relax  under  the  influence  of  that  convivial  atmo- 
sphere. Warmed  by  the  stimulus  of  wine,  such  as 
never  before  had  reached  his  lips,  (the  juice  of  the 
grape  pure  from  the  wine-press  of  the  sunny  South, 
mellowed  only  by  the  hand  of  time,  instead  of  the 
drugged  and  fiery  decoctions  to  which  messes  and 
Clubs  had  habituated  his  palate!)  they  soon  ex- 
panded into  cheerfulness ; — and  he  had  occasion  to 
note  the  difierence  between  the  man  of  intelligence 
and  information  unfolding  his  stores  under  such 
influence,  and  the  empty  noise  produced  by  similar 
excitement  upon  his  usual  companions. — You 
might  as  well  have  attempted  to  intoxicate  an 
exciseman's  guage,  as  produce  more  than  a  certain 
efiect  on  the  well-seasoned  brains  of  these  good 
livers  of  half  a  century's  experience.  With  them, 
the  opener  of  the  heart  and  mind  served  only  to 
bring  out,  with  freer  expansion,  their  prodigious 
stores  of  knowledge  of  the  world. 

And  what  a  world  ! — How  illimitably  did  Basil's 
horizon  seem  to  expand  as  he  listened.  Hitherto 
his  notions  of  "  the  world"  might  have  been  geo- 
graphically defined  as  "  bounded  on  the  North  by 
Marylebone,— on  the  South  by  Lambeth, — the  East 
by  St.  Martin's  Lane, — the  West  by  Kensington 
Gardens."  But  he  now  heard  America  and  China 
familiarly  talked  of  as  lying  within  the  ring-fence 
of  the  Idngdom  of  Mammon ! — India  seemed  re- 
garded as  a  home-farm  by  these  old  gentlemen; 
and  the  spice  islands  were  their  flower-gardens ! — 
Their  caravans  were  traversing  the  wilderness,  like 
the  private  post  of  some  lordly  establishment.  As 
to  Europe, — poor,  common-place,  domestic  Europe, 
—each  of  them  had  his  courier  galloping  home- 
wards from  Petersburg,  Vienna,  Berlin — ^like  Horse 
Gruards'  egtafettes,  trotting  backwards  and  forwards 
to  Hampton  Court  or  Hounslow. — ^As  to  Paris,  it 
was  a  toy — a  snufi^-box,  that  seemed  to  lie  in  their 
waistcoat  pocket ! 

While  these  facts  were  gradually  transpiring,  not 
in  the  way  of  vaunt  but  the  course  of  conversation, 
Basil  naturally  expected  that  a  triumphant  glance 
of  the  eye  from  Abednego  would  furtively  intimate 
to  him — **  Behold !  these  are  the  kings  of  whom 
I  spake  I — ^the  Kings  of  Tarsus  and  Epirus,  of  Tyre 
and  Sidon, — ^these  are  the  master-hands  that  move 
the  wires  of  kingly  puppets, — ^these  are  the  main- 
brings  of  aristocratic  action, — ^these  are  they  with- 
out whom  privy-councils  and  parliaments  might 
mouth  and  gibber  in  vain, — these  are  the  veritable 
monarchs  who  make  peace  and  war; — ^these  are 
the  potentates  who  created  the  independence  of 
America,  who  rendered  France  a  citizen  kingdom, 
— and  would  do  as  much  for  the  British  empire, 
had  peer-ridden  England  the  smallest  taste  for 
enfranchisement." 

But  not  a  look — not  a  word — ^not  a  syllable, — 
implied  peculiar  significance  or  understanding  be- 
tween himself  and  his  host. — He  probably  passed, 
to  those  elderly  sovereigns,  as  some  prot^^  to  whom 
Osalez  deigned  to  extend  no  more  than  tiie  protect-* 


494 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


ing  notice  of  admitting  him  occasionally  to  his 
board ;  and  each  in  succession  took  wine  with  him 
in  the  encouraging  manner  with  which  they  would 
haTe  patronised  a  school-boy  at  home  for  the 
holidays.  They  refrained  not  from  their  usual 
discourse  in  mistrust  of  the  presence  of  this  one 
accidental  stranger ;  neither  did  they  seek  to  find 
in  him  fiwre  than  a  listener ;  but  continued  to 
treat  of  kings  and  ministers  in  all  quarters  of  the 
globe^ — as  so  many  implements  for  coining  in  the 
hands  of  those  real  masters  of  the  world,-— the 
money-mongers  of  its  various  exchanges. 

It  was  interesting,  howeyer,  to  young  Annesley 
to  perceire  that  there  was  nothing  of  assumption 
or  braggarty  in  their  self-assertion.  In  the  House 
of  Ck>mmons,  in  the  Clubs,  at  the  convivial  meet- 
ings of  the  West  End,  he  had  been  often  disgusted 
by  the  tone  of  flippancy  or  bullying  assumed 
whenever  the  deferences  of  life  were  laid  aside. 
But  here,  all  was  decorous  as  in  the  Upper  House 
with  the  Bench  of  Bishops  and  the  Woolsack  as 
dead  weights  upon  the  buoyancy  of  human  nature* 
It  was  the  magnanimous  exercise  of  power,  like 
the  quiet  lifting  of  an  elephant's  trunk  to  sport  with 
the  child  it  might,  if  angered,  encoil  and  crush. 
These  great  financial  operators,  whose  electric 
wires  oommunicated  from  one  end  of  the  world  to 
the  other,  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  jesting 
over  the  bankruptcy  of  kingdoms,  or  the  necessities 
of  princes,  of  which  they  were  treating, — as  the 
Home  Department  would  think  of  perpetrating  a 
pun  over  a  death-warrant  I 

Still  less,  however,  were  they  grave  or  pompous; 
and  many  an  amusing  anecdote  transpired  connect- 
ed with  tiie  statesmen  or  measures  of  the  day,  that 
might  have  told  less  well  elsewhere,  but  derived 
peculiar  charm  from  the  authenticity  certified  by 
the  gmius  loci. 

For  Annesley  was  beginning  to  understand  with 
whom  he  was  dipping  in  the  diah.^ — ^The  names  by 
which  he  heard  hb  companions  mutually  addressed, 
were  those  he  knew  to  be  attached  to  loans  and 
other  gigantic  financial  operations,  and  saw  an- 
nounced by  the  papers  as  having  audiences  of  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer ; — men  whose  names, 
inscribed  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  create  a  railroad  that 
is  to  facilitate  the  intercommunication  of  king- 
doms,— an  Argentine  Republic,  a  county  hospital, 
or  an  insurrection  in  Cochin  China ! 

Over  a  dessert,  the  forced  fruit,  lime-ice,  and 
Chateau  Laffitte  of  which  would  have  caused  the 
Duke  of  Rochester's  eyes  to  glisten,  the  host  and 
his  most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  Signiors  of 
guests,  sat  gossipping  of  the  State  affairs  of  the 
world,  as  though  their  little  synod  constituted  the 
privy-ooundl  of  the  universe.  They  talked  of  the 
politics  of  Europe  as  men  talked  of  the  tactics  of  a 
game  of  chess,  over  which  they  have  the  disposal; 
—of  sovereigns,  as  if  in  their  degrees  the  ivory  or 
ebony  or  box- wood  pieces  of  the  board.  The  identity 
of  such  privileged  portions  of  human  nature  was 
evidently  unimportant  to  their  calculations. — ^There 
was  no  Nicholas, — ^no  Francis, — ^no  Frederick 
William  to  the  high-priest  of  Mammon ;  but  in 
their  places,  Prussia,  Hardenberg  and  Co.,— 
Austria,  Mettemich  and  Co.,— Russia,  Nessekode 


and  Co. — Of  money  itself  under  the  august  name 
of  Capital,  they  treated  as  he  had  never  heud  it 
treated  before, — as  an  end  and  not  a  mean ;— sod 
millions  sounded  in  their  mouths  less  thin  the 
pennies,  or  even  the  pounds,  he  was  accustomed  to 
hear  betted  elsewhere.  In  the  arguments  of  tbt 
singular  coterie,  there  was  matter  to  drive  thrice 
as  many  PolitioJ  Economists  to  distraction  !— 

In  the  midst  of  the  discussion,  young  Anaakj 
could  not  forbear  reverting  with  a  degree  of  uaut- 
ment,  amounting  almost  to  the  ludicrous,  to  the 
sense  of  compassion  with  which  he  had,  so  ahorti 
time  before,  acoosted  the  old  beggar-man  of  Pinkt 
Street ;  and  the  terrors  with  which,  in  his  neceiBity 
for  a  paltry  loan  of  £900,  he  had  undeigone  his 
cross-examination  in  Greek  Street,  Soho^  Ukyn- 
sence  of  the  redoubtable  A.  0. ! 

CHAPTER  xu. 

The  pleasantries  with  which  Basil  Annesky  had 
been  of  late  persecuted  by  his  brother  offioen  con- 
cerning his  unaccountable  intimacy  with  and  p«- 
dilection  for  the  notorious  Money-lender,  would 
unquestionably  have  been  renewed  an  the  eveniog 
of  the  day  in  question,  could  they  have  snnniaed 
the  series  of  strange  events  which  brought  hin 
back  flushed  and  agitated  to  the  Tower,  a  fewseoonds 
before  the  expiration  of  the  garrisca  hour^ — ^Bat 
he  offered  no  explanatioiis  ;  and  having  two  or 
three  important  pieces  of  political  news  to  com- 
municate, (acquired  among  the  prophets  of  the 
Stock  Exdumge,)  besides  an  anecdote  of  the  Dow- 
ager Colonel's  having  faUen  on  his  noee  behiod  the 
scenes  of  one  of  the  theatres,  to  the  displaoaoeDt 
of  his  hat,  wig,  and  proboscis^ — they  let  him  off 
without  much  severity  of  cross-examinatioo,  and 
scarcely  a  siugle  reproach. 

It  was  not  till  alone,  and  in  the  ailenee  of  the 
night,  that  BasU  began  to  inquire  of  hinuelf 
whether  all  that  had  of  late  befftllen  him,  were  not 
the  unreal  mockery  of  a  dream  ; — ^whether  then 
really  existed  either  an  Abednego  UieMoney-ksder, 
or  a  high-bred  and  luxurious  banker  or  stock- 
broker, or  bill-broker,  named  Osakz. 

Perplexed  by  his  reflections  and  fevered  hj  Hi- 
usual  excess,  he  was  unable  to  dose  his  eyes ;  or  if 
he  closed  them  for  a  moment  it  was  to  be  farther 
derided  and  perplexed  by  the  oonfnsed  dreamt  d 
indigestion  ;  wherein  his  mother  and  Eetiier  were 
intermingled  with  the  dying  man  in  the  old  attic 
in  Westminster,  and  the  Jew  usurer  who  bad  I^ 
lieved  his  pecuniary  difficulties  and  bestowed  ipoi 
him  the  richest  treasure  in  his  posseaedon. 

Nor  did  the  momii^  sun  bring  its  usual  eomloit 
and  enlightenment. — The  more  he  reflected  <m  theie 
mysteries,  the  more  they  i^peared  to  darkeiL— 
He  had  lost  all  confidence  in  his  own  powenef 
perception, — ^in  his  own  powers  of  volitiou-— This 
strange  man,— this  i^hm/oIniia,— this  DjiBB,--4hi» 
mysterious  influence, — appeared  to  eadold  hie  dei> 
tinies  as  with  the  coil  of  a  Boa-constiietory  and 
the  capability  of  crushing  him  at  will  j— and  m»d* 
this  persuasion,  endured  in  solitary  irritatioii  day 
after  day,  the  health  of  Basil,  which  had  betf 
almost  reestablished,  again  began  to  give  wi^.  He 
was  soon  confined  to  his  room,— -wanting  eithff 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


495 


power  or  inclination  to  cross  the  drawbridge :  nor 
was  this  any  source  of  regret  to  him. — Denied  ac- 
cess to  the  house  of  Yerelst — ^too  proud  to  seek  it 
again, — ^to  that  of  a  man  whom  he  nowreoognised  as 
rich  and  powerful,  and  on  whom  he  had  the  claim  of 
benefits  conferred, — ^he  had  not  the  smallest  incli- 
nation to  quit  his  retirement. 

It  was  a  severe  season. — ^Though  the  Spring  was 
apinroaching,  a  six- weeks'  frost  iiUed  the  clubs  of  St. 
James's  Street  with  hunting  men,  and  augmented 
tiie  wisdom  and  dirisions  of  parliament  with  the 
number  of  its  county  members ;  yet  Basil  was  per- 
fectly satisfied  to  remain  day  after  day  in  his  quar- 
ters.— To  beguile  hiaennm^  betook  opportunity  to  re- 
new, as  Esther  had  often  entreated  him^  his  study  of 
the  Crerman  language,  which,  since  hisdeparturefrom 
Heidelberg,  he  had  suffered  to  grow  rusty.  For  he 
had  been  struck,  at  his  dinner  in  Bernard  Street,  with 
the  adrantage  which  those  puissant  old  men  seemed 
to  deriye  from  their  fiuniliarity  with  modem  lan- 
guages.-^French,  Italian,  Crerman,  were  fiuniliar 
to  tiiem  as  English ;  (a  circumstance  strongly 
indicative  of  their  own  foreign  origin ;)  and  they 
appeared  to  verify  the  axiom  of  Charke  V.,  that 
**  so  many  languages  as  a  man  possesses,  so  many 
times  is  he  a  man." 

It  was  in  vain  his  brother  officers  reviled  him 
by  the  name  of  **  sap,"  and  protested  that  Nancy 
was  going  to  advertise  for  a  place  as  finishing-go- 
verness. He  adhered  to  his  seclusion  and  submitted 
to  be  thought  a  bore  rather  than  join  in  pleasures 
for  which  he  bad  lost  all  inclination. 

The  insight  he  had  incidentally  obtained  from  A. 
O.  into  the  prospects  of  Wilberton  and  John  Mait- 
land,  rendered  it  doubly  disagreeable  to  him  to  see 
them  indulging  in  habits  of  expense  unsuited  to  their 
means ;  and  as  they  refused  to  listen  to  his  remon- 
strances, and  at  first  replied  to  them  with  repartees 
ooneeming  the  views  and  principles  he  was  contract- 
ing among  his  Jewish  associates,  which  he  was  com- 
pdUed  to  ^ence  by  a  serious  explanation,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  adhere  to  his  own  pursuits,  and 
pass  fbr  a  churL 

Meanwhile,  fatal  confirmation  was  yielded  to  the 
predictions  of  his  mysterious  friend,  by  an  announce- 
ment which,  some  weeks  afterwards,  appeared  in 
the  morning  papers, — ^that,— "  The  Duke  of  Ro- 
chester, having  broken  up  hb  establishment  at  Ro- 
chester House  and  Wilberton  Castie,  was  about  to 
proceed  to  tt&ly,  where  his  Grace's  family  intended 
to  reside  for  a  period  of  some  years." 

The  news  produced  considerable  emotion  in  the 
fashionable  circles  1 — ^not  indeed  the  expatriation 
of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Rochester,  for  whom 
personally  people  cared  no  more  than  for  any  other 
hospitable  duke  and  duchess.  But  the  loss  of 
Rochester  Houseand  WflbertonCastle  was  a  serious 
injury  to  those  innumerable  butterfly  friends  who 
had  found,  in  his  Grace's  rent-roll  of  fifty  thousand 
per  annum,  a  gratuitous  source  of  enjoyment. — 
As  Abednego  had  judiciously  observed  to  Basil 
during  his  attendance  in  Delahaye  Street,  it  was 
no  wonder  that  so  very  popular  a  man  should  be- 
come a  bankrupt ;  since,  to  ensure  what  is  called 
popularity  to  a  duke  with  fifty  thousand  a-year, 
it  is  absolutely  indispensable  that  he  should  ea^pend 
a  hundjred  thousand. 


In  a  society  so  limited  as  that  in  which  Basil 
was  living,  and  which  included  also  one  between 
whom  and  the  dukedom  of  Rochester  there  inter- 
posed only  a  couple  of  lives,  such  an  occasion  as 
this  public  announcement  could  not  fail  to  produce 
frequent  and  most  disagreeable  reference  to  Jews 
and  money-lenders ;  or  still  oftener,  and  still  more 
disagreeably,  a  sudden  cessation  of  such  references, 
in  compliment  to  his  presence. — It  was  not  indeed 
for  young  Annesley  to  become  the  advocate  of 
Abednego,  or  take  up  the  line  of  argument  in  his 
defence  which  the  Money-lender  had  himself  as- 
sumed in  treating  of  the  extravagance  of  the  Ro- 
chesters  ;  nay,—- since  he  had  become  so  strangely 
an  eye-witness  of  the  wealth  and  transformations 
of  this  mysterious  individual,  mistrust  was  begin- 
ning to  dhninish  even  his  own  partiality.  Still  he 
experienced  sufficient  gratitude  and  sufficient  in- 
terest in  his  favour,  to  feel  the  deepest  regret  at 
finding  him  exposed  to  general  obloquy. 

The  premature  newspaper  announcement  of  the 
Duke  of  Rochester's  intended  departure,  produced 
of  course  the  measure  it  purported  to  prognosticate. 
Beset  by  claimants  who,  so  long  as  his  credit 
laboured  only  under  an  imputation  of  ^^  done  up," 
had  refrained  from  molesting  him  in  the  hope  of 
tempting  him  to  add  a  few  hundreds  or  thousands 
to  the  amount  of  demands  they  were  certain  of 
establishing  with  legal  interest  against  his  estate, 
his  Grace  was  now  compelled  to  bid  a  precipitate 
adieu  to  the  London  world,  which  shines  upon  us, 
like  the  moon,  only  so  long  as  the  sun  of  our  pro- 
sperity reflects  brightness  upon  its  face ;  and  the 
orig^inal  inauthentic  announcement  of  his  intended 
departure,  was  shortiy  followed  up  by  an  authentic 
auctioneer's  advertisement,  setting  forth,  in  periods 
uniting  the  sesquipedalian  pomposity  of  Johnson 
with  the  efflorescence  of  Hafiz  and  a  whole  column 
of  the  Morning  Post,  the  details  of  a  sale  of  the 
effects  of  '^a  distinguished  nobleman  recentiy  re- 
moved to  the  continent"  Rochester  House,  Wil- 
berton Castle,  and  their  heir-looms,  were  of  course 
inviolable ;  but  the  furniture  of  the  former,  includ- 
ing an  unique  collection  of  articles  of  virtHy  had 
been  seized  by  the  creditors  and  was  now  on  view ; 
described,  for  the  gratification  of  vulgar  curiosity, 
in  advertisements  and  catalogues,  with  a  waste  of 
pomp,  circumstance,  and  ignorant  difiiiseness, 
serving  to  prove  that  what  is  called  the  Public 
must  have  a  prodigious  portion  of  leisure  to  read 
and  stare. 

One  morning,  about  a  fortnight  previous  to  the 
expiration  of  Ms  service  at  the  Tower,  a  fine  morning 
towards  the  dose  of  March,  which  might  have  been 
mistaken  for  a  sunny  April  day,  tempted  Basil 
Annesley  and  Maithmd  to  boat  it  to  the  West 
End ;  where  the  chief  interest  and  object  of  the 
former  consisted  in  obtaining  a  glimpse  of  the  house 
where  Esther  resided,— occasionally  leaving  a  card 
at  the  door,  with  inquiries  after  the  health  of  the 
family ;  in  order  to  prove  that,  if  excluded  from 
their  society,  he  had  not  become  unmindful  of  their 
welfiire. 

Having  fulfilled  this  chivabous  duty,  while 
Maitland  proceeded  to  Arlington  Street  in  search 
of  letters,  (the  family  of  Lord  Maitland  having 


498 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY- LENDER. 


profited  bj  his  being  quartered  at  the  Tower  to 
refresh  themselyes  for  the  London  season  by  a  few 
weeks'  sojourn  at  Brighton,)  they  met  again  at  the 
Club,  and  found  that  they  had  still  an  idle  hour 
to  di^)08e  of. — Tennis  presented  itself  as  the  readiest 
resource ;  but  on  hastening  to  the  court,  it  proved 
to  be  engaged  for  the  remainder  of  the  morning : 
and  in  order  to  get  rid  of  themselves  on  the  easiest 
terms,  Maitland  proposed  that  they  should  saunter 
into  Rochester  House,  which  was  open  to  public 
view,  preparatory  to  the  sale  of  the  furniture. — ^A 
crowd  of  carriages  of  course  obstructed  the  court- 
yard ;  for  if,  as  La  Rochefoucault  assures  us,  there 
is  something  in  the  sight  of  the  disasters  of  our 
friend  which  is  not  unpleasing  to  us,  the  fact  is 
never  more  strongly  exemplifi^  than  in  the  haste 
with  which  London  idlers  scamper  to  a  peremptory 
sale  of  the  effects  of  some  fashionable  bankrupt, 
at  whose  expense  they  have  been  long  entertained. 

The  rooms  were  crowded,  even  to  suffocation ; — 
almost  as  crowded  and  almost  as  suffocating  as  for 
tlie  assemblies  and  balls  of  the  ^popular"  Duchess  of 
Rochester ; — and  Maitland  and  Annedey,  who  had 
only  a  short  time  to  allot  to  their  visit,  began  to  fear 
that  they  should  be  detained  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  till  their  hour  was  expired. — Just,  however, 
as  Maitland  was  expressing  this  opinion  to  his  com- 
panion, Basil  found  himself  plucked  by  the  sleeve 
by  one  of  the  auctioneer's  men  in  charge  of  the 
furniture,  who  had  mounted  guard  behind  the  marble 
pedestal  of  a  magnificent  bronze  figure  of  Mercury, 
brandishing  a  candelabrum  for  a  caduceus,  which 
stood  in  the  lobby. 

^^Schlip  in  behind  here,  Shir,"  said  the  man, 
**  and  I'll  show  ye  a  crosh-cut  into  the  mushic 
room,  that'll  get  ye  shafe  through  the  crowdsh." 

And  suiting  the  actbn  to  the  word,  the  man 
opened  a  small  door  in  the  wall  behind  him,  leading 
into  a  small  passage  ;  to  mask  the  entrance  of 
which,  the  placing  of  the  niche  and  statue  had 
probably  been  devised. 

"Another  Jewish  friend  of  yours,  eh.  Nan?" — 
cried  Maitland,  when,  at  the  end  of  the  small  and 
deserted  corridor  in  question,  they  found  themselves,, 
by  passing  another  masked  door  opening  behind  a 
chamber  organ,  in  the  music  room  ; — ^and  while 
Basil  attempted  to  laugh  off  the  favour  shown  him, 
which  he  was  as  much  at  a  loss  to  explain  as 
Maitland  himself,  the  men  in  charge  of  the  rooms, 
conceiving  by  the  privilege  they  enjoyed,  that  the 
two  intruders  mttst  be  personages  of  signal  mark 
and  distinction,  began  to  overwhelm  them  with 
such  obsequiousness  of  service  that  they  were  glad 
to  escape  into  the  adjoining  picture-gallery. 

"By  Jove !  there's  Lady  Winterfield  coquetting 
it  away  with  the  young  Marquis,  in  the  prettiest 
French  bonnet  I  ever  saw,"  cried  Maitland, — with 
as  little  interest  in  the  master-pieces  contained  in  the 
gallery,  ashe  hadformerly  experienced  when  visiting 
the  spot  as  the  guest  of  the  Duke  of  Rochester. 
"  Come  along,  Nan,  and  let  us  interrupt  the  court- 
ship ! — It  will  be  famous  fun !" — 

Basil,  however,  was  firmly  rooted  to  the  exami- 
nation of  the  pictures. 

"  We  may  never  have  occasion  to  see  these  chef 
d*(n(Tr€8  again ! "  said  he. 


"If  we  don't, — ^what  the  deuce  signifies? — ^But 
we  iludl  see  them  again.  Some  fool  or  other  of  our 
acquaintance  will  be  sure  to  buy  the  best  of  them! 
— So,  there's  a  good  fellow, — come !" 

But  in  spite  of  all  his  persuasicms,  Annesley  re- 
mained immoveable.  Among  the  pictures  weie 
three  or  four  that  claimed  his  earnest  and  startled 
attention,  from  the  nngular  fact  of  having  seen 
them  in  progress  on  the  easel  of  Verelst.  Above 
all,  there  was  a  pair  of  battle-pieces  which  could 
only  have  been  very  recently  purchased  by  the 
unthrifty  duke  or  finished  by  the  needy  artisfc ; 
for  one  of  them  contained  the  identical  design  of 
the  broken  bridge,  (though  the  figures  were  por- 
trayed in  costumes  of  the  middle  ages,)  of  which  he 
had  watched  the  original  design  start  to  life  under 
the  pencil  of  Verelst ! 

With  eager  interest,  he  instantly  referred  to  the 
catalogue ;  and  to  his  surprise  and  indignation, 
found  each  of  the  pictures  in  question  assigned  to 
some  ancient  master ! — the  pair  in  question  wa» 
boldly  attributed  to  no  less  a  hand  than  that  of 
Salvator  Rosa ! — 

"Infamous !" — ^burst  involuntarily  from  his  lips, 
— and  he  was  about  to  disclose  to  his  companion 
the  grounds  of  his  indignation,  as  a  further  instance 
of  the  often-reviled  impositions  of  auctions  and 
auctioneers, — ^when  Maitland  impelled  him  forward 
for  the  amiable  purpose  of  frustrating  Lady  Win- 
terfield's  flirtation. 

To  return  to  the  charge,  or  even  to  retom  to  the 
picture,  was  out  of  the  question :  they  were  now 
inextricably  involved  in  the  vortex  of  fashionable 
sight-seers,  and  compelled  to  add  their  confirmation 
to  the  luminous  truism  which  had  a  hundred 
times  escaped  hundreds  of  lips,  in  that  gallery  that 
very  day :  i,e.  "  What  a  horrible  crowd !" 

A  littie  reflection  determined  Basil  to  pos^Kmey 
till  the  morrow,  a  more  deliberate  verificatioii  of 
the  imposture  of  which  he  was  himself  convinced ; 
and  he  consequently  acceded  to  Maitland's  request 
when,  having  reached  the  end  of  the  gallery  with- 
out exciting  the  slightest  token  of  vexation  on  the 
part  of  the  fashionable  widow,  he  proposed  that 
they  should  escape  from  the  throng  they  had  bera 
surveying  in  lieu  of  the  articles  of  virti^  forming 
their  ostensible  attraction  to  the  spot,  and  make 
the  best  of  their  way  home  to  dinner,  while  time 
and  tide  permitted. 

"  What  a  devil  of  a  show  up  !"  was  .the  amiable 
apostrophe  of  Maitland,  on  quitting  the  conrfyard« 
"  Pm  sorry  for  Rochester,  because  he  was  really  a 
deuced  good  fellow.  He  regularly  mounted  me  for 
six  weeks  last  hunting  season,  when  I  veent  down 
to  the  castle  with  Wilberton — ay,  and  capitally 
too ! — Milton  couldn't  have  done  it  better. — ^Aad 
then,  he  plays  the  best  game  of  picquet  in  England, — 
that  is, — the  best  or  nearly  the  best ! — I'm  really 
deuced  sorry  for  him." 

"  I  am  still  more  sorry  for  his  family,"— obserred 
Basil.  "  His  family  are  growing  up ;  and  it  is  a 
hard  thing  for  his  daughters." 

"  Ay — ^they  have  your  friend  A.  O.  to  thank,  I 
suspect,  for  this  disgusting  publicity  of  the  sale.* — 

"  It  is  not  the  sale  for  which  I  pity  them,  hat 
the  occasion  of  it,"--ob8erved  Basil. 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


4flT 


"  It  wouldn't  much  surprise  me  if  there  were  the 
same  sort  of  crash  at  our  house  one  fine  day  or 
other,**  resumed  Maitland,  pursuing  as  if  half  un- 
consciously his  own  train  of  reflections. — "  I've  good 
reason  to  know  that  my  father  is  cursedly  dipped ; 
and  he  won't  give  up  Newmarket ! — Let  what  will 
happen,  he  won't  give  up  Newmarket ! — ^A  devil 
of  a  look-out  for  hm, — and  worse  still  for  the 
younger  children.  I've  gone  as  far  as  my  con- 
science or  my  lawyer's  (and  I  don't  know  which 
is  blackest ! )  would  let  me,  in  cutting  off  the 
entail ; — and  though  the  governor  and  my  mother 
ha?e  been  badgering  me  these  three  months  to  sanc- 
tion another  mortgage,  as  to  enable  them  to  keep 
up  the  war,  at  least  till  my  sisters  are  married,  my 
duty  to  those  that  come  after  me  (eh? — ^that's  the 
right  text,  isn't  it,  for  the  No-go  of  an  heir-appar- 
ent?)  won't  allow  me  to  make  ducks  and  drakes  of 
the  last  few  acres  of  the  family  property." 

Basil  Annesley,  feeling  that  his  companion  was 
excited  by  the  scene  which  they  had  just  quitted 
mto  somewhat  indiscreet  revelations,  now  attempted 
to  tun  the  conversation ;  no  difficult  matter  with 
John  Maitland,  whose  attention,— even  when  mat- 
ters 80  serious  were  concerned  as  the  ruin  of  his 
family— was  only  too  easily  distracted. — The  transi- 
tion firom  the  heated  atmosphere  of  Rochester 
House  to  the  stirring  breezes  of  the  river,  soon  dis- 
persedevery  shade  of  reflection  firom  hiscountenance. 

It  was  some  days  before  Basil  Annesley's  course 
of  regimental  duty  admitted  of  his  revisiting  the 
West  End ;  and  a  whole  week  elapsed  before  he 
was  sufficiently  master  of  his  time  to  return  to 
Kochester  House. — Even  then,  he  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  accomplishing  his  object.  But  there  was 
not  a  moment  to  be  lost. — ^The  sale  had  been  sever- 
al days  in  progress ;  and  on  arriving  at  the  door, 
he  found  that  the  pictures  concerning  which  he 
was  so  deeply  interested,  were  included  in  the 
allotment  of  tiiat  very  day. — 

No  carriages  now  encumbered  the  courtyard. 
There  were  a  few  led  horses  and  grooms  at  the  stand, 
always  to  be  seen  near  the  Houses  of  Parliament 
&boat  six  o'clock, and  anodd-lookinggigor two.  But 
the  greater  portion  of  the  courtyard  was  encum- 
bered with  carts,  trucks^  and  hand-barrows,  remov- 
ing articles  of  furniture  sold  the  preceding  day. 

The  sale  of  the  pictures  was  proceeding  in  the 
P^ry  itself;  and  while  still  in  the  vestibule, 
^il  could  distinctly  hear  the  sonorous  and  defying 
Toice  of  Himimins  the  auctioneer,  and  the  strokes  of 
lus  hammer, — duly  succeeded  by  the  loud  clamour 
of  the  crowded  assembly  on  the  adjudgment  of  suc- 
ceeding lots. 

Basil  cast  an  anxious  glance  round  the  assem- 
blage,— ^If  the  truth  must  be  told,  he  was  horribly 
afraid  of  descrying  among  them  the  face  now 
f^iiuliar  to  him  through  its  varied  disguises ;  either 
in  the  squalid  array  of  a  Jew  broker,  or  stationed, 
polished  and  gentlemanly,  among  the  noted  con- 
Qoiseeors  of  the  day;  most  of  whom,  glass  in  hand 
f  f  spectacles  on  nose,  were  present^  busied  either 
|n  detecting  blemishes  in  the  works  of  art,  or  point- 
nig  out  errors  of  description  in  the  Catalogue,  vdth 
^  view  to  cheapening  the  pictures  for  which  they 
intended  to  hecome  competitors  ;-h»11ow  dukes> 


whose  galleries  were  already  stocked  to  overflowing, 
—p€trvenu  miUionaires,  buying  their  way  to  worldly 
distinction, — country  baronets,  who  regarded  a 
fashionable  auction  as  an  indispensable  ingredient 
to  their  season  in  London, — a  few  real  amateurs, 
ever  on  the  field  to  profit  by  the  ignorance  of 
others,  and  purchase  a  chef  d^auvre^  when  occasion 
presented  itself,  at  the  cost  of  a  copy, — a  still  more 
limited  number  on  the  watch  to  purchase  objects 
too  high  in  value  for  general  competition,  as  a  safe 
investment  of  capital; — and,  in  the  proportion  often 
to  one  to  aU  these, — the  usual  rabble  of  an  auction- 
room, — ^picture-dealers,  brokers,  Jews^  pickpockets, 
with  an  auxiliary  force  of  unmeaning  idlers,  to  in- 
crease the  heat  and  confusion  of  the  scene. 

Two  of  Yerelst's  pictures  had  been  disposed  of 
before  Basil  Annesley  entered  the  gallery ;  and,  as 
far  as  he  could  understand  from^he  dealers  around 
him,  at  high  prices, — ^the  one  as  a  Barocdo,  the 
other  as  an  Annibal  Carracci,  to  a  gentleman  who, 
having  recently  inherited  an  enormous  fortune, 
was  making  himself  master  of  pictures,  race-horses, 
and  public  contumely,  at  the  cost  of  twenty  thou- 
sand a-year. 

The  battle-pieces  were  just  about  to  be  put  up ; 
and  Basil  felt  miserably  nervous  at  the  idea  of 
hearing  described  as  *^  matchless  works  of  art,"  and 
perhaps  sold  at  the  price  of  such,  creations  which 
the  poor  living  artist  had  drudged  to  produce  for 
the  remuneration  of  sign-paintings. — Nor  was  he 
deceived. — The  auctioneer  seemed  disposed  to  ex- 
ceed himself  in  his  premonitory  flourieli  concerning 
these  "  gems  of  art," — ^the  pride  of  the  Rochester 
collection ! 

''The  possession  from  which  the  noble  owner 
had  torn  himself  with  the  deepest  regret  in  quitting 
England,"  he  said,  ''  was  the  well-known  picture 
gallery  which  he  had  formed  with  so  much  pains^ 
judgment,  and  cost :  and  which  it  was  a  scandal 
to  the  country  that  Parliament  had  not  purchased 
en  masse  for  the  National  Gallery.  But  of  all  his 
Grace's  valuable,  or  rather  tnvaluable  pictures,  it 
was  well  known  that  the  accomplished*  and  dis- 
criminating duke  prized  none  more  highly  than  his 
pair  of  Salvators !  " 

A  few  of  the  more  discerning  amateurs  answered 
to  this  exordium  with  a  grunt ;  unwilling  to  hazard 
further  depreciation,  in  order  that  the  monied  ig- 
noramuses might  throw  away  their  capital  on 
pictures  secure  from  their  wiser  competition;  so  as 
to  leave  them  without  means  for  the  prizes ;  and 
when  the  flowery  auctioneer  pointedly  addressed 
himself  to  a  nobleman  distinguished  among  cog- 
noscenti, to  place  the  upset  price  of  these  ''matchless 
Salvators,"  without  receiving  any  encouragement  in 
return  for  the  liberty,  it  was  a  strange  voice  firom  a 
distant  part  of  the  assembly  that  boldly  named  £1 20. 

The  auctioneer  afiected  indig^tion,  and  inquired 
whether  he  were  "  indeed  selling  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  collections  in  the  wealthy  capital  of  the 
most  enlightened  country  in  the  world?" — ^upon 
which  piece  of  John  Bullish  clap-trap,  a  country 
Baronet,  touched,  to  the  quick  of.  his  patriotism, 
added  five  sovereigns  to  the  bid,  which  a  Jew 
broker  in  the  pay  of  the  auctioneer,  instantly  con- 
verted into  guineas. 


49S 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


The  strange  voice  from  the  other  extremity  of 
the  room,  now  bid  £\96  for  the  pair ;  and  by  a 
dexterous  compliment  to  the  spirit  and  discernment 
of  the  country  Baronet,  this  was  soon  raised  by 
Hommins  to  £140  ;  and  a  competition  thus  estab- 
lished, the  bidding  went  on  briskly,  and  more 
briskly  still ;  till  at  length,  the  incomparable 
Salvators  were  on  the  point  of  being  Imocked 
down  to  the  proprietor  of  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds'-worth  of  copies  and  broken-down  racers, 
for  275  guineas. — ^"  Two  hundred  and  eighty !  '* 
cried  a  voice  from  that  portion  of  the  crowd  most 
encumbered  with  dealers  and  brokers;  and  after 
some  farther  sparring,  to  the  amount  of  about  twenty 
guineas,  the  unseen  competitor  was  declared  victor. 
The  auctioneer  looked  surprised,  or  to  borrow 
an  expressive  Americanism, — consternated. — He 
had  done  his  utmost  to  spur  on  the  nottr>eau  riche 
to  a  further  bid,  but  to  no  purpose.  He  was  not 
to  be  bullied  or  cajoled  a  guinea  further. — It  is 
probable,  by  the  way,  that  the  proprietor  of  that 
**  winged  voice,**  though  Invisible  to  others,  as  the 
cuckoo  to  an  unpractised  eye,  was  perfectly  known 
to  Hummins ;  for  the  auctioneers  of  London  are  as 
notoriously  cognizant  of  the  names  and  natures  of 
the  apparent  strangers  who  frequent  their  sales,  as 
a  shepherd  individualizing  every  sheep  in  his  flock. 

Having  witnessed  all  he  wished  to  see,  Basil  was 
about  to  quit  the  gallery,  desirous  only  to  certify 
further  the  name  of  the  rash  purchaser. — Having 
reached  a  table  at  the  farther  end  of  the  gallery, 
on  which,  in  the  midst  of  the  greatest  noise  and 
confusion,  a  clerk  was  making  entries,  he  inter- 
rupted his  labours  for  a  moment  to  inquire  the 
name  of  the  gentleman  to  whom  the  lot  347  had 
been  knocked  down. 

'^Do  you  wish  to  purchase,  Sir?'* — said  the 
derk,  without  raising  his  eyes  fot)m  the  paper. — 
^Here,  Nathan! — Nathan  Herz! — a  gentleman 
who  wants  to  speak  to  you  about  the  Salvators." 

A  shabby-looking  individual,  who  was  now 
pressing  forward  among  the  bidders  in  the  sale  that 
was  again  proceeding,  turned  round  at  this  apos- 
trophe,—exclaiming  ^  A  shentleman  vantsh  to 
purshash?" — when  Basil  was  inexpressibly  startled 
on  recognising  in  this  man,  who  was  simply  one 
of  the  Jew  brokers  assembled  together  in  a  knot 
at  that  end  of  the  room,  at  once  the  individual 
who,  on  a  former  occasion,  had  forwarded  Maitland 
and  himself  through  the  private  door  into  the 
music-room, — and  the  bearded  Levite  whom  he 
had  found  in  possession  of  the  house  in  Delahaye 
Street,  Westminster,  the  former  residence  of  A.  O. ! 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you  in  private 
about  those  Salvators,"  said  Basil,  half  unwilling 
to  address  so  uninviting  a  personage,  and  lowering 
his  voice  so  as  to  be  unheard  by  the  clerk. 

**  Dey  are  not  for  shale,  ma  tear," — replied  the 
Jew,  evidently  desirous  to  escape  the  interview. 

**  I  do  not  want  to  buy  them.  They  have  been 
put  up  under  a  false  description.'' 

**  Yesh,yesh — no  mattersh — lashk  no  questions," 
persisted  the  Jew,  struggling  with  the  crowd  to  get 
away. 

"  But  since  1  am  able  to  inform  you—"  Basil 
was  beginning. 


^  You  can  tell  noshing,  I  promish,  ma  tear  youog 
shentlemans,  but  I  don't  know  better  than  your* 
shelf ! " — replied  the  broker.  And  before  Axmedey 
had  time  for  a  rejoinder,  the  fellow  had  disappeand. 
**  After  all,  what  plea  have  I  for  moving  in  tiie 
business  ?  *' — argued  Basil  with  himself  as,  disap- 
pointed, heated,  and  excited,  he  drove  back  throng 
the  city  to  the  Tower. — "  The  better  way  will  be 
to  write  to  Verelst,  and  inform  him  of  the  exact  sUt( 
of  the  case,  leaving  him  to  act  as  he  thinks  proper. 
Shut  up  in  his  studio  as  he  is,  from  one  month's 
end  to  ^e  other,  the  public  disposal  of  these  pictnm 
will  never  reach  his  ears. — ^Besides,  my  letter  mar 
perhaps  serve  as  a  renewal  of  interooune  mtb 
the  family." 

On  arriving  at  home,  and  before  he  had  time  to 
fulfil  or  even  confirm  his  purpose,  a  note  was  placed 
in  his  hands  by  his  servant ;  sealed  with  an  antique, 
and  having  the  look  of  a  fashionable  invitatioo ; 
yet,  but  for  the  elegance  of  its  form,  Basil  wooM 
have  pronounced  the  handwriting  to  be  that  of  the 
Money-lender.  On  tearing  open  the  envelope,  be 
found  simply  the  following  lines : — 

"  Take  no  further  concern  about  the  pictmes!- 
I  know  all :  and  purchased  them  only  to  expose 
the  villany  of  a  knave  and  weakness  of  a  fool.— 

**  Yours,  A.  O; 
So  great  was  the  astonishment  of  Basil  Almeder, 
that  he  all  but  allowed  the  letter  to  fall  from  Im 
hands ! — It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  onlj  tbt 
instant  quitted  the  sale ! — He  had  given  intimitioD 
of  his  intentions  to  no  human  being.  Yet  already, 
the  onmipresent  Osalez  had  found  means  to  pfn^ 
trate  his  views,  and  to  be  beforehand  with  hi? 
warning ! — He^  then,  was  the  purchaser  of  the 
pictures  ; — he  who,  from  his  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  condition  of  Yerehit  and  his  family,  must 
have  been  fuUy  aware  of  fheir  unauthenticitj ;  ^ 
who,  from  his  gift  to  Ba41  of  a  copy  of  the  Efioe- 
ralda,  had  probably  employed  the  poor  painters 
a  patron  !— Recalling  to  niind  the  exqui^te  nature 
of  the  works  of  art  he  had  seen  in  Bernard  Street, 
Basil  could  not  suppose  that  the  description  contaiu- 
ed  in  an  auctioneer's  Catalogue  had  for  a  nooment  in- 
fluenced the  choice  of  so  critical  a  judge  as  A  0.; 
and  at  that  moment  a  mortifying  suspicion  glanctd 
into  his  mind.  Abednego  was  evidently, in  sonie  way 
or  other,  in  furtherance  of  some  of  his  petty  p* 
jects,  either  in  confederacy  with,  or  in  auflwrity 
over,  the  Jew  broker  he  had  seen  in  poflfteaaon  rf 
the  tenement  in  Delahaye  Street ;  and  Annealey 
knew  him  to  have  been  mainly  instrumental  in 
promoting  the  ruin  and  break-up  of  the  Dob  o^ 
Rochester, — first  by  his  usurious  loans,  and  lastly 
by  his  rapacious  persecutions. — What  if  he  had  been 
the  means  of  selling  these  pictures  to  the  wouM-lf 
connoisseur  ? — and  was  therefore  eager  to  get  th«D 
once  more  into  his  possession. 

Indignant  at  the  suspicion,  or  rather,  indignairf 
with  himself  for  having  conceived  it, — Basfl  refldTea 
to  leply  by  a  few  lines  which  he  intended  to  l»^ 
in  person  in  Bernard  Street ;  acquainting  Mr.Osala 
of  his  resolution  to  enlighten  the  mind  of  Vert» 
upon  a  point  so  essential  to  his  interests  as  ^ 
speculations  founded  by  the  picture-dealen  apo" 
his  imitations  of  the  Ancient  Hasten. 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


499 


The  foUowing  morning,  after  breakfast,  he  was 
quitting  the  mess-room  for  the  purpose  of  addressing 
Yerelflty^-when  Maitland,  who  was  sunning  himself, 
gaUiered  up  into  the  wide  window-seat  to  peruse 
hb  faToarite  Mormng  Past^ — suddenly  exclaimed 
— **  HiUo,  hillo ! — you  were  at  the  sale  yesterday, 
at  Boehester  House,  weren't  you,  Nan  ?  " 

*<  Only  for  a  short  time." 

^  And  what  was  your  sapient  opinion  of  the  pair 
of  Salvators?" 

**  That  they  were  very  fine  pictures." 

^  Come,  eome ! — ^no  hedging ! — ^I  mean  did  you 
consider  them  originals  ? " 

jBaail's  colour  rose  to  his  temples  at  the  inquiry. 

**  Because  if  you  did,  my  fine  fellow," — ^resumed 
Maitland,  unable  to  contain  himself  when  bursting 
with  so  grand  a  secret,  ^^you  were  among  the 
knowing  ones  who  appear  to  have  been  deucedly 
taken  in  ! — ^Look  here  I — Here's  a  letter  from 
Hummins  the  auctioneer,  apologising  for  having 
been  made  instrumental  to  an  imposition  on  the 
pahUc  ;  and  stating  that  the  pair  of  battle-pieces, 
forming  part  of  the  gallezy  of  his  Grace  the  Duke 
of  Rochester,  and  yesterday  sold  as  such  for  the 
sum  of  310  guineas,  are  the  original  productions  of 
a  G«rman  artist,  of  the  name  of  Yerelst,  whose 
works  are  b^inning  to  acquire  considerable  value 
m  the  trade ;  and  furthermore,  that  they  were  pur- 
chased as  originals  by  his  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Rochester,  for  the  sum  of  1500  guineas,  from  a 
piotore-dealer  of  the  name  of  Stubbs,  residing  in 
Frith  Street,  Soho. — Then  follows  a  flourish  about 
HnnuninB*  value  for  his  own  reputation,  his  con- 
scientious discharge  of  his  duties  to  the  public,  and 
80  forth^ — There ! — Read  it  yourself! — Your  pro- 
UgiM  fortune  is  made,  it  seems.  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  to  find  that  you  bribed  Hummins  to 
over-sell  the  pictures,  and  paid  for  the  advertise- 
ment I — Unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  Stubbs  is  the 
name  of  one  of  the  ruin-mongers  who  make  a  fool 
of  my  mother. — The  very  brute,  by  the  way,  who 
brought  no  end  of  annoyances  on  the  family,  by 
endorsing  over  one  of  my  father's  acceptances 
(to  pay  for  the  carved  furniture  of  that  accursed 
suite  qA  fncjfentige  rooms  at  Maitland  Park,  which 
I  never  enter  without  feeling  as  if  I  should  catch 
the  Plague)  to  your  Jewish  friend  Barabbas — ^the 
extortioner,  A.  0.!" 

Luckily  this  taunt  was  unheard.  Basil  was  now 
thoroughly  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  Hummins' 
letter,  Uie  paper  containing  which,  had  been  handed 
to  him  by  John  Maitland ; — and  having  made  him- 
self master  of  the  contents,  he  pursued  his  original 
design,  and  quitted  the  room. 

little  had  he  expected,  after  his  long  and  re- 
gretted alienation  from  the  Yerelste,  to  prove  the 
meuis  of  a  discovery  likely  to  produce  so  advan- 
tageous a  diange  in  their  fortunes! — Never  had 
Basil  felt  so  happy.  It  was  a  balmy  April  day; 
and  he  ascended  with  gladsome  steps  the  stone 
bastion  overlooking  Uie  river,  fancying  that  he  had 
never  before  beheld  its  usually  dingy  current  ripple 
BO  gaily  in  the  sun ! 

The  spring  was  rapidly  advancing;  and  even 
Cor  those  denizens  of  London,  who  do  not  divide 
tbe  year  iitto  thzM  months  of  season  and  nine 


months  of  blank,  the  town  was  beginning  to  wear 
a  pleasant  aspect.  Flower-carts  and  water-carts, 
jogging  side  by  side  through  the  streets,  conveyed 
to  the  smoke-dried  citizens  an  idea  that,  somewhere 
or  other,  the  sun  was  shining,  and  the  sky,  so  murky 
over  their  heads,  exhibiting  the  cerulean  hue  of 
the  poets ;  and  by  degrees,  the  sickly  roots  of 
primroses,  hawked  about  in  baskets  by  flower- 
girls,  whose  faces  bore  direful  superficial  indication 
of  the  fact  that  flesh  is  dust,  gave  place  to  bunches 
of  feuled  lilacs ;  destined  to  be  transferred  in  broken 
water-jugs  to  the  window-ledges  of  all  the  by-ways 
of  the  metropolis,  as  too  potent  of  scent  to  be  borne 
within. 

Even  on  the  weed  that  clings  with  pendent 
streamers  to  the  foetid  depths  of  a  deserted  well, 
once  at  least  in  the  day  the  vertical  sun  sheds  its 
reviving  light;  and  even  into  the  most  dismal  lodg* 
ing  of  the  least  cheerful  capital  in  Europe,  summer 
infuses  for  a  moment  its  cheering  influence ! 

The  Verelsts  were  happier  now  than  in  the  tiying 
winter  season.  The  invalid  could  be  wheeled  to 
the  window  for  change  of  air ;  and  the  girls,  when 
proceeding  to  give  their  daily  lessons,  were  less 
exposed  to  vicissitudes  of  weather. 

But  they  had  other  causes  for  gladness.  The  more 
advantageous  bargains  made  by  Yerelst  under  the 
management  and  protection  of  Basil  Anneeley  were 
beginning  to  bring  forth  their  fruits.  They  were 
getting  in  some  degree  above  the  world ;  and  the 
comfort  of  seeing  her  family  better  clothed,  better 
fed,  and  without  fear  for  ^e  morrow,  had  done 
more  to  restore  strength  and  courage  to  Mrs.  Yerelst 
than  all  the  previous  advice  and  medicaments  of 
the  physicians. — Moreover,  there  was  prospect  of 
improvement  for  the  little  household.  Placed  at 
ease  by  the  payment  of  his  military  sketches,  the 
artist  had  ventured  to  give  once  more  the  reins  to 
his  imagination  in  the  completion  of  a  picture  re- 
presenting the  Johanna  von  Orleans  of  Schiller 
bidding  adieu  to  her  native  valley;  which  had 
been  admitted,  among  cartloads  of  works  of  art 
more  or  less  deserving,  to  the  honour  of  the  Exhibi- 
tion.— ^For  the  twentieth  time  in  his  life,  therefore, 
the  artist  was  smoothing  the  plumage  of  new- 
fledged  Hope, — a  bird  of  promise  which,  like  the 
Phoenix,  has  the  faculty  of  giving  birth  from  its 
ashes  to  a  successor  fresh  and  fair  as  the  one  of 
recent  extinction. 

The  girls,  meanwhile,  had  been  objects  of  im- 
usual  solicitude  to  the  good  Branzinis ;  who,  the 
longer  they  were  acquaint^  with  the  gentle  dis- 
positions of  the  accomplished  governess  of  theii^ 
children,  became  more  and  more  convinced  of  the 
high  distinctions  of  the  humble  family ;  and  de- 
lightedin  every  occasion  of  brightening  ^eir  joyless 
existence. 

Still,  these  music-parties, — ^these  operas, — ^these 
cheerful  little  dinners, — though  accepted  with 
gratitude  by  Mrs.  Yerelst  for  her  daughters,  were 
far  from  afibrding  pleasure  to  Esther  and  Salome, 
now  that  there  was  no  longer  a  chance  of  meeting 
Basil  Annesley.  To  ihem^  his  disappearance  from 
among  them  was  fraught  with  mystery.  They 
knew  nothing  of  his  being  quartered  in  the  Tower; 
they  knew  noUiing  of  their   father's  letter,  or 


500 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MOKEY-LENDEH. 


interdictions ;  and  thoagh  accidentally  apprized 
that  their  former  £riend  appeared  from  time  to  time 
at  the  door  with  inquiries  after  the  health  of  their 
mother,  this  total  change  in  their  hahits  of  inter- 
course increased  rather  than  diminished  their 
surprise.  Salome's  frank  expressions  of  r^ret  at 
his  absence  had  produced  fh>m  her  parents  the 
most  chilling  reproof;  and  ever  since,  by  tacit 
consent  of  all  parties,  the  subject  was  dropped. 

The  lodgings  inhabited  by  the  Verelsts  were  of 
such  circumscribed  dimensions  that  the  two  girls 
slept  in  a  small  room  within  that  of  their  mother, 
upon  whom  they  took  it  in  turns  to  attend,  by  day 
and  night ;  so  that  there  was  no  opportunity  for 
those  sisterly  confidences  which,  in  more  splendid 
households,  are  the  origin  of  such  wanton  waste  of 
time  and  sensibility. — Nevertheless,  Esther  some- 
times found  a  moment  to  whisper  to  Salome  that  it 
was  strange  Basil  should  so  suddenly  have  with- 
drawn his  interest  from  them ;  just  as,  occasionally, 
Salome  found  means  to  express  to  Esther  her 
wonderment  whether  it  would  ever  enter  into  her 
father's  plans  to  return  to  Germany ;  and  whether, 
even  if  diey  went  back  to  their  beloved  Heidelberg, 
they  might  not  find  the  Count  von  Ehrenstein  a 
happy  husband  and  father;  and  satisfied  that,  by  the 
gift  of  Albert  Durer's  sketch-book  to  his  old  master, 
he  had  dissevered  all  ties  of  gratitude  or  afiec- 
tion  with  the  family  once  so  dear  to  him. — Each 
sister  ofiered,  indeed,  to  the  other  such  consolation 
as  her  philosophy  suggested ;  but  both  agreed  that 
Basil's  voluntJetry  absence  arose  from  scruples  of 
conscience  suggesting  the  danger  of  encouraging 
sentiments  of  mutual  attachment,  which  could  only 
end  in  disappointment  and  remorse. 

Such  was  the  position  of  their  afiairs,  and  such 
the  monotonous  tenor  of  their  existence, — (un- 
connected with  the  passing  events  of  the  day 
by  even  the  perusal  of  a  newspaper,  unless  occa- 
sionally at  the  house  of  the  Neapolitan  consul,) — 
when  one  morning,  as  the  artist  was  standing  ab- 
sorbed before  a  new  canvass,  on  which  he  was 
beginning  to  sketch,  mth  some  enthusiasm,  the 
rude  outline  of  a  new  historical  picture,  he  was 
roused  from  his  reverie  by  a  slight  touch  on  the 
shoulder,  and  found  that  a  stranger  was  standing 
behind  him : — a  man  of  simple  but  gentlemanly 
exterior,  who,  unobserved  by  the  artist,  had  been 
introduced  into  the  room  by  the  servant  on  the  plea 
of  business  with  her  master. 

"  I  have  the  pleasure,  I  believe,  of  addressing 
Mr.  Verelst,"  said  he, ."  whom  I  have  had  more 
difficulty  in  tracing  out,  than  ought  to  have  been 
the  case  with  the  painter  of  such  works  as  those  I 
see  around  me." 

As  he  spoke,  the  visiter  glanced  towards  the  two 
pictures  from  the  Ntbdungen  Liedy  which  still  oc- 
cupied their  post  of  disgnice  against  the  wall ; — 
and  the  poor  simple  artist  who,  firom  the  seclusion 
of  his  habits  of  life,  was  becoming  daily  less  and 
less  a  man  of  the  world,  felt  so  puzzled  by  hearing 
compliments  addressed  to  himself  by  a  man  of  such 
courtly  manners,  stood  gazing  in  amazement,  as  if 
puzzled  to  determine  whether  he  were  not  the 
victim  of  a  mystification. 

"I  have  reason  to  imagine,"  resumed  the  stranger, 


*'  that  a  painting  which  I  bought  nearly  a  yesr 
since,  of  a  picture-dealer  of  the  name  of  Stnbbs, 
(representing  the  Marriage  of  Cana,)  as  tlie  work 
of  Poussin,  is  in  reality  a  production  of  yonrpeDdl, 
— and  though  I  plead  guilty  to  having  been  the 
dupe  of  my  own  ignorance  in  the  purchase,— (for 
after  all  the  detection  of  the  fraud  rested  wiA 
myself) — it  grieves  me  much  to  believe  that,  d 
the  price  I  paid  for  it,  (four  hundred  guineas,) 
perhaps  not  a  tenth  part  reached  the  hands  of  the 
admirable  artist  with  whom  it  originated." 

"  Not  a  twentieth  part !  " — ^rejoined  Verelst,  with 
a  smile.  "  I  remember  the  picture  only  too  welL 
— I  had  grounded  great  expectations  upon  it ;— but 
was  forced,  by  the  necessities  of  my  famUy,  to  sell 
it  at  a  moment's  notice  for  a  paltry  ten-pound 
note!" 

"  Ten  pounds ! " — ^reiterated  the  stranger,  shrag- 
ging  his  shoulders.  **The  rogue, — the  robber  !- 
I  had  a  hard  matter  to  get  it  frt>m  him  at  less  tbs 
the  five  hundred  guineas  he  originally  asked  me.- 
I  have  bought  many  other  pictures  of  him,  at  hifh 
prices,  of  some  of  which  periiaps  yon  may  be  sUe 
to  indicate  the  true  origin,  which  I  am  now  begin- 
ning to  suspect  as  bringing  sad  discredit  upon  mr 
oonnoisseurship. — ^With  this  view,  Sir,  I  hare  been 
making  strenuous  efibrts  to  discover  par  abode. 
As  some  inducement  to  you  to  accord  me  the  hrm 
of  a  visit  to  my  collection,  I  would  willingly  i^ 
duce  you  to  bring  with  you  the  two  noble  pictores 
I  see  on  your  hands,  if,  indeed,  the  value  you  set 
on  them  be  not  above  my  reach." 

As  he  spoke,  the  courteous  customer  began  to 
examine  with  care  and  interest  the  pair  of  pictnres, 
on  which  the  disappointed  artist  had  almost  ceased 
to  pride  himself,  or  found  expectations  of  profit. 

'^  I  once  prized  these  pictures,  as  a  partial  mm 
is  too  apt  to  prize  his  favourite  work ! "  said  Yev^ 
standing  beside  his  visiter  to  contemplate  his 
n^lected  pictures. — ^*  I  once  rated  them  at  a  couple 
of  hundred  guineas ! — But  I  am  sick  of  the  sight 
of  them ;  and  should  be  glad  to  dispose  of  them  for 
a  quarter  of  the  sum." 

"  That  were  a  most  unjust  self-injury,"  obsemd 
the  stranger, — **  particularly  where  the  original  ap- 
praisement was  so  modest. — On  the  contrary,  ^ 
shall  be  most  happy  to  write  you  a  cheque  for  the 
full  amount.  You  are,  in  fact,  doubly  entitled  to 
it, — ^for  I  have  every  expectation  of  obtaining, 
through  your  testimony,  restitution  of  the  price  of 
my  pretended  Poussin." 

Verelst  began  to  stammer  expressions  of  surprise 
and  thankfulness ;  but  the  visiter  interrupted  him 
with  a  request  for  a  pen  and  ink. 

"  If  you  present  this  draft  at  Coutts',"  said  he, 
offering  to  Verelst  a  printed  paper  he  had  takco 
from  his  pocket-book,  "you  will  find  it  honoiu«d; 
after  which,  I  shall  ask  you  the  favour  tobrii^ 
the  pictures  in  person  to  my  house." 

Verelst,  having  glanced,  as  well  as  his  confusion 
would  permit,  at  the  name  subscribed  to  the  bottom 
of  the  cheque,  saw  with  pride  and  exultation  that 

it  was  that  of  the  Marquis  of ;  a  noWeotf 

honoured  by  the  high  estimation  of  artists  an«i 
men  of  letters.  ^ 

<*  If  you  can  so  arrange  your  engage®^*^ 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


501 


ulded  the  marquis, — interrapting  his  acknowl«dg- 
uentfiiy  ^  you  would  do  me  an  additional  faYour 
yy  bringing  them  at  twelve  o'clock ;  at  which  hour, 
foxi  would  find  a  vacant  place  at  my  breakfast 
;able,  and  meet  there  the  gentleman  to  whom  I  am 
n<lebted  for  the  discovery  of  the  fraud  practised 
upon  me,  as  well  as  of  your  name  and  address  ;— 
^n  enlightened  patron  of  the  arts,  doubtless  known 
to  you  by  name, — ^my  friend,  Mr.  Osalez." 

A  faint  cry  bursting  from  the  lips  of  the  artist's 
tvife,  intimated  at  that  moment,  for  the  first  time,  to 
the  marquis,  that  a  third  person  was  present  at 


the  interview,  and  that  the  easy  chair  placed  be- 
side the  open  window  with  its  back  towards  them, 
contained  the  emaciated  form  of  Mrs.  Yerelst,  to 
whose  side  her  husband  now  rushed  in  consternation. 
Agitated  by  a  thousand  conflicting  emotions  on 
learning  the  tide  of  good  fortune  which  would  enable 
her  husband  to'discharge  the  obligations,  which  had 
weighed  so  heavily  on  the  minds  of  both,  to  the 
offending  Basil,  the  poor  invalid  had  been  unable 
to  control  the  revulsion  of  feeling  occasioned  by  the 
discovery  that  they  were  indebted  for  this  over- 
powering benefit  to  tiie  interposition  of  A.  0 ! 


LAYS  OF  SCOTTISH  HISTORY.— No.  IV. 

THE  INVASION  OP  KING  HACO. — ANNO  1263. 


From  the  ancient  warrior  land 

Haco,  lord  of  Norway,  came, 
Frond  of  heart,  and  strong  of  hand, 

Scotland's  Isles  in  arms  to  claim. 
England,  on  thy  western  shore 

Be  not  now  the  'larum  danJ>  I 
Where  the  Norsemen  raged  before, 

Thither  Norsemen  still  may  come. 
Osimen  of  Hibemia's  Isle, — 

Ye  that  Henry's  liegemen  hate, 
Bid  yonr  mourning  widows  smile, — 

Bid  yonr  swords  for  vengeance  whet ! 
Late,  from  Norway's  crowded  coast, 

Haoo  steered  his  ships  afar  : 
Sbonted  loud  his  mighty  host 

Cer  the  deeps  of  Breydeyar. 
O'er  his  ship  of  oak  the  gale 

Stirred  the  banner's  gorgeous  fold  : 
Round  the  prow  and  snowy  sail 

Mythic  dragons  shone  in  gold. 
Men  and  ships — how  great  a  band 

Through  the  Hebrid  Isles  hath  gone  ! 
Crested  warriors  crowded  stand  ; 

Mail-clad  rowers  ply  them  on. 
'Gainst  him  comes  no  foeman  there, 

But,  with  aiding  ship  and  sword. 
Homage  paying,  quick  repair 

Mona's  prince  and  Isla's  lord. 
Who  shall  meet  his  vast  array  ) 

Hark,  the  storm  is  answering  ! 
Will  the  winds  allegiance  pay. 

Or  the  tempest  homage  bring  1 
Wandering  in  the  stormy  gloom, 

Darkling  moved  the  ships,  and  slow, 
While  the  lightning's  dart  of  doom 

Paled  the  golden  dragons'  glow. 
Vain  to  Cumray's  rocks  repair 

Holy  priests  with  bended  knee  ; 
Vwnly  rose  their  chant  of  prayer — 

**  Miserere,  Domine  !" 
Still  the  waters  louder  woke. 

Sweeping  o'er  each  woeful  deck  ; 
And  the  biUows,  as  they  broke. 

Downward  crushed  the  shrieking  wreck  ; 
Till  the  nearer  shores  of  Clyde 

Saw  the  mighty  navy  sail,. 
Rising  o'er  the  surging  tide, 

Stoutly  struggling  with  the  gale. 
Soon  to  hind  the  Norsemen  spring, 

Gathering  fast  and  gathering  aye  : 
Alexander,  Scotland's  king, 

Met  at  Largs  the  foe's  array  ! 
Near  and  far,  with  warning  horn. 

Swift  the  signal  beacons  flew. 
Hurrying  there,  fVom  ere  to  mom. 

Many  a  stalwart  Scot,  and  true. 
Clad  in  mail  from  head  to  heel. 

Hasted  thither  knight  and  lord, 
But  the  foremost  foeman's  steel 

Rattled  on  a  peasant's  sword. 
Alexander,  Scotland's  king, 

Guarding  well  his  sires'  renown. 


Bade  his  willing  host  to  bring 

Seaward  forth  from  dale  and  town. 
Heard  ye  not  their  steeds  by  night, 

Thundering,  as  he  led  them  on ! 
Saw  ye  not  at  Largs  how  bright 

Sunrise  on  their  armour  shone  I 
There  the  shout  that  warriors  love 

Burst  at  morning's  early  glow  : 
Heaven's  tempest  raged  above, 

Battle's  storm  wasjrife  below. 
Sterner  grew  at  noon  the  fight, 

Murkier  moved  the  troubled  sun, 
And  his  weak  ray  sank  in  night 

fire  the  bloody  strife  was  done. 
Glory  to  the  Heavens  on  high. 

Combating  for  Scotland  there  ! 
Roaring  wind,  and  sea,  and  sky, 

'Gainst  the  Norsemen  fighting  were. 
Woe  for  Norway's  sinking  band  ! 

Darkness  hid  them,  battle-worn, 
Staying  each  contending  hand — 

Darlmess,  sweeter  than  the  mom. 
Go — ^to  wailing  Norway  tell 

Tidings  of  her  children's  fate  ; 
How  at  distant  Largs  they  fell, 

Fighting  long  in  dismal  strait. 
Rudely  sepulchred  they  lie, 

'Neath  the  cairn  and  rugged  stone, 
Where  the  stormy  sea-birds  cry, 

Where  the  westem  waters  moan. 
Merry  England,  joy  the  while ! 

Homeward  oars  the  Norsemen  ply  : 
Ostmen  of  Hibemia's  Isle, 

See  them  pass  unaiding  by  ! 
Woe,  for  Norway's  hapless  king  ! 

Baffled  hope  oppressed  him  sore  : 
Strack  by  Sorrow's  deadly  sting. 

Turned  he  now  firom  Albyn's  shore. 
Kingdom,  kin,  or  native  land, 

Sorrowing  Haco  ne'er  shall  see  : 
Dead  alone  from  Orkney's  strand 

He,  enshrouded,  borne  shall  be. 
There,  upon  his  dying  place 

Wounded  in  his  soul  he  lay, 
And  the  spirits  of  his  race 

Crowded  round  him,  dim  and  gray. 
Bid  the  Pagan  forms  avaunt. 

By  the  charm  of  Christian  prayer. 
By  the  heavenward-swelling  chant. 

And  the  incense-perfiimed  air  I 
Yet  outspake  the  warrior  king — 

^  Bid  my  fathers'  deeds  be  told  ; 
Let  the  hoary  minstrel  sing 

Chronicled  achievements  old." 
Now  the  minstrel's  Runic  rhyme 

Runs  the  sea-kings'  glory  o'er  : 
Christian  priests,  at  other  time, 

Mercy  for  their  prince  implore. 
Thus  he  breathed  his  weary  soul, 

Wept  and  wailed  in  homes  afar, 
While  the  dirge  of  death  shall  roll 

O'er  the  deeps  of  Breydeyar. 


N.  C. 


502 


TENNYSOTTS  POEMSJ 


Mr.  Tekictson  Iias  here  given  to  the  world  two 
Tolumes;  the  ftrst  containing  a  selection  with  al- 
teratbns  of  his  earlier  poems,  published  in  1830 
and  1832,  and  the  second  consisting  of  productions 
entirely  new  to  the  public.  The  reception  which 
his  two  earlier  volumes  met  with,  was  that  which 
usually  attends  the  creations  of  true  and  singular 
poetical  genius  of  a  novel  order.  Here  at  leasts 
felt  the  general  readers,  is  something  new  and  not 
of  every-day ;  and  the  natural  discrepancy  of  judg- 
ments followed.  Malignity  and  mediocrity  were 
at  hand  with  their  scoffs  and  misrepreaentations ; 
those  whose  cowardly  vanity  will  neither  dare  to 
hail  new  merit  on  its  birth,  nor  to  abstain  from 
following  in  the  wake  of  growing  admiration,  acted 
after  their  kind,  anticipating  that  the  effrontery 
and  dishonesty  exhibited  in  this,  as  in  similar  in- 
stances, would  tell  for  the  moment  with  the  misin- 
formed, and  when  seen  in  their  true  light,  instead 
of  being  duly  exposed  and  branded,  would  be  con- 
signed, by  a  too  easy  contempt,  to  unmerited  for- 
giveness. But  here,  too,  as  in  the  case  of  Words- 
worth, it  appears  to  us  that  the  small  circle  of  warm 
admirers  of  the  poet  has  slowly  but  steadily  widened, 
that  the  conviction  of  which  a  few  were  at  first  the 
adherents  is  still  spreading  its  roots  deeper,  and 
will  not  cease  to  spread,  till  his  fame  can  no  longer 
be  ignored  or  gainsaid  by  the  pliant  majority  who 
call  themselves  the  reading  public 

We  shall  here  endeavour  to  state  with  firmness, 
but  with  moderation,  our  judgment  of  these  poems 
and  their  author ;  and  by  occasional  extracts  to 
exhibit  the  ground  of  the  conviction  we  entertain 
of  his  very  high  powers ;  fully  conscious  as  we  are, 
that,  if  the  poems  have  not  indeed  within  themselves 
that  which  appeals  to  the  feeling  for  the  beautiful 
in  others  and  accords  with  it,  no  remarks  or  criti- 
cisms of  ours  will  avail  to  supply  the  deficiency. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  peculiar  gifts  poss^sed 
by  Mr.  Tennyson,  in  a  degree  so  rare  as  of  itself  to 
declare  a  true  poet,  and  displayed  in  clear  light 
through  some  of  his  earliest  efforts,  is  the  power  of 
making  the  picturesque  delineation  of  external 
nature  illustrate  the  mood  of  mind  portrayed,  and 
help  the  reader's  imagination  to  the  state  of  feeling 
which  the  poem  seeks  to  produce.  Though  the 
little  sketch  ''Mariana  in  the  moated  grange"  is 
almost  entirely  pictorial,  yet  we  doubt  whether  any 
skill  of  words  directly  descriptive  of  emotion  would 
have  conveyed  a  more  thorough  feeling  of  heart- 
weariness  and  blighted  hope.  While  every  single 
picture  is  at  once  recognised  as  strikingly  true  and 
beautiful  in  itself,  its  entire  beauty  is  only  perceived 
in  the  tempered  proportion  in  which  every  new 
touch  contributes  to  deepen  the  gloom  of  utter 
dreariness  brooding  around  us.  In  instances  of 
this  kind  we  feel  how  the  artist  endues  nature  with 
the  power  of  speaking  a  new  language,  and  forces 
sense  to  be  the  interpreter  of  feeling ;  even  as 
though  a  material  frame  were  perfected  into  be- 


♦  The  Poems  of  AlfVed  Tennyson;  2  vols,  foolscap. 
London:  Moxon. 


I  coming  the  entire  all-expressive  symbol  of  the  mind 

t  within.  We  have  referred  to  thisyouthful  production 

I  of  Mr.  Tennyson,  as  a  proof  how  early  he  gave 

indications  of  this  power  in  a  remarkable  degree.   It 

would  be  ea^  to  find  many  more  equally  perfect 

examples  in  his  later  poems. 

When  we  compare  these  with  his  earlier  volumeH, 
Mr.  Tennyson's  mind  appears  to  have  expanded  in 
strength,  in  steady  sdf-possession,  in  vigour  and 
concentration  of  thought,  and  in  bis  dominion  over 
language,  while  his  imagination  has  lost  nothing 
of  its  free  productive  elasticity.  We  find  more  that 
shows  itself  as  the  fruit  of  serious  and  kindly  ob- 
servation of  human  life,  and  reaches  deeper  mto 
the  springs  of  human  interest :  fancy  and  reali^ 
are  blended  together  in  harmonious  fusion,  but  the 
more  substantial  element  Is  asserting  its  rights  more 
predominantly.  Were  we  to  seek  by  a  single  term 
to  express  what  peculiariy  affects  us  in  this  poetry, 
we  should  say  that  its  informing  principle  ia  tnuk. 
In  this  little  may  seem  to  be  said;  but  we  use  the 
word  in  its  wide^  acceptation,  and  include,  earnest- 
ness, sincerity,  openness  to  every  touch  of  genuine 
feeling,  wideness  of  range,  far  and  deep  insight, 
the  firm  conviction  that  a  man  has  aomething  to 
say  and  the  will  to  say  it.  When  we  peruse  Mr. 
Tennyson's  productions  it  strikes  us  that  the  vital 
energy  of  this  feeling  pervades  the  whole  of  his 
poetry  more  than  that  of  any  other  writer  who 
has  arisen  in  our  days.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  read 
such  poems,  for  instance,  as  St.  Agnes  and  Sir 
Galahad  without beingpossessed  with  their  ticrom^ 
nessy  Hf  we  may  venture  so  far  to  imitate  the  (Ger- 
mans,) without  owning  the  spell  of  a  gifted  glanoe 
that  has  pierced  into  the  inner  truth  of  things,  and 
has  there  seen  and  made  visible  to  us  such  an  image 
of  feminine  holiness  and  knightly  purity,  as  seems 
a  new  revealing  of  something  true  and  fSamlliar  in 
a  fuller  light. 

In  all  Mr.  Tennyson's  descriptions  theie  is  a 
masterly  richness  of  language,  which  never  weakens 
down  into  languid  exuberance,  but  is  more  expanded 
or  comprest  according  as  the  tone  may  be  best  ia 
keeping  both  with  the  whole  poem,  and  the  pro- 
portion which  the  individual  part  bears  to  the 
whole.     In  the  second  volume  occur  more  fre- 
quently than  in  the  first  specimens  of  the  compars- 
tively  unomamented,  more  grave  and  slow-moving 
diction,  which  in  their  simple  statue-like  grandair 
and  compression  of  strength  remind  us  of  Dante. 
We  might  appeal  to  several  passages  of  the  "  Morte 
d' Arthur," — as  the  throwing  of  the  sword^  the  first 
approach  of  Sir  Bedivere  to  the  lake,  ihe  depaitnie 
of  the  barge ;  but  we  select  from  the  pohit  at  wbidi 
he  carries  the  wounded  king,  whom  his  own  negli- 
gence has  brought  nearer  death,  to  the  shore  where 
the  barge  appears  that  is  to  waft  him  to  Avilios ; 
a  passage  which  we  think  it  would  be  hard  to  match 
%ith  any  descriptive  extract  of  modem  poetry. 

But  the  other  swiftly  strode  ifrom  ridge  to  ridge, 
Gothed  with  his  breath,  and  looking,  as  he  wwkM, 
Larger  than  human  on  tiie  iVosen  btUs. 
He  heard  the  deep  behiad  him,  and  a  erj 


TENNYSOFS  POEMS. 


509 


teforc.    Hifl  own  iboii^t  drore  him  like  a  goad, 
►ry  clash'd  his  harness  in  the  icy  caves 
Liid  t>aiTeii  chasms,  and  all  to  left  and  right 
"he  bwro,  black  cliff  clang*d  round  him,  as  ho  based 
Us  feet  on  juts  of  slippery  crag,  that  rang 
harp-onitten  with  the  dint  of  armed  heels  ; 
md  on  a  sudden,  lo  !  the  level  lake, 
Lnd  the  long  glories  of  the  winter  moon. 

Then  saw  they  how  there  hove  a  dusky  barge, 
lark  aa  a  fhneral  scarf  from  stem  to  stem^ 
beneath  them  ;  and  descending  they  were  ware 
I*hat  all  the  decks  were  dense  with  stately  forms, 
)lack-8toled,  black-hooded,  like  a  dream— by  ^hese 
rhree  Queens  with  crowns  of  gold — and  from  them  rose 
V  cry  that  shiver'd  to  the' tingling  stars, 
^d,  as  it  were  one  voice,  an  agony 
X  lamentation,  like  a  wind  that  shrills 
Ml  night  in  a  waste  land,  where  no  one  oomes, 
>r  hath  oome  since  the  making  of  the  world. 

Another  admirable  instance  of  the  penetrativt 
jkill  which  invests  with  a  new  life  external  objects 
fcs  beheld  under  the  light  of  imagination,  is  supplied 
by  the  following  description  of  Godiva  riding 
through  the  town  of  Coventry. 

Then  she  rode  fbrth,  clothed  on  with  chastity : 
The  deep  air  listened  round  her  as  she  rode, 
And  all  thejow  wind  hardly  breathed  for  fear : 
The  little  wide-month'd  heads  upon  the  spout 
Had  cunning  eyes  to  see  :  the  barking  cur 
Made  her  cheek  flame  :  her  palfrey's  footfall  shot 
Light  horrors  thro'  her  pulses  :  the  blind  walls 
Were  ftill  of  chinks  and  holes  ;  and  overhead 
Fantastic  gables,  crowding,  stared  :  but  she 
Not  less  than  all  bore  up,  till,  last,  she  saw 
The  white-flower*d  elder-thicket  from  the  field 
Gleam  thro'  the  Gothic  archways  in  the  wjftU* 

Again,  in  the  ** Gardener  s  Daughter,"  the  "Talk- 
ing Oak,"  and  others,  where  the  passion  is  more 
vivid  and  redundant,  the  descriptions  glow  with 
luxuriant  beauty  which  might  summon  to  our  re- 
membrance the  "  lavish  lights  and  floating  shades" 
of  Titian.  The  two  extremes  in  regard  to  poetic 
diction  are  represented  by  the  gushing  fullness  of 
melody  and  imagery  in  "  The  two  Voices,"  and  the 
severe  bareness  of  "Dora,"  which  in  this  property, 
as  partly  in  their  subjects,  have  recalled  to  us  the 
opposite  modes  of  feeling  inspired  by  the  biblical 
poems  of  Job  and  Ruth. 

One  remarkable  characteristic  exhibited  in  these 
poems,  of  which  it  would  be  unfair  not  to  make 
particular  mention,  is  the  skill  by  which,  while 
the  poetry  never  becomes  merely  didactic,  or  ceases 
to  be  poetry,  it  yet  expresses  throughout  a  tone  of 
high  and  just  moral  feeling,  which  can  in  few,  if 
any  instances,  be  overlooked  or  mistaken.  It  seems 
to  be  one  of  the  most  trying  functions  of  a  poet 
that  he  should  set  forth  this  feeUng  without  yet 
losing  himself  in  his  subject,  that  he  should  be  able 
to  admire  and  warm  in  others  the  faculty  of  ad- 
miring, without  ceasing  to  observe  and  describe, — 
or,  in  more  technical  language,  should  give  due 
prominence  to  the  objective  side  of  his  art  without 
annihilating  the  subjective.  By  this  perfect  fusion 
of  these  two  powers  acting  in  such  opposite  direc- 
tionSjhave  the  greatest  poets  ever  been  distinguished: 
the  deficiency  on  eitier  side  is  so  far  a  falling 
short  of  the  truthful  harmony  required  by  the  idea 
of  highest  art  It  is  easy  to  bring  into  great  pro- 
minence the  moral  mode  of  regarding  an  action  to 


the  comparative  exclusion  of  the  beaatifol  and  other 
features  as  essentially  true  in  nature,  (in  its  widest 
acceptation,)  and  therefore  in  its  mirror  art.  This 
seems  to  be  the  danger  to  which  those  endued  with 
quick  and  generous  sympathies  are  most  naturally 
exposed  in  striving  after  poetical  excellence.  Yet 
such  is  not  the  mode  in  which  Sophocles  achieved 
the  triumph  of  which  he  boasted  over  Euripides, 
when  he  said  that  he  made  men  as  they  should  be, 
his  rival  as  they  were.  It  would  be  an  equal  de- 
ficiency to  contemplate  the  sphere  of  human  action 
as  a  material  for  poetical  creations,  and  wholly 
ignore  the  existence  and  sway  of  the  moral  senti- 
ments :  the  products  would  be  alike  monstrous  and 
untrue  to  nature.  We  cannot  here  enter  upon  the 
question  whether  the  great  German  poet  Goethe  has 
erred  in  this  latter  deficiency,— or  whether  he  is 
always  as  free  from  it,  as  he  undoubtedly  is  in 
some  of  his  greatest  works ;  but  we  mention  his 
name  to  illustrate  our  meaning,  as  we  think  many 
readers  of  Wilhelm  Meister  may  have  felt  misgiv- 
ings on  this  point,  and  been  driven  to  ask  them- 
selves: Is  there  not  here,  by  the  leaving  out  of 
sight  some  of  the  moral  impulses  of  our  nature, 
amid  the  luxuriance  of  aesthetical  perceptions, 
which  the  author  loves  to  awake  in  his  readers,  an 
unreality,  a  coming  short  of  the  perfect  truth,  which 
we  never  even  suspect  in  Shakspeare,  though  he 
at  least  as  fully  as  Goethe  or  any  poet  sees  through 
and  above  his  subject,  not  only  within  it  and  no 
farther.  By  the  necessity  of  our  being,  our  sym- 
pathies are  all  human,  and  we  miss  at  onoe,  in  a 
work  of  art,  any  great  movingprincipleof  our  nature. 
Even  poems  of  the  most  exquisite  fairy  texture  re- 
quire the  soft  warmth  of  human  interests  to  fill 
with  life  their  filmy  moonlight  substance.  The 
tale  of  Undine  would  never  have  won  delight  if  she 
had  not  acquired  a  soul.  Who,  indeed,  is  more 
human,  nay,  more  English,  than  the  world-poet 
Shakspeare?  While  no  poet  is  so  full  of  strong 
thought  and  deep  moral  truth,  it  is  rarely  possible 
to  meet  in  him  twenty  consecutive  lines  that  could 
be  taken  for  a  portion  of  a  didactic  or  philosophical 
poem.  This  wonderful  Shakspearian  power  has 
often  been  irresistibly  felt  and  partially  described, 
but  never  fully  analysed,  and  perhaps  never  may  be 
till  our  mental  science  is  advanced  very  far  beyond 
its  present  limits. 

Mr.  Tennyson  appears  to  us  nobly  free  both  from 
this  moral  indifference  and  monJ  exclusiveness. 
At  an  early  stage  of  his  career  he  had  seen  through 
the  delusion,  that  love  of  beauty  is  meant  to  abscurb 
wholly  the  love  of  good,  and  portrayed  in  a  poem 
full  of  grand  and  vivid  imagery  the  guilt  and 
misery  of  a  soul  that  gives  way  to  it.  The  intro- 
duction to  this  poem  (the  Palace  of  Art)  sets  forth 
the  moral  in  these  noble  line»— 

— Beauty,  Good,  and  Knowledge  are  three  sisters, 
That  doat  upon  each  other,  friends  to  man, 
Living  together  under  the  same  roof. 
And  never  can  be  sunder'd  vrithout  tears. 
And  he  that  shuts  Love  out,  in  turn  shall  be 
Shut  out  from  Love,  and  on  her  threshold  lie 
Howling  in  outer  darkness.    Not  for  this 
Was  common  clay  ta'en  frt>m  the  common  earth. 
Moulded  by  God,  and  tempered  with  the  tears 
Of  angels  to  the  perfect  shape  of  man. 


504 


TENNYSON'S  POEMS. 


A  few  lines  from  "Love  and  Duty,"  in  the 
second  volume,  give  a  profound  expression  of  a 
great  moral  principle — 

Will  some  one  say,  then  why  not  ill  for  good  ? 
Why  took  ye  not  yonr  pastime !  To  that  man 
My  work  diall  answer,  since  I  knew  the  right 
And  did  it ;  for  a  man  is  not  as  (xod, 
'   Bat  then  most  Godlike  heing  most  a  man. 

But  it  is  much  less  to  detached  passages  that  we 
should  appeal,  than  to  the  whole  under-current  of 
right  generous  feeling  on  which  these  poems  rest : 
the  sympathy  with  good,  which,  never  obtrusive,  is 
yet  a  pervading  influence  everywhere.  It  appears 
to  us  impossible  that  a  man  whose  heart  is  not 
attuned  to  the  finest  emotions  of  our  nature  could 
haVe  composed  (to  mention  no  other  instances) 
Godiva,  the  Gardeners  Daughter,  the  Miller s 
Daughter,  Love  and  Duty,  and  Dora.  We  recog- 
nise in  them  a  thoroughly  English  appreciation 
both  of  sterling  worth,  and  of  the  beauty  of  all  the 
domestic  affections,  and  a  solenm  reverence  for  the 
lofty  and  good.  What  deep  tenderness  breathes 
through  the  stanzas  which  introduce  the  end  of  the 
Miller's  Daughter — 

Look  thro*  mine  eyes  with  thine.     True  wife, 

Round  my  true  heart  thine  arms  entwine ; 
My  other  dearer  life  in  life. 

Look  thro*  my  rery  soul  with  thine ! 
Untouched  with  any  shade  of  years, 

May  those  kind  eyes  for  ever  dwell ! 
They  have  not  shed  a  many  tears, 

Dear  eyes,  since  first  I  inew  them  well. 

Yet  tears  they  shed :  they  had  their  part 

Of  sorrow :  for  when  time  was  ripe. 
The  still  affection  of  the  heart 

Became  an  outward  breathing  type. 
That  into  stillness  past  again. 

And  left  a  want  unknown  before  ; 
Although  the  loss  that  brought  us  pain, 

That  loss  but  made  us  love  the  more. 

With  fkrther  lockings  on.    The  kiss. 

The  woven  arms,  seem  but  to  be 
Weak  symbols  of  the  settled  bliss, 

The  comfort  I  hare  found  in  thee : 
But  that  God  bless  thee,  dear,  who  wrought 

Two  spirits  to  one  equal  mind. 
With  blessings  beyond  hope  or  thought, 

With  blessings  which  no  words  can  ihid  ! 

Indeed,  we  may  observe,  generally,  that  Mr. 
Tennyson  is  a  master  of  harmonious  proportion  in 
Ills  combination  and  arrangement :  he  is  never  tm- 
equal,  never  great  or  beautiful  only  in  parts  and 
at  random,  but  each  part  is  at  the  same  time  an 
element  essential  to  the  life  of  the  whole, — **  a  joint 
that  plies  its  office,  moved  with  sympathy."  No- 
thing occurs  to  distract  the  current  of  feeling  which 
the  main  subject  requires.  For  this  reason  his 
poems  lose  more  than  most  others  when  quoted  in 
extracts:  yet  in  order  to  give  some  assistance 
towards  forming  a  correct  estimate  of  his  powers, 
we  think  it  worth  while  to  adduce  a  few  single 
specimens  of  imagery  and  sentiment,  where  we 
seem,  in  the  fineness  and  strength  of  tJiought  and 
depth  of  expression,  to  hear  an  echo  of  ^  those 
melodious  bursts  that  fill  the  spacious  times  of 
great  Elizabeth." 

-  Love  took  up  the  glass  of  Time,  and  tum'd  it  in  his  glow- 

•  ing  hands : 
Lojj,j[pry  moment,  lightly  shaken,  ran  itself  in  golden  sands. 


Lots  took  up  the  harp  of  Life,  and  smote  <m  all  tbedwrii 

with  might ; 
Smote  the  chord  of  Self,  that,  trembling,  paewl  in  mii 

out  of  sight. 

Where  is  comfort  f  in  division  of  the  records  of  tk 

mind  f 
Can  I  part  her  fifom  herself,  and  love  her,  as  I  kiewhET, 

kind! 

I  remember  one  that  perished :  sweetly  did  die  epeil 

and  more : 
Such  a  one  do  I  remember,  whom  to  look  at  wii  to  bvr. 
Can  I  think  of  her  as  dead,and  love  her  for  the  kreife 

bore! 
No— she  never  loved  me  truly :  Ioto  is  love  foreTcnam! 

Woman  is  the  lesser  man  ;  and  all  thy  passions,  utdV 

with  mine. 
Are  as  moonlight  unto  sunlight,  and  as  water  ante  wk. 

Not  in  vain  the  distance  beacons.   Forward,  forwird  bt 

us  range. 
Let  the  peoples  spin  for  ever  down  the  ringiof  pom 

of  change. 
Through  the  shadow  of  the  world  we  sweep  iito  tk 

younger  day : 
Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathaj. 

Such  a  noise  of  life 
Swarm'd  in  the  golden  present,  such  a  voice 
Caird  to  me  ftx>m  the  years  to  come,  and  such 
A  length  of  bright  horizon  rimm*d  the  dark. 

The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks : 

The  long  day  wanes  :  the  slow  moon  climbs :  the  <kcp 

Moans  round  with  many  voices. 

(Of  man,  and  his  misgivings  and  aspirations:] 

Here  sits  he  shaping  wings  to  fly : 
His  heart  forebodes  a  mystery  : 
He  names  the  name  Eternity. 

Ah  !  sure  within  him  and  without. 
Could  his  dark  wisdom  find  it  out. 
There  must  be  answer  to  his  doubt. 

From  out  my  sullen  heart,  a  power 
Broke,  like  the  rainbow  from  the  shower, 

To  feel,  although  no  tongue  can  prore, 
That  every  cloud,  that  spreads  abore 
And  veileth  love,  itself  is  love. 

"  Locksley  Hall,"  from  which  the  first  fouroftlie 
above  extracts  are  made,  is  one  of  the  most  m^ 
of  these  poems.  In  the  rapid  alternation  and  ^ 
stragglings  of  passion,  and  the  crowding  togette 
of  so  much  incident  and  character,  (which,  thoq^ 
introduced  by  mere  allusion,  comes  out  M  ^ 
clear,)  we  seem  to  feel  a  dramatic  acdvity  coe* 
densed  into  a  lyrical  form.  Yet  with  all  this  theieii 
the  imbiassed  aloofness  which  the  poet  should  w^ 
tain ;  and  we  think  it  requires  but  ordinary  powal 
of  observation  in  the  reader  to  perceive  the  di«4 
opposition  in  this  respect  between  Mr.  Tennj^ 
and  Lord  Byron.  Though  the  hero  is  the  «pe»i*| 
throughout,  so  that  all  the  stoiy  passes  thioo^ 
the  medium  of  his  feelings,  yet  there  is  w^ 
which  could  tempt  to  the  identification  of  tlieH 
with  his  hero.  The  passion  is  as  stonny  as  it  f^ 
is  in  Byron,  and  a  pervading  feature  d  the  W 
portrayed  is  discontent :  but  that  critic's  notwo* 
comparison  would  be  curious  indeed,  wb<^  <w  ^ 
strength  of  this  subordinate  characteristic,  wiK 
discover  a  similarity  between  the  two,  mnch  m*'^. 
who  could  Bui-mise  an  imitation.  Mr.  Ttmj^n^^ 


TENNYSON'S  POEMS. 


.505 


nphati^lly  not  an  imitator.  Not  one  of  the  great 
oets  of  the  present  day  does  he  follow  in  his  style 
f  thought^  imagery^  or  language.  In  his  earlier 
rodnetbns  perhaps  some  resemblance  to  Keats 
light  be  occasionally  traced  :  but  in  his  later 
rorks  he  is  more  and  more  himself  alone.  Not 
lat  any  poet»  however  true,  is  in  these  days  likely 
»  have  had  no  experience  of  something  modified 
1  hb  own  mind  by  the  labours  of  his  great  pre- 
Boessors  or  eotemporaries ;  and  perhaps  in  very 
iw  cases  indeed  would  it  be  a  proof  of  originality 
lat  no  such  effect  had  been  produced :  as  hardly 
ret  can  original  genius  be  entirely  apart  from 
penness  to  impression.  If  we  were  to  form  a 
(MSB  as  to  what  imaginative  writers  Mr  Tennyson 
18  of  late  been  studying,  we  should  say  the  great 
Annans,  Goethe  and  Richter,  are  of  the  number : 
it  as  we  have  already  said,  he  is  not  the  less  al- 
1J8  himself.  The  powers  we  perceive  exhibited 
I  *^Locksley  Hall,"  suggest  the  thought,  Might 
le  author  wisely  exercise  his  genius  in  dramatic 
>mposition  ?  An  idea,  indeed,  b  not  unArequently 
q)ie8t  now-a-days,  that  the  age  of  the  drama 
altogether  past :  and  some  writers  of  not  ordinary 
bilities  have  tried  to  refute  this  notion.  We  know 
«11  bow  often  the  prevailing  notion  (especially 
ith  regard  to  poetry)  of  a  thing's  having  become 
npoflsible  has  been  refuted  by  its  becoming  actual; 
id  certainly  it  Lb  from  the  poets,  not  the  critics 
id  theorizers,  that  this  refutation  must  come,  if 
'  an.  Perhaps  Mr  Tennyson  may  find  it  worth 
hile  to  tiy  whether  his  hand  wields  the  sword  to 
tive  this  Gordian  knot. 

Onr  quotations  have  been  sufficient  to  illustrate 
le  &ct  tiiat  onr  author  is  not  one  of  those  poets 
horn  nothing  but  turbulence  and  unrest  inspires 
ito  poetic  emotion ;  that  he  has  a  deep  feeling  of 
le  beauty  which  is  in  stillness  and  repose.  But 
i  U  fiar  from  regarding  cofUentment  as  the  end  of 
t  in  such  a  senae,  as  that  the  artist,  and  those  to 
bose  sympathies  he  appeals,  should  ignore  the  evil 
id  weakness  that  are  in  the  world,  or  cease  to 
^  after  a  purer  and  better  state  of  things.  No 
trrey  of  what  is  around  us,  however  complete,  can 
» true,  unless  the  eye  itself  look  upward  and  on- 
i^rd  to  a  perfection  which  is  beyond  all  around 
);  unless  there  be  within  itself  alight,  which,  as 
Iftto  says,  being  sunlike,  seeks  the  sun. 

The  type  of  perfect  in  our  mind. 
In  Natnre  can  we  nowhere  find. 

\  these  pages  frequent  flashes  come  across  us  of 
is  forward-looking  aspiration,  which  disclose  an 
'nest  faith  in  good,  not  the  less  surely  because 
^appear  in  delicate  graceful  lightness  rather 
>an  in  broad  and  massive  outline.  The  poem 
ititled,  **  The  Epic,"  supplies  an  instance  of  what 
emean.  The  subject,  Arthur's  Death,  belongs  to 
e  feelmgg  of  a  bygone  age ;  and  it  is  treated  with 
noble,  touching  simplicity.  The  high  pure  faith 
^  we  ideally  regard  as  characterizing  the  chi- 
^us  ages,  is^  in  a  few  clear  touches,  displayed 
^  great  light  which  guided  and  raised  their 
*niparatively  unenlarged  apprehensions.  This 
Aging  after  an  absolute  good  is  the  meanmg  of 
*py  an  ancient  form,  and  yet  hallows  the  form 
Wch  to  us  has  lost  the  meaning  it  h^d  to  them. 

XO,  ClV.^vOf.,  IX, 


That  this  meaning  is  deeply  significant  to  us,  and 
that  its  significance  can  never  end,  is  a  truth  which 
poetry,  that  far  more  subtly  than  science  links  the 
present  and  the  past,  is  commissioned  to  assert  and 
set  forth  to  mankind.  The  close  to  the  ^'  Morte 
d' Arthur"  seems  fancifully  to  express  tlie  poet's 
reflections  upon  the  like  in  unlike  which  unites 
the  more  and  less  self-conscious  periods  of  human 
progress ;  and  its  effect  is  to  spread  a  rich  mellow- 
ness of  tint  over  the  whole,  which  sets  every  portion 
of  the  colouring  in  its  proper  light.  We  quote  the 
concluding  passage  to  illustrate  our  meaning ;  but  it 
should  be  read  initsappropriateplace,afterthe  whole 
of  the  poem.  The  party  of  friends  met  in  the  Clirist- 
mas  eve  had  heard  a  portion  of  the  epic  poem,  which 
its  author  had  burned,  read  aloud  by  the  half-re- 
luctant poet,  and  so  retired  to  bed  : 

Where  yet  in  sleep  I  seemed 
To  sail  with  Arthur  under  looming  shores. 
Point  after  point,  till  on  to  dawn,  when  dreams 
Begin  to  fSdel  the  troth  and  stir  of  day, 
To  me,  methonght,  who  waited  with  a  crowd, 
There  came  a  bark  that,  blowing  forward,  bore 
King  Arthur  like  a  modern  genUeman 
Of  stateliest  port ;  and  all  die  people  cried, 
"  Arthur  is  oome  again :  he  cannot  die." 
Then  those  that  st^  upon  the  hills  behind 
Repeated—^  Gome  again,  and  thrice  as  fiiir ;" 
And,  ftuiher  inland,  voices  echoed — '^  Come 
With  all  good  things,  and  war  shall  be  no  more." 
At  this  a  hundred  bdls  began  to  peal. 
That  with  the  sound  I  woke,  and  heard  indeed 
The  dear  chnroh-bells  ring  in  the  Christmas  morn. 

We  shall  endeavour  to  do  as  much  justice  as 
our  narrow  limits  allow  to  some  of  these  poems, 
by  briefly  sketching  their  general  outlines,  with 
extracts,  which  may  serve,  though  very  imper- 
fectly, to  convey  some  notion  of  the  character  of 
each  poem  as  a  whole. 

The  Talking  Oak  is  an  exquisite  creation  of  airy 
fancy,  lending  wings  to  passion.  All  those  who 
find  a  deep  delight  in  the  rich  conceits  which  glisten 
through  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  the  rest  of  Shak- 
speare's  love  poetry,  in  which  the  very  strength  and 
purity  of  the  feeUng  are  shown  by  its  not  fearing 
to  sport  whimsically  with  its  own  impulses,  will 
surely  rejoice  in  this  poem.  Not  that  it  teems  pro- 
fusely with  fast-recurring  conceits,  **  hues  of  the 
silken  sheeny  woof  momently  shot  into  each  other," 
but  the  idea  which  is  the  basis  of  the  poem  is  one 
of  that  class,  only  to  be  apprehended  by  imaginative 
sympathy,  and  hopeless  to  be  explained  by  reason- 
ing to  those  who  do  not  otherwise  enter  into  it — 
where  the  soul  delights  to  project  its  own  emotions 
outwards^  to  contemplate  them  aloof  from  itself, 
and  play  with  them  in  fondness.  A  young  lover 
represents  himself  as  returning  with  delight  to  the 
old  Oak  of  Sumner-€hace,to  which  when  his  passion 
first  began  he  had  spoken  without  restraint  and 
often  talked  apart,  "until  he  plagiarised  a  heart, 
and  answered  with  a  voice."  He  will  try  "  if  yet 
he  keeps  the  power" — 

Hail,  hidden  to  the  knees  in  fern. 
Broad  Oak  of  Sumner-chace, 

Whose  topmost  branches  can  discern 
The  roofs  of  Snmner-plaoe ! 

Say  thou,  whereon  I  carved  her  name. 
If  ever  maid  or  spouse, 

As  fair  as  my  Olivia,  came 
To  rest  beneath  thy  boughs. 

2S 


506 


TENNYSON'S  POEMS. 


The  qiiaint  sylvan  tone  of  the  Oak's  language 
through  all  his  replies  has  a  peculiarly  happy  effect 
in  making  us  feel  at  home  with  this  new  region  of 
vocal  trees.  His  answer  to  this  appeal  is  naturally 
such  as  will  satisfy  the  lover. — After  telling  how 
he  has  for  ages  sheltered 

Whatever  maiden  graee 

The  good  old  Summers,  year  by  year. 
Made  ripe  in  Somner-chabce ; 

He  swears  that  Olivia,  Walter's  choice,  ^  is  three 
times  worth  them  all : "  and  further  he  avers — 

I  swear  by  leaf,  and  wind,  and  rain, 

(And  hear  me  with  thine  ears,) 
That  though  I  circle  in  the  grain 

Five  hundred  rings  of  years, 

Yet,  since  I  first  could  cast  a  shade, 

IHd  never  creature  pass 
So  slightly,  musically  made. 

So  light  upon  the  grass. 

The  grateful  lover  entreats  him  further  to  **  de- 
clare when  last  Olivia  came  to  sport  beneath  his 
boughs."  Yesterday,  when  the  fair  at  the  town 
had  taken  her  father  and  mother  from  home,  she 
came  by  herself 

.    .    .    And  round  me  play'd, 

And  sang  to  me  the  whole 
Of  those  three  stanxas  that  you  made 
About  my  giant  bole. 

Walter,  glad  at  heart,  would  know  yet  more ; 
Did  she  read  the  name  himself  had  carved  with 
many  vows? 

O  yes,  she  waader'd  round  and  round    . 

These  knotted  knees  of  mine. 
And  found,  and  kiss'd  the  name  she  found, 

And  sweetly  murmur'd  thine.  * 

A  tear-drop,  which  crept  down  the  old  Oak's  sur- 
face, and  a  second  kiss,  charm  him  into  wishing 
that^  as  in  the  foregone  "  Dryad  days,"  he  could 
have  slipt  his  bark  and  paid  her  kiss  for  kiss. 

O  flourish  high,  with  leafy  towers. 

And  overlook  the  lea ; 
Pursue  thy  loves  among  the  bowers. 

But  leave  thou  mine  to  me. 

0  flourish,  hidden  deep  in  fern. 
Old  oak,  I  love  thee  well, — 

A  thousand  thanks  fbr  what  I  learn. 
And  what  remains  to  tell. 

We  must  give  entire  the  graceful  picture  which 
is  contained  in  the  answer— 

'TIS  little  more :  the  day  was  warm ; 

At  last  tired  out  with  play, 
She  sank  her  head  upon  her  arm. 
And  at  my  feet  she  lay. 

Her  eyelids  dropp'd  their  silken  safes, 

I  breathed  upon  her  eyes 
Thro'  all  the  summer  of  my  leaves 

A  welcome  mixed  with  sighs. 

1  took  the  swarming  sound  of  life — 
The  music  from  the  town — 

The  whispers  of  the  drum  and  fifb. 
And  lull'd  them  in  my  own. 

Sometimes  I  let  a  sunbeam  sHp, 

To  light  her  shaded  eye; 
A  second  fluttered  round  her  lip 

Like  a  golden  butterfly ; 

A  third  would  glimmer  on  her  neck. 

To  make  the  necklace  shine ; 
Another  slid,  a  sunny  fleck, 

From  head  to  ancle  fine. 


Then  close  and  dark  my  arms  I  spread, 

And  shadow'd  all  her  rest — 
Dropt  dews  upon  her  golden  head. 
An  acorn  in  her  breast. 
This  aoom,  the  finest  on  the  tree,  shaken  down 
as  a  graceful  gift,  had  startled  the  maiden,  w^ 
flungit  awayin  the  grass.    The  lover  hardly  needs 
the  Oak's  exhortation  to  kiss  twice  and  thriee  the 
fruit  which  he  declares  to  he  blest  by  Love ;  a»4 
he  records  his  gratitude  by  invoking  the  choice^ 
blessings,  air,  earth,  or  heaven  can  bestow  upon 
his  aged  finend,  whom  he  has  found  as  erewbik 
**  garrulously  given,  a  babbler  in  the  land," — by 
promising  that  only  beside  that  faithful  tree  -will 
he  plight  his  troth  to  his  bride,  who  shall  be  decked 
from  its  branches  for  her  marriage  mom, — ttad 
with  another  promise  that  closes  the  poem — 
—  I  will  work  in  prose  and  rhyme. 

And  praise  ^ee  more  in  both 
Than  bard  has  hcmour'd  beech  or  lime. 
Or  that  Thessalian  growth, 

In  which  the  swarthy  ringdove  sat, 
And  mystic  sentence  spoke ; 

And  more  than  England  honours  that. 
Thy  &mous  brother  Oak, 

Wherein  the  younger  Charles  abode 
Till  all  the  paths  were  dim, 

And  fSur  below  the  Roundhead  rode 
And  faumm'd  a  surly  hymn. 
This  pastoral,  when  we  compare  it  with  tbfi  otber 
idyls,  seems  to  stand  out  from  them,  in  ootntaining 
more  of  what  is  new,  yet  not  startUng,  and  into 
which  the  art  of  the  poet  gently  leads  the  reader's 
fancy  with  such  **  willing  chains  and  sweet  capti- 
vity," that  he  can  at  once  breathe  freely  the  ohann- 
ed  atmosphere  around  him,  nor  fed  tb^t  ita  somids 
are  in  a  tongue  unknown.  All  of  them  display, 
in  union  with  a  Theocritean  freshness  and  buoy- 
ancy, a  broad  English  genuineness  of  feeling,  lit 
up  with  a  lively  beneficent  humour.  One  of  the 
points  which  has  most  excited  our  admiration  in 
perusing  these  volumes  is  the  wealth  of  poetic  jwo- 
duction,  the  fruitful  variety  displayed  in  ao  am^ 
a  space.  Though  some  poems  may  be  our  favour- 
ites more  decidedly  than  others,  there  is  acaio«ly 
one  which  we  could  consent  to  give  up  on  the  score 
of  its  being  in  any  sense  a  repetition  of  anotho', 
and  not  containing  something  novel  and  original 
in  its  fai^on  of  beauty. 

A  poem  widely  difierent  from  any  of  those  joA 
described  is  the  Vision  of  Sin,  in  which  a  wondrous 
dream,  full  of  Dantesque  imagery,  represents  the 
ruin  of  a  selfish  spirit,  plunged  downwards  frwa 
youthful  fiery  vehemence  through  the  mad  whiri 
of  sin  and  debasing  pleasures  into  self-loathing  and 
the  scorn  of  all  things.  The  melody,  which  thrt^^- 
out  is  exquisitely  attuned  to  all  the  manifold  varia- 
tions of  feeling,  commences  with  a  stately,  swe^iig> 
onward  movement— 

I  had  a  vision  when  the  night  was  late: 

A  youth  came  riding  towaM  a  palace-gate. 

He  rode  a  horse  wi&  wings,  that  would  have  flowa, 

But  that  his  heavy  rider  kept  him  down. 

And  ttom  the  palace  came  a  child  of  sin. 

And  took  him  by  the  curls  and  led  him  in. 

Where  sat  a  company  with  heated  eyes. 

Expecting  where  a  fountain  should  arise : 

A  sleepy  light  upon  their  brpws  and  Ups— 

As  when  the  sun,  a  crescent  Qf  eclipse, 


TENNYSON'S  POEMS. 


507 


Drtiafl  of«r  lake  and  lawn,  and  isles  and  eapes — 

Sufi^ised  them,  sitting,  lying,  languid  shapes, 

By  heaps  of  goords,  and  skins  of  wine,  and  piles  of  grapes. 

The  following  yerses,  which  aeem  themselyes  to 
'^stoim  in  orbs  of  song,  a  growing  gale,"  describe 
the  Yolaptuous  melody  that,  rising  ^m  low  tones, 
as  the  fountain  spouted,  died  and  rose  again — 

Till  tfaronginff  in  and  in,  to  where  they  waited. 

As  't  were  a  nnndred-tlux>ated  nightingale. 

The  strong  tempestnons  treble  tloobb'd  and  palpitated ; 

Ran  into  its  giddiest  whirl  of  sonnd, 

CMigifat  the  sparkles,  and  in  circles, 

Pnrple  ganzes,  golden  hazes,  liquid  mazes, 

Flnag  the  torrent  rainbow  round : 

The  inaddened  company  started  up,  seiz^  each 
other,  wheeled  precipitately, 

PashM  together  in  blinding  dew : 
Till,  kill'd  with  some  luxurious  agony. 
The  nerre-dissolving  melody 
Fhitter'd  headlong  from  the  sky. 

A  dltferent  feature  of  the  vision  ensues.  We  are 
forced  into  thoughts  of  Dante  by  the  figurative 
energy  of  phrase,  (which,  except  in  such  wondrous 
allegoric  Visioii,  might  appear  too  daring,)  that  re- 
presents to  us  the  ohe  Sovereign  Presence,  never 
seen  but  felt  in  all,  symbolizing  itself  in  the  ever- 
dawning  light. 

.    .    I  look'd  up  toward  a  mountain  tract. 
That  girt  the  region  with  high  cliff  and  lawn : 
I  saw  that,  every  morning,  far  withdrawn 
Beyond  the  darkness  and  ihe  cataract, 
God  made  Himself  an  awftil  rose  of  dawn, 
Unheeded. 

For  months  and  yean  ^'a  vapour,  heavy,  hue- 
kes,  formless,  cold,"  floats  on  unheeded,  till  it 
touches  the  palace  gate,  when  the  dream  is  broken 
and  link'd  again.  The  figure  appears  now  ^  a  grey 
and  gap-tooth*d  man  as  lean  as  death,"  riding 
across  a  withered  heath  to  a  ruined  inn,  where  he 
alights,  and  in  the  mad  glee  of  self-scorn  bids  the 
**  lank  and  sour"  domestic  join  him,  and  "  hob-and- 
nob  with  death."  The  harrowing  start  from  dreamy 
indistinctness  into  the  sharpness  of  a  dismal  reality 
is  one  of  the  most  wonder^  touches  of  the  poem. 

We  can  quote  but  a  few  stanzas  to  show  the  tone 
of  this  worid-mockery — 

I  am  old,  but  let  me  drink ; 

Bring  me  spices,  bring  me  wine : 
I  remember,  when  I  thmk. 

That  my  youth  was  half  divine. 

Wine  is  good  for  shrivell'd  lips, 

When  a  blanket  wraps  the  day, 
When  the  rotten  woodland  drips, 

And  the  leaf  is  stamped  in  clay. 

Fin  the  cup,  and  fill  the  can : 

ftave  a  rouse  before  the  mom : 
Every  minute  dies  a  man. 

Every  minute  one  is  bom. 


Friendship !  to  be  two  in  one^^ 
Let  the  canting  liar  pack ! 

Well  I  know,  when  I  am  gone. 
How  she  mouths  behind  my  back. 

Virtue  I — ^to  be  good  and  just — 
Every  heart,  when  sifted  well, 

Js  a  clot  of  warmer  dust, 
Mixed  with  cunning  sparks  of  hell. 


Drink,  and  let  the  parties  rave; 

They  are  fill'd  with  idle  spleen ; 
Rising,  falling  like  a  wave. 

For  they  Imow  not  what  they  mean. 

He  that  roars  fbr  liberty 

Faster  binds  the  tynmt's  power: 
And  the  tyrant's  cruel  glee 

Forces  on  the  freer  hour. 

Fill  the  can  and  fill  the  cup ; 

All  the  windy  ways  of  men 
Are  but  dust  that  rises  up, 

And  is  lightly  laid  again. 


Drink  to  lofty  hopes  that  cool, 
Visions  of  a  perfect  State : 

Drink  we,  last,  the  public  fool, 
Frantic  love  and  frantic  hate. 


Tell  me  tales  of  thy  first  love- 
April  hopes,  the  fools  of  chaooe  i 

Till  the  graves  begin  to  move. 
And  the  dead  begin  to  dance. 


Trooping  from  their  mouldy  dens 

The  chap-ikllen  circle  spreads : 
Welcome,  fellow-citizens, 

Hollow  hearts  and  empty  heads  t 

Lo  I  God's  likeness — the  ground-plan — 
Neither  modelled,  glased,  nor  framed : 

Buss  me,  thou  rough  sketch  of  man. 
Far  too  naked  to  be  shamed  I 

Drink  to  Fortune,  drink  to  Chance, 

While  we  keep  a  little  breath  | 
Drink  to  heavy  Ignorance ! 

Hob-and-nob  with  brother  Death ! 

Thou  art  maaed,  the  night  is  long, 

And  the  longer  night  is  near : 
What !  I  am  not  all  as  wrong 

As  a  bitter  jest  is  dear. 

Youthfiil  hopes,  by  scores,  to  all, 
When  the  locks  are  crisp  and  ourl'd ! 

Unto  me  my  maudlin  gall 
And  my  mockeries  of  the  world. 

Fill  the  cup,  and  fill  the  can  I 

Mingle  madness,  mingle  scorn ! 
Dregs  of  life,  and  lees  of  man : 
Yet  we  will  not  die  forlorn. 
A  final  change  of  the  vision  leads  the  awe-stricken 
mind  to  ponder  on  the  inscrutable  laws  which  are 
to  reconcile  the  moral  discrepancies  of  the  universe, 
and  points  once  more  to  that  unseen  presence,  to 
which  our  hopes  and  fears  turn  for  rest,  which  b 
around  and  beyond  all.     Divers  voices  are  heard 
speaking  of  the  crime  of  him  who  has  past  from 
earthly  existence — 

At  last  I  heard  a  voice  upon  the  slope, 
Cry  to  the  summit  *'  Is  there  any  hope !" 
To  which  Ml  answer  pealed  f^m  that  high  land. 
But  in  a  tongue  no  man  could  understand ; 
And  on  the  glimmering  limit  tu  withdrawn 
God  made  Himself  an  awftil  rose  of  dawn. 

The  poem  entitled  the  Day  Dream  is  to  us  one  oi 
the  most  delightful  in  the  whole  series.  It  contains 
the  old  tale  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  which  the 
^  Prologue  "  describes  as  having  shaped  itself  into 
verse  in  the  poet's  mind  as  he  watched  his  lady 
sleeping.  The  subject  abundantly  calls  forth  the 
exercise  of  that  pictorial  power  which  our  author 
possesses  in  such  a  rare  degree ;  and  the  feeling  of 
dreamy  stillness  is  quite  magical,  which  breathes 
through  the  first  and  second  parts,  "The  Sleeping 


508 


TENNYSON'S  POEMS. 


Palace**  and  **  Sleeping  Beauty,**  the  latter  of  whicli 
had  appeared  as  a  poem  by  itself  in  the  small  vol- 
ume published  in  1830.  The  vivid  truth  of  every 
image  in  the  Sleeping  Palace,  however,  charms  us 
scaroely  more  than  the  last  stanza,  which  utters 
the  dim  yearning  after  new  life  that  still  wakes 
amid  this  silence. 

When  will  the  hondrod  Bammers  die, 

And  thought  and  time  be  bom  again, 
And  newer  knowledge,  drawing  nigh. 

Bring  truth  that  sways  the  soul  of  men ! 
Here  all  things  in  their  place  remain. 

As  all  were  order'd,  ages  since. 
Come,  Care  and  Pleasure,  Hope  and  Pain, 

And  bring  the  £Ated  fliiry  I^ce. 

"  The  Arrival**  of  the  «  fairy  Prince  with  joyful 
eyesy  and  lighter-footed  than  the  fox,**  shows  a 
nimbler  movement  and  quicker  variation  of  feeling. 
He  advances  on  through  the  ground  fatal  to  so 
many  before  him,  and  we  tremble  with  him  as 
he  approaches  the  ordeal  of  his  lifelong  hope. 

More  close  and  close  his  footsteps  wind ; 

The  magic  mode  in  his  heart 
Beats  qnidc  and  quicker,  till  he  find 

The  quiet  chamber  &r  apart. 
His  spirit  flatters  like  a  lark. 

He  stoops — ^to  kiss  her — on  his  knee. 
*^  Love,  if  thy  tresses  be  so  dark. 

How  dark  those  hidden  eyes  must  be  */' 

The  flash  into  life  of  the  '^Revival**  running 
through  the  Palace  is  electric. — 

A  toach,  a  kiss  !  the  charm  was  snapt. 

There  rose  a  noise  of  striking  clocks. 
And  feet  that  ran,  and  doors  thifbt  clapt. 

And  barking  dogs,  and  crowing  eocks. 
A  fbller  light  illumined  all, 

A  breeze  through  all  the  garden  swept, 
A  sudden  hubbub  shook  the  hall. 

And  sixty  feet  the  fountain  leapt. 

The  hedge  broke  in,  the  banner  blew. 

The  butler  drank,  the  stewurd  scrawl'd. 
The  fire  shot  up,  the  martin  flew. 

The  parrot  scream'd,  the  peacock  squall'd, 
The  maid  and  page  renew'd  their  strife. 

The  palace  bangM,  and  buzzM  and  dackt. 
And  all  the  long-pent  stream  of  life 

Dash'd  downward  in  a  cataract. 

A  brief  cheerful  glance  at  the  king  and  his  court 
is  allowed  to  divert  our  curiosity, — and  then  all 
thb  passes  away  that  our  fancy  may,  in  the  **  De- 
parture,** inhale  delight  and  repose  from  the  deep, 
quiet,  trustful  tenderness  of  the  lovers,  as  '*  far 
across  the  hills  they  went,  in  that  new  world  which 
is  the  old'*  :— 

And  o'er  the  hiUs,  and  fu  away. 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim. 
Beyond  the  night,  across  the  day. 

Thro'  all  the  world  she  foUow'd  him. 

In  the«Moral,'*^L'Envoi,**and"Epilogue,'' which 
are  fraught  with  fine  touches  of  humour  and  feeling, 
and,  with  the  **  Prologue,"  form  the  framework  of 
this  sunny  picture^  a  self-conscious  spirit  of  poetry 


dallies  in  playful  reflection,  with  the  doubts  stirred 
up  by  the  contact  and  contrast  of  old  and  new,  and, 
fancying  to  itself  a  moral  from  the  apparent  no- 
meaning  of  the  story,  gently  guides  us  back,  without 
sense  of  jar  and  harshness,  from  fidry-laiid  to  thu 
new  world  which  is  the  old. — 

These  instances  may  in  part  show  how  near  Mr. 
Tennyson  comes  towa^xls  fulfilling  one  of  the  hi^ 
est  offices  of  a  poet ;  to  say  that  which  has  beea 
trembling  on  the  lips  of  others,  but  yet  wanted  as 
utterance,  in  words  which  are  at  once  welcomed  as 
the  expression  full  and  clear  of  what  had  long 
dimly  possessed  their  hearts.  To  our  feeling,  flashe 
of  this  power  are  more  frequent  and  piercing  in 
Mr.  Tennyson  than  any  young  author  of  these  day*. 

We  unwillingly  pass  by,  with  a  single  glance,  the 
wise  humour  and  fanciful  grace  embodied  in  sudi 
poems  as  the  "  Lyrical  Monologue,"  "Walking  to 
the  Mail"  and  other  idyls;  the  deep  exquisite 
pathos  of  the  ballads,  as  "Edward  Gray"  and 
"  The  Lord  of  Burleigh;**  and  shall  merely  quote 
one  specimen  which  shows  how  by  rare  delicacy  of 
skill  a  single  touch  can  at  once  convey  a  world  of 
comprest  unutterable  feeling. 

Break,  break,  break. 

On  thy  cold  grey  stones,  O  Sea  ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

O  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy. 
That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play  ! 

O  well  for  the  sailor  lad, 
That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay  ! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  by 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  O  for  the  touch  of  a  vanish'd  hand. 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still ! 

Break,  break,  break. 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea  ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

In  the  time  which  has  elapsed  since  his  latest 
publication,  in  the  alteration  and  compression  of 
many  portions  of  his  earlier  volumes,  and  the  en- 
tire rejection  of  much  which  his  admirers  might 
have  deemed  worthy  of  a  better  fate,  Mr.  Tenny- 
son has  shown  tliat  he  is  capable  of  exercisiiig  a 
severe  self-judgment,  and  that  he  has  a  strict  notioi 
of  the  responsibility  which  his  poetic  talent,  like 
all  other  intellectual  gifts,  attaches  to  the  posseesod 
This  is  as  it  should  be ;  a  man  gifted  with  suck 
powers  should  always  keep  a  high  ideal  before  him; 
but  a  sensitive  mind  may  perhaps  easily  groworer- 
fastidious,  and  be  tempted  to  fall  into  sdf -distmst, 
and  so  lose  somewhat  of  its  inspiring  energy.  We 
trust  Mr.  Tennyson  will  never  give  way  to  thii 
error  any  more  than  to  the  opposite  one  of  haste 
and  carelessness.     He  is  called  to  take  a  lof^ 
station  among  England's  poets  of  this  age ;  let  him 
duly  regard  and  keep  ever  before  hia  view,  the 
greatness  of  his  vocation. 


509 


BENTHAM'S  TABLE-TALK. 

(Cmaitmedfrcm  *^ Memoirs  of  Bentham"  tn  nwr  Jufy  No,) 


The  peculiar  and  original  views,  and  benevolent 
wiadom  for  which  the  Sage  of  Westminster  was 
remarkable,  were  strikingly  evolved  in  his  careless 
Table-Talk,  and  sometimes  jotted  down  in  memo- 
random-books  as  texts  for  more  expanded  dis- 
courses. Many  of  the  felicitous  passages  and  pithy 
sayings  which  enrich  the  pages  of  his  Memoirs,  dis- 
play 80  much  of  the  inner  life  of  Bentham,  that  we 
regret  that  we  can  only  glean  a  few  random  speci- 
mens. Yet  these  have  great  value. — In  illustration 
of  the  nature  of  Prefudice,  even  among  those  who 
&ncy  themselves  far  above  its  influence,  he  told 
the  following  anecdote : — 

Prtyudiee. — I  met  witha  Frenchman  once,  whomnothing 
would  per8nade,ttiat  Priestley,  whom  he  had  been  talking 
wHb,  was  not  an  Atheist  as  well  as  himself;  because  they 
hftpp^  to  agree  on  some  points  relative  to  matter  and 
fne  teUL  Priestley  fbamed  with  rage  at  the  impntation, 
but  the  Frenchman  was  not  to  be  so  taken  in.  Priatley, 
on  kit  part,  was  even  with  him ;  for  he  would  no  more  be- 
liere  the  Frenchman's  Atkeim,  than  the  Frenchman  hii 
Theim,  If  you  And  I,  their  adopted  brethren,  with  our 
rmrdtd  mmte,  were  to  go  and  shake  hands  with  them 
«ad  call  them  feUoiP<itixen$,  we  might  say  what  we 
would,— for  the  first  month  at  lea8t,-^hey  would  no 
nore  belieye  it  possible  for  «*  to  **  honour  the  king"  that 
wit  08,  than  the  man  believed  it  possible  for  Priestley 
to** fear  God:' 

PMie  Bodies, — I  hare  obserred,— it  is  an  old  obser- 
Tation  of  mine^ — that  no  political  assembly  adopts  a 
printed  project,  or  adopts  ideas  to  which  publicity  has 
been  giyen,— I  mean  textually  and  in  mass.  They  no- 
minate a  committee.— Will  that  committee  adopt  a  work 
*heady  written^--a  foreign  work  I — Will  they  commit  a 
nicide !— a  suicide  of  reputation. — Will  they  declare 
■wnsclTes  null^— inept,— incapable  ?— O,  no  !  Indiri- 
«al  self-loye^— national  self-love,  forbid  it. 

The  above  is  the  observation  of  Bentham's  first 
«nd  greatest  disciple  Dumont.  Every  day  affords 
eridence  of  its  universal  truth. 

Ii»iet  for  Ckmrersation.'^Beniham,  for  himself,  had 
WMie  it  a  rule  to  avoid,  as  much  as  possible,  discussions 
whose  results  would  leave  matters  where  they  were, 
^th  the  risk  of  annoyance  to  both  parties  in  the  progress 
«f  the  discussion.  "  Endeavour,"  he  said,  **  to  ascertain 
the  opinions  of  others,  uriio  are  strangers  to  you,  before 
yon  venture  to  introduce  your  own.  Introduee  them  not, 
u  their  opinions  are  so  remote  as  to  be  irreconcileable 
Jjth  yours.  Say  not,  *  I  have  a  right  to  proclaim  and 
defend  my  opinion.'    What  is  the  English  of  aU  that  I 

1  have  a  right  to  give  pain, — to  make  enemies, — ^to 
hive  backs  turned,  and  doors  shut  against  me.'"  .    . 

Etitanda. — All  discourse  tending  to  giye  uneasiness 
to  others  without  benefit  to  self  or  others.  Example- 
indication  of  imperfections  of  an  irremediable  nature,  as 
•wily  defects,  mental  defects,  in  so  far  as  incorrigible, 
«*.«■.  stupidity,  dulness  of  apprehension. 

In  so  for  as  indication  is  given  of  remediable  im- 
POfei^ons,  it  should  be  in  such  manner  that  it  may  be 
"oen  that  the  motiye  is  the  benefiting  the  other  party,— 
not  enjoying  at  his  expense  the  pleasures  of  power  and 
^«y.  For  this  purpose,  let  it  be  m  the  presence  of 
BO  other  person  that  the  indication  is  given ;  for  if  in  the 
Ffoaenoe  of  others,  the  greater  the  number  the  greater 
we  pain  of  humiliation,  which,  besides  the  irritation  it 
®*y  produce^ — ^irritation  from  which  you  may  yourself 

«  i?^*'*''  ^^^^  much  pain  produced  in  waste."  .  . 

I'the  aflSections  of  him  with  whom  you  are  about  to 

^'"wnttioe  a  oonversation  be  matter  of  indifference  to 

7on,aU  topics  are  open  to  you  :  if  it  be  an  object  with 

you  to  gain  or  keep  his  affections,  choose  that  topic. 


whatever  it  may  be,  that  is  most  agreeable  to  hinu  At 
any  rate,  yon  may  avoid  eyery  topic  which  yon  ]mow,or 
suspect,  to  be  disagreeable  to  him. 

^  Kind  words  cost  no  more  than  unkind  ones.  Kind 
words  produce  kind  actions,  not  only  on  the  part  of  him 
to  whom  they  are  addressed,  but  on  the  part  of  him 
by  Whom  they  are  addressed, — ^understand,  not  inciden- 
tally only,  but  habitually,  in  virtue  of  the  principle  of 
association." 

The  following  appear  among  other  notes  and  ex- 
tracts from  a  memorandum  book  of  1811-19 : — 

^  Murder  upon  a  small  scale — no :  that  is  not  good. 
Why  1  Because  we  are  used  to  see  men  hanged  for  it. 
Murder  on  the  largest  scale.  Oh,  that  is  most  excellent  1 
Why !    Because  we  are  used  to  see  men  crowned  for  it" 

^  Oppression  well  exemplified  by  anti-combination  and 
anti-emigration  laws.  Anti-combination  acts  prevent 
men  from  earning  subsistence  at  home  ;  Anti-emigra- 
tion acts  from  earning  it  abroad :  both  join  in  driring 
men  into  the  poor-house  and  suborning  suicide."  .    .    . 

**  If  Christianity  be  the  law  of  the  land,  disobedience 
to  the  precepts  in  the  sermon  on  the  Mount  is  an  indict- 
able offence." 

**  Associated  Suppressors  ofFree  Inaniry, — They  are 
paid  for  supporting  what  f  The  truth  f  No  I  bat  that 
which  is  given  them  to  support,  whether  it  be  true  or 
no — like  the  hirelings  of  the  law,  purchasable  male  pros- 
titutes." 

**  In  Britain,  the  ruling  few  are  in  a  constant  state  of 
alarm.  Why !  Because  the  government  is  a  continued 
system  of  oppression  and  injustice. 

^  In  the  United  States,  they  know  not  what  alarm  is. 
Why !  Because,  not  haying  power  to  oppress,  they 
neyer  do  oppress." 

•*/.  BJi  knowUdge  of  the  World,  Whip  Lords,  ^-c— 
Those  who  liye  with  them,  and,  by  describing  their  doings 
and  looking  at  their  titles,  pretend  to  know  what  they 
are, — know  only  what  they  say.  I,  who  might  have 
lived  with  them,  and  would  not  live  with  them, — and 
who  neither  know  nor  care  what  they  say^ — know,  and 
without  liring  with  them,  what  they  think." 

**  Interest  appeals  to  the  tri//,  argument  to  the  un- 
derstanding. What  can  argument  do  against  interest  t 
The  understanding  is  but  the  servant — ^the  very  slave  to 
the  will.  What  can  be  done  against  the  master  by  ap- 
plication to  the  slave  ?" 

Of  a  witty,  but  sneering  and  satirical  person 
who  wrote  in  that  slashing  scornful  style  which 
did  not  please  Bentham,  whose  great  and  constant 
aim  was  truth  and  not  effect,  he  wrote  to  a  com- 
mon friend  : — 

**  I  am  concerned  for .    That  which  it  grieves  me 

to  see  are  those  expressions  of  universal  and  nndiscrim- 
inating  scorn,  which  it  delights  him  to  scatter  on  all  that 
come  in  his  way,  whether  friends  or  foes.  Evil  commu- 
nications corrupt  good  manners.  He  has  learnt  this  from 

;  but is  an  unhappy  man,  and  is  independent 

of  the  affections  of  the  people.  To  be  loved  by  men,  a 
man  must  appear  to  love  them;  and  for  preserving  tiie 
appearance,  I  cannot  think  of  any  means  so  sure  as  the 
reaUty." 

For  the  suppression  of  Anger,  he  gave  the  fol- 
lowing rules : — 

**  When  cool,  satisfy  yourself  completely  of  the  nse- 
fhlness  of  these  rules.  Being  thoroughly  lodged  in  your 
memory, — when  any  incidental  provocation  happens  to 
excite  anger,  the  recollection  of  these  rules  may  serve 
to  suppress  it. 

**  To  avoid  giving  useless  offence  on  the  occasion  of  any- 
thing you  are  about  to  do,  or  to  say,  in  relation  to  any 
indiridual,  think,  in  the  firdt  place,  in  what  maimer,  if 


510 


BENTHAM'S  TABLE-TALK. 


said  or  done  in  relation  to  yourself,  it  would  afifect  your- 
self:  if  to  yourself  it  would  be  a  matter  of  indifTerenoe, 
think  then,  whether,  between  your  situation  and  his, 
there  may  not  be  some  difference,  the  eiEBot  of  which 
would  be  to  render  painfbl  to  him  what  would  not  be  so 
to  you.**    .... 

«  Curbing  the  irascible  appetite  is  as  good  a  sul^ect  of 
exercise  and  boasting,  as  extraordinary  walking,  run- 
ning, donkey-racing,  ohess-playing,  &c.** 

**  Rich  and  Poor, — Rich,  why  less  moral  than  the  poor  I 

^  1.  The  richer,  the  more  independent  of  good  behaTiour. 
— 2,  The  richer,  the  fewer  with  whom  he  sympathizes. 

^The  property  of  the  rich  is  in  no  danger  from  the  poor: 
the  property  of  the  poor  is  not  only  in  danger  from  the 
rich,  but  constantly  encroached  on  by  them  and  lessened. 

**  The  small  property  of  the  poor  is,  every  particle  of 
it,  necessary  to  their  subsistence;  it  is,  therefore,  more 
oarefriUy  watched  and  guarded  :  the  richer  a  man  i8,^e 
more  careless,  the  better  he  can  afford  to  see  defalca- 
tions made  from  it. 

<<  But  the  property  of  the  poor  is  of  no  Talue  in  the 
eyes  of  the  rich :  hence  they  conclude  it  to  be  of  little 
value  in  the  eyes  of  its  possessors/* 

The  following  are  unong  the  good  things  of 
1821  :— 

'^  Duelling, — The  man  who  values  himself  on  his  per- 
sonal courage,  independently  of  the  application  made  of 
it,  values  himself  on  that  which  is  possessed  in  a  higher 
degree  by  a  dog,  especially  when  he  is  mad.** 

^Solitary  Confinement. — To  think  that  by  vacancy  of 
mind  mental  improvement  can  be  assured !  It  is  by 
well  filling  it,  not  by  leaving  it  unfilled,  that  I  (in  Pan- 
opticon) shoiUd  have  operated.** 

**  Abstain  from  imagining  possible  evils  not  preventi- 
ble.  flxample — by  anticipating  diseases — stone — ^blind- 
ness, &c.  So  when  preventible,  after  the  means  of  pre- 
vention have  been  settled.** 

^  Has  human  life  more  in  it  of  pain  than  of  pleasure  t 
By  no  means.  Why  !  For  this  plain  reason  :  because 
it  is  in  so  high  a  degree  in  our  power  to  embrace  plea- 
sure, and  to  keep  pain  at  a  distance.** 

"  Intemperate  language  is  strife  upon  paper.** 

^Effectt  of  Urbanity. — In  exemplification  of  the  pro- 
digious utility  of  general  urbanity  to  self-regarding  in- 
terest, bring  to  view  Eldon,  Sidmouth,  Castlereagh, 
Canning,  &c  Urbanity  does  what  Scripture  says  is  done 
by  Charily.  By  this  virtue  on  the  small  scale,  vice  in  its 
most  mischievous  and  efficient  forms  on  the  largest  scale, 
to  what  a  degree  may  it  not  be  cotered  from  opprobrium.** 

SainU. — ^  If,  to  be  an  Anti-slavist  is  to  be  a  saint, 
saintship  for  me  ! — I  am  a  saint  I 

**  I  should  like  to  invite  a  Yankee  and  a  negro,  a  lord 
and  a  beggar,  to  my  table.** 

Another  $ort  of  SainU. — "  There  are  many  religions 
people  who  had  rather  see  men  miserable  than  innoxionB. 
Unhappiness  is  the  instrument  by  which  they  would 
make  us  angels;  but  the  brutes  are  often  interested  in 
oorruptions— out  of  them  they  gain  influence  and  repu- 
tation." 

AnHquarianimn, — ^  Antiquarianism  is  the  natural  re- 
eonree  of  aristocracy.  All  its  memorials  are  monarchi- 
eal  and  aristocratic** 

*^  De  moriuit  nU  niai  bonum, — This  maxim  is  one  of 
the  inventions  of  despotism  :  it  perpetuates  misrepre- 
■entation  of  the  ruling  few  at  the  expense  of  the  subject 
many;  it  employs  suppression  instead  of  open  lying,  for 
the  purpose  of  deception;  it  would  shield  depredation 
and  oppression  from  exposure;  and  when  it  is  too  late 
to  prevent  misdoings  by  present  punishment,  would  pro- 
tect the  misdoers  even  against  future  denunciation  and 
judgment.  Aristocracy  gets  all  the  benefit  of  the  maxim; 
for  the  poor  are  never  honoured  with  unqualified  post- 
humous praise.  And  thus,  the  world  bestows  its  foolish 
eonfidenoe  on  those  who  always  betray  it.  Thus,  all  dis- 
tinctions are  levelled,  but  those  of  wealth  and  prospe- 
rity. Thus,  the  fallacy  becomes  an  instrument  in  the 
hand  of  tyranny.  Thus,  in  the  two  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment men  are  always  flattering  one  another  :  the  most 
opulent,  the  most  extravagant,  and  thence  the  most  ra- 


pacious. Witoess  kings,  who  get  the  greatest  portion 
of  this  flattery ;  and  in  the  same  spirit  judges  are  always 
for  punishing,  with  the  greatest  severity,  those  who  utter 
anything  to  the  disadvantage  of  kings.** 

Mevenge, — **  Revenge  is  a  dear-bought,  nneoonomieal 
pleasure.  It  purehases  everlasting  bttfed  at  the  pciee 
of  a  moment*s  gratification.  Consider  when  lb  ^"[^^ 
has  been  done,  if  exposure  would  prevent  its  repetitioo. 
If  80,  it  is  an  act  of  self-regarding  prudence;  bat  the  ex- 
poeure  should  be  temperate,  prudent,  and  a^^priate  to 
the< 


Bred  a  lawyer,  and  early  abandoning  the  profee- 
sion,  Bentham  entertained  throngfaout  life  a  moet 
hearty  and  nncompromising  hatred  of  lawyers,  as 
well  as  of  the  existing  system  of  laws.  Of  this, 
his  friends,  many  of  whom  were  of  the  l^al  pro- 
fession, were  qoite  aware.  Writing  him  frcnn 
Edinburgh  in  l7dd,  his  valued  friend  Romilly  re- 
marks : — "  I  am  passing  my  time  very  pleasantly 
here  in  a  society,  principally,  however,  which  you 
would  not  at  all  ^lish — ^lawyers."  Romilly's  ae- 
count  of  the  Trial  of  Muir  than  going  on,  waa  aat 
calculated  to  exalt  the  profeesion  in  any  man'i 
eyes.     On  one  occasion  we  find  Bentham  saying : 

**  In  Homer,  Menelaus  is  asked  whether  he  wu  a 
pirate  or  a  robber  !  To  suppose  that  a  man  luui  advaa- 
ced  himself  by /oree  was  not  taken  amiss.  In  these  <!&]» 
it  is  no  reproach  to  ask,  *  Are  you  a  lawyer  !^ — ^whichis 
to  say,  Have  you  advanced  yourself  by  framd  I  But  tbt 
time  will  come  when  it  will  be  as  disreputable  to  kara 
made  way  by  the  arts  of  the  lawyer,  as  it  is  now  cob- 
sidered  to  have  made  way  by  the  arts  of  the  thief." 

He  at  one  time  interested  himself  in  obtoinii^ 
justice  for  a  widow,  who,  through  her  husband,  had 
some  claim  on  the  Russian  Government  5  of  which 
case  it  is  said : — 

The  parties  origini^y  eonsoHed  had  bean  endeawv- 
ing  to  involve  the  widow  in  law  prooeedingi  had  is- 
eurred  expenses — and  had  been  intriguing  to  get  BMsey 
for  law  charges,  and  for  compliments,  and  fat  aecnt 
management.  To  all  this  Bentham  would  not  hsten. 
"  Not  a  d<n<  shall  they  have,**  he  writes, "  but  what  tkcj 
shall  have  is  a  letter  declining  their  plans  of  manage- 
ment, with  all  possible  civility."    .... 

**  Malice  is  a  murderous  instrument  in  the  hands  ef  s 
cursed  lawyer,  by  which  he  may  commit  kit  wtmden  m 
the  name  of  law.*^ 

*^Law  and  Lattyert. — ^The  Roman  law  is  a  poetl  if 
dissertations  badly  drawn  up  t  the  views  of  the  ^mbi 
lawyers  were,  however,  mere  expanded  than  the  views 
of  the  English  lawyers.** 

**  Wherever  you  see  the  word  wid,  there  is  raet^ty 
for  the  cursed  lawyers — and  Uiis  in  sJl  its  coi^junotions. 
It  is  a  sacrifice  of  the  ends  of  justice  to  the  ends  ef  js- 
dicature :  so  nuUity, — 90  hadnem.** 

**  ^mple  taxation  to  the  amount  of  the  shiisler  beaeli 
of  the  lawyers,  would  be  as  nothing  in  comparison  to  tk 
present  evil :  it  would  be  merely  depredation  to  ^ 
amount,  without  denial  of  justice." 

^  The  late  Francis  Homer  mentioned  to  me  (18W)t 
case  he  knew  of,  in  which  thirteen  representatkns,  toe 
after  another,  were  made  to  the  Loid  Ordinary.  Re- 
presentations are  papers  put  in  merely  for  delay,  is  its 
same  form  of  words,  and  there  is  a  foe  on  each  to  tke 
Judge's  clerk.  What  is  any  such  representattoo  bat  i 
bribe  f  What  does  bribery  lose  of  its  baaeness  by  beiog 
unpunishable  f* 

**  What  can  be  done  with  lawyerst  Hold  up  n«" 
lity,  and  what  then!  Demonstrate,  and  you  ^  bo 
answer, — ^but  if  there  be  the  sli^test  flaw  in  your  aifv* 
ments,  it  is  laid  hold  o^  and  becomes  an  object  of  pebfie 
attention." 

^  Pleadings  are  a  most  perfect  nuisance, — to  be  ex- 
punged altogether  :  written  pleadings  are  of  bo  aei* 
use  in  a  court  than  they  would  be  in  a  ne  *^ 


BENTHAM'S  TABLE-TALK. 


511 


How,  Bappose  this  system  were  applied  to  the  evidenoe 
§p.mk  beifore  the  House  of  Ck)mmoiiB  :  they  would  hare 
to  wait  one  year  for  erery  answer,  and  the  answer  wonld 
kaTe  to  wait  another  year  for  elucidation." 

Tks  Ckrittianity  offrofemmg  Chri$tiant,^*'  How  little 
4o  Christians  care  iboui  the  commands  of  Christianity. 
Was  erer  a  text  more  clear  than  that,  '  Swear  not  at 
all,' — but  it  has  been  cayilled  away  by  glosses  and 
Biemnings  which  in  no  other  ease  would  be  listened  to 
for  a  minnte." 

^  Utility  was  an  uniSortunately  chosen  word.  The 
idea  it  gires  is  a  vague  one.  Dnmont  insists  on  retaining 
the  word.  He  is  bigoted,  old,  and  indisposed  to  adopt 
what  is  new,  eren  though  it  should  be  better." 

PMie  Afmtei,  and  Public  Men.—**  In  England,  the 
most  ezpensire  plan  is  always  preferred :  1st,  because 
economy  would  set  a  bad  example;  2d,  because  igno- 
ranee  has  no  means  of  judging  but  from  expense."  .  .  . 

Speaking  of  public  men,  hostile  to  good  goyemment, 
Bentham  said  :  **  The  enemies  of  the  people  may  be  di- 
Tided  into  two  classes.  The  depredationists,  whose  lore 
of  themselTes  is  stronger  than  their  hatred  to  others; 
and  the  opvressionists,  whose  hatred  to  others  is  stronger 
tiiaa  theb  love  of  themselves."    .    .    . 

*'  Precedent,— The  habit  of  taking  it  for  a  rule  in  the 
praotiee  of  the  legislature,  is  an  expedient  employed  for 
supporting  abuse  against  utility  and  reason :  precedent 
being  an  avowed  substitute  for  reason,  and  all  prece- 
dents the  results  of  the  predominance  of  the  sinister  in- 
tereete  of  the  ruling  few." 

**  For  a  skare  of  power,  a  man  will  do  many  a  bad 
thing  which  he  would  scarcely  do  for  any  sum  of  money. 
Why  ?  Because  in  what  he  does  for  the  power,  there 
are  so  many  to  give  him  countenance  and  support."  .  . 

"  While  the  Government  punish  lies  that  make  against 
then,  they  have  ftill  impunity  for  lies  that  make  for 


**  Despotism  ponishes  the  vices  which  itself  engenders: 
it  creates  the  crime,  and  inflicts  the  penalty." 

^  Under  libel  law,  whatever  is  done  for  the  safety,  for 
the  Hberty,  for  the  morality  of  the  people,  depends  for 
ite  efleaey  on  the  weakness  of  the  law." 

**  Every  act  of  support  to  a  constitution,  in  which  eor- 
ruption  is  the  instrument  of  Government,  is  an  act  of 
aeceesaryship  to  every  instance  of  obsequiousness  to  cor- 
mptive  influence." 

Ahmam.—**  Every  abuse  receives  support  from  every 
other  abuse." 

^  In  this  country,  justioe  is  sold,  and  dearly  sold^-^ 
and  it  is  denied  to  him  who  cannot  disburse  the  price  at 
which  it  is  purchased. 

**  The  expenses  of  suits  should  be  defrayed  by  those 
who  are  in  the  wrong.  They  should  fiUl  heavily  on 
those  who  are  in  the  wrong  with  evil  consciousness — and 
lightly  on  those  who  are  mistakenly  wrong. 

^  But  now,  the  evils  of  expense  are  added  to  the 
wrongs  of  the  iiyured ;  and  injustice  holds  in  its  hands 
instruments  of  b^mdless  vexation. 

^  Under  a  proper  system,  a  small  part  of  the  expenses 
incurred  in  litigation  would  deftly  all  the  costs  of  jus- 
tice." 

Advice  to  Jurymen. — **  My  advice  to  jurymen  is  plaim 
and  unmisnnderstandable,  and  nothing  can  be  easier  tiuui 
to  follow  it.  Examine  the  indictment,  and  if  in  any  part 
there  be  any  assertion  that  is  either  notoriously  lalse  or 
not  proved  to  be  true,  do  not  join  in  declaring  it  to  be 
true,  but  say.  Not  Guilty." 

To  retium  to  indlTiduals  from  opinions ;— <of  Bi- 
cardo  he  said  : — 

**  I  was  the  spiritual  fether  of  Mill,  and  l^Cll  was  the 
spiritoal  fother  of  Ricardo :  so  that  Ricardo  was  my 
spiritual  grandson. 

*  I  was  often  tHe-h-tHe  with  Ricardo.  He  would 
borrow  a  sixpenny  book  instead  of  buying  it.  There 
was  an  ipanekement  between  us.  We  used  to  walk 
together  in  Hyde  Park,  and  he  reported  to  me  what 
passed  in  the  House  of  Commons.  He  had  several  times 
intended  to  quote  the  'Fragment;'  but  his  oonrage 
fkiled  him,  as  he  told  me. 


^  In  Ricardo's  book  on  Rent,  there  is  a  want  of  logic 
I  wanted  him  to  correct  it  in  these  particulars ;  but  he 
was  not  conscious  of  it,  and  Mill  was  not  desirous.  He 
confounded  cort  with  txi/tM.  Considering  our  intercourse, 
it  was  natural  he  should  give  me  a  copy  of  his  book— « 
thedevUabitt" 

Of  Buonaparte,  Bolivar,  and  all  men  of  their 
stamp,  Bentham  entertained  the  opinion  which 
may  be  inferred  from  his  cast  of  mind ;  but  he 
was  willing  to  make  use  of  any  man  as  an  instm- 
ment  of  good  ;— of  promoting  the  knowledge  and 
operation  of  the  ^greatest^happiness  principle." 

Witha  slight  notice  of  the  more  remarkable  traits 
of  this  eminent  perscm  which  Dr.  Bowring  has  de- 
scribed, we  must  bring  this  paper  to  a  close.  From 
the  portion  of  the  Memoirs  which  appeared  origi- 
nally in  TaUa  Magasiney  it  will  be  remembered 
thaf^  at  a  comparatively  early  period  of  life,  he 
formed  a  strong  attachment  to  a  young  lady  whom 
he  met  at  Bowood,  the  seat  of  the  Marquis  <^ 
Lansdowne.  He  was  then  in  his  thirty-fourth 
year,  and  the  lady  very  young.  As  she  is  still 
alive,  Dr.  Bowring  has  withheld  the  name;  but 
there  is  no  great  difficulty  in  the  way  of  those  bent 
on  the  discovery  spelling  it  out.  She  was  then 
at  that  age  when  the  romping  of  the  girl  still  gives 
impunity  to  the  pranks  of  the  flirt  or  of  the  incipi- 
ent coquette  ;  and  in  her  own  words,  she  v^as,  wMle 
in  hertenderest  teens,  accused  by  her  friends  of  loving 
to  play  with  the  philosopher  approaching  middle- 
age, '^  as  a  cat  does  with  a  mouse."  The  attachment 
had  never,  it  appears,  been  in  any  degree  returned 
by  her,  although  she  remained  single.  After  an 
estrangement  of  many  years,  the  parties  chanced 
by  accident  to  meet  again,  and  Bentham^  now 
bordering  on  sixty,  felt  his  first  flame  revive  in  all 
its  original  strength,  and  renevired  his  addresses. 
Her  reply  to  his  proposal  of  marriage,  though  de- 
cidedly unfavourable,  does  infinite  honour  to  her 
understanding.  As  Bentham  became  older,  this 
one  affection  seemed  to  take  stronger  possession  of 
his  heart,  or— dare  we  say  it  ?— of  his  memory ; 
and,  after  the  ice  was  broken,  he  often  talked  to  Dr. 
Bovmng  of  those  early  "  love  passages"  where  all 
the  love  seems  to  hare  been  on  the  one  side,  all 
the  fun  and  merry  msdice  on  the  other.  The  love- 
letter  of  an  octogenarian,  the  sentimental  vein  of 
Jeremy  Bentham,  does  however  excite  curiosity ; 
and  also  move  tender  and  respectful  emotions.  We 
should  not  envy  the  feelings  of  those  in  whom  the 
perusal  of  this  letter  obuM  exdte  the  sense  of  the 
ridiculous. 

^  I  am  alive  :  more  tiian  two  months  advanced  in  my 
80th  year— moie  lively  than  when  you  presented  me,  in 
ceremony,  with  the  iower  in  the  green  lane.  Since  that 
day,  not  a  single  one  has  passed,  (not  to  speak  of  nights,) 
in  which  you  have  not  engrossed  more  of  my  thoughts 
than  I  could  have  wished.  Yet,  take  me  for  all  in  all, 
I  am  more  lively  now  than  then— walking,  thou^  only 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  for  health  sake,  more  briskly 
than  most  young  men  uriiom  you  see — not  unfreqnently 
running. 

**  In  the  enclosed  scrap  tiiere  are  a  few  lines,  whidi  I 
think  you  will  read  with  pleasure. 

^  I  have  still  the  pianoforte  harpsichord,  on  whiofayott 
played  at  Bowood  :  as  an  instrument,  though  no  longer 
useM,  it  is  still  curious  ;  as  an  article  of  fhmiture,  not 
unhandsome ;  as  a  legacy,  will  you  accept  it ) 

**  I  have  a  ring,  with  some  of  my  snow-white  hair  in 
it,  and  my  profile,  which  everybody  says  is  like.    At  my 


512 


BENTHAM'S  TABLE-TALK. 


death,  you  will  hare  suoh  another :  should  you  come  to 
want,  it  will  be  worth  a  good  fioTereign  to  yon. 

^  Yon  will  not,  I  hope,  be  ashamed  of  me. 

^  The  last  letter  I  receiTed  firom  Spanish  America^  (it 
was  in  the  present  year,)  I  was  styled  Legidador  ad 
Mwndoy  and  petitioned  for  a  Code  of  Laws.  It  was  from 
the  man  to  whom  that  charge  was  committed  by  the 
legislature  of  his  country — Ghiatemala. 

**  ETery  minute  of  my  life-  has  been  long  counted :  and 
now  I  am  plagued  with  remorse  at  the  minutes  which  I 
haTO  suffered  you  to  steal  from  me.  In  proportion  as  I 
am  a  friend  to  mankind,  (if  suoh  I  am,  as  I  endeayour 
to  be,)  you,  if  within  my  reach,  would  he  an  enemy. 

'^  I  have,  for  some  years  past,  had  a  plan  for  building 
a  harem  in  my  garden,  upon  the  Panopticon  principle. 
The  Premiership  waits  your  acceptance  ;  a  few  years 
hence,  when  I  am  a  little  more  at  leisure  than  at  pre- 
sent, will  be  the  time  for  executing  it. 

**  For  these  many  years  I  hare  been  invisible  to  all 
men,  (not  to  speak  of  women,)  but  for  special  reasons.  I 
haye  lost  absolutely  all  smeU ;  as  much  as  possible  all 
taste,  and  swarm  with  petty  infirmities.  But  it  seems 
as  if  they  ensured  me  against  serious  ones.  I  am,  still 
am  I  gay,  eminently  so,  and '  the  cause  of  gaiety  in  other 
men.' 

*^  Oh,  what  an  old  fool  am  I,  after  all,  not  to  leaye  ofl^ 
since  I  can,  till  the  paper  will  hold  no  more.  This  yon 
haye  done  at  sixty,  and  at  half  six  miles  distance.  What 
would  you  haye  done  present,  and  at  sixteen ! " 

This  letter  drew  forth  no  response. 

Of  Bentham  s  personal  appearance  and  habits  it 
is  said  : — 

The  striking  resemblance  between  the  persons  of 
Franklin  and  Bentham  has  been  often  noticed.  Of  the 
two,  perhaps,  the  expression  of  Bentham's  countenance 
was  the  more  benign.  Each  remarkable  fbr  profound 
sagacity,  Bentham  was  scarcely  less  so  for  a  perpetual 
playfrilness  of  manner  and  of  expression.  Few  men  were 
BO  sportiye, — so  amusing  as  Bentham, — ^none  ever  tem- 
pered more  delightfiilly  his  wisdom  with  his  wit.  Of 
the  wisdom  that  is  cadled  worldly,  Franklin  had,  no 
doubt,  a  larger  share, — for  he  had  been  a  great  actor  as 
well  as  a  great  writer, — and  had  been  engaged  in  the 
most  interesting  parts  of  the  most  remarkable  eyents  of 
his  day.  He  was  made  of  sterner  stufT  than  Bentham. 
He  liyed  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  and  had  to  accommo- 
date his  outer  man  to  the  world's  usages, — ^but  Bentham 

ayoided  the  rush  and  the  shock  of  men 

The  manners  of  Bentham  were  polished  in  the  highest 
degree.    He  was  observant  of  aU  the  minntia  of  cour- 


tesy. Every  little  object  of  desire  that  he  could  proem 
for  his  visiters  he  invariably  procured,--ihe  little  eBJtfj- 
ments  which  he  had  discovered  were  acceptable  to  ptr- 
ticuJar  cnests,  were  unostentatiously  placed  befors  then. 
His  tame  was  excellently  served.  He  himself  greatly 
delighted  in  its  moderate  luxuries.  He  began  with  the 
dessert,  as  he  said  he  iM^oUy  lost  the  flavour  of  the  froH 
if  he  partook  of  it  after  the  stronger  viands  of  the  finl 
course.  In  the  latter  part  of  his  UTe  the  sense  €i  taale 
was  nearly  destroyed.  He  drank  half  a  glass  of  Ma- 
deira wfaie  daily.    I  believe  he  passed  through  life  witb- 

out  asinine  act  of  intemperance. 

Bentham's  dress  was  peculiar  out  of  doors.  He  ordi- 
narily wore  a  narrow-rimmed  straw-hat ;  from  under 
which  his  long  white  hair  fell  on  his  shoulders,  or  was 
blown  about  by  the  winds.  He  had  a  plain  brown  eoat, 
cut  in  the  quaker  style — li^t-brown  cassimere  breedbot, 
over  whose  knees  outside  he  usually  exhibited  a  pav  d 
white  worsted  stockings — ^list  shoes  he  almost  invariaUy 
used ;  and  his  hands  were  generally  covered  widi 
merino-lined  leather  gloves.  His  neck  was  bare:  he 
never  went  out  without  his  stick  "  Dapple  "  for  a  com- 
panion. He  walked,  or  rather  trotted,  as  if  he  wm 
impatient  for  exercise  ;  but  often  stopped  suddenly  fm 
purposes  of  conversation.  He  was  remaricable  fit  at- 
tention to  all  that  the  F^nch  mean  by  their  peUte  mo- 
rale :  a  model  of  neatness  and  propriety  himself^  any  the 
slightest  deviation  from  good  manners  excited  bis  attea- 
tion,  and  almost  always  led  to  some  playftil  critici8a^ 
not  likely  to  be  forgotten  ;  for  in  lesser,  as  in  greater 
things,  he  had  adopted  for  his  maxim— that  a  moBattH, 
like  a  surgeon,  should  never  wound  but  to  heiL 

For  some  years,  Bentham's  faculties  had,  we 
should  conclude,  been  nnking,  though  his  biogra- 
pher gives  no  hint  of  this,  and  from  prozimityy  and 
constant  intercourse,  might  not  have  been  sensiUe 
that  so  comprehensiye  and  acute  a  mind  could  de- 
cay. But  for  some  months  before  his  death, 
Bentham,  who  had  been  anticipating  the  event, 
was  quite  conscious  of  the  failure  of  his  memoiy, 
and  the  decay  of  other  faculties.  He  e^ired 
on  the  6th  of  June,  1832.  ^It  was  an  im- 
perceptible dying."  ^  Life  faded  into  Death  as  the 
twilight  blends  the  day  wiUi  darkness."  A  brief, 
affectionate,  and  well-written  summary  of  the 
personal  character  of  his  illustrious  friend  doses 
Dr.  Bowring's  labour  of  love. 


MUSIC. 


1  SPBAK  in  Mom's  first  breath  to  the  opening  flowers. 
Warble  a  promise  of  the  coming  sun ; 

At  noon  I  softly  sigh  'midst  summer  bow'rs, 
And  chant  Day's  requiem  w^en  her  course  is  run. 

I  am  the  gentle  voice  of  murmuring  waves. 
As  vrith  slow  measured  pace  they  kiss  the  shore  ; 

And  I,  deep  hid  in  Ocean's  darkest  caves, 
Rave  'midst  the  storm,  and  fiercest  torj  pour. 

The  dashing  torrent  owes  to  me  its  spell. 
Lulling  the  senses  by  its  solemn  roar  ; 

O'er  the  still  lake,  and  in  the  deepest  dell, 
There  am  I  felt  too,  with  my  magic  power. 

The  graceftil  Poplar  loves  to  call  me  Friend  ; 

For  I  delight  its  lofty  hymn  to  breathe. 
The  varied  language  of  the  trees  to  blend, 

And  with  their  garlands  my  glad  brow  to  wreathe. 

The  measured  cadence  of  the  matchless  oak. 
Nor  less  the  trembling  Aspen's  sweeter  strain, 

Are  but  the  melody  with  wluch  I  spoke 
Our  Maker's  praise,  ere  man  began  his  reign. 


In  early  Spring  in  every  breeze  I  laugh ; 

List  te  yon  wood-note,  doubt  not  I  am  there ; 
I,  with  the  wild  bee.  Nectar  stoop  te  quair,j 

And  as  we  rise,  my  song  salutes  the  air. 

I  can  to  maiden's  cheek  the  pale  blush  call. 
When  her  fond  ear  detects  loved  footsteps  near  ; 

And  o'er  her  heart  in  softest  echoes  fSall, 
As  with  low  accents,  I  dispel  all  fear. 

Mine  is  the  varied  might  te  reign  a  i^een. 
O'er  mystic  Memory,  and  her  hallowed  stores ; 

And  by  a  touch  wake  Fancy's  wildest  dream. 
Or  change  to  Sadness  the  erst  smiling  hours. 

And  not  on  Earth  alone,  my  power  I  wield, 

.   For  Heaven's  pure  arch  resounds  to  my  higli  strsn ; 

And  when  that  hour  shall  come  when  worlds  shall  yieM 

Their  empire,  power,  their  being,  and  their  fame,. 
To  Him  who  gave  them  ;  then  while  elemento  disBoln, 
And  sea  gives  up  her  dead.  111  wake  a  song, 
Shall  drown  the  crash  of  worids,  and  swell  thro^ 
ceaseless  ages. 

M.L. 


314) 


SUMMER  READING.— THE  NEW  NOVELS- 

(Ccncluded  from  our  July  No,) 
MR,  JAMESr  MORLEY  ERNSTEIN. 


MoRi^ET  ERNSTSiyy  Mr.  James's  new  fiction,  dlf^ 
feis  esaentially  from  any  work  that  we  have  pre- 
Tiously  seen  from  his  pen.  We  are  not  however 
acquainted  with  one  half  of  the  voluminous  works 
of  a  writer  who  might  not  only  stock  a  circu- 
lating library,  but  keep  it  going.  Morley  Emstein 
is  not  an  historical  romance.  Though  romantic 
enough  in  incident,  and  also  in  character,  it  is  more 
like  the  modem  novel  of  passion  and  character,— 
more  like  Bulwer's  Tales ;  and,  to  our  feeling  at 
least,  more  truthful  and  impressive  than  its  author's 
historical  compositions.  Those  shadowy  personages 
whUitk  appear  before  the  reader  as  the  assumed  true 
bttiiga  of  history,  generally  prove,  unless  he  who 
calls  them  up  wields  potent  spells,  blank  or  unsatis- 
&ctary  characters.  With  personages  avowedly 
fictitious,  there  is  less  difficulty.  In  their  case,  the 
reader  b  not  required  to  surrender  anything,  or  to 
make  any  compromise  between  Hume  and  Claren- 
don, and  the  romancist.  He  is  not  perplexed  by 
the  necessity  of  displacing  the  Damley  or  Richelieu, 
or  Mary  Stuart,  of  his  his  own  fancy  and  memory, 
before  he  can  accept  those  offered  as  substitutes, 
and  who  may,  at  first  sight,  appear  very  different  per- 
sonages from  those  which  his  imagination  has  adopt- 
ed. The  objection  may  not  extend  to  all  readers, 
but  where  it  operates  at  all,  it  must  be  felt  power- 
fully. Now,  Sir  Morley  Emstein  and  his  satellites 
we  receive  without  doubt  or  hesitation,  just  as  Mr. 
J&mes  pleases  to  present  them,  and  judge  them  by 
their  own  merits ;  and  whether  we  like  them  or  not, 
we  do  not  quarrel  about  their  identity.  Whatever 
msy  he  the  cause,  it  is  quite  certain,  that,  in  the 
most  popolar  historical  romances,  the  historical 
dtaraeteiB  however  truly  and  skilfully  painted, 
am  never  felt  to  be  the  finest,  nor  are  they  the 
most  effiective.  What  is  Queen  Elizabeth  to  poor 
Amy  Robsart?  what  the  young  Pretender  to  Vich 
Ian  Vohr?  Again,  real  public  events,  however 
momentous,  take  a  feeble  hold  of  our  affections  and 
sympathies,  when  they  are  compared  Vith  those 
of  domestic  and  private  life,  represented  in  the 
masterly  fictions  which  mirror  our  fellow-beings 
and  our  own  age ;  the  busy,  striving,  suffering 
world  annmd  us,  the  coil  of  humanity  in  its  every- 
day play.  Hence,  in  part,  the  superior  attraction 
of  the  domestic  novel,  the  romance  of  individualized 
passion,  and  hence  the  secret  of  more  interest  being 
felt  by  the  reader  in  such  transactions  as  the 
Porteous  Mob,  because  the  fate  of  one  poor  girl 
was  involved  in  it,  than  as  it  bore  on  the  peace 
of  two  kingdoms.  With  one  exception,  the  char- 
acters of  Morley  Emstein  are  all  the  ordinary 
beings  of  everyday  life,  purified,  and  elevated, 
and  adapted  to  the  artist's  purpose,  but  not 
idealixed  out  of  their  human  nature.  The  ex- 
ception is  a  certain  mysterious  German  count 
or  colonel,  Zt^^ery,  an  incarnation  of  refined  but 
intense  sdfishnesss;  a  libertine  by  theory,  and 
from  philoeophy ;  one  irho  denies  himself  no  gra- 


tification, and  who  loves  to  experiment  on  human 
passions  and  character  merely  for  an  exercise  of  the 
intellect,  as  an  amateur  anatomist  tortures  frogs 
and  puppy-dogs  ;  not  that  he  is  naturally  cruel  and 
enjoys  their  writhings,  but  because  he  likes  the  ex- 
citement, and  the  useless  knowledge  gained  by  his 
cold-blooded  processes.  Without  being  in  any  de- 
gree a  natur^  character,  Lieberg,  as  a  foQ  to  the 
hero,  is  an  effective  personage  in  tiie  drama.  The 
delineations  of  female  character  are  delicate,  discri- 
minative, and  skilfully  contrasted;  and  what  b 
more  important,  highly  pleasing.  Each  of  the 
three  gifted  and  lovely  women  devoted  to  the  hero 
is  meant  to  represent  a  class ;  and  the  classes  ex- 
ist, though  one  of  them  is  limited  in  numbers  in 
this  country.  Its  type  is  found  in  another.  It 
is  the  Corinne  or  Creorge  Sand  genus.  Mr  James 
has  deliberately  ventured,  and  upon  system,  on 
one  character  for  which  the  motive  is  praise- 
worthy; though  where,  save  in  modem  novels, 
burglars  of  lofty  soul,  and  disinterested  heroic 
thieves,  are  to  be  found,  it  is  not  easy  to  tell. 
Yet  it  b  not  to  be  questioned,  that  a  bad  sys- 
tem of  criminal  law,  faulty  institutions,  and 
social  abuses,  injuriously  affect  the  formation 
of  character  among  the  lower  classes,  and  tend 
to  degrade,  corrupt,  and  finally  render  criminal, 
many  an  unfortunate  individual,  who  is  pun- 
ished for  the  sins  into  which  he  has  been  betrayed. 
Anything  in  imaginative  fiction  or  true  history,  in 
prose  or  in  verse,  in  tale  or  in  sermon,  which  tends 
to  promote  the  sublime  object  ^  of  educating  the 
whole  people  for  good,  and  of  combining  the  pun« 
ishment  of  crime  with  encouragement  to  reforma* 
tion,"  cannot  be  too  much  applauded. — ^But  to  our 
story.  Sir  Morley  Emstein,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
one,  has  just  come  into  possession  of  his  large 
estates,  and  of  the  wealth  accumulated  during  his 
loDg  minority,  blessed  with  many  good  and  beauti- 
fnlgiftsofmind,andheart,and  person :  a  Jhe  animal; 
and  one,  moreover,  who  gave  promise  of  eventually 
becoming  a  noble-minded  man.  He  had  reached 
Ms  ancestral  home,  visited  for  the  first  time  since 
boyhood.  The  requisite  ceremonial  of  arriving 
and  taking  possession  being  gone  through,  the 
lonely  young  heir  became  thoughtful,  and  began 
to  philosophize;  but  banishing  melancholy,  he 
called  for  a  horse,  rode  out,  had  an  adventure, 
and  fell  in  love  at  first  sight,  over  head  and  ears, 
once  and  for  ever  I  Though  the  conflicting  **  Tenants 
of  the  heart "  sometimes  mutinied,  he  was  upon  the 
whole  wonderfully  faithful  to  the  fair  Juliet  Carr, 
not  now  first  seen,  though  Morley  remembered  but 
as  a  dream  the  lovely  child  he  had  in  other  years 
called  his  little  wife,  and  who  had  never  forgotten 
him.  In  this  novel,  besides  being  descriptive  and 
dramatic,  the  author  is  often,  perhaps  too  often  for 
the  brisk  pace  which  most  readers  like  in  nar- 
rative, betrayed  into  moralizing  and  philosophizing, 
and  almost  into  downright  metaphysics.     This 


514 


SUMMER  READING. 


opening  scene  combines  a  little  of  these  peculiari- 
ties, and  is  not  an  unfavourable  specimen  of  the 
work,  though  many  scenes  might  be  found  far  more 
impassioned.  Morley  had  cast  off  melancholy 
musings  by  the  old  English  remedy,  of  a  good 
hard  trot :  but 

A  little  aooident  happened,  however,  almost  at  the 
outset  of  his  ride,  which  checked  the  speed  at  which  he 
was  flying  over  the  country.  We  have  said  he  leaped 
the  enclosure  of  the  park  at  a  bound ;  but  he  certainly 
did  80  without  thinking  that  any  one  might  be  upon  the 
hi^  road  at  the  other  side.  Such  was  the  case,  how- 
ever; and,  as  Morley  Emstein  darted  over  the  fence,  he 
perceived  a  lady  and  a  gentleman  on  horseback,  riding 
gently  along. 

The  sudden  and  unexpected  apparition  of  a  mounted 
horseman  at  fhll  speed,  where  there  had  been  nothing 
but  solitude  the  moment  before,  made  the  lady  start,  but 
it  made  her  horse  start  still  more;  and  being  of  that  race 
of  animals  that  is  restive  without  being  spirited,  the 
beast  plunged,  reared,  and  would  hare  follen  backwards, 
but,  as  quick  as  light,  Morley  was  upon  his  feet  by  the 
lady's  side,  and  with  her  bridle  m  his  firm,  manly  grasp. 
The  horse  became  quiet  instantly ;  it  seemed  as  if  the 
animal  felt  at  once  that  it  could  not  resist ;  and  though 
it  passaged  away  firom  him  who  held  it,  it  no  lonser  tried 
to  rear  with  that  strong  determination  of  cruudng  its 
ftkir  rider  which  it  had  shown  at  first. 

The  lady,  however,  agitated  with  all  that  had  hap- 
pened, slipped  from  the  saddle,  quickly,  but  gracefully, 
and  of  course  Morley  Emstein  aided  her  to  the  best  of 
his  abilities,  apologizing  for  ftightening  her  horse,  and 
assuring  her  that  the  animal  was  now  quiet,  that  the 
danger  was  over,  and  adding  a  multitude  of  otiier  things 
of  the  same  kind,  in  a  breath. 

Our  measures  of  time  are  all  &ls6  and  absurd  together; 
we  might  find  a  thousand  better  clocks  than  any  that 
have  ever  been  carried  up  into  the  sky  by  a  church 
steeple.  Thoughts,  feelings,  passions,  events — ^these  are 
the  real  moral  time-keepers.  What  is  to  me  the  ticking 
of  a  pendulum  \  There  is  many  a  fire  minutes,  as  they 
are  called  when  measured  by  that  false  scale,  that  form 
two-thirds  of  a  lifetime.  One  fortnight  of  existence  has 
withered  more  than  twenty  years,  cast  down  the  barrier 
between  youth  and  age,  and  dried  up  the  fountains  of 
the  heart,  like  the  simoom. 

It  was  not  exactly  thus  with  Morley  Emstein  and  the 
lady ;  but  the  brief  moments  in  which  all  passed  that  I 
have  just  narrated,  comprised  for  the  young  gentleman 
a  world  of  other  things  besides.  She  was  young  and 
very  beautiful. — Is  not  that  enough  to  load  the  wings  of 
a  single  minute  with  the  thoughts  of  years,  for  a  young 
man  of  one-and-twenty  I  But  that  was  not  all ;  hers  was 
the  sort  of  beauty  that  he  had  always  most  admired, 
most  thought  of,  most  wondered  at.  It  was  all  gentle- 
ness and  brightness,  but  withal  resplendent  with  high 
feeling  and  thought.  It  was  the  mixture  that  we  so 
seldom  see  of  all  that  is  lovely  in  mere  corporeal  form 
and  colouring :  the  rich  contour,  the  flowing  lines,  the 
warmth  but  softness  of  hue,  the  contrasted  tints  of  the 
hair,  the  eyes,  the  cheeks,  the  forehead,  and  the  lips, 
with  the  lofty,  yet  gentle, — the  tender,  yet  deep  in  ex- 
pression. The  young  horseman  had  remarked  all  this 
in  a  moment,  and  he  had  seen  that  beautiful  face  agitated, 
that  graceful  form  rendered  more  graceful  by  the  effort 
to  keep  her  seat  upon  the  vicious  beast  that  bore  her. 
At  the  same  time,  the  morning  sun  shone,  mellowed 
through  the  foliage  of  a  tree  over  head,  and  oast  that 
Hob  mysterious  yellow  li^t  upon  the  whole  scene  which 
is  only  produced  when  the  sunshine  falls  through  the 
green  leaves  that  owe  their  brief  and  strange  existence 
to  his  glorious  beams.  That  light  seemed  to  give  a 
peoaliar  lustre  to  her  hce — a  something  that  the  youth, 
in  his  fbad  enthusiasm,  oonld  have  foincied  unearthly, 
had  not  the  soft  hand  that  rested  upon  his  as  he  aided 
her  to  dismount,  and  the  deep-drawn  sigh  of  apprehen- 
sion relieved,  told  him  that  she  was  but  a  being  of  the 
lame  nature  as  himself^    It  was  all  done  in  a  moment,  I 


as  I  have  said,  and  the  manifold  thoughts,  or  we  i 
call  them  impressions,  which  took  place  in  his  bos 
were  like  the  ripples  of  a  moonlight  sea ;  a  thoos 
bright  things  received  all  at  once  into  the  mind. 

Scarcely,  however,  had  Morley  Emstein  time  to  ui 
the  few  words  which  have  been  mentioned  when 
lady's  companion  interposed,  saying — ^  At  this  tinu 
the  year.  Sir,  one  does  not  expect  to  see  people  flj 
over  a  park  fence  like  madmen.  The  periodiod  sea 
of  insanity — I  mean  the  hunting  season — ^is  at  an  e 
and  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  horse  being  surprised  i 
alarmed." 

Morley  turned  his  eyes  suddenly  to  the  epetki 
face ;  but  he  was  an  old  man,  wiUi  grey  hair,  ajid  t 
youth  had  a  certain  foolish  reverence  for  age,  ^ch  n 
much  inculcated  amongst  those  weak  people,  our  aoe 
tors;  though  it  has  given  way  very  generally  now,  oimj 
the  influence  of  improvement  and  the  diflfiision  of  kot 
ledge.  He  refhuned,  therefore,  and  strangled  an  aog 
reply  between  his  teeth,  merely  saying— 

"  I  am  extremely  sorry  I  have  alarmed  the  lady,ii 
trust  she  will  forgive  me.  You  still  look  fHgfatened 
he  continued,  addressing  her  with  a  voice  in  which  m 
young  timidity,  and  the  slight  agitation  of  admiratki 
mixed  strangely  with  a  consciousness,  not  so  mocb  ( 
varied  powers  as  of  high  purposes  and  noble  feeling 
**  you  still  look  frightened,  and  somewhat  famt.  Wei 
it  not  better  for  you  to  repose  for  a  moment  at  my  how 
hard  by!" 

^  At  your  house !"  said  the  gentleman,  mfjn  peeolh 
emphasis,  and  gazing  at  him  ftrom  head  to  foot;  ^  Ithasl 
you.  Sir,  but  the  lady  can  very  well  pursue  her  ride.  1^ 
horse,  too,  will  be  perfectly  quiet,  unless  he  be  agaii 
startled  ;  and  it  is  not  reasonable  to  expect  two  snd 
pleasant  occurrences  in  one  day." 

The  young  Udy  bowed  her  head  with  a  smile  tta 
seemed  intended  and  fully  sufficient  to  compensate  k 
the  harsh  coldness  of  her  companion.  **  I  am  not  faint,' 
she  said—**  a  little  fHghtened ;  but  I  can  well  go  on.' 
She  thanked  him,  too,  for  his  kindness,  in  a  somewbtl 
lower  tone ;  not  so  low,  indeed,  as  to  be  unheard  by  eitbe 
of  the  two  who  stood  beside  her,  but  still  softened,  d 
with  somewhat  of  timidity  in  her  manner,  as  if  she  fet* 
that  what  she  said  to  the  one  might  not  be  pleasing  U 
the  other. 

Morley  aided  her  to  remount,  and  gave  her  the  rei^ 
for  her  companion  made  no  effort  to  assist  her.   Aiki 
did  so,  he  gazed  for  one  instant  in  her  feoe,  and  his  6f« 
met  the  deep  blue  heavenly  light  of  hers,  pouring  tbro^ 
the  dark  lashes,  like  the  first  dawn  of  morning  thron 
the  clouds  of  nifht.     It  was  but  for  an  instant,  m 
bowing  her  head  once  more,  she  rode  on,  leafing  ijj 
standing  on  the  road,  and  marvelling  still  at  the  bri^ 
vision  which  had  thus  crossed  his  path,  and  vanisM 
Who  has  not,  in  his  childhood,  seen  a  shooting  star  en 
the  sky  and  disappear,  on  a  bright  autumn  night  Mi 
who  has  not  then  gazed  long  into  the  wide  vaed 
heaven,  to  see  if  tiie  shining  wanderer  would  not  appfi 
again?  Thus  gazed  Morley  Emstein  after  the feir  bei 
that  had  just  left  him,  with  that  sort  of  admiratioii 
lidiich  wonder  has  so  great  a  shajre. 

He  stood  motionless,  his  horse's  bridle  over  one  ai% 
his  cane  drooping  fh>m  his  wrist,  and  his  eyes  fixed  np4 
the  recedmg  figures,  till  they  reached  an  angle  of  tkl 
road.    They  were  riding  slowly,  and  by  no  movement ■ 
either  did  it  appear  that  they  gave  another  thongbl  J 
what  had  occurred — to  that  momentary  meeting  ™ 
had  famished  him  with  so  many  thoughts.    He  hadv 
reason  to  suppose  they  would.    Pezhape,  indeed,  ** 
man's  tme  perversity,  Morley  might  have  deemed  it  i* 
quite  feminine  if  the  lady  Imd  turned  her  bead  um 
rode  away;  but  yet  he  was  mortified  that  she  did  not « 
so;  and  sighed  to  think  that  he  should  most  likely  i^ 
see  her  more. 

Now,  who  was  she?— That  cross,  churlisli,  oM 
fellow's  daughter?  Preposterous!  His  wife  fH"** 
were  very  madness  I  His  attempts  to  discoTW  ^ 
or  what  was  this  angelic  beauty  proving  tbib,  ^ 
M<Nrley  set  oflFfor  London  in  a  fit  of  the  ii^ 


SUMMER  READING. 


515 


ad  the  mail-coach  met  that  handsome  and  gen- 
^manlike  mysteiy^orMephistopholes^in  a  well-cut 
9aty  named  Colonel  Liebeig,  who  was  destined  to 
ave  80  much  influence  over  hia  future  late.  The 
Bddental  encounter  serves  for  a  peg  on  which  to 
ang  one  of  tiiOse  passages  of  moralizing  or  plii- 
^phizing  into  which  Mr.  James  is  betrayed 
ftener,  we  have  said,  than  is  likely  to  please  aU 
js  raaders,  though  these  passages  are  occasionally 
loquent  and  beautiful,  and  as  true  as  well- worded 
ommonplaces  cannot  faU  to  be.  The  dark,  hand- 
ome  stranger,  with  the  high  brow,  the  large, 
(right  eyes,  and  air  of  distinction,  not  only  entered 
be  coach,  but  he  spoke,  and — 

Ob,  how  strange  and  oompUcated  is  the  web  of  God*8 
rill!  How  the  smalledt,  the  most  pitifhl,  the  most 
ippt  J  of  things,  by  his  great  and  wise  volition,  act  their 
art  in  mighty  changes  !  How  a  look,  a  tone,  a  sound, 
k  pebble  in  onr  path,  a  grain  of  dost  in  our  eyes,  a  head- 
ielie,  a  fit  of  gloom,  a  caprice,  a  desire,  may  not  only 
hange  the  whole  current  of  one  man's  existence,  but 
Aect  the  being  of  states  and  empires,  and  alter  human 
lestinies  to  the  end  of  time !  The  present  state  of  France, 
he  whole  mass  of  facts,  circumstances,  incidents,  acd- 
lents,  and  eyents,  which  are  there  going  on,  may  all  be 
(wing  to  a  lady,  whom  I  knew  well,  naving  splashed  her 
itoclung  fifty  Tears  ago. 

^'As  how,  m  the  name  of  Heaven  T'  demands  the 
leader. 

Thus !  She  was  going  out  of  her  house  with  a  relation 
in  the  town  of  Douai,  when,  carelessly  putting  her  foot 
Ml  a  stone,  she  splashed  her  stocking.  She  went  back 
to  change  it ;  the  delajr  occupied  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
When  ^e  went  on  agam,  she  met,  at  the  comer  of  the 
Phce,  a  nuui,  since  too  famous  in  history,  then  scarcely 
known  as  anything  but  a  clever  fop.  His  name  was 
Francis  Maximilian  Robespierre.  Instead  of  going  on, 
be  turned  with  her  and  her  relation,  and  walked  up  and 
4own  the  Place  with  them  for  half  an  hour.  In  one  of 
fte  houses  hard  by,  a  debating  society  was  in  the  act  of 
OLovaasing  some  political  question.  As  they  passed  to 
ind  fro,  Robespierre  listened  at  the  door  firam  time  to 
time,  and  at  length,  pronouncing  the  debaters  to  be  all 
fools  together,  he  rushed  in  to  set  them  right.  From 
that  moment  he  entered  vehemently  into  all  the  fiery 
discussions  which  preceded  the  revolution,  ia  which  he 
had  never  taken  part  before,  and  grasped  at  power, 
which  opened  the  doors  of  the  cage,  and  let  out  the  tiger 
in  his  heart.  Thus,  had  the  lady  not  splashed  her  stock- 
hg,  she  would  not  have  met  the  future  tyrant;  he  would 
have  pursued  his  way,  and  would  not  have  turned  back 
to  the  Place;  he  woiUd  never  have  heard  the  debate  that 
first  called  him  into  action,  for  he  was  going  to  quit  Douai 
the  next  day  ;  and  who  can  say  how  that  one  fact,  in  the 
nfinite  number  of  its  combinations  with  other  things. 
Blight  have  affected  the  whole  social  world  at  present! 

The  stranger's  heterodox  opinions  were  developed 
in  a  prolonged  conversation  which  happened  to 
turn  upon  tiie  joys  of  youth ;  its  "  pure  joys " 
Morley  Emstein  named  tiiem. 

^  Why  eall  them  the  pure  joys  of  youth!  I  do  not  see 
why  they  should  be  purer  than  those  of  any  other  period. 
Svely  all  joys  are  pure— I  mean  those  that  are  not 
•iniiiaL  Anything  that  gives  me  pleasure,  or  by  which 
I  can  give  others  pleasure,  and  whieh  injures  no  one,  is 
jut  as  pure  as  the  gathering  of  a  flower,  or  the  pruning 
^  a  tree — certainly  more  pure  than  crucifying  a  worm 
■poll  a  hook,  or  shooting  an  inofibnaivo  bird,  or  many 
Aaother  of  these  qwrts  and  pastimes  of  which  youth  is 
fcad." 

Morley  was  silent  for  some  little  time;  he  f^H  that 
there  was  something  dangerous  in  his  companion's 
^eotrines,  if  pushed  to  the  extreme ;  but  still,  as  flur  as 
se  had  expressed  them,  there  was  nothing  of  which  he 
«Mid  lake  held.    The  other  seemed  to  perceive,  with 


fine  tact,  that  the  young  man  who  sat  beside  him,  had 
taken  alarm  at  the  indefinite  nature  of  his  argument, 
and  he  added  in  haste — 

^You  will  understand  that  I  mean  strictly  to  limit 
enjoyment  to  that  which  is  not  criminal — ^^^ich  is  not 
wrong — in  short,  all  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  the  vrisest 
plan  for  man  to  pursue  is,  to  go  on  vnthout  ever  turning 
back  his  eyes  to  the  past;  to  enjoy  all  that  is  natural  fbr 
his  period  of  life,  without  regretting  others  that  are  gone. 
Each  pleasure  is  as  a  precious  stone,  picked  up  upon  the 
sea-shore,  a  thing  to  be  treasured  by  memory ;  but 
because  we  find  an  emerald  at  one  moment,  that  is  no 
reason  why  we  should  neglect  the  diamond  that  we  find 
the  next,  or  the  ruby  that  comes  a  little  further  on.  Our 
capabilities  of  eigoyment  were  intended  to  be  used,  and 
he  vrfao  does  not  do  so,  fails  to  ftilfil  one  of  the  great 
obligations  of  his  nature." 

Morley  was  better  satisfied,  but  still  not  completely 
so;  and  had  he  been  older  and  more  experienced,  he 
might  have  thou^t  that  his  oonversation  with  his  travel- 
ling companion,  is  like  that  which  Conscience  and  Desire 
sometimes  hold  together,  when  temptation  is  very 
strong.  Desire  still  finds  an  argument  to  lead  us  up  to 
the  very  verge  of  wrong,  assuring  Conscience  all  the  time 
that  we  are  upon  the  safe  ground  <^  right,  and  trusting 
to  some  momentary  impulse  to  make  us  leap  the  barrier 
when  we  have  reached  it. 

Lieberg  was  a  supioious  guide  to  initiate  a  young 
man  into  the  diversions  and  pleasures  of  the  metro- 
polis, and  his  accomplishments  and  fascinaticms 
were  as  powerful  as  his  intellect : — 

Every  word  appeared  to  be  spoken,  more  as  a  sugges- 
tion than  a  decision;  while  the  soft  richness  of  the 
speaker's  voice  seemed  calculated  to  persuade  and  lead. 
The  look  on  the  other  hand  vras  tau.  of  quick  vivacity 
and  fire — the  eye  brightened  up  at  a  word,  the  lip 
changed  its  expression  twenty  times  in  a  minute,  and 
withal  there  vras  an  air  of  reckless  joyousness,  of  rapid 
careless  quickness,  which  contrasted  wonderfully  with 
the  metaphysical  themes  he  touched  upon,  and  by  con- 
'trast,  gave  the  stronger  efTect  to  his  deeper  thoughts. 

That  he  was  a  man  of  station  and  high  bree^ng  one 
would  scarcely  doubt ;  and  in  his  dress  there  was  that 
scrupulous  neatness  which  is  one  of  the  distinguishing 
marks  of  a  gentleman  in  youth.  In  older  life,  a  man 
may  well  Iom  a  part  of  that  attention  to  his  apparel 
which  no  young  man  should  be  without ;  but  before  the 
grand  passage  of  forty-five,  no  one  should  deem  himself 
old  Plough  to  go  out  in  a  bad  hat  if  he  can  get  a  good 
one,  or  wear  ill-blacked  boots.  The  neatness  of  his  dress 
did  not  at  all  approach  to  puppyism,  but  every  article  of 
his  clothing  was  so  well  adapted  to  the  other,  that  the 
whole  harmonised  perfbctiy,  and  gave  that  peculiar  and 
undefinable  tone  to  his  appearance  which  has  a  vague 
sort  of  oonnexion  with  the  mind  within,  a  refiection,  per- 
haps, we  Plight  call  it,  of  the  habitual  thoughts  and 
feelings  influencing  the  dress  vnthout  the  wearer  know- 
ing it. 

An  accident  on  the  road  deprived  Morley  of 
sense,  and  had  nearly  cost  him  his  life.  In  the 
long  helpless  unconsciousness  of  brain-fever,  the 
stranger  watched  over  him  like  a  brother;  and 
when,  after  recovery,  Morley  expressed  his  grati- 
tude to  the  man  who  had  not  only  attended  him 
but  saved  his  life  by  dragging  him  out  of  the  car- 
riage while  it  was  under  water,— 

**  Yes,  that  is  true,"  replied  his  companion,  half  laugh- 
ing;  ^  I  did,  indeed,  as  l^eridan  called  it,  play  the  New- 
foundland dog,  when  I  found  you  were  likely  to  be 
drowned  unless  assisted ;  but  tiiat  is  all,  and  surely  that 
is  little  enough.  I  have  done  the  same  for  a  fly  in  a 
cream  jug." 

^  But  you  have  never  stayed  three  weeks  in  a  country 
inn,"  answered  Morley,  smiling,  ''to  nurse  a  fiy  in  a 
fever ;  and  for  that,  at  least,  yon  deserve  my  deepest 
gratitude." 


51G 


SUMMER  READING. 


**Not  at  all!"  answered  his  friend— "not  at  aU! 
Even  on  your  own  principles,  jon  owe  me  no  thanks.  I 
never  thought  whether  I  was  doing  a  good  action  or  not. 
In  regard  to  the  first  of  your  mighty  obligations,  that  of 
staying  three  weeks  in  a  country  inn,  it  might  tmly 
have  been  a  great  tax  npon  me  under  some  circumstances ; 
but  just  at  that  time,  I  had  nothing  on  earth  to  do.  I 
was  going  back  to  London  out  of  pure  weariness  of  the 
place  I  was  in;  for  in  general  I  never  am  in  town  before 
the  first  or  second  of  June.  Here  I  have  had  fine  air, 
fine  scenery,  and  a  fine  trout  stream.  What  would  you 
have  more !  Then  as  to  watching  and  taking  care  of  you 
in  your  delirium,  I  have  no  merit  there :  the  truth  is, 
I  am  fond  of  all  strong  emotions,  and  the  watching  you, 
the  wondering  whether  you  would  live  or  die,  the  changes 
of  your  countenance,  the  grey  shade  that  would  some- 
times come  over  your  face,  the  flush  of  fever,  the  restless 
tossing  to  and  fro — and,  then,  again,  the  gambling,  as  it 
were,  each  moment  in  my  own  mind  for  your  life — all 
this  was  surely  excitement  enough.  Besides,  your  deli- 
rium was  worth  any  money.  There  is  something  so 
strange  and  fantastic  in  the  ravings  of  a  man  in  fever — 
very  much  more  curious  and  metaphysical  than  mere 
madness.  In  madness,  one  always  finds  one  strong  pre- 
dominant idea ;  but  in  delirium  it  is  as  if  all  the  ideas  of 
a  lifetime  were  mixed  in  one  wild  chaos.  Not  Talma, 
nor  Schroeder,  nor  Malibran,  could  have  affbrded  me  so 
much  interest  as  you  in  your  delirium.'' 

**  Yon  have  a  strange  taste,"  replied  Emstein,  not 
altogether  well  pleased. 

This  is  a  character  to  pique  a  reader  s  curiosity ; 
and  here,  for  the  present,  we  leave  the  Bjronic 
personage.  We  do  not  mean  to  even  hint  at  the 
plot  of  the  story  ;  and  detached  scenes,  complete  in 
themselves,  and  showing  the  author  s  manner,  oc- 
cur in  abundance. 

Gracious  mothers  and  lovely  daughters  courted 
the  handsome  young  heir,  who  b  both  charitable 
and  reasonable  in  his  judgment  of  Mothers  and 
Daughters. 

Morley  thought  it  very  natural  that  such  should  be 
the  case.  "  Were  I  a  mother,"  he  said  to  himself, "which, 
thank  Heaven,  I  never  can  be,  I  would  do  just  the  same. 
People  cry  out  upon  this  sort  of  thing — I  really  do  not 
see  why  they  should  do  so,  more  than  censure  a  father 
for  getting  his  son  a  commission  in  the  Guards.  It  is 
right  that  we  should  wish  to  see  our  children  well  pro- 
vided for ;  and  so  long  as  there  is  nothing  unfair,  no 
deception,  no  concealment,  the  purpose  is  rather  honour- 
able than  otherwise." 

It  may  be  guessed  that  Morley  soon  became  an 
immense  favourite  in  fashionable  society  ;  yet  he 
was  not  spoiled  by  conceit,  nor  did  he  become  ridi- 
culous through  those  suspicions  of  designs  upon 
him,  which  are  entertained  by  many  men  without 
any  of  his  advantages  of  person  and  fortune. 
Among  other  places  which  Morley  visited  with 
curiosity,  was  Bow  Street  police-office,  to  which  he 
was  carried  by  Lieutenant-colonel  Count  Lieberg, 
who  had  been  robbed  of  a  gold  snuiF-box.  This 
event  leads  to  some  good  low-life  description, 
without  any  nauseous  affectation  of  low  cockney, 
or  thievish  slang.  Morley,  after  this  stimulating 
glimpse,  wished  to  see  more  of  this  kind  of  life, 
and  Lieberg  introduced  him  to  Mr.  Higgins,  a 
worthy  pawn -broker,  who  had  acted  an  important 
part  in  privately  recovering  the  snuff-box,  besides 
proving  the  alibi  of  the  thief  of  it. 

^  Mr.  R has  done  me  the  honour.  Sir,"  he  began, 

in  very  tolerable  language, "  of  bringing  me  here,  because, 
he  said  you  wished  to  see  some  little  things  in  my  way," 
and  having  uttered  this  very  equivocal  sentence,  he  held 


his  tongue,  and  left  Morley  to  take  it  up  in  what  sense 
he  chose. 

Morley  was  amused,  but  he  replied  in  such  a  manner 
as  still  to  leave  the  task  of  explanation  to  the  other. 

<<I  am  very  much  obliged  to  Mr.  R— ,**  he  sauL 
**  Pray,  what  have  you  got  to  show  me  1" 

The  man  grinned,  to  find  that  the  young  gentlemaa 
could  deal  in  equivoques,  as  well  as  himself.  £re  he 
answered,  he  gave  an  approving  wink  of  the  eye  to  the 
officer,  which  might  have  been  translated,^  perh^— 
'^  He  is  not  a  fool,  after  all,  though  he  is  a  gentlemaa." 
However,  he  would  not  be  brought  to  the  point ;  and 
putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  he  produced  a  smaU 
shagreen  case,  which  he  opened,  and  laid  on  the  t^le 
before  Morley  Emstein ;  displaying  to  the  wondering 
eyes  of  the  young  baronet,  a  pair  of  very  beantifbl 
diamond  ear-rings.  Morley  gazed  at  them  for  a  moment 
or  two,  in  no  small  surprise. 

'^  They  are  very  handsome,  indeed,"  he  said,  at  length 
— *^  they  are  very  handsome,  indeed,  as  far  as  I  am  aay 
judge  of  such  things  ;  but,  pray,  what  do  you  intend  me 
to  do  with  these  V 

"  To  buy  them.  Sir,"  replied  the  man,  quite  coolly. 

**I  hope  not  to  wear  them,  too,"  said  Morley,  «fer 
that  I  shall  scarcely  consent  to." 

•*  O  no.  Sir  I"  answered  Mr.  Higgins,  laughing  ;  *bat 
such  gentlemen  as  you,  are  always  wanting  diamond  ear- 
rings. Why,  there  isn't  one  of  all  those  ladies  that  yon 
want  to  make  a  present  to,  who  would  not  say  they  are 
as  handsome  a  pair  as  ever  were  seen.    I  will  let  yon 

have  them  a  great  bargain,  too.     Why,  Lord  's 

young  lady  sold  me  a  pair,  the  other  day,  for  twice  the 
money,  which  he  had  given  her  only  two  days  before." 

''A  pleasant  comment  on  such  sort  of  connexions,^ 
thought  Morley  Emstein;  but  he  answered,  aloud — 
*^  There  is  one  objection  to  my  taking  these,  even  if  I  did 
want  them,  my  good  friend — ^namely,  that  I  do  not  ex- 
actly know  where  they  may  come  firom." 

The  man  paused,  and  stared  in  his  face  for  a  moment. 

**  Ha,  now  I  take  you,  Sii^-now  I  take  you  !"  he  cried, 
at  length.  ''  But  I  can  assure  you,  you  are  mistaken ; 
they  are  not  exactly  mine.  I  am  disposing  of  them  for 
another  party  ;  but  I  think  if  you  knew  what  an  act  of 
charity  you  are  doing  in  buying  them,  you  would  give 
the  full  money  willingly  enough,  and  perhaps  something 
into  the  bargain." 

^  Indeed  !"  said  Morley,  with  his  curiosity  somewhat 
excited  ;  **  pray  who  do  they  belong  to !" 

"  Oh,  as  nice  a  young  lady.  Sir,  as  ever  lived ! "  replied 
the  man.  ^  Her  father  was  a  cleigyman,  and  her  mother 
a  lady  of  good  fortune,  and  amongst  the  tip-top  of  Um 
world;  but  there  was  a  law-suit  about  the  mother's 
fortune,  to  whom  these  ear-rings  belonged,  I  have  beard, 
and  that  ruined  her  husband,  and  broke  her  heart.  She 
died  first,  and  the  parson  not  long  after ;  and  they  left 
this  daughter,  and  a  boy,  who  is  a  wild  one,  vrith  about 
a  couple  of  hundred  between  them,  and  some  nic-nso. 
Well,  the  boy  soon  got  through  his  money,  and  his  sis- 
ter's too ;  and  ftrom  time  to  time  he  came  to  me,  with  a 
lot  of  things  to  sell.  His  sister,  he  let  out  the  other  day, 
had  kept  him  and  herself  too  by  teaching  ;  but  now  she 
hasn't  had  much  to  do  for  some  time,  because  dw  feU 
ill  in  the  winter,  and  so  lost  her  pupils.  They  are  well- 
nigh  starving,  the  boy  tells  me,  and  in  the  end  she  is 
driven  to  sell  her"  mother's  ear-rings.  She  only  asks 
forty  pounds  for  them.  Sir — I  think  they  are  worth  a 
hundred." 

The  story  had  every  appearance  of  truth  about  it  t* 
the  mind  of  Morley  Emstein.  Such  things  were  veiy 
likely  to  happen ;  and  the  num  told  it,  too,  like  a  trie 
story.  After  asking  why  Mr.  Higgins  did  not  buy  the 
diamonds  himself,  and  receiving  the  satisfiietory  ansver^ 

that  he  had  bought  just  such  a  pair  before  from  Lord 's 

young  lady,  and  could  not  affbrd  to  buy  two,  as  well  ts 
having  received  trath-like  replies  to  one  or  two  other 
questions,  Morley  made  up  his  mind  somewhat  precipi- 
tately to  do  three  things  ;  to  purehase  the  ear-rings,  to 
find  out  the  brother,  and  to  see  if,  through  him,  he  cMld 
not  do  something  for  the  sister. 

^Pray  where  does  this  young  man  live!"  he  stid, 


SUMMER  READING. 


:>\7 


after  liaTliig  concluded  the  ImrchMe ;  "  do  you  ihink  he 
will  hare  any  objection  to  speak  with  me  about  his 
afikirs?'* 

^  Oh,  not  he,  Sir ! "  cried  the  man ; ''  the  young  scamp 
don't  mind  talking  about  them  to  the  whole  world. 
He 's  no  shame  left !  He  lires  at  No.  3,  Dover  Street, 
New-road,  and  his  sister  too.  A  prettier  girl  I  never 
saw,  in  all  the  course  of  my  life,  for  I  went  there  one  day." 

Morley  put  down  the  address ;  and  having  dismissed 
this  sabject,  and  arranged  to  make  an  expedition  with 
the  worthy  Mr.  Higgins,  into  some  of  the  most  reputable 
resorts  of  rogues  and  vagabonds,  on  the  succeeding  night, 
he  sofiered  him  and  R-— —  to  depart,  waiting  wiUi  some 
impatience  for  the  following  morning,  when  he  proposed 
to  put  liis  (Quixotic  purpose,  regarding  the  sellers  of  the 
diamond  ear-rings,  into  execution 

**  He  wants  to  see  life,  Master  R .    Well  show  it 

him,  won't  we  I  His  old  servant  told  me  that  he  was  a 
tender»hearted  young  gentleman,  and  did  a  world  of 
good  in  his  own  parish !" 

It  'was  with  the  best  and  purest  intentions  that 
Morley  meant  to  visit  the  young  lady  ;  and  accoi*d- 
ingly  he  very  prudently  resolved,  beforehand,  to 
employ  the  intervention  of  his  friend  and  former 
guardian,  Mr.  Hamilton,  in  assisting  her,  lest  his 
own  age  and  appearance  might  draw  suspicion 
upon  them  both. 

At  the  hour  of  eleven,  his  new  cabriolet,  which  the 
poetical  ooachmaker  had  assured  him  would  roll  over  the 
pavement  like  a  cloud  through  the  sky,  and  one  of  his 
new  horses,  which  if  the  same  figurative  personage  had 
beheld  him,  would  most  likely  hxve  been  compared  to 
the  wind  impelling  the  cloud,  were  at  the  door  of  the 
hdtel,  together  vrith  a  groom  upon  the  most  approved 
scale,  bearing  gloves  as  white  as  the  Horse  Guards,  and 
the  usual  neat  but  unaccountable  sort  of  clothing,  called 
leather  breeches  and  top-boots.  Morley  Emstein  de- 
scended with  a  slow  step,  entered  his  cabriolet  thought- 
fhlly,  and  drove  towards  the  house  to  which  he  had  been 
addressed,  not  going  above  a  mUe  out  of  his  way,  in 
eonse<iuence  of  his  ignorance  of  all  those  narrow  turuiogs 
and  windings  whic^  a  professed  London  coachman  is 
fond  of  taking.  The  street  viras  a  small  one,  and  evi- 
dently a  poor  one,  but  Morley  E^rnstein  had  expected 
nothing  else ;  and  the  house  was  neat  and  clean,  with  a 
white  doorstep,  a  clean  door,  and  a  small  brass  knocker. 
The  young  gentleman's  groom,  by  his  directions,  applied 
his  band  to  the  implement  of  noise,  and  produced  a  roll 
of  repeated  knocks,  which,  in  any  other  country,  would 
be  held  as  a  nuisance.  A  few  minutes  after,  a  neat  maid- 
servant presented  herself,  and,  in  answer  to  the  question, 
**  Is  Mr.  William  Barham  at  home !"  replied  in  the  affir- 
mative. 

Morley  Emstein  then  descended,  gave  his  name,  and 
WIS  ushered  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  having  a  centre  line  of 
neat  stair  carpet,  not  much  wider  than  one's  hand.  The 
drawing  room* into  which  he  was  shown  vras  very  nicely 
fomished  vrith  a  number  of  little  ornaments,  not  indeed 
of  the  kind  that  could  be  purchased,  but  of  the  sort  which 
a  dexterous  and  tasteful  female-hand  can  produce,  to 
trick  out  and  decorate  the  simplest  habitation.  There 
was  a  small  piuio  in  one  comer  of  the  room,  a  Spanish 
guitar,  with  a  blue  ribbon,  lying  on  the  sofa,  a  pile  of 
music  on  the  top  of  the  piano,  some  very  well  executed 
landscapes  lying,  half  finished,  on  the  table,  together  with 
a  box  of  colours,  and  a  glass  of  water.  All,  in  short,  be- 
spoke taste  and  skill,  and  that  graceful  occupation  of 
leisure  hours,  which  is  so  seldom  found  uncombined  with 
a  fine  mind. 

The  room  was  empty  of  human  beings,  and  while  Mor- 
ley was  making  his  survey,  he  heard  the  maid-servant 
run  up  stairs  to  another  flight,  and  say — **  Master  Wil- 
liam— ^Master  William,  there  is  a  gentleman  below  in 
the  drawing-room  vrishes  to  speak  to  you.*'    .    .    . 

Morley  Emstein  remained  in  the  middle  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, with  tiie  door  partly  unclosed,  so  as  to  allow 
liim  to  hear  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the  passage  below, 
and  the  moment  after,  some  light  footsteps  ascending  the 


stairs.  They  were  not  the  steps  of  a  man,  and  ere  he 
could  ask  himself,  ^  What  next  t"  the  door  of  the  room 
opened  wide,  and  a  young  la<iy  entered  the  room,  whose 
appearance  answered  too  well  the  description  which  had 
been  given,  for  him  to  doubt  that  she  was  the  late  pos- 
sessor of  the  diamond  ear-rings. 

She  seemed  to  be  about  nineteen  ;  and,  both  in  fea- 
tures and  figure,  was  exceedingly  beautiful.  Dressed  in 
mouming,  tiiere  could  be  no  bright  colours  in  her 
apparel,  but  every  garment  was  so  arranged  as  taste- 
fully to  suit  the  other  ;  and  the  whole  was  in  the  very 
best  style,  if  not  absolutely  fh>m  the  hands  of  the 
most  £uhionable  dressmaker.  Yet  all  was  plain — 
there  was  nothing  at  all  superfluous:  and,  indeed, 
her  beauty  required  it  not.  The  luxuriant  dark  hair 
clustered  under  the  close  bonnet,  and  contrasted  flnely 
vrith  the  pure,  fair  skin,  warmed  by  a  bright  blusli^ 
like  that  of  a  rose,  which  one  could  hardly  believe 
that  the  air  of  London  would  leave  long  unwithered. 
The  large  and  dark,  but  soft  eyes,  spoke  mind  and 
feeling  too  ;  though  there  was  an  occasional  flash 
of  brightness  in  them,  which  seemed  to  say  that 
mirth  had  not  always  been  so  completely  banished  as  it 
seemed  at  this  moment.  The  whole  face  looked  bat  the 
more  lovely  from  the  darkness  of  her  garb ;  and  the 
beautiftil  small  foot  and  ancle  were  certainly  not  dis- 
played to  disadvantage  in  the  tight-fitting  black  silk 
stockings  and  well-made  shoe.  She  bowed  distinctly  to 
Morley,  as  she  entered  the  room,  with  a  look  that  ex- 
pressed no  sort  of  pleasure,  adding — *^  The  servant  tells 
me.  Sir,  that  you  wish  to  see  my  brother.  He  will  be 
here  in  five  minutes;  for  I  lefk  him  only  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, at  a  shop  where  he  wanted  to  purchase  something. 
Will  you  not  sit  down !" 

She  pointed  coldly  to  a  chair,  and  as  she  spoke,  began 
removing  the  drawings  from  the  table  ;  but  Morley  re- 
plied— *^  Perhaps  I  had  better  retum  again;  I  fear  I  in- 
terrupt you.** 

The  lady  looked  up  with  an  air  of  hesitation — 

^^  Indeed,  Sir,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  pause,  **  I 
do  not  know  well  how  to  reply  to  you.  My  brother  will 
be  angry,  perhaps,  if  I  say  what  I  think,  and  yet *' 

Morley  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  this  unfinished 
reply,  and  he  answered,  with  interest,  which,  it  is  not  to 
be  denied,  vnis  increasing  every  moment  under  all  he 
heard  and  saw — 

^  Pray  explain  yourself,  madam.  I  think  you  must  be 
under  some  mistake;  but  at  all  events, your  brother  can- 
not be  made  angry  by  what  you  say';  for  of  course,  un- 
less you  desire  it,  I  ^all  never  repeat  it  to  him,  or  to 
any  one." 

**  Well  then.  Sir,"  she  said,  gravely  and  sadly, "  1  was 
going  to  say,  however  rude  and  hursh  you  may  think 
it,  that  I  certainly  would  rather  that  you  did  not  wait 
for  my  brother,  and  cannot  but  hope  that  he  may  be 
absent  also  when  you  come  again." 

Morley  smiled  at  this  very  strange  reception,  but  still 
he  could  not  help  thinking  that  there  was  some  mistake. 
'^  Indeed,  Miss  Barham,**  he  replied,  ^  this  is  so  unex- 
pected and  extraordinary,  that  I  rather  believe  you  are 
in  error  regarding  me.** 

''Oh,  no  !*'  replied  the  lady  in  the  same  tone  ;  ''his 
description,  Sir,  was  very  accurate.  Are  you  not  Mr. 
Neville  !** 

"  Oh,  no  !"  answered  Morley,  with  a  smile,  "  my  name 
is  Morley  Eimstein,  and  I  came  vrith  a  view  of  doing 
your  brother  good  and  not  harm." 

"  Emstein  !  **  she  cried,  starting  with  a  wild  look  of 
joy  and  satisfaction.  "  Morley  Emstein  I  Oh  !  then 
you  are  the  gentleman  whose  name  v^as  to  the  draft ! 
It  was  you  who  bought  the  diamonds,  then ;  but  my 
brother  told  me  he  had  not  seen  you— that  it  was  through 
a  third  person-—*'  and  she  blushed  deeply  as  she  spoke. 

"  He  said  tme.  Miss  Barham,*'  replied  Morley  ;  "  it 
was  through  another  person,  but  firom  that  other  person 
I  leamt  something  of  your  ovm  and  your  brother's  situ- 
ation, in  explanation  of  the  cause  for  which  the  diamonds 
were  sold.** 

"  Oh  !  they  should  not  have  told  all  that !  **  murmured 
the  young  lady.    "  How  did  they  know  it  1    It  wa>  tad 


518 


SUMMER  READING. 


enoui^  «»  sell  them  »i  all  P  and  liar  ayes  filled  with 
lean. 

With  the  utmofit  delicacy  Morley  urged  her  to 
take  back  the  diamonds,  and  promised  his  friend- 
ship and  services  to  her  brother  and  herself.  While 
they  conrersed,  the  brother,  a  weak,  ricious,  and 
selfish  being,  thoroughly  corrupted,  appeared. 

A  young  maii^  scarcely  of  eighteen  yeai^  of  age,  en- 
tered quickly,  with  his  long  and  shining,  but  Bomewhat 
diflheTelled  hair,  toseed  loosely  about  a  face,  quick  and 
intelligent  enough,  but  bearing  an  expression  both  wild 
and  cunning.  His  complexion  was  yery  different  ftom 
that  of  his  sister,  for  he  was  yery  pale  and  sallow,  and 
there  was  a  certain  look  of  premature  dissipation  about 
him,  which  is  not  easily  to  be  mistaken. 

*^  Here  is  Neville,  Helen  1"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  en- 
tered ;  but  the  instant  his  eyes  lighted  upon  Morley 
Emstein,  he  started,  and  looked  botii  surprised  and  an- 
noyed. 

Ere  anything  more  could  pass,  however,  a  slower  step 
was  heard  mounting  the  staircase,  and  through  the  door, 
which  the  youth  had  left  open  behind  him,  appeared  a 
fashionably-dressed  man  coming  up  with  an  air  of  easy 
nonchalance,  as  if  he  were  entering  the  abode  of  people 
very  much  below  him,  looking  at  his  boot,  which  he 
tapped  occasionally  with  his  cane,  and  not  raising  his 
eyes  in  the  slightest  degree  towards  the  drawing-room — 
though  the  door,  as  I  have  said,  was  open — till  he  was 
upon  the  very  threshold.  When  he  did  look  up,  how- 
ever, and  saw  the  figure  of  Morley  Emstein  standing 
exactly  opposite  to  hhn,  he  started,  with  an  appearance 
of  even  greater  surprise  than  had  been  shown  by  the 
brother  of  Miss  Barham  ;  and  at  the  same  time  his  brow 
contracted,  and  his  eye  flashed,  in  a  way  that  he  seemed 
to  think  very  imposing,  for  it  was  evident  that  his  whole 
demeanour  had  much  preparation  in  it. 

Morley,  in  the  meantime,  could  hardly  suppress  a 
smile,  at  seeing  the  man  for  whom  he  had  been  mistaken, 
and  who  had  been  described  as  so  much  like  himself. 
This  Mr.  Neville  was  certainly  not  less  than  fifteen  or 
sixteen  years  older  :  he  was  shorter,  too,  by  two  or  three 
inches,  not  nearly  so  powerfhl  in  make,  and  though 
dressed  in  the  very  extreme  of  the  fuhion,  which,  in 
that  day,  was  somewhat  extravagant  in  itself,  he  wanted 
that  easy  tone  and  indescribable  grace  which  marks  the 
gentleman,  both  in  mind  and  in  station. 

The  feelings  of  Miss  Barham,  however,  were  evidently 
anything  but  pleasant,  and  it  was  with  some  satisfikc- 
tion  that  Morley  saw  her  draw  in  a  slight  degree  nearer 
to  himself,  as  her  brother  and  his  companion  entered. 
All  the  parties  gazed  upon  each  other  for  a  moment  in 
silence  ;  but  the  very  first  words  which  were  spoken,  and 
which  proceeded  from  the  lips  of  Mr.  Neville,  at  once 
showed  Morley  that  the  fable  of  the  borrowed  plumes 
might  be  acted  in  real  life.  ^  I  say,  Barham  I  "  he  ex- 
claimed—" what  is  all  this,  my  boy  ?" 

This  is  the  person  to  whom  the  heartless  and 
selfish  wretched  boy  would  have  sold  his  rister,  to 
secure  his  personal  safety,  and  the  means  of  an 
idle  and  dissipated  life.  Neville  held  over  him  the 
power  of  life  and  death,  from  the  knowledge  of  a 
forgery  which  Barham  had  oommited,  ae  it  turned 
out,  upon  Count  Lieherg.  High  words  passed  be- 
tween Morley  Emstein  and  Neville ;  and  the  for- 
mer left  the  house,  after  expressing  the  utmost 
contempt  for  the  braggart^  and  of  his  demand  for 
'^  the  satisfaction  of  a  gentleman ;"  though  he 
voluntarily  promised  him  that  of  a  horse- whip. 

"  Missed  fire,  by  Jove  1"— exclaimed  Mr.  Neville,  as 
Morley  descended  the  stairs,  opened  the  door,  and  bec- 
koned to  his  cabriolet,  which  was  wandering  up  and 
down  the  street — **  I  say,  what's  to  be  done  now  !  That 
bird's  worth  plncklnic*  and  you  are  a  fool  if  you  don't  do 
^^t.    I  must  have  a  feather,  too,  if  it  can  be  managed — 


butprayintrodiieeMelayowBistar.   MissBaTkiWjbwr 
do  you  do  !** 

Miss  Barham  drew  back.  ^  I  must  beg  to  deoUae  te 
introduction.  Sir,"  she  said  ;  **  I  have  no  inelinatioa  to 
make  your  acquaintance  ;  I  told  William  so  this  Mon* 
ing,  and  he  might  have  saved  me  the  pain  of  leeiiig  jm 
here,  as  his  oidy  pretext  was  an  appointment  to  mmH 
you,  and  it  seems  that  you  had  joined  each  oibar  befim 
you  came  in." 

*^ Hey !  how  is  this,  Barham T  exclaimed  t)M  •4h«{ 
*^  I  thought  you  had  talked  to  her  about  it  aU.** 

''So  I  did,"  repUed  William  Bariiam ;  ''but  afa*  ii 
foolish.  I  tell  you  what,  Helen ;  this  wont  do— yet 
don't  know  what  you  are  about ;  and  it  is  all  nonsem^ 
too,  because  you  have  often  told  me  about  suck  tliiMi 
that " 

''ItwiUsofar  do,  William,"  repUed  Hdea  Batfaaa 
interrupting  him,  that  I  will  beg  you  will  leave  mt  ay 
rooms  to  myself.  If  you  do  not,  I  most  take  meaM  It 
fte»  myself  ftrom  society  I  do  not  like." 

Thus  saying,  she  passed  through  the  door  leading  ioit 
another  chamber,  and  was  heard  to  lock  it  behind  her. 

*  Leave  me  with  her,  Neville,"  said  her  brother— 
''leave  me  with  her  ;  I  will  bring  her  tOy  aiid  wOl  Jsb 
you  in  an  hour  at  Williams'." 

*^  Well,  mind  yon  1"  pried  the  other,  somewhat  atenly 
— ^'^  remember,  my  lad,  1  have  got  mj  thumb  upon  you  r 
and  uttering  these  words,  Mr.  Neville  marched  out  of 
the  room.  As  soon  as  the  door  of  the  house  dosed  npea 
him,  tiie  youth  knocked  gently  at  that  of  his  sister's 
room.  "  Helen  I"  he  exclaimed  |  "  Helen  t— he  is  mia.  | 
Do  come  out  and  ^>eak  to  me,  ^ere  is  a  dear  girl  v* 

Helen  Barham  did  come  out  j  but  her  eyes  were  i«d 
withtears.  <<  Oh,  William  !"  she  said,  "  I  wtmdar  yea 
are  not  ashamed  to  see  me ^" 

^  Nonsense,  Helen,"  he  cried, "  I  have  often  heard  jm 
laugh  at  idle  prejudices." 

"  Fie — ^fie  1"  she  continued,  not  attending  to  him  |  **  to 
wish  to  sell  your  sister  to  sudi  a  being  as  that  I  I  did 
say  that  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to  save  you  tnm 
destruction,  but— oh  I  William ^" 

"  Well,  then,  Helen,"  he  said, "  tills  is  the  only  w»y  of 
saving  me  from  destruction." 

"  Not  now,  William,"  she  exclaimed,  **  not  now  I  The 
money  which  you  got  for  the  ear-rings  will  do  for  womm 
time,  surely  ;  and  before  that  is  spent,  I  may  get  bom* 
other  means  of  keeping  myself  uid  yon." 

'*  You  will  never  get  enough  to  keep  us  comfortably," 
replied  the  youth  ;  "and  as  to  that,  it  does  not  matto' 
whether  you  do  or  not ;  I  tell  you,  the  only  way  to  save 
me  from  destruction,  is—-" 

**  Is  by  my  own,  you  would  say,"  replied  his  sister. 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense  1"  answered  her  brother  ;  *^  they 
never  hang  people  for  that,  Helen :  and  I  tell  yon,  that 
man  could  hang  me,  or  very  near  it,  if  he  chose." 

The  fkoe  of  Helen  Bartiam  turned  as  pale  aa  death, 
and  she  sank  into  a  chair  without  any  reply,  gaaing  in 
her  brother's  counteoanoe,  with  silent  agony,  ^  sewral 
moments. 

'^  It  is  true,  Helen,"  BMd  her  brother,  doggedly,  asd 
setting  his  teeth  hard, "  it  is  true  what  I  tell  yon.'* 

**  Whoever  heard  of  such  horror !"  exclaimed  Helen 
Barham.  "  The  brother  would  sell  his  sister  to  be  the 
mistress  of  a  low-bred,  horrible  villain ;  and  that  villahi 
would  hang  tiie  brother,  if  the  sister  will  not  oonaeBt  to 
her  own  destruction.    Is  that  it,  William !" 

"Not  exactly,"  repUed  the  youth  I  "you  twist  the 
matter  which  way  you  please,  Helen.  I  said  he  ooald 
hang  me  if  he  liked,  not  that  he  would  ;  and  ae  fbr  the 
rest,  Helen,  I  don't  sell  you.  I  only  want  yon  to  do  the 
best  for  yourself,  and  for  me  too.  You  can  never  get 
enough  by  teaching,  to  keep  me  or  you  either,  ^m 
are  fond  enough  of  fine  clothes,  I  oan  tell  yon  ;  and  here's 
aman  will  give  you  as  many  as  you  want  He  will  settle 
five  hundred  a-year  on  you,  just  as  if  you  were  his  wife. 
He  can't  marry  you,  you  know,  beoause  he  is  married 
aheady." 

"  Hush  !  hush  I  hush  1"  cried  Helen  Barham,  stoppiag 
her  ears—"  hush  I  and  leave  me.  Do  not  make  me  bate 
myself !    What  did  I  ever  say,  William,  to  make  yoq 


SUMMER  READING. 


519 


Ihiiik  that  I  would  beoome  any  man's  mistress  for  fine 
clothes  1" 

**  No,"  replied  her  brother,  ^  but  I  hare  heard  you  say 
that  marriage  is  love  ;  that  a  man  and  woman  who  have 
promised  themselves  to  each  other,  ought  to  consider 
themseWes  jnst  as  much  married  as  if  all  the  ceremonies 
in  the  world  had  passed  between  them." 

Helen  hid  her  eyes  in  her^ands,  saying,  ^  I  have  been 
very  foolish,  William,  and  I  have  talked  wildly ;  but 
yon  have  misunderstood  me — sadly,  too.  I  meant,  that 
they  had  never  a  right  to  break  that  promise.  Love  I — 
can  you  talk  to  me  of  love  with  such  a  man  as  that  f 

**  Why,  I  suppose,  then,  you  are  in  love  with  the  other 
I  foand  here,"  said  her  brother.  ^  Pray  what  was  he 
doing  here  with  you  alone  I — What  is  it  he  wants  with 
me,  too  r 

**  He  wants,"  exclaimed  Helen,  her  face  brightening 
up  with  renewed  hope — **  he  wants  ^to  save  you,  Wil- 
liam ;  he  wants  to  aid  you — to  deliver  you,  if  you  will 
let  him.  Cro  to  him,  William — go  to  him ;  tell  him  the 
whole — tell  him  all  the  truth,  and,  I  am  sure,  if  it  be  in 
the  power  of  man  to  help  you,  he  will."     .      ... 

**  That  old  fool,  Higgins,  has  made  a  blunder,"  said 
the  youth,  thoughtAil^ ;  '^  111  go  and  call  upon  him, 
Helen,  and  see  if  anything  can  be  got  out  of  him  ;  but, 
as  to  telling  him  the  whole,  you  do  not  think  me  such 
a  fool,  do  you,  to  put  my  neck  in  two  men's  power,  be- 
cause it  happens  to  be  in  that  of  one  i  You  seem  to  be 
mightily  smitten  with  him,  Helen  ;  and  perhaps  might 
not  object  to  the  arrangement  there,  eh  1  But,  I'll  tell 
yoa  what — that  wont  do,  my  lady.  Neville's  the  man, 
depend  upon  it ;  and  I  insist  that  you  treat  him  civilly, 
at  least.  For  to-day,  I  must  quiet  matters  down  as  well 
as  I  can,  but  to-morrow  I  shall  bring  him  here  to  tea." 

Helen  Barham  again  burst  into  tears,  and  in  that  state 
the  youth  left  her.  But  ere  half  an  hour  was  over,  Mr. 
Neville  was  again  in  the  house,  and,  passing  by  the  maid, 
he  entered  the  drawing-room  unannounced,  saying,  he 
*^  only  wanted  to  speak  two  words  to  Miss  Barh^" 
He  certainly  was  not  long  with  her,  and  what  he  said 
was  in  a  low  tone,  for  the  maid,  who  was  not  at  all  in- 
quisitive, could  not  catch  the  words  through  the  keyhole 
of  the  door.  In  less  than  a  minute  and  a  ha,\f,  he  quitted 
the  house  again,  and  the  maid  looked  at  him  from  the 
parlour-window,  as  he  mounted  a  beautiful  horse  and 
rode  away.  The  moment  after,  she  heard  something 
heavy  fall  in  the  room  above,  and,  running  up,  found 
Helen  Barham  lying  senseless  on  the  floor. 

The  unhappy  girl  had  been  threatened  wHh  the 
utmost  severity  that  this  low  reprobate  had  power 
to  inflict  upon  her  wretched  brother.  On  the  same 
evening  Morley  kept  his  appointment  with  Mr. 
Higgins  ;  and,  properly  dLsgnised,  was  introduced 
to  one  of  the  haunts  of  the  flash-men,  where  Harry 
Martin,  the  generous,  gallant,  and  honest  thief  of 
the  story,  flrst  appears  on  the  scene.  When  Mor- 
ley had  seen  enough  to  tire,  if  not  to  disgust  him, 
he  retired  with  his  Mentor,  who,  in  answer  to  tho 
qaestlon  of  who  was  Mr.  Neville,  replied — 

"  Oh,  Sir,  Neville  was  what  we  call  a  prifne  twell ;  he's 
^tting  a  little  bit  down  now,  but  I  can  recollect  the 
time  when  his  line  of  business  was  altogether  on  the 
race-course,  and  at  certain  houses  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  St.  James's.  Then  he  took  to  getting  money  by  lend- 
ing it,  and  as  long  as  he  kept  to  pianoforte  selling,  and 
all  that,  it  did  very  well ;  but  he  was  fool  enough  to  let 
a  story  get  into  the  papers,  about  his  filching  some  bills, 
and  though  the  seijeant  cleared  him  of  that  cleverly,  it 
blowed  him  a  great  deal.  Then  he  got  horse-whipped 
one  day,  and  showed  a  little  bit  of  the  white  feather, 
and  that  did  him  no  good  with  any  party.  But,  if  you 
Eure  asking  because  of  what  happened  this  morning,  I  can 
put  yon  up  to  all  that  in  no  time." 

*  Indeed  !"  said  Morley.  **  Then  you  have  heard  all 
about  this  morning's  business,  it  seems." 

**  To  be  sure  !"  replied  Higgins.  "  The  stupid  young 
5>ol  came  to  me  to-night,  about  six  o'clock  or  so,  and 


told  me  the  whole ;  so  I  showed  him  that  Neville  would 
never  do  for  his  sister,  and  told  him  what  I  wanted  to 
make  up  for  her.  I  said  to  him,  there's  Sir  Morley 
Emstein,  he  may  do  very  well,  if  you  like,  and  what  he 
promises  hell  keep  ;  but  as  for  Neville,  he  may  have  a 
hundred  pounds  in  his  pocket  to-day,  and  not  twopence 
to-morrow  ;  and  as  for  his  doing  what  he  says  he  vnll, 
even  when  he  can,  there's  no  use  in  trusting  to  that. 
We  know  him  well  enough — Master  Neville.  He's  not 
a  man  of  honour.  Sir." 

A  new  light  was  beginning  to  shine  upon  Morley 
Emstein ;  he  vras  now,  indeed,  seeing  human  existence, 
under  a  firesh  aspect ;  he  was  too  young  to  be  suspicious, 
but  yet  he  had  heard  a  good  deal  of  the  world,  if  he  had 
not  mingled  with  it  much  ;  and  the  horrible  scheme  of 
viUany'  and  vice,  of  which  the  reader  is  already  aware,  but 
which  now  first  broke  upon  him,  made  him  ask  himself, 
which  were  the  agents,  which  the  victims,  in  the  sad  afilur 
wherein  he  had  himself  become  so  suddenly  and  unex- 
pectedly a  participator  1  or,  was  he  alone  the  object  of 
this  nefarious  arrangement!  Was  Helen  Barham, 
beautiful  and  high-minded  as  she  seemed,  but  a  light 
woman,  seeking  for  some  new  paramour ;  or  was  she  in 
reality  what  she  appeared,  and  a  mere  victim  to  be  im- 
molated by  the  criniinal  selfishness  of  her  brother  f  He 
paused  then,  fbr  several  minutes,  without  making  any 
answer  ;  he  was,  in  fact,  putting  on  his  armour,  if  one 
may  so  call  it,  finding  himself  suddenly  attacked  in  a 
manner  that  he  did  not  expect.  Accordingly,  after  some 
silence,  he  replied,  ^  Well,  Mr.  Higgins,  I  think  you 
spoke  quite  reasonably.  She  is  a  very  beautiful  girl, 
certainly.    Pray,  who  did  she  live  vnth  last  I" 

^  No,  Sir,  no,"  said  Mr.  Higgins,  vnth  more  warmth 
than  Morley  had  expected.  ^  l^e  never  lived  with  any- 
body that  I  know  of— no,  I'm  sure  she  hasn't — ^but  111 
tell  you  the  plain  truth  of  the  matter.  I  have  been  given 
to  understand,  that  you  are  a  gentleman  that  wants  to 
see  life ;  now  you  know  very  well,  Sir,  that  young  gentle- 
men that  set  out  upon  that  lay,  make  a  point,  in  the 
first  place,  of  piclung  up  some  lady.  Well,  Sir,  what 
I've  got  to  say  is  no  bad  compliment  to  you  either.  I 
had  seen  this  youth — ^this  William  Barham — almost 
every  day,  for  the  last  three  or  four  months  ;  and  I  had 
heaid  all  about  his  sister  fVom  him,  and  how  she  had 
laboured  to  support  him  in  his  wild  ways.  Well,  Sir,  I 
found  that  now,  having  pawned  or  sold  everything  he 
had  in  the  world,  and  almost  everything  she  had,  too, 
and  done  a  great  many  other  things  besides,  which  we 
wont  talk  about,  he  was  determined  to  sell  his  sister  at 
last  to  some  one.  So,  Sir,  when  I  saw  you,  and  heard 
you  talk,  I  thought  that  you  were  one  who,  if  you  did 
take  the  young  lady,  would  not  treat  her  as  some  men  do, 
but,  if  some  time  you  liked  to  marry,  and  part  with  her, 
would  provide  for  her  handsomely.  It  was  that  nuide 
me  put  yon  up  quietly  to  go  into  that  house." 

"  A  very  hopefU  scheme,  indeed  1"  said  Morley.  **  But 
it  seems  to  me,  my  good  fdend,  that  this  youth,  who  % 
evidently,  as  hopeless  a  scapegrace  as  ever  cut  a  purse, 
or  trod  the  drop,  has  other  views  for  his  sister." 

^  Ay,  sir ;  he's  a  bad  one,"  answered  Mr  Higgins. 
^  He's  one  that  will  come  to  no  good.  He  might  have 
been  in  a  very  genteel  way  of  business,  if  he  had  liked 
it,  without  any  risk  either  ;  but  there's  no  keeping  him 
steady,  and  he's  got  into  bad  hands  that  don't  care  how 
soon  they  ruin  the  young  man  altogether,  provided  they 
screen  ^emselves." 

We  cannot  pursue  the  moralizing  vein  of  Mr. 
Higgins,  whom  Morley  bribed  by  the  promise  of 
ten  pounds,  to  find  out  and  inform  him  of  the 
exact  nature  of  the  power  which  Neville  had 
acquired  over  young  Barham.  On  the  same  night 
Sir  Morley  received  a  challenge  from  Neville,  and 
next  morning  visited  his  friend  Liebetg  on  the  sub- 
ject, whom  he  found  at  his  luxurious  breakfast : — 

He  had  come  thither  in  haste ;  but  as  his  friend's  ser- 
vant vtras  in  the  room,  he  had  suffered  the  cup,,  the 
saucer,  the  plate,  the  knife  and  fork,  and  every  usual 
implement  of  breakfiist-eating,  to  be  placed,  bttfore  he 


520 


SUMMER  READING. 


touched  upon  the  subject  which  had  brought  him  thither 
at  that  hoar  of  the  morning.  As  soon  as  all  was  ar- 
ranged, and  Morlej  had  scanned  the  whole  of  the  bean- 
tifbl  china  upon  the  table,  each  piece  of  which  was 
worth  a  Jew's  eye — as  soon  as  the  yonng  gentleman 
himself  had  reached  the  middle  term  of  his  &r8t  cnp  of 
coffee — as  soon  as  some  very  thin  broiled  ham,  and  some 
excellent  caviare,  looking  like  all  the  black  eyes  of  a 
harem  put  together,  had  been  handed  round — as  soon,  in 
short,  as  the  servant,  having  no  pretext  for  staying 
longer,  had  retired  fix>m  the  room,  Morley  Emstein 
threw  an  open  note  across  to  Colonel  Lieberg,  saying — 
^  There,  my  dear  Count,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  re- 
ferring my  gallant  correspondent  to  yourself,  though  I 
fear  it  may  make  yon  get  up  to-morrow  an  hour  or  two 
earlier  than  usuaL'' 

Lieberg  read  it,  and  smiled.  ^  That  will  be  exactly 
as  you  please,  Emstein,"  he  replied.  ^  Of  oourse,  you 
are  aware  that  it  is  not  the  least  necessary  for  you  to 
fight  that  man,  unless  you  like  it." 

^  Oh,  I  will  fight  him,  certainly  I"  replied  Morley ; 
^  as  a  matter  of  course.  Having  told  him  I  would  horse- 
whip him,  or  something  equivalent,  I  will  not  reftise  to 
fight  him,  especially  as  he  seems  to  have  got  a  fHend  to 
stand  by  him." 

*You  mean  this  Captain  Stallfed,"  said  Liebei^, 
^mh»  writes  you  the  notet  The  greatest  rascal  in 
fivope,  my  dear  Morley,  except  Neville  himself !  the 
«iie  a  common  swindler,  the  other  a  blackleg,  of  the 
very  lowest  character.  Nevertheless,  I  think  you  are 
very  right,  for  several  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  every 
man  should  do  a  thing  once  or  twice  in  his  life,  just  to 
get  over  the  novelty  of  it,  and  to  see  what  it  is  like— a 
duel,  as  well  as  everything  else.  In  the  next  place, 
having  made  up  your  mind  to  fight  somebody,  you  could 
not  choose  anybody  better  to  fire  at  than  Neville.  Whe- 
ther you  hit  him  or  miss  him,  your  conduct  may  well  be 
regained  as  pbilanthropical.  If  you  kill  him,  the  bene- 
fit to  society  at  large  will  be  immense ;  if  you  miss  him, 
you  restore  to  him  a  rag  of  that  reputation  which  was 
never  otherwise  tiian  in  a  very  tattered  condition,  and 
of  which  tiiere  is  not  now  a  scrap  left  Then,  again,  my 
dear  Morley,  as  you  are  known  to  be  a  gentleman  and  a 
man  of  honour,  and  I  am  known  to  be  a  man  of  the 
world,  with  a  tolerable  portion  of  respectability  also, 
your  fighting  Neville,  witii  Stallfed  for  his  second,  will 
be  considered  as  the  surest  proof  that  you  are  resolved 
to  fight  anybody  and  everybody  that  asks  you,  as  nothmg 
could  justify  auch  a  proceeding  except  that  resolution. 
This  will  have  ^e  effect  of  sparing  you  the  chance  of 
twenty  duels  in  times  to  come;  for,  depend  upon  it,  in 
this  brave  world  of  ours,  the  reputation  of  a  readiness  to 
fight  keeps  a  man  clear  of  a  thousand  petty  insults  and 
annoyances.  There  is  one  thing,  however,  which  I  very 
much  doubt — namely,  that  these  men  will  ever  give  us 

the  meeting  at  all 

But  come,  Emstein,  pray  explain  to  me,  if  there  be  no 
secret  in  it,  how  you  were  brought  in  contact  with  this 
very  reputable  personage.  You  really  must  have  been 
making  your  way  in  the  world." 

Morley  Emstein  found  more  difficulty  in  replying  to 
lieberg's  question  than  he  anticipated. 
That  part  of  the  aftair  which  related  to  Helen  Baiham 
he  did  not  like  to  mention  to  one  whose  views  were 
formed  in  a  different  school  horn  his  own.  He  knew  not 
what  might  be  Lieberg's  comments,  what  his  inferences, 
what  he  might  say,  what  he  might  suspect ;  and  there  is 
nothing  that  a  young  and  high  mind  shrinks  so  timidly 
flrom  as  suspicion ;  it  is  the  cowardice  of  a  generous 
heart  As  &e  matter  was  to  be  told,  however,  for  he 
could  not  very  well  avoid  it,  he  spoke  with  his  wonted 
candour  of  the  whole  affiur,  related  the  manner  in  which 
the  situation  of  Helen  Barham  and  her  brother  had  first 
been  brought  to  his  knowledge,  his  interview  with  her, 
and  the  subsequent  conversation  which  he  had  had  with 
good  Mr.  Higgins.  But  the  demeanour  of  Lieberg  was 
very  difliirent  fh>m  that  which  he  had  expected.  Not  a 
smile  appeared  upon  his  lip  which  could  have  alarmed 
a  heart  the  most  sensible  to  ridicule ;  not  a  word  passed 
from  his  tongue  which  could  shock  one  feeling  in  Mor- 


ley's  breast  He  listened  in  perfect  silence,  witii  Ui 
eyes  bent  gravely  on  the  ground,  and  remained  withost 
answering  for  some  moments  after  the  other  had  dene 
speaking. 

«  This  is  a  curious  and  interesting  history,"  he  Mid,  at 
length  ;  and  has  some  of  the  strangest  points  in  it  tint 
I  know  of.  Maoy  men  in  I^ndon,  who  practically  know 
as  much  of  its  ways  as  I  do,  but  who  perhaps  have  not 
speculated  upon  them  quite  so  philosophically  as  I  faav«, 
at  least,  tried  to  do,  would  conclude  that  a  slot^  thv 
told  to  a  young  and  inexperienced  man  of  fortnaei  by  i 
mere  *  fence,*  as  they  call  such  fellows  as  Higgia^  mist 
be  a  tmmped-up  tale  fbr  the  purpose  of  cheati:ag  ;  tk 
woman  a  loose  woman,  the  boy  a  swindler,  and  Hk  bsi 
Neville  merely  brought  in  to  give  greater  efflset  to  tbe 
scene.  But  I  know  better  than  thi^  Morley,  and  cu 
very  well  conceive  the  whole  story  to  be  tnie.  Those 
who  see  a  great  deal  of  London  will  find,  if  they  do  bvt 
take  the  trouble  to  investigate  the  matter  impartiallj, 
that  even  in  the  innermost  recesses  of  vice  uid  iniqaitx, 
mingling  with  all  that  is  wicked  and  bad  in  the  verr 
hearts  of  men  given  up  to  various  sorts  of  crime,  there 
are  peculiar  virtues,  good  qualities,  bursts  of  feeling 
touches  of  generosity,  and  even  of  troth,  which  lie,  Ifte 
the  jewels  of  Golconda,  diamonds  amongst  mud,  or  grow, 
like  some  of  our  most  beautiftil  plants,  fh>m  a  soil  fbnied 
of  filth  and  conruption.  Do  not  misunderstand  me :  1 
do  not  mean  to  make  heroes  of  pick-pockets  and  swind- 
lers, forgers  and  housebreakers ;  but  I  mean  to  saj, 
that  in  the  very  blackest  of  them  there  is  some  good 
point,  some  virtues  carried  to  a  high  pitch — some  whidi, 
perhaps  I  might  say,  are  almost  peculiar  to  the  hearti 
of  vice.  Many  a  man  who  risks  his  life  daily  to  take 
the  money  of  another  will  give  his  own  as  Iredy  as 
water  to  one  of  his  fellows  in  distress.  The  iendemet^ 
I  have  heard,  with  which  some  of  the  most  abandoned 
women  in  Europe  will  nurse  a  sick  friend,  is  quite  ex- 
traordinary ;  and  a  strong  and  active  fseling  for  sorrow 
and  distress  of  every  kind,  is,  I  know,  very  much  mare 
common  amongst  ruffians  than  amongst  the  pampered 
men  of  pleasure.  I  can  thus  very  well  coneei^'e  that 
this  good  man,  Higgins,  might  be  touched  by  compaaioo 
for  iSie  situation  of  this  poor  girl,  and  laj  ont  ike  piaD 
that  he  says  he  has  done,  thinldng  it  tlie  vary  bast  mag 
for  her  and  for  you  too,  in  which,  peiluifw,  he  is  light.'* 

Lieberg's  last  words  were  qpoken  calmly,  deliberate) j, 
and  thoughtfully ;  and  not  the  most  learned  argumeatt- 
tions  in  fovour  of  licentiousness  would  have  been  calcu- 
lated to  produce  such  a  demoraliaing  effect  as  the  deli- 
berate matter-of-course  manner  in  which  he  cave  thai 
utterance.  It  at  onoe,  in  the  very  fewest  poodle  wonk, 
and  with  the  least  possible  shock,  placed  before  the 
mind  of  Morley  Emstein  the  idea  of  seducing  Helei 
Barham,  and  keeping  her  as  a  mistress,  in  the  light  of 
something  not  at  all  evil,  and  perhaps  right ;  a  thLig  to 
be  considered,  simply  in  regard  to  its  convenience  and 
expediency,  without  the  slightest  reference  in  the  mM 
to  the  morality  or  immorality  of  the  transaction.  Mir- 
ley  did  not  reply,  but  remained  with  his  eyes  thought- 
fhlly  fixed  upon  the  fioor,  meditating  over  what  he  had 
just  heard,  and  asking  himself,  it  must  be  oonftsied, 
whether  there  is  really  an  absolute  right  and  wrong  ia 
such  matters,  or  not 

**  You  must  see  your  way  in  the  business  deariy.  En- 
stein,"  continued  his  fHend,  **  and  make  very  sure  that 
you  are  not  deceived  in  the  giri's  character;  but  I  tn 
inclined  to  think  with  you  that  she  is  vHiat  she  appears. 
However,  one  or  two  interviews  will  easily  enable  yoo 
to  ascertain  the  fact.  Art  never  yet  looked  so  like  na- 
ture, as  to  deceive  an  eye  sharpened  by  doubt,  and  ia  a 
reasonable  head." 

'^  I  shall  most  likely  never  see  her  again,"  rqtUed 
Morley,  ^  and  therefore  shall  have  small  opportuaity  of 
judging." 

^  Indeed  l—taid  why  not  1"  demanded  lieberg: 

^Simply  because  I  think  it  dangerous,"  replied  M•^ 
ley.  "  She  is  very  beautifhl,  very  graeeftil,  very  eham- 
ing.  With  such  a  brother  it  would  be  quite  beyond  mj 
most  romantic  ideas  to  make  her  my  wifo  ;  and  as  to 
the  other  sort  of  connexion  which  you  ^eak  of,  I  can 


MORLEY  ERNSTEIN. 


521 


eonceire  a  man  being  betrayed  into  it  bj  accident,  or 
'    rather  by  a  combination  of  unfortunate  circumstances, 
'    bnt  could  nerer  dream,  for  my  own  part  at  least,  of  sit- 
ting down  deliberately  to  plan  such  a  thing.    It  does 
t   not  enter  into  my  scheme  of  life,  Lieberg." 
Licberg  laughed. 

"  I  know  that  I  am  not  without  strong  passions," 
f  continued  Morley,  **  as  well  as  you  do.  When  I  love, 
it  will  be  vehemently,  ardently  ;  and  whatever  may  be 
f  her  fortune  or  station,  I  will  make  that  woman  my  wife 
I  if  she  will  become  so.  It  is  for  this  very  reason  that  I 
I  do  not  choose  to  run  the  risk  of  falling  in  love  with  any 
c  one  that  I  would  not  choose  to  marry.  I  shall  therefore 
:  take  care  not  to  visit  siich  dangerous  precincts  again." 

•*  Well,  if  you  don't  Emstein,"   said  Lieberg,  **  I 
.  think  I  shall." 

Morley  was  mortified.  ^Perhaps,  Lieberg,"  he  re- 
pKed,  "  it  you  do  go,  you  may  not  find  the  opportunity 
that  you  expect." 

^  Nay,  nay,"  answered  Lieberg,  laughing  again  ; 
'  you  have  no  right  to  excite  one's  compassion  for  this 
&ir  orphan,  and  then,  with  a  resolution  to  abandon  her 
yonrself,  prevent  any  other  generous  man  fVom  showing 
her  his  sympathy." 

As  the  conversation  proceeds,  Lieberg  reveals 
his  philosophy,  of  which  the  principle  is  not  ^*  the 
greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number,"  but  the 
greatest  enjoyment  or  sensual  gratification  of  Num- 
-  ber  One,  though  at  the  expense  of  the  whole  of  the 
world  besides.  Tliere  are  many  practical  philoso- 
phers of  Lieberg's  school,  though  they  may  not  be 
80  well  versed  in  the  theory. 

Every  man  in  life  must  calculate  which  he  thinks  will 
procure  him  the  greatest  sum  of  happiness,  keen  joys  or 
calm  pleasures.    One  man  will  argue  that  the  joys — 
wbkh  undoubtedly  are  Ulo  brighter  of  the  two  commo- 
dities— are  only  followed  by  those  counterbalancing  griefs 
which  moralists  tell  us  of,  in  consequence  of  man's  sub- 
serviency to  various  foolish  prejudices  and  uigust  regu- 
''  lations  in  his  artificial  state  of  being.    Others  again  may 
^  contend  that  calm  pleasures,  though  not  so  brilliant,  are 
'•  more  durable ;  that  they  are  extended  over  a  greater 
''  space ;  that  if  a  man  obtains  many  joys  and  sh^es  off 
'  many  griefs  by  throwing  from  him  the  prejudices  oc 
'  society,  on  the  other  hand,  the  very  struggle  with  those 
prejudices  is  in  itself  an  annoyance  equal  to  the  endur- 
ance of  them  all.    I  have  never  calculated  the  matter 
▼ery  nicely  myself,  but  I  recollect  once  going  to  see  a 
hxr  cousin  of  mine  who,  when  I  went  in,  was  in  the  act 
of  giving  two  of  her  sons  some  jelly,  or  jam,  or  some- 
thing of  that  kind.    The  one  boy  spread  it  tJiinly  over 
a  large  piece  of  bread  and  butter ;  the  other  ate  it  plain 
all  at  once  ;  my  cousin,  who  was  a  very  wise  girl  as  well 
aa  a  pretty  one,  let  each  do  as  he  liked ;  and  I,  who 
stood  by  and  watched,  thought  that  it  was  a  good  picture 
&ad  a  good  lesson  of  life. 

Count  Lieberg  liked  in  general  to  eat  his  jam  by 
itself.  Morley's  condition  was  becoming  critical. 
"The  Tenants  of  the  Heart"  were  warring  together, 
and  the  animal  Spirit,  not  yet  entirely  subdued. — ^He 
was  again  with  Helen  Barham,  listening  to  her  sad 
tale. 

The  interest  that  Morley  took  in  her,  the  anxiety  that 
he  felt  to  serve  ber ;  the  apprehension  for  herself  and 
for  her  brother,  which  her  history  excited,  were  all  open 
to  the  eyes  of  Helen  Barham,  and  were  all  in  return 
powerful  upon  her  spirit.  At  the  moment,  when, 
trembling,  agitated,  tearful,  breathless,  she  concluded 
the  sad  tale  with  that  one  terrible  truth,  and  when  he, 
hstening  with  quivering  lips  and  eyes  straining  upon  her 
bright  face,  heard  the  dark  conclusion  of  the  whole, 
which  seemed  to  leave  no  course  for  him,  no  hope  for  her, 
bat  to  snatch  her  at  once  from  her  unworthy  brother, 
one  raah  impulse,  two  rash  words,  "  Be  mine  l"  would 
hare  sealed  the  fates  of  both  for  ever.    Had  he  uttered 

XO.  riV.— VOL.  IX 


them,  she  could  bnt  have  cast  herself  upon  his  breast  or 
died. 

Oh,  it  is  sad  to  feel  that  there  is  but  one  thing  ou 
earth  to  which  you  can  cling,  and  yet  not  dare  to  cling 
to  it !  Oh,  it  is  sad  to  feel  within  ourselves  the  power 
to  cherish  and  to  comfort,  and  yet  not  dare  to  use  it ! 
Those  words, "  Be  mine,"  presented  themselves  to  Mor- 
ley's mind,  rose  up  in  his  heart,  trembled  upon  his  lips  ; 
but  as  the  destinies  of  men  and  states  have  ever  depend- 
ed upon  accident,  one  instant's  pause  saved  him  and 
Helen  Barham ;  whether  permanently,  or  only  for  the 
time,  those  who  read  vnll  learn.  "  Shall  I  say  it !"  he 
asked  himself;  and  while  his  heart  beat  like  an  impri- 
soned eagle  against  the  bars  of  its  cage,  his  eyes  turned 
towards  the  table  and  rested  there  for  a  moment.  There 
was  a  book  upon  it,  which  she  had  evidently  been  read- 
ing before  he  came  in,  open,  and  turned  upon  its  face. 
There  was  a  word  stamped  upon  the  back,  and  Mor- 
ley's glance  passed  over  it — it  was.  Prayer  ! 

In  a  moment  lightning-like  thought  had  passed  round 
the  whole  range  of  the  mental  horizon. 

**  She  has  been  praying,"  he  thought — ^**  praying  to 
that  God,  who  made  her  beautifhl,  and  innocent,  and 
bright — praying  for  help  against  the  infernal  powers  of 
wickedness  and  evil,  that  seem  to  surround  her;  and 
shall  I,  the  only  help  that  he  has  sent  her,  shall  I  sully 
her  brightness,  destroy  her  innocence,  and  blister  that 
fair  brow  veith  the  name  of  harlot !    God  forbid  !" 

The  ethereal  spirit  vrithin  him  was  triumphant  in  a 
moment :  the  hour  of  the  animal  spirit  was  over.    .    . 

The  spirit  of  the  soul,  as  I  have  called  it,  exerted  her 
sway  during  that  hour  with  calm,  but  mighty  power. 
He  dwelt  upon  many  a  curious  question  with  himself, 
both  general  and  referring  to  the  chief  matter  of  the 
day ;  and  although  the  idea  of  marrying  Helen  Barham, 
and  thus  freeing  her  firom  all  her  difficulties,  never  enter- 
ed into  his  mind  as  a  thing  that  could  take  place,  because 
he  could  not  dream  of  allying  himself  to  one  so  base  as 
her  brother  was  proved  to  be,  yet  he  asked  himself,  had 
circumstances  been  different,  would  he  have  offered  her 
his  hand !  The  answer  was — '^  No — she  was  not  the 
being  he  would  have  chosen."  And  why  was  she  not 
so  t  became  the  next  question.  Could  any  one  be  more 
lovely  I — could  any  style  of  beauty  whatsoever  be  more 
fit  to  excite  ardent  passion !  Had  he  a  doubt  of  her 
virtue  ?  of  her  simplicity,  or  truth  ?  No,  no,  no  !  He 
could  not  tell  why.  He  did  not,  or  he  would  not,  inves- 
tigate why  he  felt  that,  although,  had  he  given  way  to 
the  temptation  of  circumstances,  and  the  strong  inclina- 
tion of  his  own  heart,  he  might  have  made  Helen  Bar- 
ham his  mistress — he  would  not  choose  her  for  his  vnfe. 
Let  not  the  reader  suppose  that  it  was  any  evil  in  her 
character,  anything  that  betrayed  itself  therein,  and 
which  he  felt,  though  he  could  not  define  it.  No ;  she  was 
all  that  she  seemed — pure,  bright,  generous-hearted,  ten- 
der, devoted,  not  vrithout  some  faults,  but  those  such  as 
would  little  affect  domestic  peace.  No !  it  was  nothing 
in  her  character,  but  it  was  something  in  his  heart. 
Reader  !  it  was  a  memory ! 

The  memory,  fortunately  for  our  hero,  became 
on  that  same  night  a  reality.  At  a  party  given  by 
Lady  Malcolm, — an  old  motherly  friend, — ^he  disco- 
vered his  beautiful  unknown — Juliet  Carr — ^his 
future  guardian  angel,  whose  protection  and  friend- 
ship for  Helen  Barham  he,  like  a  sensible  and 
generous  man,  firankly  requested,  and  sweetly  and 
freely  obtained.  Poor  Helen !  her  honour,  her 
good  name,  were  now  placed  above  suspicion  ;  but 
the  tenderest  sisterly  friendship  could  not  protect 
her  heart,  and  she  was  also  exposed  to  the  alter- 
nately bold  or  insidious  attempts  of  Lieberg,  who 
had  obtained  a  more  fatal  power  over  her  brotlier 
than  that  held  by  Neville,  and  used  it  with  as  little 
remorse.  When  Higgins  waited  upon  his  employer, 
Sir  Morley,  to  make  the  report  which  was  to  gain 


&2t 


SUMBIER  READING. 


him  ten  pounds,  before  he  departed  he  asked  with 
a  sly  look — 

"  HaYe  you  got  hold  of  the  young  lady  yet !" 

**  You  mistake,  my  good  friend,"  said  Morley,  sternly; 
'^  I  have  no  such  intentions  as  you  suppose." 

"  Well,  Sir,"  said  the  man,  nothing  abashed,  **  youll 
easily  manage  it  if  you  like.  Bill  Barham  told  me  he 
was  going  to  call  upon  you  to-night  between  seven  and 
eight ;  and  you  could  easily  bring  him  to  terms — that  I 
saw  very  well.    No  o£fence.  Sir,  I  hope.    Good  night." 

Morley  Emstein  remained  standing  for  a  moment  in 
thought.  "  The  girl  must  be  removed,"  he  said,  speak- 
ing to  himself,  "  and  if  the  youth  can  be  induced  to  go 
and  confess  all  to  Lieberg,  with  an  offer  of  repaying  the 
money,  I  doubt  not  all  may  yet  go  well.  When  Lieberg 
finds  that  Helen  Barham  is  gone,  and  that  even  her  bro- 
ther does  not  know  where  to  find  her,  he  will  of  course 
think  that  I  have  seduced  her,  and  taken  her  away. 
Well,  let  him  do  so,  for  the  present ! " 

Ere  he  set  out,  he  left  directions  to  inform  William 
Barham,  if  that  praiseworthy  young  gentleman  called, 
that  he  was  gone  to  his  sister's  house  ;  and  in  Davis 
Street  he  got  into  a  hackney-coach  with  the  intention  of 
proceeding  thither  more  quickly.  That  sad  and  tardy 
contrivance  for  wasting  men's  time,  however,  was  not  at 
all  suited  to  the  eager  spirit  of  Morley  Emstein,  and  ere 
it  had  rumbled  thi^ugh  more  than  two  or  three  streets, 
he  made  the  coachman  stop,  paid  him  his  fare,  jumped 
out,  and  proceeded  on  foot.  On  arriving  at  Helen  Bar- 
ham's  dwelling,  he  was  admitted  instantly :  for  the  maid, 
who  had  her  own  notion  of  the  object  of  nis  visits,  had 
heard  all  about  him  from  the  groom,  who  had  accom- 
panied him  at  first ;  and  judging  that  the  arrangement 
would  do  very  well,  took  care  to  be  especially  civil  to 
one  whom  she  supposed  would  be  her  fUture  master.  She 
even  made  way  for  him  to  go  up  the  stairs  before  her, 
and  Morley,  who  was  too  eager  to  be  ceremonious,  pass- 
ed on,  and  opened  the  drawing-room  door  himself. 

Helen  Barham  had  learned  to  know  his  knock  and  his 
step,  however,  and  vnth  her  pencil  in  her  hand,  as  she 
sat  working  hard  at  a  drawing  before  her,  she  gazed  up 
with  a  glad  and  eager  look  towards  the  opening  door,  to 
see  if  her  ear  had  not  deceived  her.  It  was  by  this  time 
night.  There  might  be  a  ray  or  two  of  daylight  still  in 
the  sky,  but  not  enough  for  her  to  see  her  drawing.  The 
windows  therefore  had  been  closed,  and  the  lamp  lighted, 
and  as  she  sat  with  the  rays  falling  full  upon  her  face, 
with  her  bright  eves  raised  towards  the  opening  door, 
her  lips  apart  and  shovring  the  white  teeth,  her  form 
bent  forward  with  expectation,  and  the  fair,  delicate 
hand  holding  the  pencil  suspended  over  the  paper,  cer- 
tainly nothing  more  lovely  could  have  presented  itself 
to  the  eyes  of  Morley  Einstein.  Then  came  up  in  her 
face  the  light  of  joy  as  she  saw  him,  the  beaming  of 
gratitude  and  regard,  as  if  to  give  sunshine  to  the  picture. 

It  was  altogether  like  a  fine  Rembrandt,  for,  both 
morally  and  physically,  the  ttiHi.  light  was  all  concentrated 
in  that  one  spot  in  the  room,  and  everything  else  around 
was  dark  to  the  eye,  and  to  the  heart.  There  she  sat, 
alone — a  being,  formed  to  ornament  society,  to  give  hap- 
piness to  others,  to  receive  happiness  frx>m  them,  to  ani- 
mate, to  cheer,  to  soothe,  to  taste,  to  feel,  to  enjoy  I  There 
she  sat,  alone,  pursuing  solitary  and  ungrateful  labour 
through  the  long  hours  of  the  night,  with  sad  thoughts 
as  her  only  companions,  and  no  voice  of  father,  of  brother, 
or  of  husband,  to  comfort  and  support  her.  The  first  re- 
flection that  crossed  the  mind  of  Morley  Emstein,  after 
the  impression  of  her  dazzling  beauty  subsided,  was,  how 
sad  and  gloomy  must  her  existence  have  been  for  many 
a  long  day  past  I  The  feelings  in  Ms  heart  might  well 
have  tempted  him  to  take  the  stricken  lamb  to  his  bosom, 
to  nourish,  and  to  cheer  her  there,  without  one  evil  sen- 
sation, or  one  thought  but  for  her  good ;  and  the  reader 
may  well  pardon  him,  if— althou^  he  was  guarded  by 
a  passion,  intense  and  true,  for  another — if,  notwithstand- 
ing all  he  could  do,  there  was  a  tenderness  in  his  man- 
ner, a  gentle  affection  in  his  tone,  that  was  very  danger- 
ous to  poor  Helen  Barham.  Sh^  sprang  up,  she  held 
out  her  hand  to  him,  she  exclaimed,  with  a  look  that  told 
the  whole  joy  of  her  heart, — 


^  Oh  I  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you !  Do  yon  know,  I 
have  found  a  way  of  supporting  myself  quite  well,  till  I 
can  get  some  more  scholars.  Since  I  saw  yon,  I  have 
sold  two  of  my  drawings  to  a  shop  in  Pall  MaU,  and  re- 
ceived two  guineas  for  them.  I  did  not  think  the  things 
were  worth  anything,  but  merely  for  my  scholars  to  oopj; 
but  as  I  went  past  the  windows  of  a  drawing  shop,  I 
saw  some  that  did  not  seem  better  than  mine,  so  I  re- 
solved to  try.  The  man  gave  me  two  guineas  at  onee, 
and  said  he  would  take  as  many  more  as  I  could  bzing ; 
so  that  now,  you  see,  I  am  rich.'* 

''  I  am  af^d,  my  dear  Miss  Barham,"  said  Moiiey, 
with  a  smile,  **  that  I  have  come  to  destroy  all  you  fiae 
projects ;  but,  do  not  be  alarmed,  it  is  to  substitute  othen 
in  their  place,  which,  I  trust,  may  not  be  disagreeabk 
to  you." 

"  The  Tenants  of  the  Heart"  were  again  In  mo- 
mentary conflict ;  and  yet  Morley  Emstein  was 
the  passionate  lover  of  Juliet  Carr,  who  had  loved 
him  from  childhood.  To  Helen  he  unfolded  hit 
plans  for  her  brother. 

At  the  same  time  he  urged  that  the  only  way  to  maki 
him  abandon  every  attempt  to  carry  out  his  infiunoas 
bargain  vrith  Neville,  was  to  place  her  beyond  his  reach 
altogether,  and  not  even  to  let  him  know  where  ahe  was. 

She  listened  for  a  moment  in  silence,  with  her  eyw 
bent  down,  and  evidently  f^  of  thought,  and  then 
looked  up  in  his  face,  with  something  like  a  tear  upon 
her  eyelashes.  **  You  have  been  so  kind  and  good,**  dx 
said,  in  a  filtering  voice, "  and  have  shown  yourself  m 
generous,  that  I  scarcely  ought  to  ask  you  any  <lmestMBiL 
but  only,  I  am  afraid — ^that  is  to  say,  having  no  ftiend 
who  has  yet  expressed  a  willingness  to  reoeire  me,  I 
think  people  might  judge  it  strange,  if  I  were  to  go  any- 
where with  you  alone — I  mean,  under  your  care,  with- 
out my  own  brother  knowing  it.  But  I  see  yon  are 
smiling — I  have  mistaken  you.  But,  oh,  no  1  indeed  I 
have  not  doubted  you — I  am  sure.  Sir  Morley  Emstein, 
you  would  not  wrong  me  in  any  way ;"  and  she  gavr 
him  her  hand. 

*^  Not  for  the  world,"  he  replied.  "  1  smiled  at  myself. 
Miss  Barham — my  mind  being  fhlly  occupied  with  nr 
own  plans  fbr  you.  I  fotgot  to  tell  you  one  half  ot  then, 
which  ought  to  have  been  told  you  at  first. 

He  told  her  of  the  amiable  ladies  whose  protee- ' 
tion  he  meant  to  solicit  for  herself ;  bnt  if  they 
were  not  disposed  or  not  able  to  oflfer  her  a  aaf^  asy- 
lum, then,  he  said — 

There  are  occasions  on  which  we  must  brave  the 
world's  opinion,  when  we  know  that  we  are  doing  whii 
is  right,  when  our  purposes  and  views  are  high  and  pure, ' 
and  when,  by  obeying  the  cold  dictates  of  society,  wt  | 
should  incur  still  greater  dangers,  or  fkll  into  real  er* 
rors." 

Was  the  doctrine  that  he  preached  a  perilous  one  1 
Perhaps  it  might  be  so — ^at  least,  as  fkr  as  human  hap- 
piness is  concerned  ;  for  the  laws  and  customs  of  tht 
world  are  exactly  like  the  military  code  of  Great  Britain^ 
which  strictly  forbids  a  man  to  fight  a  duel,  and  dis- 
graces him  if  he  refuses. 

Helen  Barham  again  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  re- 
plied, at  once — ^I  vrill  do  anything  that  you  please 
Tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do !  I  am  sure,  as  I  said  befiire, 
yon  vrill  not  tell  me  vn*ong  ;  and  I  am  sure,  also,  tbst 
when  I  am  away,  however  criminal  you  may  think  hia^ 
you  will  do  the  best  for  my  poor  brother  Williaa." 

Colonel  Count  Lieberg,  presuming  upon  the  holj 
which  he  had  obtained  oyer  young  Barham,  Tisited 
the  beautiful  girl  who  had  so  strongly  exohed  his 
curiosity  from  the  descripticm  given  by  Morier. 
The  interview  is  well  painted.  At  its  close,  M  he 
drove  off,  he  muttered — 

"  Beautiful,  indeed  !— Beautiful,  indeed !  TWs  boy  ii 
a  fool,  with  his  advantages  !"  and  driving  on,  busy  witfc- 


MORLEY  ERNSTEIN. 


523 


reT«riM  «f  Ms  own,  he  well  nigh  killed  two  people  at 
the  comer  of  Oxfbrd  Street,  and  grased  one  of  the  posts 
with  the  wheel  of  his  rehicle. 

The  fiendish,  imperturbable  character  of  this 
incarnation  of  selfishness,  is  nowhere  better 
brought  out  than  in  contrast  with  the  thief  and 
burglar,  Henry  Martin.  This  man,  in  company 
with  a  gang,  had  gone  down  to  Yorkshire  for  the 
purpose  of  robbing  an  old  rich  miser,  a  retired 
attorney,  and  the  supposed  father  of  Juliet  Carr. 
To  this  sordid  churl  Helen  had  been  sent,  in  order 
to  sciteen  her  from  the  audacious  attempts  of  Lie- 
berg  ;  though  Juliet  still  remained  in  town  with 
her  mother's  relatire,  Lady  Malcolm.  By  an  acci- 
dent, Lieberg  discovered  the  place  of  Helen's  re- 
treat, and  pursued  her,  artftilly  introducing  him- 
self to  the  miser  at  the  ancient  manor-house  where 
be  redded,  as  a  gentleman  come  to  take  his  moors 
for  shooting.  For  these  he  bribed  old  Carr  with 
the  offer  of  so  high  a  rent  that  his  heart  opened, 
and  the  liberal  stranger  was  invited  to  remain  for 
the  night.  The  gang  of  London  thieves,  at  the 
head  of  which  was  Harry  Martin,  were  aware  of 
Lieberg's  journey  down  into  the  north,  and  Martin 
not  oidy  meditated  the  robbery  of  old  Carr,  but 
also  robbmg  the  Count,  and  thus  obtaining  posses- 
sion of  the  forged  bill,  which  was  hanging  over  the 
head  of  his  confederate,  young  Barham,  and  used 
as  a  dastardly  means  of  ruining  the  youth's  sister. 

The  household  of  Miser  Carr  had  long  retired  to 
resty  but  his  guest  knew  not  repose.  He  had  again 
seen  Helen,  and  admired  her  more  than  ever.  He 
had  induced  her  to  grant  him  a  private  interview, 
upon  the  subject  of  her  brother's  danger,  by  writ- 
ing her  the  following  note  : — 

"  Dear  Miss  Barham — Will  yon  kindly  write  under- 
neath, merely  in  pencil,  at  what  time  to-morrow  I  can 
hare  a  tew  minntes'  conversation  with  you  alone,  npon 
the  subject  that  we  mentioned !" 

"  There,  take  that !"  he  said,  folding  up  the  paper, 
'and  find  ont  Miss  Barham's  maid  d&ectly;  bid  her 
gire  it  to  her  mistress,  and  let  me  have  an  answer." 

The  valet  took  the  note,  and  disappeared.  Helen's 
toilette  for  the  night  was  well  nigh  done,  and  she  was 
on  the  point  of  seeking  her  bed,  when  she  received  it; 
and,  guileless  and  innocent  herself,  without  a  thought  of 
erily  she  wrote  underneath  the  lines  sent  by  Lieberg,  in 
pencil, "  Whenever  you  like. — Helen  Barham." 

When  the  note  was  brought  back,  Lieberg  gazed  at  it 
with  a  keen,  triumphant  look,  though  his  cheek  was  pale 
with  intense  feeling. 

**  Do  yon  know  which  is  Miss  Barham's  room  t"  he 
said,  addressing  the  valet. 

**  The  one  at  the  end  of  the  corridor.  Sir,"  said  the 
nan;  ''that  on  the  right;  the  opposite  door  leads  to  a 
store-room,  I  find." 

*  And  whete  do  yon  sleep  yourself,  Martini !"  said 
Liebew. 

^  I  skep  Jnst  above  Miss  Barham's  room.  Sir,"  replied 
the  man. 

"Get  a  horse  early  to-morrow,"  said  Lieberg;  *go 
over  to  the  post-ofilce  at  Doncaster,  and  let  me  have  my 
letters  before  eleven." 

The  man  bowed,  and  very  little  further  conversation 
took  place,  while  Lieberg  undressed,  and  retired  to  bed. 
His  last  words  were, "  Leave  the  light  burning." 

As  soon  as  the  man  was  gone,  Lieberg  rose  fh>m  his 
bed  again,  carefhlly  cut  the  sheet  of  note-paper  on  which 
be  had  written  to  Helen  in  two,  separatfng  the  part  con- 
taining his  inquiry  from  Helen's  reply,  burnt  the  former 
pArt,  and  then  gated  steadfastly  upon  the  other,  repeat- 
ing—** Whenever  I  like  I~whenever  I  like  !— 1  Uke  this 


very  night !— This  shall  justify  me;"  and  putting  the 
paper  into  his  desk,  he  extinguished  the  light,  and  re« 
tired  to  bed  again,  but  not  to  sleep. 

In  a  future  scene  he  makes  a  base  use  of  this 
note,  which  she  resents  and  exposes  indignantly  and 
with  high  courage.     Meanwhile — 

Silence  maintained  her  reign  for  about  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  during  which  time  Lieberg  gazed  out  upon  a 
scene  which  was  well  calculated  to  afford  high  and  holy 
thoughts,  had  his  been  a  breast  to  receive  them.  The 
beautifdl  orb  which,  like  woman's  love  to  man,  follows 
this  earthly  sphere  through  all  its  wandering  course, 
was  shining  bright  and  pure,  in  her  highest  glory.  The 
green  lawn,  the  dark  yew-trees,  the  sloping  upland,  the 
well-trimmed  hedges,  caught  the  rays  as  they  fell,  and 
deep  shadows,  like  those  which  must  everfkll  to  the  eye 
of  memory  over  various  spots  in  the  past,  when  we  look 
back  from  the  end  of  a  long  life,  were  cast  OTer  the  turf 
frx)m  every  rising  object.  Round  about,  at  a  distance 
from  their  queen,  in  the  blue  heaven,— for  those  that 
were  near  were  swallowed  up  in  her  light, — the  bright 
attendant  stars  filled  up  the  glory  of  the  sky,  and  spoke 
to  man's  heart  of  the  majesty  of  that  God  who  made  a 
thousand  worlds,  and  yet  bows  himself  to  regard  the 
lowest  being  on  the  earth. 

Such,  however,  were  not  the  thoughts  with  which 
Lieberg  gazed.  We  shall  not,  indeed,  attempt  to  pene- 
trate them  ;  they  were  deep,  inscrutable,  and  would  do 
no  good  to  the  mind  of  any  one.  Sufilce  it,  that  as  his 
eye  strayed  upon  the  dark  blue  expanse,  and  seemed 
shooting  back  rays  to  the  bright  orb  above  h|m,  a 
dark  shadow  came  upon  his  brow,  his  lip  curled,  his 
head  was  raised  higher  Xhan  before,  his  chest  expanded, 
as  if  with  some  struggle  within  him.  Indeed,  it  would 
seem  that  he  heard  some  warning  voice,  and  succeeded 
in  drowning  it  in  the  clamour  of  pride  and  passion,  fi>r 
he  muttered  to  himself  as  he  turned  iVom  the  window — 
**  So  hypocrites  would  tell  us,  and  so  fools  would  yield  !" 

He  laft  the  curtains  open,  and  with  a  quiet  and  steady 
step,  walked  towards  the  door.  As  he  did  so,  however, 
and  as  his  hand  was  actually  upon  the  lock  to  open  it, 
he  thought  he  heard  a  Mnt  cry,  and  paused  for  a  minute 
to  listen.  **  Busy  imagination  1"  he  said,  finding  the 
sound  was  not  repeated  ;  and  he  opened  the  door. 

All  was  dark,  but  the  moonlight,  which  streamed 
through  Ms  room,  crossed  the  corridor  and  gave  a  fiiint 
light.  There  was  a  sudden  step  heard  in  ^e  passage, 
and  Lieberg  instantly  drew  back  ;  but  before  he  coidd 
shut  the  door,  or  see  what  was  coming,  he  received  a 
heavy  blow  upon  the  head,  which  struck  him  to  the 
ground,  and  for  a  few  minutes  deprived  him  of  all 
thought  and  feeling.  When  he  opened  his  eyes,  one  of 
the  candles  on  his  dressing-table  was  lighted,  and  he 
saw  two  tall,  stout  men,  covered  with  smock  ftx>ck8» 
each  with  a  large  piece  of  black  crape  drawn  over  his 
face,  busily  engaged,  the  one  in  packing  up  quietly  all 
his  dressing  apparatus,  at  least  that  part  of  it  which 
was  formed  of  silver  or  gold,  whilst  the  other,  who  had, 
to  say  the  truth,  opened  various  portmanteaus  and 
carriage-boxes,  without  their  master's  privity  or  con- 
sent, was  examining  a  purse  and  a  pocket-book  by  the 

light  of  a  candle After  having  examined 

the  contents  of  the  pocket-book,  the  man  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  saying  to  himself,  ^  That  will  do  1"  He  then 
proceeded  to  aid  his  companion. 

Lieberg,  *'  though  a  man  of  dauntless  courage," 
found  it  prudent  to  lie  as  still  as  if  he  had  been 
dead  : — 

Lieberg  could  hear,  as  he  lay  with  his  eyes  shut,  how- 
ever, that  the  two  men  stopped  beside  him  ;  and  the  one 
said  to  the  other — 

"  YouVe  done  for  him,  Harry  !" 

*  No,  I  haven't !"  exclaimed  the  other,  in  a  loud, 
rough  tone.  "  D— n  his  heart  and  limbs,  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  do  for  him,  though  !  He's  only  stunned,  like — 
see  how  he  breathes  !  but  if  he  were  up  to  knowing  why 
I  did  it,  I'd  take  and  thrash  him  till  I  drove  the  sonl 


1 


524 


SUMMER  READING. 


out  of  his  body.  Ill  tell  you  what— this  is  the  fellow 
that  yon  heard  of,  who  got  hold  of  the  poor  boy,  and 
threatened  to  hang  him  for  forgery,  if  he  wouldn't  make 
hia  aister  go  into  keeping  with  him.  Now,  that's  what 
I  call  being  a  rascal,  indeed.  These  gentlefolks  call 
you  and  I  blackguards,  and  scamps,  and  criminals,  and 
felons  ;  now,  I  should  like  to  know  who  is  the  greatest 
rascal,  who  is  the  greatest  felon — he  or  1 1  I  never  take 
anything  but  a  little  money  from,  those  that  can  spare  it : 
but  he — curse  the  pitiful  mongrel — wants  to  take  away 
a  poor  girl's  life  and  soul,  and  threatens  to  hang  her 
brother  if  he  wont  help  him.  If  it  were  with  all  her 
own  good  will,  I've  nothing  to  say  ;  but  to  think  to  go 
to  buy  her  with  the  price  of  her  brother's  blood ! — if 
that  isn't  a  blackguard  trick,  I  don't  know  what  is. 
How  it  happens  that  what  you  call  gentlemen  keep  him 
amongst  them,  I  can't  say  ;  but  I  l^ow  if  he  were  to 
come  amongst  us,  we  would  kick  him  out.  But  come 
along  ;  if  1  stand  looking  at  him  any  longer,  I  shall  do 
a  something  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for.  I  don't  like  tak- 
ing a  man's  life  in  that  way,  unless  he  stands  up  to  me ; 
so  come  along,  for  I  feel  inclined  to  put  my  foot  upon 
him,  and  tread  his  dirty  soul  out,  as  I  would  to  a  tocbd." 

Harry  Martin,  while  his  associates  packed  their 
plunder,  had  been  in  search  of  the  forged  bill. 

A  short  time  afterwards,  and  Harry  Martin,  who 
is  humanized  by  the  influence  of  an  innocent  and 
affectionate  wife,  was  a  prisoner  in  York  Castle, 
and  about  to  take  his  trial,  with  some  others  of  the 
gang,  for  the  robbery  at  the  Manor-house.  Helen 
Barhiam  was  the  strongest  witness  that  could  be 
produced  against  him ;  but  he  had  spared  her  life, 
in  circumstances  of  great  peril  to  his  own,  and  she 
had  pledged  her  word  at  that  awful  moment,  never 
to  reveal  aught  that  could,  even  by  implication, 
aflect  him.  Another  witness  was  Count  Lieberg, 
whom  the  contempt  and  scorn  of  Helen  had  by  this 
exasperated  to  madness.  His  conduct  to  hbr  was, 
besides,  made  public,  and  had  brought  disgrace 
upon  him.  To  recover  the  proofs  of  her  brother's 
guilt,  and  subdue  and  torture  her  through  her  best 
affections,  was  the  diabolical  motive  which  now 
brought  him  to  the  felon's  cell  of  York  Castle  : — 

Harry  Martin  was  not  one  to  forget  readily  a  face  he 
had  once  seen,  but  it  took  the  reflection  of  a  moment  or 
two  to  connect  that  of  his  visiter  with  the  events  of  the 
past ;  and  ere  his  recollection  served  him,  the  door  was 
closed,  and  he  stood  fkce  to  face  with  the  personage 
whom  we  have  called  Count  Lieberg.  The  moment 
that  he  became  aware  of  who  it  was,  the  brow  of  the 
prisoner  contracted,  and  he  demanded  sternly — ^  What 
do  you  want  with  me  1" 

Lieberg's  dark,  keen  eye  rested  upon  him  heavily, with 
that  sort  of  oppressive  light  which  seemed  at  once  to  see 
into  and  weigh  down  the  heart  of  those  he  gazed  at ;  and  he 
remained  for  a  moment  or  two  without  making  any  reply, 
as  if  to  let  the  man  before  him  feel  the  Mi  force  of  that 
basilisk  glance. 

**  When  last  we  met,"  he  said,  at  length, "  you  took 
awuy  some  papers " 

Harry  Martin  had  by  this  time  recollected  himself,  and 
he  replied,  with  a  loud  laugh—**  When  last  we  met ! 
Did  we  ever  meet  at  all  f  That  is  the  question,  my  fine 
fellow.  You  seem  to  me  as  impudent  as  a  quack  doctor, 
and  I  daresay  are  as  great  a  liar  as  a  horse-chanter." 

**  When  last  we  met,"  repeated  Lieberg,  in  an  unal- 
tered tone,  **  you  took  a  pocket-book  of  mine,  containing 
some  papers  of  value  to  me  and  of  no  value  to  you. 
What  has  become  of  them  1 " 

**What  has  become  of  them!"  cried  Harry  Martin. 
**  If  I  took  any  papers  of  yours,  depend  upon  it  that  they 
are  by  this  time  what  you  and  I  soon  will  be." 

**  And  what  is  that  ?"  demanded  Lieberg. 

**Dust  and  ashes— dust  and  ashes!"  replied  Harry 
Martin. 


**  You  make  a  mbtake,"  said  Lieberg,  cahnly,  **  I  bare 
no  intention  of  being  anything  of  the  kind.  But  listen 
to  me  for  a  moment,  my  good  friend,  and  I  will  give  you 
sufficient  motives  for  making  you  change  your  mind  in 
this  business.  Those  papers  are  of  great  consequence  to 
me;  if  they  can't  be  found,  the  proofe  of  the  facts  to 
which  they  referred  are  the  next  important  Uungs  to 
obtain.  If  you  can  furnish  me  with  either  the  one  or  the 
other,  you  will  benefit  me  and  yourself  too.  Hear  me '. 
— you  will  save  your  own  neck  from  the  gallows — You 
will  save  your  ovm  life,  I  say." 

**  I  would  not,  to  save  fifty  lives,"  answered  Hany 
Martin.  **  Come,  don't  talk  to  me  any  more  about  it, 
for  I  don't  want  to  hear  such  stuff.  You  have  no  power 
to  give  life  or  to  take  it.  You,  who,  if  laws  were  equal, 
and  punishments  proportioned  to  crime,  would  find  a  frr 
higher  gallows  than  any  of  us  poor  fellows — ^you,  who 
are  a  robber  of  more  than  money — a  murderer  of  more 
than  life — ^who  gave  you  power  to  offer  me  safety,  or 
anything  like  it  t " 

"  The  chance  that  placed  me  in  the  house  which  you 
broke  into,"  repUed  Lieberg,  **  and  the  wit  that  made  me 
lie  quiet  when  I  found  there  was  no  use  in  resisting. 
Upon  my  words  hangs  your  life,  and  I  pledge  my  honoor 
to  save  it,  if  you  but  restore  me  those  papers." 

**  Your  honour  ! "  exclaimed  Harry  Martin.  **  What's 
your  honour  worth  t  I  have  heard  some  incks  of  yonr 
honour,  that  make  it  of  as  little  value,  to  those  who 
know  what  is  underneath  the  surface,  as  a  coiner's 
shUUng." 

**  You  are  in  the  wrong,"  said  Lieberg,  calmly,  keep- 
ing still  fixed  upon  him  that  peculiar  look  which  Harry 
Martin  could  not  prevent  himself  fh>m  feeling,  notwith- 
standing all  his  daring  hardihood— **  you  are  quite  in  the 
wrong,  my  good  fHend,  and  are  risking  your  neck,  or 
rather,  I  should  say,  absolutely  condemning  yourself  to 
death  for  the  sake  of  a  youth  who  has  betrayed  you,  and 
who  was  the  first  to  bring  upon  you  the  eye  of  the  law.'' 

**  Has  he  betrayed  me  ! "  demanded  Harry  Martin, 
vnth  his  eye  flashing.  **  Has  he  betrayed  me  !  If  I 
thought  that " 

"  I  can  prove  it,"  replied  Lieberg.  **  You  have  mis- 
taken your  friends  for  your  enemies,  my  good  man.  .  .  . 
Take  any  means  that  you  like  to  satisfy  yourself; 
and  you  will  find  that  ahnost  immediately  after  the 
robbery  had  been  committed,  he  went  to  the  house  of 
Mr.  Carr,  and  has  remained  there  ever  since.  Yon  will 
find,  also,  that  his  sister  has  been  brought  down  to  give 
evidence  against  you ;  and  every  inquiry  that  you  make 
will  prove  to  you,  more  and  more  strongly,  that  it  was 
he  who  pointed  you  out  to  the  police  as  the  man,  erea 
when  suspicion  had  very  naturally  fallen  upon  two  other 
persons." 

Harry  Martin  walked  up  and  down  the  narrow  spaee 
of  the  cell,  in  a  state  of  terrible  agitation.  **  So,  so  ! " 
he  said,  **  this  is  the  game  !  He  shall  smart  for  it ! — I 
wish  I  had  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  that's  all ;  but  I 
will  have  my  day,  yet.  Never  mind — revenge  will  oome, 
and  it  is  sweet !" 

**  It  is,  indeed  !"  said  Lieberg,  with  a  tone  of  such 
earnestness,  that  no  one  could  doubt  he  felt  the  bumifig 
passion,  the  hell-thirst  of  which  he  spoke,  vnth  stioag 
intensity,  notwithstanding  the  calm  and  indifferent  de- 
meanour which  he  so  generally  affected.  **  It  is,  indeed," 
he  said,  **  and  no  man  who  Imows  how  sweet  it  is,  lets 
slip  the  opportunity  when  presented  to  him.  The  way 
before  you,  my  good  fHend,  is  open,  and  easy;  give  me 
those  papers,  or,  if  you  really  have  them  not,  fiimish  me 
with  the  proofs,  which  I  know  you  possess,  against  iht 
boy,  William  Ekurham,  and  you  at  once  save  your  own 
life,  and  gain  your  revenge  against  him  ;  for  I  tell  you 
fairly,  it  is  at  him  I  strike." 

**Pooh!  nonsense !— don't  talk  to  me,"  cried  Hairy 
Martin ;  **  it's  his  sister  you  want.  You  care  devilish 
little  about  him.  Do  you  think  to  come  humbugging  me 
in  that  manner!" 

**  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Liebei^g,  sternly;  **  I  ■»? 
seek  revenge  upon  them  both,  and  so  may  you,  too,  for 
she  is  as  much  your  enemy  as  he  is,  and  has  come  down 
for  the  express  purpose  of  giving  evidence  against  you. ' 


MORLEY  ERXSTEIN. 


525 


«  Not  she !"  cried  Harry  Martin;  « that's  a  lie— I'll 
never  believe  it  !** 

"  I  tell  yon,  she  arrived  in  York  last  night,  with  Mr. 
Carr,"  replied  Lieberg;  *^  and,  as  you  know,  the  trial 
eomes  on  the  day  after  to-morrow/' 

**  She'll  give  no  evidence  against  me,  I'm  sure,"  said 
Harry  Martin,  gazing  down  upon  the  floor,  but  speaking 
in  a  less  assured  tone  than  he  had  used  before.  *'  I 
don't  think  she  would,  if  her  life  were  at  stake." 

Lieberg's  farther  arguments  made  some  impres- 
sion:— 

Harry  Martin  seemed  shaken.  He  sat  down  at  the 
table,  he  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  the  work- 
ings of  his  countenance  told  how  strong  was  the  emotion 
within  him.  Lieberg  watched  him,  with  eyes  terribly 
skilled  in  reading  the  passions  and  weaknesses  of  the 
human  heart ;  and  after  he  had  paused  for  a  moment,  to 
let  what  he  had  said  have  full  effect,  he  went  on — *^  So 
much  for  the  girl  I — and  you  must  recollect,  that  if  she 
refuses  to  swear  that  you  are  the  man,  and  assigns  for 
the  reason  that  her  life  had  been  spared,  even  tl^t  will 
tell  against  you,  in  some  degree.  Then  comes  her  bro- 
ther, and  says  all  that  he  knows  of  you ;  then  come  I 
myself,  and  swear  to  you  positively.  Now,  if  you  do 
what  I  want,  you  sweep  away  the  whole  of  this  mass  of 
eridenoe  at  once,  and,  in  fact,  may  be  said  to  set  your- 
lelffree.'' 

**  Why,  how  so  1 "  cried  Harry  Martin.  "  How  would 
that  prevent  her  giving  her  evidence  I " 

''Do  you  think  she  would  give  her  evidence  against 
"ou,  if  by  so  doing  she  condenmed  her  own  brother  to 
death!"  demanded  Lieberg,  in  a  low, but  emphatic  tone; 
*'  and  I  promise  you,  she  shall  have  that  before  her  eyes, 
at  all  events." 

Harry  Martin  gazed  at  him  from  under  his  bent 
brows,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  a  variety  of  different 
expressions  passed  over  the  prisoner's  countenance,  from 
which  the  dark,  keen  eye  of  Lieberg  could  extract  no 
information  in  regard  to  what  was  passing  in  his  bosom. 
All  that  his  tempter  could  divine  was,  that  he  was 
shaken,  that  his  resolution  wavered,  though  there  was  a 
certain  look  of  scorn  mingled  with  all  the  shades  that 
flitted  across  Martin's  face,  which  was  not  very  pleasant 
to  his  proud  companion.  He  failed  not,  however,  to  ply 
him  with  every  argument,  to  tempt  him  by  every  induce- 
ment, and  Martin  sat  and  listened,  sometimes  gazing  full 
upon  Lieberg  sometimes  bending  his  eyes  down  upon  the 
table,  sometimes  frowning  heavily,  and  sometimes  in- 
dulging in  a  flickering  smile,  which  crossed  his  counte- 
nance like  the  lights  that  we  occasionally  see  carried 
across  the  open  windows  of  a  house,  the  tenant  of  which 
we  know  not,  as  we  travel  past  it  in  a  dark  night. 

*  Well  now.  Sir,"  he  said,  at  length,  looking  up  with 
a  softened  look  in  Lieberg's  fiwje — ^  Well  now.  Sir,  sup- 
pose I  were  to  do  as  you  wish,  what  surety  should  I 
have  that  you  will  stand  by  me,  in  the  time  of  need  {" 

Lieberg  bent  down  his  head,  speaking  across  the 
table,  and  replied,  ''I  will  acknowledge  this  night  in 
presence  of  the  turnkey,  that  in  seeing  you,  and  hearing 
your  voice,  I  have  become  convinced  you  are  not  one  of 
the  men  who  broke  into  Mr.  Carr's  house,  at  Yelverly." 

'^  That  might  do,"  said  Harry  Martin,  in  a  thoughtful 
tone — *^  that  would  go  a  great  way ;  but  don't  you  think 
it  would  be  a  lie!" 

**A  lie  I"  exclaimed  Lieberg,  with  his  lip  curling — 
"  Are  you  fool  enough  to  suppose,  that  a  man  of  the 
world  cares  two  straws  about  the  mere  empty  shade  of 
truth,  when  a  great  and  important  object  is  to  be  ob- 
tained! Where  is  the  minister,  the  statesman,  the 
patriot,  who  ever  dreams  of  the  abstract  truth  or  false- 
hood of  a  particular  proposition  \  The  greatest  reformer 
that  ever  lived,  who  harangues  multitudes  upon  corrup- 
tion, and  all  the  evils  that  afflict  a  state  or  a  religion, 
will  no  more  scruple  to  falsify  the  truth  in  regard  to  an 
opponent,  or  to  teU  a  bare  f&lsehood  to  gain  an  end,  than 
a  schoolboy  will  to  rob  an  orchard.  Take  them  all,  from 
Luther  down  to  the  lowest  of  your  puritymongers  in  this 
happy  island,  and  you  will  find  that  there  is  not  one  of 
(hem  who  considers  truth  and  falsehood,  except  in  refer- 


ence to  the  end  they  have  in  view.  Away  with  such 
nonsense  between  us — it  is  only  fit  for  a  schoolmistress's 
homily  to  girls  of  twelve  years  old.  I  will  do  what  I 
say,  and  that  is  sufficient ;  and  ere  your  trial  comes  on, 
I  will  so  contrive  to  tutor  Helen  Barham  that  she  shall 
work  your  acquittal,  without  committing  herself." 

"That  will  do—that  will  do!"  said  Harry  Martin, 
meditating.  "  But  then.  Sir,  I  thought  you  intended  to 
have  your  revenge  upon  this  young  woman.  I  should 
not  be  sorry  to  have  mine  upon  that  scoundrel,  her 
brother.  Now  let  me  see ;  though  we  jump  together  in 
that,  I  should  not  like  the  poor  girl  ill  treated  at  all — 
I  don't  suppose  you  would  ever  go  to  strike  a  woman,  or 
to  punish  her  in  that  sort  of  way,  at  all  I " 

Lieberg  smiled  contemptuously,  and  replied — ^'^You 
cannot  understand,  my  good  friend,  the  nature  of  the 
revenge  I  seek;  but  be  satisfied !  It  is  nothing  of  the 
kind  you  imagine." 

'  ^  But  I  should  like  to  know  what  it  is.  Sir,"  said 
Harry  Martin—"  I  should  much  like  to  know  what  it  is 
before  I  consent. — Anything  in  reason,  but  no  violence ! " 

His  tone  was  very  much  altered,  and  Lieberg  marked 
with  no  light  satisfaction  that  everything  promised  well 
for  his  purposes. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  at  length,  **  my  revenge  should  be 
this  :  to  force  her  to  be  mine,  to  bind  her  to  myself  by 
ties  she  loathes  and  abhors — to  bow  her  pride  to  the 
dust,  by  none  of  the  ill-treatment  that  yon  dream  of,  but 
by  caresses  that  she  hates — ay,  and  daily  to  know  that 
her  situation,  as  my  paramour,  is  a  pang  and  an  anguish 
to  her,  while  she  has  no  means  of  freeing  herself  from 
the  bond!" 

"  Well  I"  cried  Harry  Martin,  starting  up,  with  such 
fhry  that  he  overset  the  table,  "  you  are  a  damneder 
scoundrel  than  I  thought  man  could  be  !  Get  out,  or  I 
will  dash  you  to  atoms !"  And  at  the  same  moment  he 
seized  Lieberg  by  the  shoulder,  as  if  to  cast  him  head- 
long forth  from  the  door. 

To  his  surprise,  however,  he  found  that,  notwithstand- 
ing all  his  own  great  strength,  he  could  not  move  him  in 
the  least,  and  that  the  dark  man  before  him  stood  rooted 
like  a  rock  to  the  floor. 

"  Beware  ! "  said  Lieberg,  lifting  up  his  finger  with  a 
scomfhl  smile,  as  the  prisoner  drew  back  in  some  aston- 
ishment— ^  beware ! "  and  at  the  same  moment  one  of  the 
turnkeys  opened  the  door  to  inquire  what  was  the  matter. 

Lieberg  went  out  without  making  any  reply,  and  the 
prisoner  was  once  more  left  alone. 

"  Ay,"  said  Martin  when  he  was  by  himself ;  **  now  if 
they  lukve  a  cell  in  the  place  fit  to  receive  a  man  that  has 
murdered  his  own  father,  they  should  put  that  fellow 
into  it.  How  the  scoundrel  was  taken  in,  to  tell  all  his 
rascality ! — I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it — she'll  never 
'peach.  I  know  a  little  bit  about  women,  too,  and  I'll 
bet  my  life  she  doesn't  say  a  word — only  those  rascally 
fellows  may  get  it  out  of  her ;  those  lawyers.  I  have 
seen  them  puzzle  a  cleverer  head  than  hers  with  their 
questions.  However,  we  will  see  :  a  man  can  but  die 
once,  and  I'd  rather  do  that  while  I'm  about  it,  than 
give  the  poor  girl  up  into  fhe  hands  of  such  an  infernal 
villain  as  that,  even  if  I  had  the  papers  to  give  him, 
which,  thank  God,  I  have  not! — ^for  no  man  can  tell 
what  he  will  do  when  he  is  tempted. — I  suppose  it  will 
go  hard  with  me  after  all !"  and  with  this  not  very  plea- 
sant reflection,  Martin  oast  himself  into  a  chair,  and  ap- 
peared to  give  himself  up  to  calculate  the  chances  for 
and  against  himself,  with  a  heavy  brow  and  a  sad  and 
anxious  eye. 

The  day  of  trial  came,  and  Count  Lieberg'g 
evidence,  dexterous  as  he  was,  did  not  without  su- 
spicion stand  an  acute  cross-examination : — 

Lieberg  left  the  witness-box  with  a  frowning  brow, 
but  took  a  place  in  the  court  to  see  the  rest  of  the  pro- 
ceedings. At  the  next  name  that  was  called,  there  were 
two  hearts  that  beat  in  the  court — that  of  the  prisoner, 
and  Ihit  of  Count  Lieberg  ;  but  it  was  the  heart  of  the 
latter  which  throbbed  most  violently  when  the  crier  pro- 
nounced the  words— **  Helen  Barham  !"  He  looked 
round  the  people,  and  thought  it  strange  to  see  the  in« 


526 


SUMMER  READING. 


difference  upon  the  fkoes  of  all  ;  for  so  intense  were  his 
own  sensations,  that  he  forgot  the  crowd  were  not  aware 
who  Helen  Barham  wa«,  and  that  the  name,  for  aught 
they  knew,  might  appertain  to  some  inferior  person  in 
the  household  of  Mr.  Carr.  When  she  appeared,  how- 
ever, and  lifted  her  veil,  her  extraordinary  loTeliness 
produced  at  first  a  dead  silence,  and  then  a  low  murmur 
of  admiration.  Helen's  cheek,  which  was  unusually 
pale  when  she  entered,  grew  crimson  as  she  saw  the 
multitude  of  eyes  upon  her,  and  read  in  every  look  the 
effect  of  her  beauty  upon  the  crowd.  To  one,  feeling  as 
she  did,  that  admiration  was  a  very  painfiil  part  of  a 
situation  already  too  terrible.  She  turned  pale  again — 
she  turned  red — she  felt  as  if  she  should  faint ;  and, 
while  in  this  state,  an  old  mumbling  officer  of  the  court 
put  a  book  into  her  hand,  ran  over  indistinctly  some 
words  she  did  not  hear,  and  then  added,  in  a  louder 
tone — ^**  Kiss  the  book  ! "  Helen  obeyed  mechanically  ; 
and,  after  a  short  pause,  to  allow  her  to  recover  herself, 
her  examination  began.  The  counsel  for  the  crown  ad- 
dressed her  in  a  softened  voice  ;  and  while  she  spoke  in 
answer  to  his  questions,  and  detailed  all  that  had  occur- 
red on  the  night  of  the  robbery,  the  prisoner,  Martin, 
never  took  his  eyes  from  her  face.  At  the  same  time,  the 
dark  light  of  Lieberg's — if  I  may  use  a  term  which 
seems  a  contradiction — poured  upon  her  countenance  un- 
ceasingly. It  seemed  as  if  he  were  trying  to  intimidate 
her  by  that  stem  fixed  gaze  ;  but  Helen  had  now  regain- 
ed her  composure,  and  proceeded  unwavering,  with  her 
soft  mnsical  voice,  in  a  tone  low  indeed,  but  so  clear, 
that  each  word  was  heard  by  every  ear.  There  was  no 
backwardness — no  hesitation  ;  and  there  was  not  a  heart 
in  that  hall  which  did  not  feel  she  was  uttering  the  sim- 
ple, undisguised  truth.  She  told  how  she  had  been 
awakened  ;  how  she  had  seen  the  face  of  one  of  the  rob- 
bers ;  how  she  had  uttered  an  involuntary  cry  ;  how  he 
had  rushed  towards  her,  with  the  intention  of  burying 
her  testimony  against  him  in  the  silence  of  the  grave,  and 
how  he  had  spared  her. 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  while  a  tear  or  two  ran 
over  her  cheek,  and  hers  were  not  the  only  eyes  in  the 
court  that  shed  bright  drops. 

She  then  went  on  to  tell  all  that  had  occurred  after- 
wards, till  the  period  when  she  was  left  alone  in  Sheffield ; 
and  then  the  counsel  took  a  grave,  and  somewhat  sterner 
tone  with  her,  saying — "  Miss  Barham,  I  feel  deeply  for 
your  situation,  after  the  promise  that  you  have  made, 
for  the  purpose  of  saving  your  life  ;  but  before  I  propose 
to  you  the  question  which  I  am  about  to  ask,  I  beg  to 
remind  yon,  first,  that  no  promise,  exacted  under  fear  of 
death,  can  be  held  binding  for  one  moment  ;  secondly, 
that  yon  have  a  duty  to  your  God  and  to  your  country  to 
perform — to  the  laws,  and  to  society  in  general,  which 
duty  must  be  accomplished  unflinchingly ;  and  I  now 
ask  you,  by  that  duty,  however  much  pain  it  may  give 
you — Do  you,  or  do  you  not,  see  in  this  court  the  man 
whose  fiice  you  beheld  on  the  night  in  question  T' 

Helen  paused,  and  there  waa  a  dead  silence  through 
the  whole  hall. 

**  I  will  not  prevaricate  in  the  least,"  she  replied,  in 
a  voice  still  firm,  though  her  face  was  very  pale, "  and  I 
know  fully  what  I  expose  myself  to  ;  but  I  will  not 
answer,  in  any  way,  a  question  which  endangers  the  life 
of  a  man  who  spared  mine  when  my  death  would  have 
ensured  his  safety.  I  will  not  say,  whether  I  do  see  him 
or  do  not  see  him,  and  I  will  bear  no  testimony  against 
him  whatsoever." 

Again  there  was  a  profound  silence  in  the  court ; 
and  then  the  counsel  expostulated,  and  the  judge,  in  a 
mild  but  serious  manner,  brought  forward  every  argu- 
ment which  could  be  adduced,  to  persuade  Helen  Bar- 
ham to  answer  the  question  asked  her ;  but  nothing 
moved  her,  and  when  he  added  a  threat  of  using  the 
authority  with  which  he  was  invested  for  punishing  con- 
tempt of  the  court,  she  replied  in  a  mild  and  humble,  but 
Btill  a  firm  tone—**  I  came  hither,  my  lord,  with  a  fhll 
knowledge  of  what  you  might  be  obliged  to  do  ;  and  I 
have  only  to  beseech  you,  in  consideration  of  the  circum- 
stonoes  in  which  I  am  placed,  to  deal  with  me  as  len- 
iently as  possible,  believing  that  it  is  a  firm  belief  I 


should  be  committing  a  great  crimB,  were  1  to  let  otiier- 
wise,  that  makes  me  maintain  a  silence  which,  whatcrw 
it  may  be  called,  does  not  border  in  the  slightest  degree 
upon  contempt.*' 

The  good  judge  looked  down,  evidently  distreMedftad 
punled  how  to  act.  But  the  counsel  for  the  crowm — 
resolved  at  all  events  to  gain  some  admianoB  wfakk 
might  prove  the  twci  he  wanted  to  establiah— demaiidedy 
somewhat  suddenly — ^  Is  it  your  final  determmatkM, 
Miss  Barham,  not  to  point  out  in  this  court  the  man 
whose  f&ce  you  saw  on  the  night  in  question  !** 

**  I  did  not  say  he  was  in  the  court,"  replied  Ueiat, 
who  had  studiously  kept  her  eyes  turned  fipom  the  dock 
ever  since  she  entered — *^  I  know  not  whether  ho  is  in 
the  court  or  not.  I  merely  said  that  I  would  not  maswm 
any  question  on  the  subject.  If  it  were  to  affect  my 
life  itself,  I  would  make  the  same  reply ;  for  tliat  life 
which  he  spared  he  has  every  right  to  requiro  a^ain,  if 
by  the  sacrifice  of  it  his  own  can  be  shielded." 

**  I  fear,"  said  the  judge,  **  that  the  dignity  of  tbe  eevt 
must  be  vindicated.  .Miss  Barham,  I  warn  you,  that  if  yoa 
still  refuse  to  give  evidence,  I  must  commit  you  ftir  eon- 
tempt,  as  the  most  lenient  method  of  dealing  with  yoo." 

Helen  bowed  her  beautiful  head,  replying,  in  a  lov 
tone — "  I  know  it  my  lord." 

**  Let  the  warrant  be  made  out,"  said  the  judge  ;  ''and 
let  the  witness  be  removed  in  custody." 

As  he  saw  Helen  quitting  the  witness-box  in  ohaiyt 
of  the  officers  of  the  oourt,  Harry  Murtin  took  m  quick 
step  forward  to  the  front  of  the  dook,  as  if  about  to 
but  at  that  moment  a  warning  voice  was  hoard 
the  crowd,  exclaiming—"  Harry  1" 

His  eyes  ran  rapicUy  round  to  that  side  of  the 
and  he  saw  his  wife  with  her  two  hands  clasped,  _ 
with  a  look  of  agony  in  his  face.  He  instantly 
down  his  eyes  again,  and  drew  slightly  back,  while  one 
of  his  companions  in  captivity  whLpered — ^  Well,  tlot 
girl  is  a  diamond  1" 

The  reader  has  by  this  time  perceived  that  this 
diflPers  materially  from  Mr.  James's  former  style 
of  romance.     "[Die  plot — ^that  is,  the  mifiunder- 
standings,  cross-purposes,  changed  childran,  &c., 
&c. — ^may  not  be  in  any  wise  remarkable,  but  the 
characters  are  in  general  tme  hoih  to  individnAl 
and  universal  nature,  while  the  interest  is  well 
kept  up,  and  the  narrative  clear  and  distiiiet. 
These  are  great  merits,  independently  of  a  gimee- 
ful,  lively,  and  correct  style;  and  it  is  another 
merit  that  all  ends  happily  for  the  good,  while  tl» 
humanly  frail  and  erring  are  reclaim^  throng 
merely  and  the  irredeemably  vicious  meet  their 
deserts.    It  was  impossible  that  the  loyely  Joliet 
Carr  could  be  the  true  daughter  of  the   crafty, 
sordid  miser.    Helen  Bartiam,  released  by  death 
from  the  weak  and  worthless  brother  whom  to 
the  last  she  so  fondly  cherished,  is  found  to  be  the 
heiress  of  great  wealth,  and  has  it  in  her  power  to 
repay  the  noble  generosity  of  Sur  Morley,  who  had 
been  the  innocent  means  of  keeping  her  father  and 
brother  from  their  estates,  which  he  at  onoe  latond 
on  the  true  owner  being  discovered.     Morley  is, 
however,  still  rich  enough ;  and  at  the  close  of  all, 
one  feels  much  less  interest  in  the  happily  married 
pair  than  in  the  virgin  lady  of  the  lan<^  and  her 
reformed  steward  Harry  Martin,  who  in  Italy  had 
been  her  deliverer  from  the  mortal  peril  triiich, 
through  the  attempts  of  Count  Lieberg,  had  me- 
naced her  honour  and  her  life.    This  is  the  gncefol 
close  of  this  well-told  tale : — 

For  Morley,  he  was  happier  than  even  ImigtartJimj 
warmed  by  love  and  expectation,  had  been  able  to  faint ; 
and  with  Juliet  by  his  side,  let  it  be  said,  tbe  |«od 
<*  Tenant  of  the  Hearty"  the  hi^  the  holy,  and  the  pare 


MORLEY  ERNSTEIN. 


527 


- — the  spirit  of  the  soul,  maintained  a  perpetual  sway 
o^ier  her  more  earthly  comrade. 

Some  five  or  six  years  after  the  period  of  this  tale,  the 
trffvo  cottai^s,  which  we  have  described  as  seated  in  the 
little  glen  near  Warmstone  Castle,  appeared  thrown  into 
ooe,  decorated  with  shrubs  and  flowers,  and,  generally, 
"•rith  three  or  four  rosy  children  running  about  the  doors. 
IBVom  ihe  little  garden-gate  every  morning,  half  an  hour 
After  son-rise,  might  be  seen  to  ride  forth  a  very  power- 
ful man,  growing,  perhaps,  a  little  heavy  withal,  but 
mounted  on  a  stout  Yorkshire  horse,  well  fitted  to  carry 
MflL.  The  labourers  and  tenants  touched  their  hat  to 
tlie  steward  ;  and,  though  with  a  wary  and  a  watchful 
eye  he  perambulated  the  property,  seeing  that  no  injus- 
tie«  was  done  to  his  beloved  mistress,  yet  all  the  people 
on  the  land  declared  that  Mr.  Martin  was  a  kind,  good 
mjui  ;  that  he  was  tender  to  the  poor,  charitable  to  all, 
Hbend  to  ihe  active  and  industrious,  and,above  all  things, 
element,  and  no  way  harsh  to  an  unconfirmed  wrong- 
doer ;  fbr  he  himself  well  knew,  that,  virfaatever  magis- 
trates or  lawgivers  may  say,  Mereyhaa  power  to  reclaim. 
And  of  her,  the  mistress  of  the  mansion,  what  have  we 
to  tell  t  That  Helen  remained  Helen  Barham  still,  in 
mind,  in  character,  as  well  as  in  name.  If  there  was  re- 
gret resting  as  a  shade  upon  her  mind,  if  there  was  dis- 
appointment amongst  the  memories  of  the  heart,  the 
pore,  high  spirit  veiled  them  from  all  eyes  ;  and  though 
I  must  not  say  she  9l/ruggled  mth  them — ^for  there  was 
nothing  like  contention  in  her  breast,  after  Juliet  and 
Morley  were  once  united — yet  die  repressed  all  selfish 
feelings,  and  saw  the  happiness  that  their  union  pro- 
dnoed  with  a  bright  though  grave  tranquillity.  She  laid 
oat  for  herself,  IVom  that  moment,  her  course  of  life.  In 
the  Ikir  and  calm  abode  which  seemed  to  have  been  pre- 
pared expressly  for  her,  she  passed  her  flitore  years  in 


diffiising  happiness  and  sunshine  round  her.  The  cottage 
knew  her  step  well ;  and  a  class  above  that  found  her  a 
kind  and  indulgent  lady,  healing  all  wounds,  reconciling 
all  difilerences,  and  silencing  clamour  and  complaint.  It 
was  very  seldom  throughout  the  whole  neighbourhood, 
that  sweet  smile,  and  that  soft  voice,  would  not  prevail, 
even  where  every  harsher  means  had  been  tried  in  vain. 
She  W9S  a  good  neighbour,  too,  and  a  good  friend  ;  and 
her  beauty,  her  extraordinary  beauty,  remained  undi- 
minished for  many  years.  It  was  as  if  the  pure  and 
noble  spirit  had  a  balmy  and  preserving  infiuence  even 
upon  her  corporeal  frame.  There  is  one  thing  strange, 
however,  in  regard  to  her  &te  ;  though  many  admired 
the  lovely  woman,  and  many  coveted  the  hand  of  the 
wealthy  heiress,  no  one  ever  ventured  to  ask  that  boon 
of  Helen  Barham. 

Several  years  afterwards  she  besought  Juliet  to  allow 
her  to  adopt  one  of  her  children,  and  make  him  heir  of 
the  property  which  had  once  been  his  father's.  The  boy 
spent  several  months  with  her  in  each  succeeding  year  ; 
and  once — but  only  once — as  he  looked  up  vrith  a  bright 
and  beaming  smile  in  Helen's  &ce,  while  she  parted  the 
beautiful  hair  upon  his  brow,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  she  clasped  him  to  her  bosom,  with  emotions  that 
could  not  be  restrained. 

And  Lieberg  I  Was  nothing,  then,  ever  heard  of  him  ! 
Can  one  form  no  conjecture,  iMhcked  by  sufficient  proba- 
bilities, of  his  real  fiite  t 

Reader,  his  body  was  never  found ;  but  his  spirit, 
alas  !  still  lives,  and  pervades  too  many  a  scene,  blasting 
with  its  presence  what  otherwise  might  be  bright.  Hap- 
py is  the  man  who  has  not  a  Lieberg  always  very,  very 
near  him  I 

Where! 

In  his  own  heart ! 


SONGS  OP  THE  MONTHS- 


KO.  VII. — THE  SONG  OF  JULY. 


''Pbo  I  how  hot  1  how  very  hot  T  yon  cry,  ^thia  is  quite 

horrid  r 
"Hs  I  that  breathe  upon  vou,  I,  July  the  dry  and  torrid. 
I  started  from  Sahara  wide,  and  baited  at  Morocco  ; 
Thenee,  swept  the  hau^ty  midland  sea  on  wings  of  the 

SIroeoo. 
Stziiia  bean  ay  toreh  on  high,  earth  holds  no  thing  I  ohar 

not; 
The  wide  heath  is  my  Congreve-box,  the  forest  old  my 

Amott. 
The  tall  rye  I  will  sooroh  and  parch,  till  his  rough  beard 

is  yellow ; 
And  roast  the  pear  in  hia  tough  skin,  until  the  rogue  is 

mellow. 
Ill  stop  your  springs,  and  dry  your  wells,  and  make  your 

rivers  shallow, 
And  lay  the  rushes  in  the  marsh,  dead  on  the  prostrate 
iBaUow. 

Ay  1  do  that  I  wiU  ; 
While  you  shall  pant 
Like  elephant 
Toiling  up  a  hiU. 
Dfouth  shall  make  you  wish  to  booie 

For  ever ; 
Fatigue  invite  you  to  a  snooze 
Come  never  I 
For  ordure-fed  flies,  my  own  hybrids, 

In  your  mouth  ever  anxious  to  drown, 
Shall  dance  a  Scots  fling  on  your  eyelids. 
The  moment  sleep  coaxes  them  down. 
Then  hover  till  Sampson's  dread  weapon  is  dropping. 
And  the  moment  occurs  o*er  it  safe  to  be  hopping. 
Yet,  fribbling  thus,  I  creep  down  to  the  roots 

Of  the  oaks,  in  their  sinewy  grasp. 
Whence,  forth  in  the  Navy  my  energy  shoots, — 

For  the  Nations  all  wonder,  and  gasp 
At  the  thunder  of  Engknd  still  awing  the  world, 
With  the  flag  of  her  Frekmen  for  ever  unfhrl'd  t 


'^  Oh,  this  meat  I  delicious  meat !"  you  sigh,  ^  already 's 

tainted  ! 
And  this  nice  pigeon-pie  is  sour ;  and  see !  my  wife  has 

hinted  V* 
Aha !  I  found  your  larder  out,  with  malice  preconcerted. 
Your  venison  touch'd,  your  pasty  spoil'd,  and  with  your 

mistress  flirted : 
0 1  close  I  hugg'd  her  in  my  arms,  as  mine  own  crisp- 

hair'd  Negress ; 
But  the  poor  fool's  soul,  at  every  sense,  beat  languidly 

for  egress : — 
Pull  death  she  feign'd  in  my  embrace  !  so  down  I  flung 

the  vixen, — 
Is  she  immortal  Juno  t  Bah !  July  is  not  an  Ixion  : 
I  scarcely  touch'd  her  churlish  lips,  which  paled  before 

my  pleasure ; 
But  I  will  have  revenge  enow  at  mine  own  loyal  leisure. 
Ay  t  for  that  I  vouch ; 
To  mar  your  ease. 
Bank  bugs  and  fleas 
Shall  haunt  your  midnight  couch : 
Dreams  shall  erib  you  up  m  caves 
Eternial, 
'Midst  molten  ore,  and  sulphurous  waves 
Infernal! 
Till  much  abused  Fear, — you  may  think  it's 

Benignity  aye  when  you  speak,— 
Kicks  you  out  from  a  mountain  of  blankets, 
All  steaming,  and  dripping,  and  weak, 
Enraged  at  your  vision,  and  chafing  with  ftiry, 
That  the  year  should  contain  or  the  earth  should  endure 
me. 
But  look  at  my  glory !  Reftdgent  from  high, 

While  old  Swithin  is  shedding  his  tears. 
My  pageant  of  ghMiness  is  coming,— 'tis  nigh — 
I  bave  gilded  the  barley-corn's  ears. 
And  the  sickle  I've  crook'd  to  the  husbandman's  hand, 
I  have  ripened  the  harvest,  and  blessed  the  land  I 


528 


SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS :— AUGUST. 


KO.  VIII. — THE  SONG  OF  AUGUST. 


What  wings  be  they  make  the  Dottrel  flinch  ? 
The  Aberdevine's,  and  the  mountain  finch, 

I'  th'  forest  tree  : 
They  tell  of  thick  clouds  in  the  northern  sky, 
Where  the  snow-flake's  gathering  cold  and  high. 

They  tell  of  me  ! 
They  proclaim  me  the  Son  of  the  gentle  South, 
With  her  balmy  breath,  and  her  honied  mouth, 
Who,  launching  rich  joy  on  the  flagon's  foam. 
Fills  every  soul  at  the  harvest-home  : 
And  they  follow  me  forth,  like  hordes  of  men, 
From  hyperborean  steppe  and  glen. 
Ah  I  never  has  conqueror's  back  been  turned 
On  acre  of  mine  which  his  sword  has  earned  ; 
And  never  was  hind,  or  pale  oppidan. 
But  sighed  for  the  South,  a  desiring  man. — 
The  cucumber  cool,  and  the  black-currant's  juice. 
To  your  feverish  lips  I  introduce  ; 
The  gooseberry  ripe  I  offer,  and  bring 
The  luscious-pulp'd  peach  to  your  banqueting. 
While  blazing  gems  from  old  Midnight's  crown 
I  will  snatch  from  the  sky,  and  fling  you  down. 
Your  bam  doors  I'll  ope, 
And  cram  to  the  cope, 
With  toil  for  the  peasant,  and  tithe  for  the  Pope  : 
For  oysters  I'll  grope. 
With  dredgers  and  rope, 
And  give  you  their  slime,  for,  grant  me  the  trope. 
You  are  greedy  of  garbage  as  Ck>rmorant  Hope, 
Which  still  devours  and  sickens  still  of  all  within  its 
scope. 


All  meekness  is  mine;  winds  barely  enough 

To  shake  the  rock  samphire  and  gladden  the  Chirag^ 

Or  ripple  the  sea  : 
Yet,  laden  vrith  riches,  a  boisterous  throng 
Of  truant  boys,  bold  in  their  daring  and  wrong, 

WUl  follow  me ! 
I  saw  them  but  now,  scour  the  stubble  in  swarms. 
With  pinafores  pursed,  and  hats  hundreds  of  forraa  ; 
Thence  tivy'd  they  all,  with  speed  of  a  sledge. 
And  buried  them  deep  in  the  hazel  hedge; 
Save  one,  who  perched  him  in  yew-tree  as  scout. 
With  wicked  eyes  peering  for  ever  about. 
Now  in  yon  Orchard,  stealthy  and  dumb. 
Crunching  the  apple,  and  plucking  the  plumb. 
How  happy  be  they !  and,  proud  of  their  cheer. 
Think  August  the  jolliest  month  of  the  year. — 
Fresh  notes  I  prepare  for  the  woodland  choir. 
Give  his  voice  to  the  Daw  in  the  ancient  spire; 
The  bull-rush  I  deck  veith  a  velvet  cap. 
And  arouse  the  plough  from  his  summer  nap : 
And,  hark  you !  my  sparrows  I've  led  to  your  ricks. 
Haste,  thatcher,  haste  1  with  your  te^ering  sticks  : 
And  cook,  get  your  coke. 
Make  jam-kettles  smoke, 
I  will  flll  them  with  ftragrance  to  shame  your  chiboque : — 
Where  water-plants  soak 
Life's  music  's  awoke  : 
Hear  you  the  whistle,  the  cackle,  and  croak, 
While  the  grasshopper  chirrups  in  his  russet  doaJc, 
And  bats  flit  round  on  plumeless  wings,  that  gladdea  ia 
the  oak! 

J.  A.  O. 


MOFFATVS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN 
SOUTHERN  AFRICA.* 


This,  in  its  leading  feature,  the  personal  record 
of  its  author,  is  a  very  remarkable  book,  and  one 
which  is  better  calculated  to  show  the  utility  of 
missions  to  Africa  than  any  work  that  has  appear- 
ed for  many  years  back.  It  is  the  narrative  of  a 
man  who  has  been  for  twenty-three  years  a  faith- 
ful and  diligent  labourer  among  the  heathen,  as 
the  agent,  in  South  Africa,  of  the  London  Mis- 
sionary Society, — of  a  man  of  quick  intelligence, 
and  remarkable  sagacity,  and  one  who  ap- 
pears to  have  been  in  every  way  singularly  well 
adapted  to  the  difficult  situation  into  which  Provi- 
dence has  thrown  him.  From  youth  to  middle  age 
he  has  spent  his  life  in  privations,  vicissitudes,  and 
dangers,  of  which  stay-at-home  people  can  hardly 
form  an  idea ;  and  which  few  men  possess  the 
courage,  fortitude,  and  physical  hardihood  to  en- 
counter, and  much  less  to  persevere  under. 

The  missionary  to  barbarous  or  half-civilized 
countries  is  the  true  hero  of  modem  times.  He  is 
the  successor  of  the  hardy  and  enterprising  naviga- 
tor and  discoverer  of  the  middle  ages ;  though  he 
follows  in  their  track  for  much  nobler  purposes,  and 
in  the  strength  of  a  purer  spirit.  But,  independ- 
ently altogether  of  his  sacred  vocation,  we  have 
seldom  read  any  narrative  which  more  powerfully 
stirs  the  sympathies  than  this  of  Moffat ;  or  which 
interests  the  reader  more  deeply,  in  the  perils, 
conflicts,  and  personal  adventures  of  the  actor, 
and  in  the  display  of  those  varied  intellectual  and 

*  1  volume  8vo,  cloth.  With  numerous  illustrations,  and 
coloured  frontiicpiece.    Pp.  ii'24,    London :  Suow, 


physical  qualities  and  resources  which,  in  the  face 
of  what  seemed  insurmountable  obstacles,  has  en- 
abled him  to  work  what  looks  like  miracles,  amon^ 
the  barbarous  tribes  for  whose  improvement  Ke 
has  laboured  with  untiring  courage ;  often  cast 
down,  but  never  despairing.  He  and  his  coadju- 
tors may  now  be  hailed  as  the  civilizers  of  the  bar- 
harous  tribes  of  South  Africa,  whom  they  have 
conquered  and  civilized  by  Christianizing.  But 
these— civilisation  and  Christianity — are  phrases 
which  ought  to  be  synonymous. 

From  the  published  Reports  of  the  Mxasiofi- 
ary  Society,  and  the  African  Narratives  of  the 
Rev.  John  Campbell,  late  of  Kingsland,  some  of 
our  readers  must  probably  have  some  previous 
knowledge  of  the  author  of  this  work.     At  a  very 
early  age  he  was  sent  out  to  Africa  by  the  London 
Society.     The  principal  scene  of  his  missionary  la- 
bours has  been  among  iheBechuanas;  and  his  head- 
quarters is  now  the  flourishing  Kumman  Station, 
which  he  was  mainly  instrumental  in  planting.  Bot 
his  has  been  a  wandering  life,  and  one  wholly  spent 
among  '^savage  tribes  and  roving  barbarians";  nor 
does  John  Campbell  over-rate  Mofiafs  extraordi- 
nary powers  and  achievements  when  he  says, — "  To 
master  the  language  he  wandered  the  deserts  with 
the  savage  tribes,  sharing  their  perils  and  prim- 
tions.     He  outdid  Paul  in  accommodating  himself 
to  all  men,  in  order  to  save  some.    Paul  never  be- 
came a  savage  in  lot,  to  save  savages.     Many  misKt 
indeed  thus  stoop  to  conquer,  but  few  could  retain 
both  their  piety  and  philosophy  in  such  society  I" 


MOFFArS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA.     529 


On  Campbell's  siecond  journey  to  Africa,  Mr.  Moffat 
was  his  companion  from  Cape  Town  into  the  in- 
terior. Though  much  younger  in  years,  and  per- 
haps inferior  to  Campbell  in  some  secondary  at- 
tainments, we  should  infer  that  Moffat  is  a  man 
of  loftier  intellect,  and  one  who  possesses,  in  a  far 
higher  degree,  those  qualities  which  enable  the 
missionary  to  acquire  and  retain  influence  over  a 
barbarous  people.  His  personal  courage  alone,  and 
skill  in  the  chase  and  in  many  useful  arts,  must 
have  given  him  an  immense  advantage  with  the 
AMcans. 

In  the  course  of  his  long  sojourn  among  the 
Bechuanas  and  Namaquas,  and  the  neighbour- 
ing tribes,  Mr.  Moffat  has  made  several  journeys 
to  Cape  Town  on  private  business,  or  for  objects 
connected  with  his  missionary  labours.  On  one  of 
these  journeys  he  was  married  to  a  young  lady  to 
whom  he  appears  to  have  been  engaged  before  he 
left  England,  and  who  has  been  his  faithful  com- 
panion in  the  desert.  In  the  wilds  of  Africa  he 
has  had  a  large  family,  and  experienced  a  full 
share  of  domestic  affliction  and  cakmity,  though  his 
wife  must  have  been  not  only  a  very  great  addition 
to  his  happiness,  but  to  his  usefulness  as  a  labourer 
among  the  heathen.  The  year  before  last,  Mr. 
Moffat,  for  the  first  time  since  his  departure,  visited 
England,  to  give  an  account  of  his  extraordinary 
labours,  and  more  extraordinary  ultimate  success. 
This,  we  understand,  he  has  frequently  done  orally, 
bat  better  by  the  publication  of  the  interesting 
work  before  us,  which  he  has  bequeathed  as  a  le- 
gacy to  the  multitudes  of  friends  of  all  classes  who 
have  shown  him  kindness,  before  he  shall  finally 
return  to  the  far- distant  scene  of  his  labours,  his 
conflicts,  and  his  triumphs.  The  country  of  his 
adoption  has  become  that  of  his  affections ;  the 
wilderness,  now  no  longer  a  wilderness,  his  beloved 
home.  We  presume  that  Mr.  Moffat  is  now  far  on 
his  way  to  the  shores  of  Africa. 

In  an  old  note-book  of  John  Campbell's,  there 
appears  this  notice  of  Mr.  Moffat,  which  we  cite 
in  the  first  place  : — "  His  education  does  not  qua- 
lify him  to  preach  at  Cape  Town ;  but  I  believe 
him  to  be  a  first-rate  missionary  to  the  heathen. 
He  is  also  acquainted  with  agriculture,  carpentery 
work,  the  sextant,  map-making,"  &c.  &c.  A 
knowledge  of  medicine  and  surgery  appear  to  have 
been  among  Mr.  Moffat's  useful  acquirements ;  and 
with  his  own  hands  he  printed  the  Gospels,  which 
he  had  translated  into  the  language  of  the  country, 
as  well  as  school-books,  hymn-books,  and  other 
useful  tracts.  To  own  the  truth,  we  are  not  cer- 
tain that  Campbell  was  able  to  appreciate  the  full 
merits  of  this  breaker-up  of  the  fallow-ground,  in  a 
field  to  which  he  was  himself  but  a  transient  though 
a  most  useful  visiter.  As  to  Moffat  not  being  qua- 
lified to  preach  at  Cape  Town,  if  sucli  be  the  fact, 
the  fault  roust  rest  with  the  audience,  and  not  with 
the  Preacher  ; — the  actor  in,  and  the  author  of,  the 
remarkable  narrative  before  us.  Preaching — ^and 
we  wish  this  were  as  generally  understood  among 
the  clergy  as  it  is  among  the  laity — admits  of  much 
greater  variety  than  is  usually  imagined,  and  of  a 
far  wider  range  of  topics.  If  a  man  who  has  spent 
an  active  life,  replete  with  wild  adventure  and  dar- 


ing enterprize,  among  the  barbarous  hordes  of 
AMca,  propagating  the  Gospel  by  exhibiting  its 
fruits  in  his  lessons  and  in  his  life,  be  not  an  adept 
in  the  conventionahties  and  usages  of  monotonous 
sermonizing,  as  they  are  practised  among  us  and 
transmitted  from  generation  to  generation  almost 
unchanged — if  he  may  not  be  what  is  called  a 
^^  good  preacher,"  he  is  something  of  a  far  higher 
character,  which  not  one  ^^good  preacher"  in  a 
thousand  is  fitted  to  become.  A  feeUng  of  undue 
humility  has  led  Mr.  Moffat  to  make  superflu- 
ous apologies  for  the  imperfections  of  his  style, 
and  for  his  inabiUty  to  enter  upon  philosophical 
disquisition  and  analysis.  He  has  done  much 
better ;  he  has  supplied  philosophers,  and  all 
orders  of  men,  with  copious  materials,  and  much 
novel  matter  for  reflection ;  and  the  actor  in  the 
wild  scenes  he  describes,  the  witness  of  the  strange 
facts  he  relates,  could  not  fail  of  apt  expressions 
to  convey  his  own  vivid  feelings  and  recollections 
of  the  events  he  had  witnessed ;  could  not,  in  short, 
fail  to  be  imaginative  and  eloquent  in  the  best 
sense.  Moffat  is  so  in  an  eminent  degree.  He  is 
a  native  of  Scotland,  which  says  something  for  the 
early  nurture  of  the  higher  faculties  of  his  mind  ; 
and  his  residence  in  the  wilderness  has  wonderfully 
preserved  the  originality  and  raciness  of  his  mental 
constitution.  An  able  man  he  must  have  been 
under  all  circumstances ;  but  had  he  Uved  at  home, 
aiming  to  become  such  a  preacher  as,  for  a  season, 
is  pretty  sure  to  captivate  a  town  or  civilized  audi* 
ence,  he  would  probably  have  been  tamed  down 
into  respectable  mediocrity. 

He  was  accepted  by  the  Directors  of  the  Society, 
and  set  apart  for  his  work  at  the  same  time  with 
the  lamented  Williams,  the  "  Martyr  of  Erro- 
manga."  His  career  has  been  more  arduous,  his 
conflict  more  protracted ;  and  when  the  nature 
of  his  position  is  closely  examined,  his  final  suc- 
cess appears  to  us  more  remarkable.  He  has 
eminently  been  a  breaker-up  of  the  fallow-ground ; 
one  who  bears  the  burden  in  the  heat  of  the  day. 
His  volume  must,  we  imagine,  engage  the  attention 
of  many  who  are  not  particularly  interested  in 
missionary  enterprise,  from  the  curious  and  novel 
aspects  in  which  it  presents  a  portion  of  the  great 
human  family,  and  from  its  copious  additions  to 
natural  history.  Intelligent  travellers,  passing 
through  these  tribes,  describe  superficially  their 
condition  and  manners ;  but  men  like  Moffat,  who 
have  spent  a  lifetime  among  them,  studied  and  used 
their  language,  and  adopted  their  usages  so  far  as 
this  was  advisable,  becoming,  as  it  were,  children 
of  their  family,  are  able  to  do  much  moi-e.  The 
missionaries,  if  tolerably  enlightened  men,  are  cer- 
tainly much  better  qualified  to  tell  us  of  the  people 
among  whom  they  labour,  than  any  other  descrip- 
tion of  travellers. 

Mr.  Moffat's  volume  opens  with  a  general  view 
of  the  condition  of  the  tribes  of  Southern  Africa  ; 
and  a  retrospective  history  of  missions  to  that  di- 
vision of  the  great  continent.  He  begins  with 
Schmidt,  who  was  sent  forth  by  the  Moravians  to 
the  Hottentots  upwards  of  a  century  since.  The 
fascinating  history  of  Schmidt's  successful  labours 
has  long  been  familiar  to  the  world.    They  were 


5A0    MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 


suspended  by  the  jealousy  of  the  Dutch  East  India 
Company  ;  but  fifty  years  afterwards,  when  Mis- 
sionaries were  again  sent  out,  the  good  fruits  of 
Schmidt's  labours  were  still  visible,  and  his  memory 
paved  the  way  for  the  favourable  reception  of  Van- 
derkemp  and  others.  The  retrospect  of  the  vari- 
ous South- African  Missions,  from  their  commence- 
ment until  the  period  when  Mr.  Moffat  became 
himself  an  actor  in  the  scenes  he  describes,  and  the 
principal  hero  of  his  own  tale,  is  interesting,  though 
it  falls  below  the  personal  narrative,  both  from  the 
tamer  nature  of  the  events,  and  the  greater  anima- 
tion of  the  author,  when  he  comes  to  be  the  actor, 
instead  of  the  chronicler,  of  those  daring  and  peri- 
lous adventures.  From  the  Hottentots  the  mis- 
sions were  gradually  extended  to  the  Bushmen, 
the  Namaquas,  Corannas,  Griquas,  and  Bechuanas; 
the  native  converts  becoming  efficient  instruments  in 
spreading  religious  knowledge  among  their  savage 
and  nomade  neighbours.  In  1806,  the  Orange 
River  was  first  crossed  by  the  missionaries,  and  the 
mission  of  Namaqua-land  established,  under  very 
disastrous  circumstances,  by  the  brothers  Albrechts. 
A  fierce,  predatory  chief,  named  Afnoanm-^  a  name 
which  afterwards  became  familiar  and  dear  to  the 
friends  of  African  Missions,  was  at  that  time  the 
■oourge  and  terror  of  the  cooBtry,  but  particularly 
of  the  Dutch  settlers  on  the  frontier  of  the  colony. 
The  history  of  this  noble  African  is  not  a  little 
romantic.  The  first  missionaries  were  ready  to 
despond,  and  to  abandon  the  enterprise  under  the 
many  and  grievous  discouragements  ;  and,  among 
other  reasons,  from  their  proximity  to  this  noted 
freebooter  and  cattle-stealer.  One  day,  this  dreaded 
personage  appeared  at  the  station,  and  thus  ad- 
dressed them— ^ 

^  As  yoa  are  sent  by  theEnglish,  I  welcome  you  to  the 
ooontry  ;  for  thpngh  I  hate  the  Dutoh,  my  former  op- 
pressors,  I  love  the  English  ;  for  I  have  always  heard 
that  they  are  the  firieuds  of  the  poor  black  man."  .  .  . 
Jager,  the  eldest  son  of  the  old  man,  from  his  shrewd- 
ness and  prowess,  obtained  the  reins  of  the  government 
of  his  tribe  at  an  early  age.  He  and  his  father  once 
roamed  on  their  native  hills  and  dales,  within  100  miles 
of  Cape  Town  ;  pastured  their  own  flocks,  killed  their 
own  game,  drank  of  their  own  streams,  and  mingled  the 
musio  of  their  heathen  songs  with  the  winds  which  burst 
oyer  the  Witsemberg  and  Wiuterhoek  mountains,  once 
the  strongholds  of  his  clan.  As  the  Dutch  settlers 
increased,  and  found  it  necessary  to  make  room  for 
themseWes,  by  adopting  as  their  own  the  lands  which 
lay  beyond  them,  the  Hottentots,  the  aborigines,  per- 
fectly incapable  of  maintaining  their  ground  against 
these  foreign  intruders,  were  compelled  to  give  place  by 
remoTing  to  a  distance,  or  yielding  themselves  in  passive 
obedience  to  the  farmers.  From  time  to  time  he  found 
himself  and  his  people  becoming  more  remote  from  the 
land  of  their  forefathers,  till  he  became  united  and  sub- 
ject to  a  farmer  named  P .  Here  he  and  his  dimin- 
ished clan  lived  for  a  number  of  years.    In  Africaner, 

P found  a  futhfiil,  and  an  intrepid  shepherd ;  while 

his  valour  in  defending  and  increasing  the  herds  and 
flocks  of  bis  master  enhanced  his  value,  at  the  same  time 
it  rapidly  matured  the  latent  principle  which  afterwards 
recoUed  on  that  devoted  family,  and  carried  devastation 

to  whatever  quarter  he  directed  his  steps.    Had  P 

treated  his  subjects  with  common  humanity,  not  to  say 
with  gratitude,  he  might  have  died  honourably,  and  pre- 
vented the  catastrophe  which  befell  the  family,  and  the 
train  of  robbery,  crime,  and  bloodshed,  which  quickly 
followed  that  melancholy  event. 


We  omit  the  tragedy,  in  which  the  farmer,  by 
treachery,  provoked  his  fate.  When  the  horriiik 
outrage  was  completed, 

Africaner,  vrith  as  little  loss  of  time  as  possible,  rallied 
the  remnant  of  his  tribe,  and,  with  what  they  cotild  take 
with  them,  directed  their  course  to  the  Onnge  Bivdr, 
and  were  soon  beyond  the  reach  of  pursuers,  who,  in  a 
thinly-scattered  population,  required  time  to  collect  He 
fixed  his  abode  on  the  banks  of  the  Orange  River  ;  uid 
afterwards,  a  chief  ceding  to  him  his  dominion  in  Great 
Namaqua-land,  it  henceforth  became  his  by  right,  as 
well  as  by  conquest. 

The  subsequent  wild  adventures  of  this  bold 
and  generous  outlaw,  carry  the  imagination  back 
to  the  days  of  Johnny  Armstrong  and  Robin 
Hood,  or  of  the  "landless"  Macgregor;  but  his 
end  was  of  a  very  different  character.  The  man 
who  lived  in  continual  strife  ¥rith  all  around  him, 
whose  hand  was  against  every  man ;  whose  boa- 
nes8  was  rapine,  and  whose  passion  revenge ; 
whose  name  was  a  terror  not  only  to  the  oolonlatB 
on  the  north,  but  to  the  native  tribes  of  the  south ; 
^^  whose  name  carried  dismay  into  the  solitary 
places^"  became  an  eminent  instance  of  the  power 
of  the  principles  of  the  Grospel  over  a  mind  which, 
however  fierce  and  untaught,  had  never  been  trea- 
cherous nor  ungenerous.  Mr.  Mofiat  relatefl^  tiiat 
after  this  great  change  had  taken  place — 

As  I  was  Btanding  with  a  Namaqua  chief,  looking  at 
Africaner,  in  a  supplicating  attitude,  entreating  parties 
ripe  for  a  battle,  to  live  at  peace  with  each  o^er  : 
^  Look,''  said  the  wondering  chie^  pointing  to  Afri- 
caner, ^  there  is  the  man,  once  the  lion,  at  whose  roar 
even  the  inhabitants  of  distant  hamlets  fled  from  their 
homes  !  Yes,  and  I "  (patting  his  chest  with  his  hand) 
**  have,  for  fear  of  his  approach,  fled  vrith  my  people, 
our  wives  and  our  babes,  to  the  mountain  glen,  or  to  the 
wilderness,  and  spent  nights  among  beasts  of  prey, 
rather  than  gaze  on  the  eyes  of  this  lion,  or  hear  hU 
roar." 

Another  native  chief^  with  whom  Airioaner  was 
at  deadly  feud,  was  named  Berend.  Several  of 
their  bloody  conflicts  and  cattle  forays  are  de- 
scribed, in  which  great  skill  as  well  as  prowess 
were  displayed  upon  both  sides.  Theirs  were 
generally  drawn  battles,  and  they  continned  to 
harass  and  to  breathe  hatred  and  defiance  to  each 
other,  until  Berend  also  was  subdued  by  the  power 
of  the  Gospel  of  Peace.  Probably  both  the  chiefs 
about  the  same  time  began  to  perceive  the  unpro- 
fitable nature  of  their  sanguinary  quarrels.  Of 
Nicholas  Berend,  a  brother  of  the  chie^  and  one  of 
his  best  captains,  it  is  told  that  he  was  afterwards 
attached  to  different  missions  as  a  native  teadier. 
He  was,  says  Moffat, — 

A  very  superior  man  both  in  appearanoe  and  intellect 
I  have  frequently  travelled  with  him,  and  many  a  dreary 
mile  have  we  walked  over  the  wilderness  together. 
Having  an  excellent  memory,  and  good  descriptfre 
powers,  he  has  often  beguiled  the  dreariness  of  the  road, 
by  rehearsing  deeds  of  valour  in  days  of  heathenism,  ia 
which  this  struggle  with  Africaner  bore  a  prorainenl 
part,  and  on  wluch  he  could  not  reflect  without  a  aigfa 

of  sorrow Nicholas  finidi^ 

his  Christian  course  under  the  pastoral  care  of  the  Bav. 
T.  L.  Hodgson,  Wesleyan  missionary  at  Booehnap.  His 
end  was  peace. 

Ajnong  the  earlier  exploits  of  A£ricansr  was 
sacking  the  Namaqua  miraion-station,  probably 
for  the  sake  of  plunder,  but  avowedly  because 


MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA.    631 


Bome  of  his  property  had  heen  unjuBtly  seized  by  a 
settler.  A  conciliatory  letter,  which  John  Camp- 
bell, -when  travelling  through  Namaqua-land,  in 
deadly  terror  of  Africaner,  addressed  to  the  for- 
midable freebooter,  is  said  to  have  produced  a 
powerful  effect  upon  his  naturally  intelligent  and 
elevated  mind.  Two  of  his  brothers  were  con- 
verted by  the  preaching  of  the  missionary  Ebner, 
and  were  bapti^d  shortly  before  Mr.  Moffat,  in 
1817,  left  Cape  Town  for  Africaner's  village  in 
the  wilderness.    He  says — 

It  was  eyident  to  me,  as  I  approached  the  boundaries 
«f  the  colony,  that  the  farmers,  who,  of  course,  had  not 
one  good  word  to  say  of  Africaner,  were  sceptical  to  the 
last  degree  about  his  reported  conversion,  and  most  un- 
ceremoniously predicted  my  destruction*  One  said  he 
would  set  me  up  for  a  mark  for  his  boys  to  shoot  at ;  and 
another,  that  he  would  strip  off  my  skin,  and  make  a 
drum  of  it  to  dance  to  ;  another  most  consoling  predic- 
tion was,  that  he  would  make  a  drinking  cup  of  my 
akoll.  I  belieye  they  were  serious,  and  especially  a 
kind  motherly  lady,  who,  wiping  the  tear  from  her  eye, 
bade  me  fuewell,  saying,  ^  RdA  you  been  an  old  man, 
it  would  have  been  nothing,  for  you  would  soon  have 
died,  whether  or  no  ;  but  you  are  young,  and  going  to 
become  a  prey  to  that  monster." 

But   we   shall  see  more  of  thb  remarkable 
penon.     The  privations  and  dangers  of  the  Jour- 
ney to  Africaner  8  village  might  have  interest  in 
the  namtive  of  an  ordinary  traveller;  but  Moffat's 
^  labMqaent  adventures  Hr  •clipse  these  early  trials 
of  his  faith   and  patience,  his  manliness    and 
havdihood.    His  reoeptton  by  the  tamed  Wol^  the 
soonrge  of  the  desert,  is  interesting.     Africaner 
had  applied  for  a  missionary ;  but  as  Mofiat  ad- 
vanced, the  inhabitants  of  another  kraal  inter- 
cepted and  wished  to  detain  him  among  them,  and 
almost  forced  him  to  remain,  until  the  appearance 
of  a  pftrty  of  the  chiefs  people  and  three  of  his 
brothers  ended  the  contest.     Moffat's  reception 
seemftd  cold;  and  his  brother  missionary  Ebner, 
who  had  baptized  the  Africaners,  described  the 
whole  inhabitants  as  a  ^'wicked,  suspicious,  and 
dangerous  people,  baptized  and  unbaptiaed."    The 
chief  was  so  long  of  making  his  appearance  that 
young  Moffat's  heart  began  to  fail,  but  at  length 
Africaner  welcomed  him  with  frank  kindness ; 
hoped  that  as  he  was  so  young  he  would  live  long 
among  them ;  and  he  immediately  set  the  labour- 
ers, the  usual  drudges,  the  beasts  of  burden,  the 
poor  women,  to  build  a  hut  for  the  missionary  : — 
A  circle  was  instantly  formed,  and  the  women,  evi- 
dently delighted  with  the  job,  fixed  the  poles,  tied  them 
down  in  t^  hemispheric  form,  and  covered  them  with 
the  mats,  aU  ready  for  habitation,  in  the  course  of  little 
more  than  half  an  hour.    Since  that  time,  I  have  seen 
houses  built  of  idl  descriptions,  and  assisted  in  the  con- 
struction of  a  good  many  myself ;  but  I  confess  I  never 
witnessed  such  expedition.    Hottentot  houses,  (for  such 
they  may  be  called,  being  confined  to  the  different  tribes 
of  that  nation,)  are  at  best  not  very  comfortable.  I  lived 
nearly  six  months  in  this  native  hut,  which  very  fre- 
quently required  tightening  and  fastening  after  a  storm. 
When  the  sun  shone,  it  was  unbearably  hot ;  when  the 
rain  fell,  I  came  in  for  a  share  of  it ;  when  the  wind 
blew,  I  had  frequently  to  decamp  to  escape  the  dust ; 
and  in  addition  to  these  little  inconveniences,  any  hun- 
ffry  cur  of  a  dog  that  wished  a  night's  lodging,  would 
lorce  Itself  through  the  frail  wall,  and  not  unfrequently 
deprive  me  of  my  anticipated  meal  for  the  coming  day  ; 
and  I  have  more  than  once  found  a  serpent  coiled  up  in 
lb  comer. .   Bat  to  return  to  my  new 


habitation,  in  which,  after  my  household  matters  were 
arranged,  I  began  to  ruminate  on  the  past,— the  home 
and  friends  I  had  left,  perhaps,  for  ever ;  the  mighty 
ocean  which  rolled  between,  the  desert  country  through 
which  I  had  passed,  to  reach  one  still  more  dieary.  In 
taking  a  review  of  the  past,  which  seemed  to  increase  in 
brightness,  as  I  traced  all  the  way  in  which  I  had  been 
brought,  during  the  stillness  of  my  first  night's  repose,  I 
ofren  involuntarily  said  and  sung, 

*'  Here  I  raise  my  Ebenezeis 

Hither  by  thy  help  I'm  come.'* 

The  inimitable  hymn  from  which  these  lines  are  taken, 
was  often  sung  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kitchingman  and  my- 
self, while  passing  through  the  lonely  desert.  But  my 
mind  was  frequently  occupied  with  other  themes.  I  was 
young,  had  entered  into  a  new  and  responsible  situation, 
and  one  surrounded  with  difficulties  of  no  ordinary  char- 
acter. Already  I  began  to  discover  some  indications  of 
an  approaching  storm,  which  might  try  my  faith.  The 
ftiture  looked  dark  and  portentous  in  reference  to  the 
mission. 

This  was  a  cheerless  beginning,  and  worse  evils 
were  at  hand.  Mr.  Ebner,  the  missionary  at  this 
station,  was,  from  some  unexplained  cause,  on  very 
ill  terms  with  Titus  Africaner,  and  he  shortly  after 
this  abandoned  the  station,  and  returned  to  Grer- 
many,  his  native  land.  It  is  not  unfair  to  conclude 
that  he  was  not  well  adapted  to  a  situation  so  diffi- 
cult, and  requiring  so  mudi  sagacity ;  and  it  appears 
to  have  been  owing  to  the  presence  and  in£uence  of 
Mofiat  that  he  at  last  got  away  unharmed.  The 
condition  of  the  solitary  young  man  he  left  was 
painful  in  the  extreme ;  and  he  had  not  yet  made 
trial  of  himself.    He  tells — 


I  was  left  alone  with  a  people  suspicious  in  the  ex- 
treme ;  jealous  of  their  rights,  which  thev  had  obtained 
at  the  point  of  the  sword  ;  and  the  best  of  whom  Mr.  E. 
described  as  a  sharp  thorn.  I  had  no  friend  and  brother 
with  whom  I  could  participate  in  the  communion  of 
saints,  none  to  whom  1  could  look  for  counsel  or  advice. 
A  barren  and  miserable  country  ;  a  small  salary,  about 
£25  per  annum.  No  grain,  ana  consequently  no  bread, 
and  no  prospect  of  getting  any,  from  Ihe  want  of  water 
to  cultivate  the  ground ;  and  destitute  of  the  means  of 

sending  to  the  colony Soon  after  my 

stated  services  commenced — which  were,  according  to 
the  custom  of  our  missionaries  at  that  period,  every 
morning  and  evening,  and  school  for  three  or  four  hours 
during  the  day — I  was  cheered  with  tokens  of  the  Di- 
vine presence.    The  chief,  who  had  for  some  time  past 
been  in  a  doubtful  state,  attended  with  such  regularity, 
that  I  might  as  well  doubt  of  momine's  dawn,  as  of  his 
attendance  on  the  appointed  means  of  grace.    To  read- 
ing, in  which  he  was  not  very  fiuent,  he  attended  with 
all  the  assiduity  and  energy  of  a  youthful  believer  ;  the 
Testament  became  his  constant  companion,  and  his  pro- 
fiting appeared  unto  alL    Often  have  I  seen  him  under 
the  shadow  of  a  great  rock,  nearly  the  livelong  day, 
eagerly  perusing  the  pages  of  Divine  inspiration ;  or  in 
his  hut  he  would  sit,  unconscious  of  the  affairs  of  a  family 
around,  or  the  entrance  of  a  stranger,  with  his  eye  gaz- 
ing on  the  blessed  book,  and  his  mmd  wrapt  up  in  things 
divine.    Many  were  the  nights  he  sat  with  me,  on  a 
great  stone,  at  the  door  of  my  habitation,  conversing 
with  me  till  the  dawn  of  another  day,  on  creation,  provi- 
dence, redemption,  and  the  glories  of  the  heavenly  world. 
He  was  like  the  bee,  gathering  honey  fVom  every  flower, 
and  at  such  seasons  he  would,  from  what  he  had  stored 
up  in  the  course  of  the  day^s  reading,  repeat  generally  iu 
the  very  language  of  Scripture,  those  passages  which  he 
could  not  fully  comprehend.    He  had  no  commentary, 
except  the  living  voice  of  his  teacher,  nor  marginal  refer- 
ences :  but  he  soon  discovered  the  importance  of  consult- 
ing parallel  passages,  which  an  excellent  memory  enabled 
him  readily  to  find.    He  did  not  confine  his  expanding 
mind  to  the  volume  of  revelation,  though  he  had  been 
taught  by  experience  that  that  contained  heights  and 


532    MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 


depths,  and  lengths  and  breadths,  which  no  man  com- 
prehends. He  was  led  to  look  upon  the  book  of  nature ; 
and  he  would  regard  the  hearenly  orbs  with  an  inquiring 
look,  cast  his  eye  on  the  earth  beneath  his  tread,  and 
regarding  both  as  displays  of  creative  power  and  infinite 
intelligence,  would  inquire  about  endless  space  and  in- 
finite duration.  I  have  often  been  amused,  when  sitting 
with  him  and  others,  who  wished  to  hear  his  questions 
answered,  and  descriptions  given  of  the  majesty,  extent, 
and  number  of  the  works  of  God  ;  he  would  at  last  rub 
his  hands  on  his  head,  exclaiming  **  I  have  heard  enough ; 
I  feel  as  if  my  head  was  too  small,  and  as  if  it  would 
swell  with  these  great  subjects." 

Before  seasons  like  these  to  which  I  am  referring, 
Titus,  who  was  a  grief  to  his  brother,  and  a  terror  to 
most  of  the  inhabitants  on  the  station,  as  well  as  a  fearful 
example  of  ungodliness,  had  become  greatly  subdued  in 
spirit. He  was  the  only  indi- 
vidual of  influence  on  the  station  who  had  two  wives, 
and  fearing  the  influence  of  example,  I  have  occasionally 
made  a  delicate  reference  to  the  subject,  and,  by  degrees, 
could  make  more  direct  remarks  on  that  point,  which 
was  one  of  the  barriers  to  his  happiness ;  bat  he  remained 
firm,  admitting,  at  the  same  time,  that  a  man  with  two 
wives  was  not  to  be  envied  ;  adding,  ^  He  is  often  in  an 
uproar,  and  when  they  quarrel,  he  does  not  know  whose 
part  to  take."  He  said  he  often  resolved  when  there 
was  a  great  disturbance  to  pay  one  off, 

Thb  poor  man's  trials  and  perplexities  with  his 
brace  of  wives  are  amusing  enough;  but  in  the 
character  of  his  brother,  the  once  fierce  heathen, 
there  is  a  mild  dignity,  a  noble  simplicity,  which 
illustrates  the  influence  of  the  pure  faith  of  the 
Gospel  better  than  a  hundred  homilies.  Of  him 
we  have  this  testimony : — 

But  to  return  to  the  character  of  Africaner  ;  during 
the  whole  period  I  lived  there,  I  do  not  remember  hav- 
ing occasion  to  be  grieved  with  him,  or  to  complain  of 
any  part  of  his  conduct ;  his  very  faults  seemed  to  *'  lean 
to  virtue's  side."  One  day,  when  seated  together,  I 
happened,  in  absence  of  mind,  to  be  gazing  steadfastly  on 
him.  It  arrested  his  attention,  and  he  modestly  inquired 
the  cause.  I  replied  **  I  was  trying  to  picture  to  my- 
self your  carrying  fire  and  sword  through  the  country, 
and  I  could  not  think  how  eyes  like  yours  could  smile  at 
human  woe."  He  answered  not,  but  shed  a  flood  of 
tears  1  He  zealously  seconded  my  efforts  to  improve  the 
people  in  cleanliness  and  industry  ;  and  it  would  have 
made  any  one  smile  to  have  seen  Christian  Africaner  and 
myself  superintending  the  school  children,  now  about 
120,  washing  themselves  at  the  fountain.  It  was,  how- 
ever, found  that  their  greasy,  fllthy  caresses  of  sheep- 
skins soon  made  them  as  dirty  as  ever.    The  next  thing 

was  to  get  them  to  wash  their  mantles,  &c 

At  an  early  period  I  became  an  object  of  his  charity, 
for,  finding  out  that  I  sometimes  sat  down  to  a  scanty 
meal,  he  presented  me  with  two  cows,  which,  though  in 
that  country  giving  little  milk,  often  saved  me  many  a 
hungry  night,  to  which  I  was  exposed.  He  was  a  man 
of  peace  ;  and  though  I  could  not  expound  to  him  that 
the  "  sword  of  the  magistrate "  implied,  that  he  was 
calmly  to  sit  at  home,  and  see  Bushmen  or  marauders 
carry  off  his  cattle,  and  slay  his  servants  ;  yet  so  ftilly 
did  he  understand  and  appreciate  the  principles  of  the 
gospel  of  peace,  that  nothing  could  grieve  him  more  than 
to  hear  of  individuals,  or  villages,  contending  with  one 
another.  He  who  was  formerly  like  a  firebrand,  spread- 
ing discord,  enmity,  and  war  among  the  neighbouring 
tribes,  would  now  make  any  sacrifice  to  prevent  any- 
thing like  a  collision  between  two  contending  parties ; 
and  when  he  might  have  raised  his  arm,  and  dared  them 
to  lift  a  spear,  or  draw  a  bow,  he  would  stand  in  the 
attitude  of  a  suppliant,  and  entreat  them  to  be  reconciled 
to  each  other  ;  and,  pointing  to  his  past  life,  ask, 
*^  What  have  I  of  all  the  battles  I  have  fought,  and 
all  the  cattle  I  took,  but  shame  and  remorse  !"  At  an 
early  period  of  my  labours  among  that  people,  I  was 
deeply  affected  by  the  sympathy  he,  as  well  as  others  of 


his  family,  manifested  towards  me  in  a  season  of  afllie* 
tion.  The  extreme  heat  of  the  weather,  in  the  hoose 
which  I  have  described,  and  living  entirely  on  meat  aod 
milk,  to  which  I  was  unaccustomed,  brought  on  a  tewt 
attack  of  bilious  fever,  which,  in  the  coarse  of  two  dsys, 
induced  delirium.  Opening  my  eyes  in  the  first  few 
lucid  moments,  I  saw  my  attendant  and  AfHcaner  at- 
ting  before  my  couch,  gazing  on  me  with  eyes  full  of 
sympathy  and  tenderness.  Seeing  a  small  parcel,  coi- 
taining  a  few  medicines,  I  requested  him  to  hand  it  to 
me,  and  taking  from  it  a  vial  of  calomel,  I  threw  some 
of  it  into  my  mouth,  for  scales  or  weights  I  had  none. 
He  then  asked  me,  the  big  tear  standing  in  his  eye,  if  1 
died,  how  they  were  to  bury  me.  ^  Just  in  the  suae 
way  as  you  bury  your  own  people,"  was  my  reply ;  utd 
I  added,  that  he  need  be  under  no  apprehensions  if  I 
were  called  away,  for  I  should  leave  a  written  testimony 
of  his  kindness  to  me.  This  evidently  gave  him  Bone 
comfort,  but  his  joy  was  full,  when  he  saw  me  speedilj 
restored,  and  at  my  post,  fh)m  which  I  had  been  absent 
only  a  few  days. 

In  addition  to  Christum  Afirieaner,  his  brothers,  Dirid 
and  Jacobus,  both  believers,  and  zealous  assistants  in 
the  work  of  the  mission,  especially  in  the  school,  were  a 
great  comfort  to  me.  David,  though  rather  of  a  retiring 
disposition,  was  amiable,  active,  and  firm ;  while  Jico- 
bus  was  warm,  affectionate,  and  zealous  for  the  interest 
of  souls.  His  very  countenance  was  wont  to  cheer  my 
spirits,  which,  notwithstanding  all  I  had  to  enconn^, 
would  sometimes  droop.  Long  after  I  left  that  people, 
he  was  shot,  while  defending  the  place  against  an  nnex- 
pected  attack  made  on  it  by  the  people  of  Warm  Bath. 

After  Moffat  had  laboured  for  a  considerable 
time  among  the  Bechuanas,  and  had  made  several 
distant  excursions  on  objects  connected  with  his 
mission,  he  induced  Africaner  to  accompany  him 
on  a  visit  to  the  Cape,  though  the  expedition  was 
not  without  danger  to  the  chief,  who  for  his  former 
marauding  upon  the  settlers  was  still  an  oatbw 
with  1000  rix-dollars  offered  for  his  head.  He  said, 
when  the  journey  was  proposed,  that  he  thought 
Mr.  Moffat  had  loved  him  better  than  to  give 
him  up  to  the  government  to  be  hanged.  The 
affair  was  for  three  days  publicly  discussed;  and 
when  it  was  concluded,  nearly  the  whole  inhabi- 
tants of  Africaner's  village — all  hb  subjects— or 
clansmen,  accompanied  them  to  the  banks  of  the 
Orange  River,  and  parted  from  them  with  tears. 
At  Warm  Bath,  the  place  referred  to  in  the  sub- 
joined extract,  there  was  a  mission-station,  from 
whence  religion  and  civilisation  had  emanated  to 
the  wilds;  and  on  the  journey,  it  b  said — 

Arriving  at  Pella,  (the  place  as  before  stated,  to 
which  some  of  the  people  fh>m  Warm  Bath  had  retired 
when  the  latter  was  destroyed  by  Africaner,)  we  had  » 
feast  fit  for  heaven-bom  souls,  and  subjects  to  which  the 
seraphim  above  might  have  tuned  their  golden  Ijrti. 
Men  met  who  had  not  seen  each  other  since  they  h»d 
joined  in  mutual  combat  for  each  other's  woe ;  met— 
warrior  with  warrior,  bearing  in  their  hands  the  olive 
branch,  secure  under  the  panoply  of  peace  and  love.   • 

We  spent  some  pleasant  days  while  the  subject  of 
getting  Africaner  safely  through  the  territories  of  the 
farmers  to  the  Cape,  was  the  theme  of  much  conrer- 
sation.  To  some  the  step  seemed  somewhat  hazardoos. 
Africaner  and  1  had  fully  discussed  the  point  before 
leaving  the  station  ;  and  I  was  confident  of  snoeeff. 
Though  a  chief,  there  was  no  need  of  laying  aside  an/ 
thing  like  royalty,  with  a  view  to  travel  in  disguise.  Of 
two  substantial  shirts  left,  I  gave  him  one  ;  he  had  a 
pair  of  leather  trowsers,  a  duffel  jacket,  much  the  worse 
for  wear,  and  an  old  hat,  neither  white  nor  black,  aw 
my  own  garb  was  scarcely  more  refined.  As  a  ferther 
precaution,  it  was  agreed,  that  for  once  I  should  be  the 
chief,  and  he  should  assume  tl^e  appearance  pf  a  Krrant, 


MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA.    5C3 


trhen  it  was  desirable,  and  pass  for  one  of  my  attend- 
ants. 

Ladicroos  as  the  picture  may  appear,  the  subject  was 
a  grare  one,  and  the  season  solemn  and  important ; 
often  did  I  lift  up  my  heart  to  Him  in  whose  hands  are 
the  hearts  of  all  men,  that  his  presence  might  go  with 
us.  It  might  here  be  remarked,  once  for  all,  that  the 
Dutch  farmers,  notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said 
against  them  by  some  travellers,  are,  as  a  people,  ex- 
ceedingly hospitable  and  kind  to  strangers.  Exceptions 
there  are,  but  these  are  few,  and  perhaps  more  rare 
than  in  any  country  under  the  sun.  Some  of  these 
worthy  people  on  the  borders  of  the  colony,  congratu- 
lated me  on  returning  alive,  having  often  hea^,  as  they 
said,  that  I  had  been  long  since  murdered  by  Africaner. 
Much  "wonder  was  expressed  at  my  narrow  escape  from 
such  a  monster  of  cruelty,  the  report  having  been  spread 
that  Mr.  Ebner  had  but  just  escaped  with  the  skin  of 
his  teeth.  While  some  would  scarcely  credit  my  iden- 
tity ;  my  testimony  as  to  the  entire  reformation  of 
Africaner's  character,  and  his  conversion,  was  discarded 
as  the  efPtuion  of  a  frenzied  brain.  It  sometimes  afford- 
ed no  little  entertainment  to  Africaner  and  the  Nama- 
quas,  to  hear  a  farmer  denounce  this  supposed  irreclaim- 
able savage.  There  were  only  a  few,  however,  who 
were  sceptical  on  this  subject.  At  one  farm,  a  novel 
scene  exhibited  the  state  of  feeling  respecting  Africaner 
and  myself,  and  likewise  displayed  the  power  of  Divine 

grace  under  peculiar  circumstances 

1  gave  him  in  a  few  words  my  views  of  Africaner's 
present  character,  saying,  **He  is  now  a  truly  good 
man."  To  which  he  replied,  "I  can  believe  almost 
anything  you  say,  but  thai  I  cannot  credit ;  there  are 
seven  wonders  in  the  world :  that  would  be  the  eighth." 
I  appealed  to  the  displays  of  Divine  grace  in  a  Paul,  a 
Manssseh,  and  referred  to  his  own  experience.  He 
replied,  tkete  were  another  description  of  men,  but  that 
Africaner  was  one  of  the  accursed  sons  of  Ham,  enume- 
rating some  of  the  atrocities  of  which  he  had  been  guilty. 
By  tMs  time  we  were  standing  with  Afrieaner  at  our 
feet,  on  whose  countenance  sat  a  smile,  well  knowing  the 
prejudices  of  some  of  the  farmers.  The  farmer  closed 
the  conversation  by  saying,  with  much  earnestness, 
**  Well,  if  what  you  assert  be  true  respecting  that  man, 
I  have  only  one  wish,  and  that  is,  to  see  him  before  I 
die  ;  and  when  you  return,  as  sure  as  the  sun  is  oyer 
our  heads,  I  will  go  with  you  to  see  him,  though  he 
killed  my  own  uncle."  I  was  not  before  aware  of  this 
&ct,  and  now  felt  some  hesitation  whether  to  discover 
to  him  the  object  of  his  wonder  ;  but  knowing  the  sin- 
cerity of  the  &rmer,  and  the  goodness  of  his  disposition, 
I  said,  "  This,  then,  is  Africaner  !"  He  started  back, 
looking  intensely  at  the  man,  as  if  he  had  just  dropped 
from  the  clouds.  "  Are  you  Africaner  ?"  he  exclaimed. 
He  arose,  doffed  his  old  hat,  and  making  a  polite  bow, 
answered,  *^  I  am."  The  farmer  seemed  thunder-struck ; 
bat  when,  by  a  few  questions,  he  had  assured  himself  of 
the  fact,  that  the  former  bugbear  of  the  border  stood 
before  him,  now  meek  and  lamb-like  in  his  whole  de- 
portment, he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  exclaimed,  **  0  God, 
what  a  miracle  of  thy  power  !  what  cannot  thy  grace 
accomplish  !"  The  kind  farmer,  and  his  no  less  hospit- 
able wife,  now  abundantly  supplied  our  wants  ;  but  we 
hastened  our  departure,  lest  the  intclligeDco  might  get 
abroad  that  Africaner  was  with  me,  and  bring  unpleas- 
ant visiters. 

The  Grovemor  at  the  Cape  was  Lord  Charles 
Somerset,  who  was  somewhat  surprised  to  learn 
that  the  lion  of  the  wilderness  had  been  led  in  to 
him  like  a  lamb.  About  this  time.  Dr.  Philip  and 
John  Campbell  liad  arrived  from  England  to 
examine  the  state  of  the  African  missions.  It  was 
Mr.  Campbell's  second  visit  to  Africa,  and  it  ap- 
peared— 

To  be  one  of  the  happiest  moments  of  Mr.  Campbell's 
life  to  hold  converse  with  the  man,  at  whose  very  name, 
on  his  first  visit  to  Namaqua-land,  he  had  trembled,  but 
vn  whom,  in  answer  to  many  prayers,  he  now  looked  as 


a  brother  beloved.  Often  while  interpreting  for  Mr.  C, 
in  his  inquiries,  I  have  been  deeply  affected  with  the 
overflow  of  soul  experienced  by  both,  while  rehearsing 
the  scenes  of  bygone  days. 

Africaner's  appearance  in  Cape  Town  excited  con- 
siderable attention,  as  his  name  and  exploits  had  been 
familiar  to  many  of  its  inhabitants  for  more  than  twenty 
years.  Many  were  struck  with  the  unexpected  mildness 
and  gentleness  of  his  demeanour,  and  others  with  his 
piety  and  accurate  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures.  His 
New  Testament  was  an  interesting  object  of  attention, 
it  was  so  completely  thumbed  and  worn  by  use.  His 
answers  to  a  number  of  questions  put  to  him  by  the 
friends  in  Cape  Town,  and  at  a  public  meeting  at  the 
Paarl,  exhibited  his  diligence  as  a  student  in  the  doc- 
trines of  the  Grospel,  especially  when  it  is  remembered 
that  Africaner  never  saw  a  Catechism  in  his  life,  but 
obtained  all  his  knowledge  on  theological  subjects  from 
a  careful  perusal  of  the  Scriptures,  and  the  verbal  in- 
structions of  the  missionary. 

Might  it  not  be  inquired  whether  the  absence  of 
catechisms  and  theological  works,  and  the  careful 
study  of  the  Scriptures,  without  gloss  or  com- 
mentary, might  have  been  the  main  cause  of 
Africaner's  growth  in  true  knowledge,  as  in  true 
grace ;  and  that  many  tilings  esteemed  helps  as 
often  prove  impediments  ?  The  conduct  of  Afri- 
caner to  his  dying  hour  was  edifying  and  con- 
sistent. His  latter  years  were  spent  in  conducting 
the  public  offices  of  religion  at  the  station,  and 
in  teaching  in  the  schools.  In  his  dying  exhorta- 
tion to  the  people,  whom  he  had  called  together  to 
hear  his  last  words,  when  he  had  given  them 
directions  for  their  future  conduct  in  temporal 
affairs,  he  bade  them  remember  that  they  were  no 
longer  savagtSy  but  men  professing  to  be  teught  by 
the  Gospel,  and  that  it  was  accordingly  their  duty 
to  walk  by  its  precepts.  In  summing  up  the 
character  of  Africaner,  who  from  a  fierce  pi*eda- 
tory  warrior,  the  chief  of  a  savage  tribe,  had  by 
the  power  of  the  Gospel  been  converted  into  the 
Alfred  of  his  subjects,  Mr,  Mof!at  remarks  : — 

l^Iany  had  been  the  refreshing  hours  we  had  spent 
together,  sitting  or  walking,  tracing  the  operations  of 
the  word  and  Spirit  on  his  mind,  which  seemed  to  have 
been  first  excited  under  the  ministry  of  Christian  Al- 
brecht.  Subsequent  to  that  period,  his  thoughts  were 
frequently  occupied  while  looking  around  him,  and  sur- 
veying the  *^  handy-works"  of  God,  and  asking  the  ques- 
tion, ^  Are  these  the  productions  of  some  great  Being  ! 
— how  is  it  that  his  name  and  character  have  been  lost 
among  the  Namaquas,  and  the  knowledge  of  Him  con- 
fined to  so  few  \ — has  that  knowledge  only  lately  come 
to  the  world  % — how  is  it  that  he  does  not  address  man- 
kind in  oral  language !"....  In  trying  to  grasp 
the  often  indistinct  rays  of  light,  which  would  occasion- 
ally flit  across  his  partially  awakened  understanding,  he 
became  the  more  bewildered,  especially  when  he  thought 
of  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel  message,  "  Good-will  to  man." 
He  often  wondered  whether  the  book  he  saw  some  of 
the  farmers  use  said  anything  on  the  subject ;  and  then 
he  would  conclude,  that  if  they  worshipped  any  such 
being,  he  must  be  one  of  a  very  different  cliaracter  from 
that  God  of  love  to  whom  the  missionaries  directed  the 
attention  of  the  Namaquas. 

How  often  must  the  same  doubt  have  occurred 
to  the  Hindoo,  the  Mussulman,  and  the  gentle 
savage  of  many  other  regions! 

Mr.  Moffat  gives  a  very  interesting  account  of 
the  rise  and  progress  of  the  Griqua  mission,  in 
which  he  was  personally  concerned,  and  a  retro- 
spective view  of  other  inroads  on  heathendom, 
wliich  will  be  perused  with  pleasiire,  wei-c  it  only 


534    MOFFArS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 

from  the  enterprise  and  bold  adventures  of  the 
daring  pioneers,  and  the  light  incidentally  thrown 
upon  the  moral  and  physical  condition  of  the  bar- 
barous tribes  that  they  visited.  His  relation  of  his 
own  conflicts  and  long  fruitless  endeavours  have  yet 
deeper  interest.  His  actual  experiences  bring  great 
doubt  upon  the  theories  of  a  natural  conscience,  a 
moral  seme,  and  the  idea  of  a  "  vicarious  offering" 
or  atonement  said  to  be  diffused  over  the  whole  globe, 
and  also  of  man  being  a  religious  creature.  The 
existence  of  a  Supreme  Being,  and  the  immortality 
of  the  soul  of  man,  had  never,  even  in  a  shadow  or 
tradition,  been  heard  of  among  these  people  : — 

A  chief,  after  listening  attentively  to  me  while  he 
Blood  leaning  on  his  spear,  wonld  ntter  an  exclamation 
of  amazement,  that  a  man  whom  he  accounted  wise, 
should  vend  such  fables  for  truths.  Calling  about  thirty 
of  his  men,  who  stood  near  him,  to  approach,  he  address- 
ed them,  pointing  to  me,  «  There  is  Ra-Mary,  (Father 
of  Mary,)  who  tells  me,  that  the  heavens  were  made, 
the  earth  also,  by  a.  beginner,  whom  he  calls  Morimo. 
Have  you  ever  heard  anything  to  be  compared  with 
this  !  He  says  that  the  sun  rises  and  sets  by  the  power 
of  Morimo  ;  as  also  that  Morimo  causes  winter  to  follow 
summer,  the  winds  to  blow,  the  rain  to  faU,  the  grass  to 
grow,  and  the  trees  to  bud  f  and  casting  his  arm  aboTe 
and  around  him,  added,  «  God  works  in  every  thiM  you 
see  or  hear  !  Did  ever  you  hear  such  words !"  Seeing 
them  ready  to  burst  into  laughter,  he  said,  **  Wait,  I 
shall  tell  you  mow  ;  Ra-Mary  tells  me  that  we  have 
spirits  in  ns,  which  will  never  die  ;  and  that  our  bodies» 
though  dead  and  buried,  will  rise  and  live  again.  Open 
your  ears  to-day  ;  did  you  ever  hear  litlamane  (fables) 
like  these  !**  This  was  followed  by  a  burst  of  deafening 
laughter;  and  on  its  partially  subsiding,  the  chief  man 
begged  me  to  say  no  more  on  such  trifles,  lest  the  people 

should  think  me  mad  ! 

One  day,  while  describing  the  day  of  judgment,  several 

of  my  hearers  expressed  great  concern  at  the  idea  of  all 

their  cattle  being  destroyed,  together  with  their  orna- 
ments.   They  never  for  one  moment  allow  their  thoughts 

to  dwell  on  death,  which  is  according  to  their  views 

nothing  less  than  annihilation.    Their  supreme  happi- 
ness consists  in  having  abundance  of  meat.    Asking  a 

man  who  was  more  grave  and  thoughtful  than  his  com- 
panions what  was  the  finest  sight  he  could  desire,  he 

instantly  replied,  «  A  great  fire  covered  with  pots  ftill 

of  meat  ;'*  adding,  "how  ugly  the  fire  looks  without  a 

pot !" 
The  grander  phenomena  of  nature  had  no  power 

to  awaken  or  fix  their  attention.    The  following 

is  a  true  picture  of  these  wandering  children  of 

the  wOdemess,  of  lAan  in  his  natural  state  : — 
"They  looked  on  the  sun,"  as  Mr.  Campbell  very 

graphically  said,  "with  the  eyes  of  an  ox."    To  tell 

them,  the  gravest  of  them,  that  there  v^as  a  Creator, 

the  governor  of  the  heavens  and  earth,  of  the  fall  of 

man,  or  the  redemption  of  the  world,  the  resurrection  of 

the  dead,  and  immortality  beyond  the  grave,  was  to  tell 

them  what  appeared  to  be  more  fabulous,  extravagant, 

and  ludicrous  than  their  own  vain  stories  about  lions, 

hyenas,  and  jackals.     To  tell  them  that  these  were 

articles  of  our  fiuth,  would  extort  an  inteijection  of 

superlative  surprise,  as  if  they  were  too  preposterous  for 

the  most  foolish  to  believe What  they 

heard  was  all  right,  provided  they  got  a  bit  of  tobacco, 

or  some  little  equivalent  for  their  time — a  thing  of  no 

value  to  them— which  they  spent  in  hearing  one  talk. 

Some  would  even  make  a  trade  of  telling  the  missionary 

that  they  prayed,  by  which  means  Qod  directed  them  to 

their  lost  cattle,  at  a  few  yards'  distance,  after  having 

been  in  search  of  them  several  days  ;  and  that  in  the 

same  vray  he  had  brought  game  within  reach  of  their 

spears.    Replies  to  questions  as  to  what  they  thought 

of  the  Word  of  God,  were  very  cheap  ;  and  if  they  sup- 


posed that  by  such  means  they  had  obl^uned  h,rwa  uad 
respect,  their  success  would  be  the  subject  of  merriaeiit 
in  their  own  circles.  Some  individmUs^  to  my  kaam- 
ledge,  who  had  carried  on  this  deception  in  the  eariy 
period  of  the  mission,  many  years  i^rwards  boasted 
how  expert  they  had  been  in  thus  gulling  the  miarioBHy. 

Although  they  had  received  mneh  instmctioii)  ^ey 
appeared  never  for  one  moment  to  have  refieete4  vpott 
it,  nor  did  they  retain  traces  of  It  in  their  ^  memotie^ 
which  are  generally  very  tenacious.  Accordingly,  Bcet 
of  those  who  at  an  early  period  made  profesaioBS  to 
please,  died  as  they  had  lived,  in  profound  igmonaae, 
Munameets,  though  an  early  friend  of  the  mission,  At 
travelling  companion  of  Mr.  CampbeU,  and  one  of  At 
most  sensible  and  intelligent  men  of  the  natieii,  thai 
whom  no  one  at  the  station  had  eigoyed  equal  privilagsa 
made  the  following  remark  to  the  writer,  in  his  usaal 
affectionate  way,  not  long  before  his  death— "  Ra-Mary, 
your  customs  may  be  gowl  enough  for  you,  but  I  aever 
see  that  they  fill  the  stomach,"  putting  his  hand  on  his 
own  ;  "I  would  like  to  live  with  you,  because  you  an 
kind,  and  could  give  me  medicine  when  I  am  skk. 
Though  I  am  the  uncle  of  Mothibi,  I  am  the  dof  of  the 
chief,  and  must  gather  up  the  crumbs  (gorge  at  haUr 
vals).  I  am  one  of  the  elders  of  the  people,  and  though 
I  am  still  a  youth  (seventy  years  I)  ray  thonghts  and 
perceptions  are  neither  so  swift  nor  acute  as  they  ^ 
Perhaps  you  may  be  able  to  make  the  ehildren  i 
your  mekhua  (customs)." 

They  could  not  see  that  there  was  any  thing  in  ear 
customs  more  agreeable  to  fiesh  and  blood  Uian  in  tiieir 
own,  but  wonld,  at  the  same  time,  admit  that  we  w«re 
a  wiser  and  a  superior  raoe  of  beings  to  themselves. 
For  this  superiority  some  of  their  wise  heads  would  toy 
to  account :  but  this  tiiey  could  only  do  en  the  greuid  of 
our  own  statements,  that  a  Oreat  Being  made  man. 

A  wily  ram-maker,  who  was  the  oracle  of  the  viDage 
in  which  he  dwelt,  once  remarked  after  hearing  me  en- 
large on  the  subject  of  ereation,  "  If  yon  verily  believe 
that  that  Being  created  all  men,  then,  aeeording  l» 
reason,  you  must  also  believe,  that  in  making  white 
people  he  has  improved  on  his  work  ;  He  tried  his  hand 
on  Bushmen  first,  and  he  did  not  like  them,  beeause 
they  were  so  ugly,  and  their  language  like  thai  of  tiie 
frogs.  He  then  tried  his  hand  on  tiie  Hottentots,  bat 
those  did  not  please  hhn  either.  He  then  exercised  his 
power  and  skill  and  made  the  Bechnanas,  whi^  was  a 
great  improvement ;  and  at  last  he  made  the  white 
people  :  therefore,"  exulting  vrith  an  air  of  triumph  «l 
the  discovery,  "the  white  people  are  so  mneh  wiser 
than  we  are,  in  making  walking-houses  (wagons,)  teach- 
ing the  oxen  to  draw  tiiem  over  hill  and  dide,  aad 
instructing  them  also  to  plough  the  gardens  instosd  <f 
making  their  wives  do  it,  like  the  Beehnanas."  His 
discovery  received  the  applause  of  the  people,  while  the 
poor  missionary's  arguments,  drawn  from  the  eevxee  «f 
Divine  truth,  were  t^wn  into  the  shade. 

In  a  country  where  extreme  drought  is  the 
greatest  natural  calamity  to  be  dreaded,  the  ratn- 
maher  is  an  important  personage ;  and  one  who,  if 
clever  and  cunning,  turns  his  knavery  to  excellent 
account.  The  arts  of  the  rain-maker  among  these 
African  tribes  are  very  similar  to  those  described 
by  Catlin,  as  employed  by  the  rain-makers  among 
the  Indians  on  the  Upper  Missouri.  Though  the 
Bechuanas,  like  the  Hottentots,  have  now  adopted 
many  of  the  customs  of  civilized  Ufe,  and  made 
considerable  progress  in  the  useful  arts,  they,  in  the 
early  period  of  Mr.  Moffat's  labours,  demised  and 
ridiculed  European  customs,  and  gave  a  dedded 
preference  to  their  own : — 

They  could  not  account  for  our  putting  our  legs,  ft^ 
and  arms  into  bags,  and  using  buttons  fbr  the  purpose  of 
fastening  bandages  round  our  bodies,  instead  of  suspend- 
ing them  as  ornaments  from  the  neck  or  hair  dT  the 
head.  Washing  the  body,  instead  of  lubricating  it  witii 
grease  and  red  ochre,  was  a  disgusting  custom,  sad 


MOFFATS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA.     535 


•leAiiliaeflB  sbont  our  food,  house,  and  bedding,  eontri- 
bated  to  their  amasement  in  no  small  degree.  A  natiye, 
who  was  engaged  roasting  a  piece  of  fat  zebra  flesh  for 
me  on  the  co^  was  told  that  he  had  better  torn  it 
with  a  stick,  or  fork,  instead  of  his  hands,  which  he  in- 
▼ariablj  mbbed  on  his  dirty  body  for  the  sake  of  the 
precions  fkt.  This  suggestion  made  him  and  his  com- 
paniims  laogh  extraragantly,  and  they  were  wont  to 
repeat  it  as  an  interesting  joke  wherever  they  came. 

Mr.  Moffat  gives  a  long  and  minute  account  of 
their  national  usages,  ending  thus : — 

These  ceremonies  were  prodigious  barriers  to  the 
gospel.  Polygamy  was  another  obstacle,  and  the  Be- 
chaanas.  Jealous  of  any  diminution  in  their  self-indul- 
gence, by  being  depriTed  of  the  serrices  of  their  wives, 
looked  with  an  extremely  suspicious  eye  on  any  inno- 
Tation  on  this  andent  custom.  While  going  to  war, 
hunting,  watching  the  cattle,  milking  the  cows,  and  pre- 
paring their  furs  and  skins  for  mantles,  was  th^  work  of 
the  men,  the  women  had  by  far  the  heaTier  task  of  agri- 
culture, building  the  houses,  fencing,  bringing  firewood, 
and  heavier  than  all,  nature's  charge,  the  rearing  of  a 
family.  The  greater  part  of  the  year  they  are  constantly 
employed  ;  and  during  the  season  of  picking  and  sowing 
their  gardens,  their  task  is  galling,  living  on  a  coarse, 
scanty  fare,  and  iVequently  having  a  babe  fastened  to 
their  backs,  while  thus  cultivating  the  ground. 

The  men,  for  obvious  reasons,  found  it  convenient  to 
have  a  number  of  such  vassals,  rather  than  only  one ; 
while  the  woman  would  be  perfectly  amazed  at  one's 
i^oranoe,  were  she  to  be  told  that  she  would  be  much 
happier  in  a  single  state,  or  widowhood,  than  being  the 
mere  concubine  and  drudge  of  a  haughty  husband,  who 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  lounging  in  the 
shade,  while  she  was  compelled,  for  his  comfort  as  well 
as  her  own,  to  labour  under  the  rays  of  an  almost  verti- 
cal sun,  in  a  hot  and  withering  climate 

While  standing  near  the  wS^  of  one  of  the  grandees, 
who,  with  some  female  companions,  was  building  a  house, 
and  making  preparations  to  scramble  by  means  of  a 
branch  on  to  the  roof,  I  remarked  that  they  ought  to  get 
their  husbands  to  do  that  part  of  the  work.  This  set 
them  all  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  Mahuto,  the  queen,  and 
several  of  the  men  drawing  near  to  ascertain  the  cause 
of  ^e  merriment,  the  wives  repeated  my  strange,  and, 
to  them,  ludicrous  proposal,  when  another  peal  of  mirth 
ensued.  Mahuto,  who  was  a  sensible  and  shrewd 
woman,  stated  that  the  plan,  though  hopeless,  was  a 

good  one,  as  she  often  thought  our  custom  was  much 
etter  than  theirs.  It  was  reasonable  that  woman  should 
attend  to  household  affairs,  and  the  lighter  parts  of 
labour  ;  while  man,  who  wont  to  boast  of  his  superior 
strength,  should  employ  his  energy  in  more  laborious 
oconpations  ;  adding,  she  wished  I  would  give  their  hus- 
bands medicine  to  make  them  do  the  work.  This  remark 
was  made  rather  in  a  way  of  joke. 

The  government  of  the  Bechuanas  is  similar  to 
that  found  everywhere  in  the  same  state  of  society, — 
patriarchal,  but  monarchical,  mild  in  its  character, 
and  essentially  popular.  The  head  chief,  or  king, 
is  restrained  by  the  petty  chiefs;  and  in  the  public 
assemblies  or  parliaments  an  eloquent  speaker  will 
often  attack  the  chief,  and  turn  the  weight  of  opinion 
against  him : — 

I  have  heard  him  inveighed  against  for  making  wo- 
men his  senators  and  his  wife  prime  minister,  while  the 
audience  were  requested  to  look  at  his  body,  and  see  if 
he  were  not  getting  too  corpulent ;  a  sure  indication 
that  his  mind  was  little  exercised  in  anxieties  about  the 
welfare  of  his  people.  He  generally  opens  the  business 
of  the  day  with  a  short  speech,  reserving  his  eloquence 
and  wisdom  to  the  close  of  the  meeting,  when  he  ana- 
lyses the  speeches  that  have  been  delivered,  and  never 
forgets  to  lash  in  the  most  furious  language  those  who 
have  exposed  his  faults,  and  who,  as  he  would  express 
it,  have  walked  over  his  body,  placing  their  feet  upon 
bis  neck.    This  is  all  taken  in  good  part,  and.  the  ex- 


hausted chieftain  is  heartily  cheered  when  the  meeting 
dissolves.  These  assemblies  keep  up  a  tolerable  equili- 
brium of  power  between  the  chiefs  and  their  king :  but 
they  are  only  convened  when  differences  between  tribes 
have  to  be  adjusted,  when  a  predatory  expedition  is  to 
be  undertaken,  or  when  the  removal  of  a  tribe  is  con- 
templated ;  though  occasionally  matters  of  less  moment 
are  introduced. 

Any  custom  which  might  be  construed  into  some 
vague  idea  of  the  necessity  of  an  atoning  sacrifice 
and  of  a  future  state,  is  by  Mr.  Moffat  assigned  to 
the  cunning  of  the  sorcerers  or  rain-makers,  who 
order  an  ox  to  be  sacrificed  for  the  benefit  of  their 
own  stomachs,  though  the  ostensible  purpose  is  the 
public  weal^  or  to  avert  national  calamity,  or  cure 
disease. 

One  will  try  to  coax  the  sickness  out  of  a  chieftain  by 
setting  him  astride  an  ox,  with  its  feet  and  legs  tied,  and 
then  smothering  the  animal  by  holding  its  nose  in  a  large 
bowl  of  water.  A  feast  follows,  and  the  ox  is  devoured, 
sickness  and  all.  A  sorcerer  will  pretend  he  cannot  find 
out  the  guilty  person,  or  where  the  malady  of  another 
lies,  till  he  has  got  him  to  kill  an  ox,  on  which  he 
mancBUvres,  by  cutting  out  certain  parts.  Another  doc- 
tor will  require  a  goat,  which  he  kills  over  the  sick  per- 
son, allowing  the  blood  to  run  down  the  body  ;  another 
will  require  the  fleit  of  the  kidney  of  a  fVesh  slaughtered 
goat,  saying,  that  any  old  fat  will  not  do  ;  and  thus  he 
comes  in  for  his  chop.  These  slaughterings  are  pre- 
scribed according  to  the  wealth  of  the  individual,  so  that 
a  stout  ox  might  be  a  cure  for  a  slight  cold  in  a  chief- 
tain, while  a  kid  would  be  a  remedy  for  a  f^ver  among 
the  poor,  among  whom  there  was  no  chance  of  obtaining 
anything  greater.  The  above  ceremonies  miffht  wi£ 
little  d^culty  be  construed  into  sacrifices,  if  we  felt 
anxious  to  increase  the  number  of  traditionary  remains. 
Is  it,  however,  to  be  wondered  at,  among  a  pastoral 
people,  whose  choicest  viand  is  broiled  or  boiled  meat, 
and  to  whom  fat  of  any  kind  is  like  the  richest  cordials, 
that  they  should  solemnise  every  event  or  circumstance 
with  beef! 

A  treaty  or  covenant  between  parties  is  always  ra- 
tified by  the  slaughter  of  one  or  more  animals,  and  a 
consequent  feast.  In  brief,  Mr.  Moffat's  reasoning 
goes  far  to  demolisli  many  plausible  theories  of  the 
innate  perception  of  a  Supreme  Being,  and  an  in* 
nate  sense  of  rectitude  in  the  human  mind^  and  of 
the  unirersal  idea  of  the  necessity  of  a  vicarious 
atonement. 

Years  rolled  on,  and  the  benighted,  or  rather  the 
embruted  people,  remained  in  apparently  the  same 
state  of  apathy  and  ignorance  as  at  the  fijrst.  As 
long  as  they  were  gratified  with  presents  they  re- 
mained good-humoured ;  but  when  the  streams  of 
bounty  or  bribery  ceased  to  flow  they  became  rude, 
abusive,  and  even  dangerous.  The  life  passed  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Moffat,  and  their  fellow-labourer 
Mr.  Hamilton,  was  not  only  one  of  great  discomfort 
and  hardship,  but  of  peril  and  bitterness. 

Our  time  was  incessantly  occupied  in  building,  and 
labouring  frequently  for  the  meat  that  perisbeth  ;  but 
our  exertions  were  often  in  vain,  for  while  we  sowed, 

the  natives  reaped The  native 

women,  seeing  the  fertilizing  effect  of  the  water  in  our 
gardens,  thought  very  naturally  that  they  had  an  equal 
right  to  their  own,  and  took  the  liberty  of  cutting  open 
our  water-ditch,  and  allowing  it  on  some  occasions  to 
flood  theirs.  This  mode  of  proceeding  left  us  at  times 
without  a  drop  of  water,  even  for  culinary  purposes.  It 
was  in  vain  that  we  pleaded,  and  remonstrated  with  the 
chiefs, — the  women  were  the  masters  in  this  matter.  Mr. 
Hamilton  and  I  were  daily  compelled  to  go  alternately 
three  miles  with  a  spade,  about  three  o'clock  i>.  m.,  the 


3-36     MOFFArS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 


hottest  time  of  the  day,  and  tarn  in  the  many  ontletfl 
into  natiye  gardens,  that  we  might  have  a  little  moisture 
to  refresh  our  bamt-up  vegetables  during  the  night, 
which  we  were  obliged  to  irrigate  when  we  ought  to 
have  rested  from  the  labours  of  the  day.  Many  night 
watches  were  spent  in  this  way  ;  and  after  we  had 
raised  with  great  labour  vegetables,  so  necessary  to  our 
constitutions,  the  natives  would  steal  them  by  day  as  well 
as  by  night,  and  after  a  year's  toil  and  care,  we  scarcely 
reaped  anything  to  reward  us  for  our  labour.  .... 
When  we  complained,  the  women,  who  one  would 
have  thought  would  have  been  the  first  to  appreciate  the 
principles  by  which  we  were  actuated,  became  exaspe- 
rated, and  going  to  the  higher  dam,  where  the  water 
was  led  out  of  the  river,  with  their  picks  completely  de- 
stroyed it,  allowing  the  stream  to  flow  in  its  ancient  bed. 
By  this  means  the  supply  of  water  we  formerly  had  was 
reduced  to  one-half,  and  that  entirely  at  the  mercy  of 
those  who  loved  us  only  when  we  could  supply  them 
with  tobacco,  repair  their  tools,  or  administer  medicine 
to  the  afiUcted.  But  all  this,  and  much  more,  failed  to 
soften  their  feelings  towards  us.  Mrs.  MoflTat,  from  these 
circumstances,  and  the  want  of  female  assistance,  has 
been  compelled  to  send  the  heavier  part  of  our  liuen  a 
hundred  miles  to  be  washed. 

Our  situation  might  be  better  conceived  than  described: 
not  one  believed  our  report  among  the  thousands  by 
whom  we  were  surrounded.  Native  aid,  especially  to 
the  wife  of  the  missionary,  though  not  to  be  dispensed 
with,  was  a  source  of  anxiety,  and  an  addition  to  our 
cares  ;  for  any  individual  might  not  only  threaten,  but 

carry  a  rash  purpose  into  eflTect As 

many  men  and  women  as  pleased  might  come  into  our 
hut,  leaving  us  not  room  even  to  turn  ourselves,  and 
making  everything  they  touched  the  colour  of  their  own 
greasy  red  attire  ;  while  some  were  talking,  others 
would  be  sleeping,  and  some  pilfering  whatever  they 
could  lay  their  hands  upon.  This  would  keep  the  house- 
wife a  perfect  prisoner  in  a  suffocating  atmosphere,  al- 
most intolerable  ;  and  when  they  departed,  they  left  ten 
times  more  than  their  number  behind — company  still 
more  offensive.  As  it  was  not  pleasant  to  take  our 
meals  amongst  such  filth,  our  dinner  was  often  deferred 
for  hours,  hoping  for  their  departure  ;  but,  after  all,  it 
had  to  be  eaten  when  the  natives  were  despatching  their 
game  at  our  feet.  Our  attendance  at  public  worship 
would  vary  from  one  to  forty;  and  these  very  often 
manifesting  the  greatest  indecorum.  Some  would  be 
snoring ;  others  laughing ;  some  working  ;  and  others, 
who  might  even  be  styled  the  nobUsMe,  would  be  employed 
inremoving  fh>m  their  ornaments  certain  nameless  insects, 
letting  them  run  about  the  forms,  while  sitting  by  the 
missionary's  wife.  Never  having  been  accustomed  to 
chairs  or  stools,  some,  by  way  of  imitation,  would  sit 
with  their  feet  on  the  benches,  having  their  knees,  ac- 
cording to  their  usual  mode  of  sitting,  drawn  up  to  their 
chins.  In  this  position  one  would  fall  asleep  and  tumble 
over,  to  the  great  merriment  of  his  fellows.  On  some 
occasions  an  opportunity  would  be  watched  to  rob  when 
the  missionary  was  engaged  in  public  ser\'ice 

Some  nights,  or  rather  mornings,  we  had  to  record 
thefts  committed  in  the  course  of  twenty-four  hours  in 
our  houses,  our  smith-shop,  our  garden,  and  among  our 

cattle  in  the  field Some  of 

our  tools  and  utensils  which  they  stole,  on  finding  the 
metal  not  what  they  expected,  they  would  bring  back, 
beaten  into  all  shapes,  and  offer  them  in  exchange  for 
some  other  article  of  value.  Knives  were  always  eagerly 
coveted,  our  metal  spoons  they  melted :  and  when 
we  were  supplied  with  plated  iron  ones,  which  they 
found  not  so  pliable,  they  supposed  them  bewitched. 
Very  often,  when  employed  working  at  a  distance  f^m 
the  house,  if  there  was  no  one  in  whom  he  could  confide, 
the  missionary  would  be  compelled  to  carry  them  all  to 
the  place  where  he  went  to  seek  a  draught  of  water, 
well  knowing  that  if  they  were  left  they  would  take 
wings  before  he  could  return 

Sometimes  the  missionary  is  called  to  suffer  much 
greater  privations  than  have  now  been  described.  This 
may  be  the  most  proper  place,  briefly  to  introduce  a 


sketch  of  the  general  character  of  my  manner  of  living, 
while  on  this  station.  As  before  noticed,  I  had  neither 
bread  nor  vegetables.  Mr.  Bartlett,  of  Pella,  once  eem 
me  a  bag  containing  a  few  pounds  of  salt,  but,  on  exa- 
mining it,  I  could  scarcely  tell  whether  there  was  most 
sand  or  salt,  and  having  become  accustomed  to  do  widi- 
out  it,  I  hung  it  upon  a  nail,  where  it  remained  un- 
touched. My  food  was  milk  and  meat,  living  for  week< 
together  on  one,  and  then  for  a  vHiile  on  the  other,  and 
again  on  both  together.    All  was  well  so  long  aa  I  had 

either,  but  sometimes  they  both  failed 

I  shall  never  forget  the  kindness  of  Titus  Africaner, 
who,  when  he  visited  the  station,  would  come  and  ask 
what  he  could  do  for  me,  and,  on  receiving  a  few  shots, 
would  go  to  the  field,  and  almost  always  bring  me  home 
something,  for  he  was  an  extraordinary  marksman. 

The  contents  of  my  wardrobe  bore  the  same  impress 
of  poverty.  The  supply  of  clothes  which  I  had  reeerved 
in  London  were,  as  is  too  often  the  case,  made  after  the 
dandy  fashion,  ajid  I  being  still  a  growing  youth,  they 
soon  went  to  pieces.  There  were  no  laandry-maid<s 
there,  nor  anything  like  ironing  or  mangling.  The  old 
woman  who  washed  my  linen  sometimes  with  soap,  hut 
oftener  without,  was  wont  to  make  one  shirt  into  a  bag, 
and  stuff  the  others  into  it,  and  I  just  took  them  out  a? 
they  were,  and  more  than  once  have  I  turned  one  to  feel 
the  comfort  of  a  clean  shirt.  My  dear  old  mother,  t» 
keep  us  out  of  mischief  in  the  long  winter  erenings, 
taught  me  both  to  sew  and  knit ;  and  when  I  wonld  tell 
her  I  intended  being  a  man,  she  would  reply,  ^  Lad,  ye 
dinna  ken  whar  your  lot  will  be  cast."  She  was  ri^ht, 
for  I  have  often  had  occasion  to  use  the  needle  since. 

These  are  but  a  specimen  of  the  privations  and 
hardships  to  which  all  these  good  men  and  their 
families  had,  more  or  less,  to  submit 

One  main  object  with  Moffat  was  the  acquisition 
of  the  language,  in  which  he  has  since  made  so 
great  a  proficiency.  But  this  important  acquire- 
ment was  attended  with  many  difficulties,  and 
made  under  the  most  unfavourable  circumstances. 
He  relates— 

It  was  something  like  groping  in  the  dark,  and  many 
vrere  the  ludicrous  blunders  I  made.  The  more  wag- 
gish of  those  from  whom  I  occasionally  obtained  sen- 
tences and  forms  of  speech,  would  richly  enjoy  the  fan, 
if  they  succeeded  in  leading  me  into  egregious  mbtakes 
and  shameful  blunders  ;  but  though  I  had  to  pay  dear 
for  my  credulity,  I  learned  something.  After  being 
compelled  to  attend  to  every  species  of  manual,  and  fre- 
quently menial,  labour  for  the  whole  day,  working  nnder 
a  burning  sun,  standing  on  the  saw-pit,  labouring  at  the 
anvil ,  treading  clay,  or  employed  in  cleaning  a  water-ditch, 
it  may  be  imagined  that  I  was  in  no  very  fit  oonditioD 
for  study,  even  when  a  quiet  hour  could  be  obtained  ia 
the  evening  for  that  purpose.  And  this  was  not  all ;  an 
efilcient  interpreter  could  not  be  found  in  the  coon^ ; 
and  when  everything  was  ready  for  inquiry,  the  native 
mind,  unaccustomed  to  analyse  abstract  terms,  wonld, 
after  a  few  questions,  be  completely  bewildered. 

Upon  this  subject  Mr.  Moffat  makes  ohsenra- 
tions  not  less  important  to  persons  endeaTouringto 
acquire  an  unwritten  language  than  to  philologers. 
Among  the  most  formidable  enemies  of  the  mis- 
sionaries were  the  sorcerers  or  rain-makers,  whose 
province  they  had,  it  was  suspected,  come  to  usoip; 
for  these  crafty  vagabonds,  who  live  by  adroitly 
cheating  and  deluding  the  people,  seemed  to  think 
that  the  missionaries  and  themselves  were  of  the 
same  calling.  A  famous  rain-maker,  of  grand  pre- 
tensions, had  been  sent  for  from  a  great  distance  dur^ 
ing  a  season  of  extreme  drought,  of  whom  it  is  told : 

The  rain-makers,  as  I  have  since  had  fVequent  oppo^ 
tunities  of  observing,  were  men  of  no  common  calibie ; 
and  it  was  the  conviction  of  their  natural  superiority  of 
geniuu,  which  emboldened  them  to  lay  the  pubhe  mind 


MOFFArS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA.     537 


prostrate  before  the  reyeries  of  their  fancies.  Being 
foreigners,  theygenerally  amplified  prodigiously  on  their 
former  feats,  'fte  present  one,  as  has  been  noticed,  was 
aboTe  the  common  order.  He  kept  the  chiefb  and  nobles 
e^aing  on  him  with  silent  amazement,  while  the  demon 
of  mendacity  enriched  his  themes  with  lively  imagery, 
making  them  fiuicy  they  saw  their  corn-fields  floating  in 
the  breeze,  and  their  flocks  and  herds  return  lowing 
homewards  by  noonday  from  the  abundance  of  pasture. 
He  had  in  his  wrath  desolated  the  cities  of  the  enemies 
of  his  people,  by  stretching  forth  his  hiuid,  and  com- 
manding the  clouds  to  burst  upon  them.  He  had  ar- 
rested the  progress  of  a  powerful  army,  by  causing  a 
flood  to  descend,  which  formed  a  mighty  river,  and  ar- 
rested their  course.  These,  and  many  other  pretended 
snpematural  displays  of  his  power,  were  received  as 
sober  tmths.  The  report  of  his  fiime  spread  like  wild- 
fire, and  the  chiefb  of  the  neighbouring  tribes  came  to  pay 
him  homage.  We  scarcely  knew  whether  to  expect 
from  hiin  open  hostility,  secret  machinations,  or  professed 
fiiendship.  He,  like  all  of  his  profession,  was  a  thinking 
and  calculating  soul,  in  the  habit  of  studying  human 
nature,  aflkble,  engaging,  with  an  acute  eye,  and  exbi- 
bithi|^  a  dignity  of  mien,  with  an  ample  share  of  self- 
esteem,  which,  notwithstanding  all  his  obsequiousness, 

he  oonld  not  hide He  found  we  were 

men  of  peace,  and  would  not  quarrel.  For  the  sake  of 
obtaining  a  small  piece  of  tobacco,  he  would  occasionally 
pay  ns  a  visit,  and  even  enter  the  place  of  worship.  He 
was  also  studious  not  to  give  ofi^noe.  While  in  the  oonrse 
of  conversation,  he  would  give  a  feeble  assent  to  our 
views,  as  to  the  sources  of  that  element,  over  which  he 

pretended  to  have  a  sovereign  control 

It  might  be  briefly  noticed,  that  in  order  to  carry  on 
the  fr&nd,  he  would,  when  clouds  appeared,  order  the 
women  neither  to  plant  nor  sow,  lest  they  should  be 
seared  away.  He  would  also  require  them  to  go  to  the 
fields,  and  gather  certain  roots  and  herbs,  vnth  which  he 
might  light  what  appeared  to  the  natives  mysterious 
fires.  Elate  with  hope,  they  would  go  in  crowds  to  the 
hills  and  dales,  herborize,  and  return  to  the  town  with 
longs,  and  lay  their  gatherings  at  his  feet.  With  these 
he  would  sometimes  proceed  to  certain  hills,  and  raise 
smoke  ;  gladly  would  he  have  raised  the  wind  also,  if 
be  conld  have  done  so,  well  knowing  that  the  hitter  is 
frequently  the  precursor  of  rain.  He  would  select  the 
time  of  new  and  fhll  moon  fbr  his  purpose,  aware  that 
at  those  seasons  there  was  frequently  a  change  in  the 
atmosphere.  It  was  often  a  matter  of  speculation  with 
me  whether  such  men  had  not  the  foUest  conviction  in 
their  own  minds  that  they  were  gulling  the  public  ;  and 
opportunities  have  been  aflbrded  which  convinced  me 
that  my  suspicions  were  virell  grounded.  I  met  one 
among  the  Barolongs,  who,f^m  some  service  I  had  done 
him,  thouffht  me  very  kind,  and,  before  he  knew  my 
character,  became  very  intimate.  He  had  derived  bene- 
fit f^om  some  of  my  medicines,  and  consequently  viewed 
rae  as  a  doctor,  and  one  of  his  own  fraternity.  In  reply 
to  some  of  my  remarks,  he  said,  ^  It  is  only  wise  men  who 
can  be  rain-makers,  for  it  requires  very  great  wisdom  to 
deceive  so  many  f  adding, "  you  and  I  know  that."  At 
the  same  time  he  gave  me  a  broad  hint  that  I  must  not  re- 
main there,  lest  I  should  interfere  with  his  field  of  labour. 
As  those  savages  who  are  idolaters  become  enraged 
with  their  gods  when  their  desires  are  not  complied 
with,  and  break  and  tear  them  in  pieces,  so  do  Uiese 
Africans  act  with  their  sorcerers.  This  great  rain- 
maker was  afterwards  put  to  death  by  a  chief; 
and  his  wife,  who  was  considered  too  handsome 
for  him,  given  to  the  chiefs  son.  When  all  his 
arts,  contriTaoces^  and  shifts  had  failed — and  some 
of  them  w«re  most  ingenious — ^he  insinuated  that 
the  cause  of  his  frkilure  was  the  presence  of  the  mis- 
sionaries, who  rendered  the  clouds  "  hard-hearted," 
and  **  dried  up  the  teats  of  heaven."  The  situation 
of  the  missionaries  became  at  this  juncture  ex- 
tremely perilous.     It  is  said — 

NO.  CIV. — VOU  IX. 


The  people  at  last  became  impatient,  and  poured  forth 
their  curses  against  brother  Hamilton  and  myself,  as  the 
cause  of  all  Sieir  sorrows.  Our  bell,  which  was  rung 
fbr  public  worship,  they  said,  frightened  the  clouds  ;  oui* 
prayers  came  in  also  for  a  share  of  the  blame.  **  Don*t 
you,"  said  the  chief  rather  fiercely  to  me,  "  bow  down 
in  your  houses,  and  pray  and  talk  to  something  bad  iA 
the  ground ! "  A  council  was  held,  and  restrictions  were 
to  be  laid  on  all  our  actions.  We  refused  compliance, 
urging  that  the  spot  on  which  the  mission  premises 
stood,  had  been  given  to  the  missionaries.  The  rain- 
maker appeared  to  avoid  accusing  us  openly  ;  he  felt 
some  sense  of  obligation,  his  wife  having  experienced 
that  my  medicines  and  mode  of  bleeding  did  her  more 
good  than  all  his  nostrums.  He  would  occasionally  visit 
our  humble  dwellings,  and  when  I  happened  to  be  in  the 
smith's  shop,he  would  look  on  most  intently  when  he  saw  a 
piece  of  iron  welded,  or  an  instrument  made,  and  tell  me 
privately  he  wished  I  were  living  among  his  people,  as- 
suring  me  that  there  was  plenty  of  timber  and  iron  there. 

One  day  he  came  and  sat  down,  with  a  face  somewhat 
elongated,  and  evincing  inward  dissatisfaction.  On  making 
inqnirv,  I  found,  as  I  had  heard  whispered  the  day  be- 
fore, that  all  was  not  right ;  the  public  voice  was  sound' 
ing  ominous  in  his  ears.  He  inquired  how  the  women 
were  in  our  country  ;  and  supposing  he  wished  to  know 
what  they  were  like,  I  pointed  him  to  my  wife,  adding, 
that  there  were  some  taller,  and  some  shorter  than  she 
was.  "  That  is  not  what  I  mean,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  want 
to  know  what  part  they  take  in  public  affairs,  and  how 
they  act  when  they  do  so."  I  replied,  '^  that  when  the 
women  of  my  country  had  occasion  to  take  an  active  part 
in  any  pubUc  a^rs,  they  carried  all  before  them  ;" 
adding,  in  a  Jocose  strain,  ^  wait  till  we  missionaries  get 
the  women  on  our  side,  as  they  now  are  on  yours,  and 
there  will  be  no  more  rain-makers  in  the  country."  At 
this  remark  he  looked  at  me  as  if  I  had  just  risen  out  of 
the  earth.  '^  May  that  time  never  arrive!"  he  cried, 
with  a  countenance  expressive  of  unusual  anxiety.  I 
replied,  "  that  time  would  assuredly  come,  for  Jehovah, 
the  mighty  God,  had  spoken  it."  He  was  evidently 
chagrined,  for  he  had  come  for  advice.  ^  What  am  I  to 
do  t"  he  inquired  ;  **  I  wish  all  the  women  were  men  ; 
I  can  get  on  with  the  men,  but  I  cannot  manage  the 
women."  I  viewed  this  as  a  delicate  moment,  and,  feel- 
ing the  need  of  caution,  replied,  ^  that  the  women  had 
just  cause  to  complain  ;  he  had  promised  them  rain,  but 
the  land  was  dust,  their  gardens  burned  up,  and  were  I 
a  woman,  I  would  complain  as  loudly  as  any  of  them." 

The  rain-maker  kept  himself  very  secluded  for  a  fort- 
night, and,  after  cogitating  how  he  could  make  his  own 
cause  good,  he  appeared  in  the  public  fold,  and  pro- 
claimed that  he  had  discovered  the  cause  of  the  drought. 
All  were  now  eagerly  listening  ;  he  dilated  some  time, 
till  he  had  raised  their  expectation  to  the  highest  pitch, 
when  he  revealed  the  mystery.  **  Do  you  not  see,  when 
clouds  come  over  us,  that  Hamilton  and  Moffat  look  at 
them  !"  This  question  receiving  a  hearty  and  unani- 
mous affirmation,  he  added,  that  our  white  faces  fright- 
ened away  the  clouds,  and  they  need  not  expect  rain  so 
long  as  we  were  in  the  country.  This  was  a  home- 
stroke,  and  it  was  an  easy  matter  for  us  to  calculate 
what  the  infiuence  of  such  a  charge  would  be  on  the 
public  mind.  We  were  very  soon  infbrmed  of  the  evil 
of  our  conduct,  to  which  we  pleaded  guilty,  promising, 
that  as  we  were  not  aware  that  we  were  doing  wrong, 
being  as  anxious  as  any  of  them  for  rain,  we  would 
willingly  look  to  our  cUns,  or  the  ground,  all  the  day 
long,  if  it  would  serve  their  purpose.  It  was  rather  re- 
markable, that  much  as  they  admired  my  long  black 
beard,  they  thought  that  in  this  case  it  was  most  to 
blame.  However,  this  season  of  trial  passed  over,  to  our 
great  comfort,  though  it  was  followed  for  some  time  with 
many  indications  of  suspicion  and  distrust. 

Matters  were  now  coming  to  extremity.  The 
long-continued  drought,  and  all  its  attendant 
miseries,  were  attributed  to  the  missionaries,  who 
were  ordered  to  leave  the  country ;  and  it  was 
hinted  that  violence  would  be  employed  imless  the 

2U 


538     MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 


orders  of  the  chiefs  for  their  departure  were  obeyed. 
The  missionaries  refused  to  go  away,  and  stated 
their  reasons  for  remaining,  which  were  of  a  nature 
quite  incomprehensible  to  the  aborigines,  who  how- 
ever remarked,  *'  These  men  must  have  ten  lives. 
When  they  are  so  fearless  of  death,  there  must  be 
something  in  immortality."  The  suspicions  ex- 
cited among  these  people,  from  the  most  trivial 
causes,  forcibly  illustrate  the  power  of  prejudice 
over  ignorant  minds.  Two  little  images  of  soldiers, 
stuck  upon  a  Dutch  clock  fixed  in  the  wall  in  the 
place  of  worship,  were  magnified  into  something 
vast  and  sinister. 

The  Utile  images  in  the  clock  were  soon  magnified 
into  Goli&hs,  and  the  place  of  worship  looked  upon  as  an 
ntUlu  ea  hkoUgoy  a  hoose  of  bondage.  It  was  necessary 
to  take  down  the  fairy-looking  strangers,  an(}  cut  a  piece 
off  their  painted  bo<Ues,  to  convince  the  affirighted  na- 
tives tiiat  the  objects  of  their  alarm  were  only  bits  of 
coloured  wood.  Many,  however,  thought  themselves  too 
wise  to  be  thus  easily  deceived.  Though  perfectly  con- 
vinced of  the  egregious  folly  of  behoving  that  the  Utile 
liiHOf  ^  carved  ones,"  would  one  day  seize  them  by  the 
throat  in  the  sanctuary,  they  nevertheless  continued  to 
suspect,  that  the  motives  of  the  missionary  were  any- 
thing but  disinterested. 

Mr.  Mofiat  had  been,  even  when  matters  looked 
the  darkest,  unconsciously  laying  the  foundation 
of  his  future  success ;  and  now  a  crisis  was  at 
hand,  of  which  he  availed  himself  with  singular 
boldness  and  sagacity, and  at  length  fully  gained  the 
confidence  and  regard  of  the  people,  who  could  no 
longer  doubt  of  his  will  and  power  to  serve  them. 
The  details  of  those  transactions  which  gained  him 
the  esteem  and  confidence  of  the  tribe,  exhibit  one 
of  the  most  complete  pictures  of  savage  warfare, 
— ^where  the  great  impeller  is  hunger,  and  where 
one  horde  pours  forth  from  the  wilderness  after 
another,  spreading  dismay  and  devastation  in  their 
course,— -that  ancient  or  modem  literature  affords. 

For  more  than  a  year,  numerous  wild  rumours 
of  war,  brought  by  the  hunters  and  traders,  had 
reached  the  mission-station,  but  of  so  extravagant 
a  nature,  that  they  were  at  first  treated  as  the 
dreams  of  madmen.  It  was  said  that  a  mighty 
woman  named  MomMeey  was  coming  on  at  the 
head  of  an  invincible  army,  numerous  as  the  lo- 
custs, marching  onward  among  the  interior  na- 
tions, bringing  devastation  and  ruin  wherever  she 
appeared ;  and  that  she  nourished  the  army  with 
her  own  milk,  sent  out  hornets  before  her,  and  was 
laying  the  world  desolate.  Mr.  Moffat  began  to 
think  that  there  must  be  some  foundation  for  these 
extraordinary  gazettes,  and  concluded  that  they 
were  magnified  rumours  of  the  destructive  wars 
carrying  on  by  Chaka  the  tyrant  of  Zoolus ;  and 
though  this  monster  was  at  too  great  a  distance  to 
cause  alarm,  the  missionary  had  various  reasons 
for  wishing  to  ascertain  the  state  of  public  affairs 
among  the  neighbouring  tribes,  and  he  accordingly 
resolved  to  visit  MdkabOy  the  chief  of  the  Bau- 
angketsi ;  and  by  opening  a  friendly  intercourse, 
or  mediating  between  hostile  tribes,  prevent,  if 
possible,  their  perpetual  bloody  conflicts.  He 
wished,  besides,  to  become  acquainted  with  their 
manners  and  language.  The  chief  and  people 
among  whom  he  had  so  long  resided  on  the  Kuru- 
mau,  were  averse  to  his  journey.     Makaba  was 


represented  as  a  ferocious  murderer,  from  whoee 
territory  he  would  never  return  alive.  He  how- 
ever persisted  in  his  purpose,  and  had  not  advanced 
far  on  his  march  when  he  ascertained,  beyond  a 
doubt,  that  the  fierce  and  warlike  tribe  of  Manta- 
tees,  typified  by  the  gigantic  woman,  had  actaally 
reached  some  of  the  neighbouring  tribes,  whose 
towns  were  already  in  the  hands  of  the  marauders. 
The  spies  sent  out  to  ascertain  the  movements  of  thi* 
advancing  army, — which,  like  the  ancient  hordes, 
moved  onward,  accompanied  by  their  wives,  chil- 
dren, cattle,  and  dogs,— could  give  no  satisfiactoty 
tidings ;  and  Mr.  Moffat  and  his  company  pro- 
ceeded for  the  town  of  the  chief,  Makaba ;  but 
the  party  had  not  advanced  much  farther  when 
they  were  driven  to  their  wits'  end. 

We  were  on  the  alert,  and  made  inquiries  of  every 
stranger  we  met  about  the  invaders,  but  could  learn  no- 
thing; although  we  were  not  more  than  fifteen  mfles 
from  the  town,  of  which  it  was  reported  the  enemy  were 
in  possession.  We  saw,  on  a  distant  height,  some  mea 
who  were  evidently  looking  our  way,  and  their  not  ap- 
proaching our  wagons  was  so  tmusual  with  hnngry 
natives,  that  we  thought  they  must  be  strangers  fnm, 
a  great  distance,  or  some  of  tiie  Maniaiees.  Two  days 
passed  over,  and  on  the  next,  when  we  were  about  to 
start  for  the  Bauangketd,  two  Barolongs  paesins  by, 
informed  us  of  the  foci  that  the  Mantatees  vrere  in  pos- 
session  of  the  town.  Which  Uy  rather  in  our  rear,behiB4 
some  heights,  which  we  distinctiy  saw.  As  <me  of  Uieee 
men  had  narrowly  escaped  with  his  life  in  the  oonflici 
with  that  people,  no  doubt  was  left  in  our  minds  as  to 
the  propriety  of  returning  immediately  to  the  place 
whence  we  had  come,  particularly  as  there  was  a  pro- 
bability that  our  course  might  be  intercepted,  some 
prisoners  who  had  escaped  having  reported  that  the 
enemy  were  about  to  start  for  Lithako.  We  lost  no 
time  in  returning  to  Nokaneng,  and  were  met  there  by 
indiriduals  who  authenticated  my  report  to  some  thoo- 
sands,who  were  pleasing  themselves  with  the  idea  that 
there  was  no  such  enemy.  When  I  arrived  at  our  Na- 
tion the  fearM  news  spread  rapidly.  A  public  meetiBg 
was  convened,  and  the  principal  men  met,  to  whoa  i 
gave  a  cireumstantial  acootmt  of  aU  the  information  I 
had  gathered  respecting  the  character  and  progress  of 
the  Mantatees.  That  they  were  really  a  numerous  asd 
powerful  body,  had  destroyed  many  towns  of  the.Bakone 
tribes,  slaughtered  limmense  numbers  of  people,  laid 
Kurrechane  in  ruins,  scattered  the  Barelonga,  and,  in 
addition,  were  said  to  be  cannibals !  The  alarmxiig 
tidings  produced  at  first  a  gloom  on  every  countenaaoe, 
and  when  I  had  finished  peaking,  a  profound  olenee 
reigned  for  some  minutes.  Mothibi  then  replied  in  the 
name  of  the  assembly,  that  he  was  exceedingly  thankftil 
that  I  had  been  tloga  e  tika^a,  hard-headed,  and  purned 
my  journey,  for,  by  so  domg,  I  had  discovered  to  fthoB 
their  danger. 

All  were  now  ready  to  bless  me  for  having  taken  my 
own  way.  They  solicited  counsel,  but  all  I  could  grre 
was  to  flee  to  the  colony,  or  call  in  the  assistance  of  the 
Griquas;  that  as  the  Bechuanas  were  entirely  unable  to 
resist  so  numerous  and  savage  a  force  as  the  Manti^<^ 
I  would  proceed  instantly  to  Griqua  Town,  give  mto^ 
mation,  convey  their  wishes,  and  obtain  assistaiieeaiid 
wagons  to  remove  our  goods  from  the  stati<m.  Some 
proposed  fleeing  to  the  Kalagare  desert:  but  from  tins  I 
strongly  dissuaded  them,  fearing  that  many  would  pgsh 
from  want.  As  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  in  the  »mom 
of  horses,  I  proceeded  witii  my  wagon  to  <>riqaaT(W[rj, 
where  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting,  at  Mr.  MdfUis 
house,  George  Thompson,  Esq.,  of  Cape  Town,  who  was 
on  a  tour,  and  about  to  visit  Lithako. 

In  brief,  the  services  which  Mr.  Moffat,  by  his 
promptitude  and  sagacity,  rendered  to  the  tribe  at 
this  critical  period,  gained  for  him  an  ascendency 
which  he  never  afterwards  lost.     A  public  meeting 


MOFFArS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA.      539 


or  parliament  was  instantly  assembled ;  the  proceed- 
ings and  eloquence  of  which  are  minutely  described, 
and  at  which  there  was  "  little  cheering,  and  less 
hissing,  while  every  speaker  fearlessly  stated  his 
sentiments."  Our  specimen  of  the  eloquence  of 
the  piisho  must  be  brief.  An  old  chief,  when  his 
turn  came  to  address  the  assembly,  said, — 

**  Ye  sons  of  Molehabangue,  ye  haye  now  had  experi- 
ence enough  to  convince  yon  that  it  is  your  duty  to  pro- 
ceed against  the  Mantatees,  who  have  no  object  but  to 
steal  and  destroy.  Ye  sons  of  Molehabangue  !  ye  sons 
of  Molehabangue  !  ye  have  done  well  this  day.  You 
are  now  acting  wisely,  first  to  deliberate  and  then  to 
proceed  :  the  missionary  has  discovered  our  danger  like 
the  rising  sun  after  a  dark  night ;  a  man  sees  the  dan- 
ger he  was  in  when  darkness  shut  his  eyes.  We  must 
not  act  like  Bechuanas,  we  must  act  like  Makodas  (white 
people.)  Is  this  our  pitsho  !  No,  it  is  the  pitsho  of  the  mis- 
sionary ;  therefore  we  must  speak  and  act  like  Makodas." 

Bat  we  haye  no  space  for  eloquence.  The  time  for 
action  had  come  ;  the  Griqua  auxiliaries  arriyed  ; 
and  the  commando  marched  forth,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Moffat.  It  had  been  resolved  in  council,  that 
the  scene  of  combat  had  best  be  chosen  at  a  dis- 
tance from  their  town.  The  bold,  yet  becoming  and 
consistent  part,  which  the  missionary  acted  through- 
out this  campaign,  must  have  raised  him  still 
higher  in  the  esteem  of  the  tribe,  though  he  only 
acted  as  the  consistent  servant  of  the  Prince  of 
Peace.  He  and  another  individual  advanced  before 
the  main  body  to  learn  how  matters  stood,  and,  if 
possible,  to  prevent  a  collision  ;  but  the  Mantatees 
would  not  approach  him  ;  and  he  relates, — 

At  sunset  I  left  Waterboer  and  the  scouts,  and  rode 
bac£:,  to  confer  with  Mr.  Melvill  and  •the  Griqua  chie&, 
and  to  devise  some  scheme  to  bring  the  enemy  to  terms 
of  peace,  and  prevent,  if  possible,  the  dreadful  conse- 
quences of  a  battle.  The  Griquas  had  come,  headed  by 
their  respective  chiefe,  Adam  Kok,  Berend  Berend, 
Andries  Waterboer,  and  Cornelius  ^f Kok ;  but  it  was 
unanimously  agreed  that  Waterboer  should  take  the 
command.  Cornelius,  nobly  and  generously,  insisted  on 
my  taking  his  best  horse,  urging  that  my  life  was  far 
more  valuable  than  his.  This  kind  act  was  the  more 
sensibly  felt  as  tiie  horse  was  one  of  the  strongest  in  the 
commando  ;  and  but  for  this  circumstance,  I  could  not 
have  done  what  I  did,  nor,  humanly  speaking,  could  I 
have  escaped  with  my  life. 

Having  spent  an  almost  sleepless  night  on  the  plain, 
from  extreme  cold,  we  were  all  in  motion  next  morning 
before  daylight.  The  attempt  made  the  preceding  day 
to  bring  about  a  friendly  communication  having  entirely 
failed,  it  was  judged  expedient  for  the  commando  to  ride 
up  to  the  invaders,  hoping,  frx>m  the  imposing  appear- 
ance of  aJ>out  one  hundred  horsemen,  to  intimidate  them, 
and  bring  them  to  a  parley.  For  this  purpose,  the  com- 
mando approached  within  150  yards,  with  a  view  to 
beckon  some  one  to  come  out.  On  this  the  enemy  com- 
menced their  terrible  howl,  and  at  once  discharged  their 
clubs  and  javelins.  Their  black  dismal  appearance,  and 
savage  fury,  with  their  hoarse  and  stentorian  voices,  were 
calcinated  to  daunt;  and  the  Griquas,  on  their  first  attack, 
wisely  retreated  to  a  short  distance,  and  again  drew  up. 

Soon  after  the  battle  commenced,  the  Bechuanas  came 
up,  and  united  in  playing  on  the  enemy  with  poisoned 
arrows,  but  they  were  soon  driven  back  ;  half-a-dozen 
of  the  fierce  Mantatees  made  the  whole  body  scamper 
off  in  wild  disorder.  After  two  hours  and  a  hairs  com- 
bat, the  Griquas,  finding  their  ammunition  fast  diminish- 
ing, at  the  almost  certain  risk  of  loss  of  life,  began  to 
storm  ;  when  the  enemy  gave  way,  taking  a  westerly 
direction.  The  horsemen,  however,  intercepted  them, 
when  they  immediately  descended  towards  the  ravine, 
as  if  determined  not  to  return  by  the  way  they  came, 
which  ihey  crossed,  but  were  again  Intercepted.    On 


turning  round,  they  seemed  desperate,  but  were  soon 
repulsed.  Great  confusion  now  prevailed,  the  ground 
being  very  stony,  which  rendered  it  difficult  to  manage 
the  horses.  At  this  moment  an  awful  scene  was  pre- 
sented to  the  view.  The  undulating  country  around  was 
covered  with  warriors,  all  in  motion,  so  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  say  who  were  enemies  or  who  were  friends. 
Clouds  of  dust  were  rising  from  the  immense  masses,  who 
appeared  fiying  with  terror,  or  pursuing  with  fear.  To 
the  alarming  conf^ision  was  added  the  bellowing  of  oxen, 
the  vociferations  of  the  yet  unvanquished  warriors, 
mingled  with  the  groans  of  the  dying,  and  the  widows' 
piercing  wail,  and  the  cries  from  i^ant  voices.  The 
enemy  then  directed  their  course  towards  the  town, 
which  was  in  possession  of  a  tribe  of  Uie  same  people, 
still  more  numerous.  Here  again  another  desperate 
struggle  ensued,  when  they  appeared  determined  to  in- 
close the  horsemen  within  the  smoke  and  flames  of  the 
houses,  through  which  they  were  slowly  passing,  giving 
the  enemy  time  to  escape.  At  last  seized  with  despair, 
they  fied  precipitately.  It  had  been  observed  during  tho 
fight  that  some  women  went  backward  and  forward  to 
the  town,  only  about  half  a  mile  distant,  apparently  with 
the  most  perfect  indifference  to  their  fearfhl  situation. 
While  the  commando  was  struggling  between  hope  and 
despair  of  being  able  to  route  the  enemy,  information 
was  brought  that  the  half  of  tho  enemy  tmder  Chuane 
were  reposing  in  the  town,  within  sound  of  the  guns, 
perfectly  regwlless  of  the  &te  of  the  other  division,  under 
the  command  of  Karaganye.  It  was  supposed  they  pos- 
sessed entire  confidence  in  the  yet  invincible  army  of  the 
latter,  being  the  more  warlike  of  the  two.  Humanly 
speaking,  had  both  parties  been  together,  the  day  would 
have  been  lost,  when  they  would,  with  perfect  ease,havo 
carried  devastation  into  the  centre  of  the  colony.  When 
both  parties  were  united,  they  set  fire  to  all  parts  of  the 
town,  and  appeared  to  be  taking  their  departure,  pro* 
ceeding  in  an  immense  body  towards  the  north.  If  their 
number  may  be  calcukted  by  the  space  of  ground  occu- 
pied by  the  entire  body,  it  must  have  amounted  to  up- 
wards of  forty  thousand.  The  Griquas  pursued  them 
about  eight  miles  ;  and  though  they  continued  desperate, 
they  seemed  filled  vrith  terror  at  the  enemies  by  whom 
they  had  been  overcome. 

As  soon  as  they  had  retired  from  the  spot  where  they 
had  been  encamped,  the  Bechuanas,  like  voracious  wolves, 
began  to  plunder  and  despatch  the  wounded  men,  and  to 
butcher  the  women  and  children  vrith  their  spears  and 
war-axes.  As  fighting  was  not  my  province,  of  course 
I  avoided  discharging  a  single  shot,  though,  at  the  re- 
quest of  Mr.  MelvBl  and  the  chiefk,  I  remained  with  the 
commando,  as  the  only  means  of  safety.  Seeing  the 
savage  ferocity  of  the  Bechuanas,  in  killing  the  inoffen- 
sive women  and  children,  for  the  sake  of  a  few  paltry 
rings,  or  of  being  able  to  boast  that  they  had  killed  somo 
of  the  Mantatees,  I  turned  my  attention  to  these  objects 
of  pity,  who  were  fiying  in  consternation  in  all  directions. 
By  my  galloping  in  among  them,  many  of  the  Bechuanas 
were  deterred  from  their  barbarous  purposes.  It  was 
distressing  to  see  mothers  and  infants  rolled  in  blood, 
and  the  living  babe  in  the  arms  of  a  dead  mother.  All 
ages  and  both  sexes  lay  prostrate  on  the  ground.  Shortly 
after  they  began  to  retreat,  the  women,  seeing  that 
mercy  was  shown  them,  instead  of  flying,  generally  sat 
down,  and,  baring  their  bosoms,  exclaimed,  ^  I  am  a 
woman,  I  am  a  woman  !"  It  seemed  impossible  for  the 
men  to  yield.  There  were  several  instances  of  wounded 
men  being  surrounded  by  fifty  Bechuanas,  but  it  was  not 
till  life  was  almost  extinct  that  a  single  one  would  allow 
himself  to  be  conquered.  I  saw  more  than  one  instance 
of  a  man  fighting  boldly,  with  ten  or  twelve  spears  and 
arrows  fixed  in  his  body.  The  cries  of  infimts  which 
had  fallen  from  the  breasts  of  their  mothers,  who  had 
fied  or  were  slain,  were  distinctly  heard,  while  many  of 
the  women  appeared  thoughtless  as  to  their  dreadAil 
situation.  Several  times  I  narrowly  escaped  the  spears 
and  war-axes  of  the  wounded,  wMle  busy  in  rescuing 
the  women  and  children.  The  men,  struggling  with 
death,  would  raise  themselves  from  the  ground,  and  dis- 
charge their  weapons  at  any  one  of  our  number  within 


540     MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  li^  SOUTHERN  AFRICA* 


their  reach:  their  hostile  and  reyengeM  spirit  only 

eeased  when  life  was  extinct. The 

Mantatees  are  a  tall,  robust  people,  in  features  resem- 
bling the  Bechuanas  ;  their  dress  consisting  of  prepared 
ox  hides,  hanging  double  orer  the  shoulders.  The  men 
during  the  engagement  were  nearly  naked,  having  on 
their  heads  a  round  cockade  of  black  ostrich  feathers. 
^Hieir  ornaments  were  large  copper  rings,  sometimes 
eight  in  number,  worn  round  their  necks,  with  numerous 
arm,  leg,  and  ear  rings  of  the  same  material.  Their 
weapons  were  war-axes  of  yarious  shapes,  spears,  and 
clubs  ;  into  many  of  their  knob-sticks  were  inserted 
pieces  of  iron  resembling  a  sickle,  but  more  ounred, 
sometimes  to  a  circle,  and  sharp  on  the  outside.  Their 
language  was  only  a  dialect  of  the  Sechuana,as  I  under- 
stood them  nearly  as  well  as  the  people  among  whom  I 
liTed.  They  appeared  more  rude  and  barbarous  than 
the  tribes  around  us,  the  natural  consequences  of  the 
warlike  life  they  had  led.  They  were  snfiforing  dread- 
fully from  want ;  even  in  the  heat  of  battle,  the  poorer 
class  seized  pieces  of  meat  and  devoured  them  raw. 
At  the  close  of  the  battle,  when  Mr.  MeMll  and  I  had 
collected  many  women  and  children,  and  were  taking 
them  to  a  place  of  safety,  it  was  with  the  utmost  diffi- 
culty we  could  get  them  forward.  They  willingly  fol- 
lowed till  they  found  a  piece  of  meat,  which  had  been 
thrown  away  in  the  flight,  when  nearly  all  would  halt 
to  tear  and  devour  it,  though  perfectly  raw. 

When,  a  few  days  afterwards,  upon  an  alarm 
Teaching  the  station  that  the  Mantatees  were  ad- 
Tancing  to  attack  the  Kuniman  town,  the  female 
captives  were  carried  along  with  the  people  who  fled 
towards  Griqua  Town.     We  are  told,— 

Halting  in  the  evening,  a  dead  horse  was  found  that 
had  belonged  to  one  of  the  Griquas,  and  which  had  been 
killed  by  the  bite  of  a  serpent.  Next  morning  the  women 
fell  on  the  swollen  and  half-putrid  carcase,  and  began, 
like  60  many  wolves,  to  tear  it  limb  from  limb,  every  one 
securing  as  much  as  she  could  for  herself.  Mr  Hamil- 
ton, who  looked  on  with  utter  amazement,  itdvised  them 
to  avoid  the  part  where  the  animal  was  bitten.  To  his 
fHendly  warning  they  paid  no  attention  whatever ;  in 
the  space  of  about  an  hour  a  total  dissection  was  effected, 
and  every  particle  of  skin,  meat,  bone,  the  entrails,  and 
their  contents,  were  carried  off.  Mr.  H.  was  obliged  to 
remain  the  whole  day,  finding  it  absolutely  impossible 
to  induce  them  to  leave  the  spot  till  every  particle  was 
devoured,  and  in  the  evening  they  actually  danced  and 
sang  with  joy  !  This  will  appear  the  more  astonishing, 
as  the  women  were  allowed  a  regular  supply  of  rations ; 
but  when  people  have  fasted  for  a  year  they  require 
quantities  of  food,  which,  if  mentioned,  would  appear 
Incredible,  and  a  long  period  elapses  befbre  the  stomach 
regains  its  wonted  tone.  It  would  only  excite  disgust 
were  the  writer  to  describe  sights  of  this  kind  which  he 
has  been  compelled  to  witness 

In  the  preceding  sketch,  I  have  glanced  but  very 
briefly  at  the  varied  scenes  connected  with  the  mournful 
picture  of  that  day.  It  would  have  been  an  easy  matter 
to  give  more  facts,  but  my  mind  still  shrinks  from  farther 
details  of  feats  of  savage  barbarity,  and  lion-like  ferocity, 
which  I  witnessed  among  the  Mantatee  warriors.  No 
less  fhrious  and  revengeftil  was  the  spirit  manifested 
by  the  Batlapi  and  other  tribes,  who  though  the  most 
accomplished  cowards,  compared  vnth  the  invaders, 
showed  that  they  were,  if  less  inured  to  war,  still  as 
cruel  as  those  who,  for  years,  had  been  imbruing  their 
hands  in  the  blood  of  thousands.  The  wounded  enemy 
they  baited  with  their  stones,  clubs,  and  spears,  accom- 
panied with  yellings  and  countenances  indicative  of 
fiendish  Joy.  ^e  hapless  women  found  no  quarter, 
especially  if  they  possessed  anything  like  ornaments  to 
tempt  the  cupidity  of  their  plunderers.* 

The  women  evinced  the  most  entire  indifference  to 
the  objects  of  terror  by  which  they  were  surrounded ; 
but  still  mothers  clung  to  their  in&nts,  whose  piteous 
cries  were  sufficient  to  melt  a  heart  of  stone.  With  all 
their  conquests  and  the  many  thousands  of  cattle  which 


they  must  have  captured,  they  were  dying  firom  hunget. 
Their  march  for  hundreds  of  miles  might  have  beea 
traced  by  human  bones.  Not  having  seen  horsemen  be- 
fore, they  imagined  horse  and  rider  constituted  only  one 
animal ;  but  this,  as  we  afterwards  heard,  did  not  inti- 
midate them,  for  their  determination  was  fixed  on  attack- 
ing tiie  colony,  having  heard  that  there  were  inmeoM 
flocks  of  sheep  there.  Had  they  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  Orange  river,  or  the  borders  of  the  colony,  where 
they  would  most  probably  have  been  defeated,  the  d^ 
struction  of  human  life  would  have  been  even  more  drod- 
fill,  as  they  must  have  perished  from  vrant,  when  retmt- 
ing  through  exasperated  thousands  of  the  tribes  they  had 
vanquished,  towards  their  own  country.  Some  of  the 
Bechuanas  were  so  sensible  of  this,  that  they  BecreUy 
wished  that  it  might  be  so,  in  order  iJiat  they  migy 
satiate  their  yengeance  on  a  conquered  foe.     .    .    . 

The  Mantatees,  after  finally  leaving  the  country,  sept- 
rated  into  two  divisions.  The  one  proceeded  eastward, 
towards  the  Bakone  country,  while  the  other  proceeded 
to  that  of  the  Basuto,  from  Uie  eastern  parts  of  wfaiek 
they  had  emigrated,  or  rather  been  driven,  by  the  de- 
structive inroads  of  the  Zoolu,  Matabele,  and  other  tribes. 
Like  many  other  pastoral  people,  when  robbed  of  their 
cattle,  they  have  nothing  left :  and  thus  must  either 
perish  or  rob  others ;  and  fh)m  being  wild  men  they  be- 
come more  like  wild  beasts.  It  is  a  deeply  intertttiig 
fkot,  that  a  missionary  is  now  labouring  with  muom 
among  the  latter,  conquering  them  with  fiir  other  wea- 
pons than  those  which  were  found  necessary  to  arrest 
their  devastating  career  at  Old  Lithako. 

We  have  next  this  picturesque  account  of  a  niglit 
alann  in  an  African  village  :«-<- 

This  was  a  night  of  great  anxiety.  Messengers  aniTed 
announcing  the  certain  approach  of  the  Mantateei.  It 
was  dark  and  dreary.  I^ie  town,  without  lights  of  aoj 
description,  except  the  few  embers  of  the  house-firea, 
round  which  sat  the  trembling  familiea  Most  of  the 
men  were  out  of  doors,  listening  to  anything  like  aa  un- 
usual sound.  The  dogs  kept  up  incessant  barking.  No 
watches  were  set,  no  spies  sent  out.  There  was  no  in- 
habitant between  us  and  the  field  of  battle.  Every  one 
appeared  afraid  to  move  from  the  spot  where  he  stood. 
A  cry  of  sorrow  was  raised  in  one  part  of  the  town  whidi 
made  every  heart  palpitate.  It  was  the  intelligence  of 
one  newly  arrived, — the  melancholy  tale  of  the  parent 
of  a  family  having  been  slain  by  the  Mantatees.  Occa- 
sionally a  chief  would  come  to  our  houses  to  announce 
Ms  terror.  Imagination  painted  the  town  surrounded 
by  a  host  of  the  enemy,  waiting  the  dawn  of  day  to 
commence  a  general  massacre.  The  Mantatee  womeo 
in  our  kitchens  and  outhouses  perceived  the  alarm,  and 
looked  on,  or  slept  with  the  most  perfect  indifference. 
Again  and  again  parties  came  and  knocked  violently  at 
our  door,  relating  new  fears — the  spectres  of  their  fever- 
ish minds.  Mrs.  M.  put  warm  clothes  on  the  two  aleep- 
ing  babes,  in  case  of  being  able  to  escape  on  foot  towards 
the  mountain,  while  I  hung  my  cloak  on  my  gnn  fast  by 
the  door,  ready  to  seize  it  for  protection,  in  oar  fligbtj 
from  beasts  of  prey.  A  woman  who  had  the  day  hefore 
but  scarcely  escaped  the  deadly  weapons  of  the  enemy,ran 
the  whole  night,and  on  reaching  the  thresholdof  oneof  the 
houses,  fainted  with  fatigue,and  fell  to  the  ground.  On  re- 
covering, the  first  words  ^e  articulated  was,  *  The  Man- 
tatees r  This  went  through  the  thousands  like  an  eIe^ 
trie  shock.  As  morning  light  drew  near,  the  intensity 
of  feeling  increased  a  hundred-fold.  This  was  a.  seawa 
for  the  exercise  of  prayer,  and  faith  in  the  promises  w 
our  God.  The  name  of  Jehovah  was  to  us  a  strong 
tower,  for,  on  looking  back  to  that  as  well  as  to  siim^ 
periods,  we  have  often  wondered  that  our  fears  were  do* 
greater  than  they  were. 

It  was  not  until  tranquillity  was  restored,  tSfi 
this  alarming  invasion,  that  Mr,  Moffat  accom- 
plished his  visit  to  Makaba.  The  pictoreeque  dfr 
tails  of  all  his  journeys  form  delightfril  readiog;  l>^ 
we  press  onward  to  the  head-quarten  of  this  Wf" 


MOFPArS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA.     541 


mMftble  chief,  who,  as  is  proyerbially  said  of  another 
great  personage,  was  found  to  be  not  quite  so  bad  as 
he  was  sometunes  oalled.  They  were  welcomed  by 
one  of  his  sons  and  a  party  of  his  warriors ;  and — 

Next  day,  before  we  had  proceeded  fttr,  we  were  met 
by  messengers  from  Makaba,  who  said  he  had  not  slept 
for  joy,  beoause  of  our  approach.  We  passed  many 
women,  who  were  employed  in  their  wardens,  who,  on 
seeing  n^  threw  down  their  picks,  and  running  to  the 
wagons,  lifted  np  their  hands,  exclaiming,  *^  Ram^la,** 
(their  manner  of  salutation,)  which  was  followed  by  shrill 
cries  sufficient  to  affinght  the  yery  oxen.  Our  guide 
eondnoted  us  through  a  winding  street  to  the  habitation 
of  Makaba,  who  stood  at  the  door  of  one  of  his  houses, 
suud  weleomed  us  to  the  town  in  the  usual  way.  He 
seemed  astonished  and  pleased  to  see  us  all  without 
arms,  remarking,  with  a  hearty  laugh,  that  he  wondered 
we  should  trust  ourselyes,  unarmed,  in  the  town  of  such 
a  viUain  as  he  was  reported  to  be.  In  a  few  minutes  a 
multitude  gathered,  who  actually  trode  on  each  other  in 
their  eagerness  to  see  the  strangers  and  their  horses. 
Meanwlule  Makaba  walked  into  a  house,  and  sent  us 
out  a  large  jar»  or  pot  of  beer,  with  calabashes,  in  the 
form  of  a  ladle.  Being  thirsty,  we  partook  very  heartily 
of  the  beer,  which  possessed  but  little  of  an  intoxicating 
quality 

Haying  thus  reached  the  metropolis  of  the  Bauang- 
ketsi,and  haying  cast  our  eyes  oyer  a  dense  population,  we 
were  in  some  measure  prepared  for  the  din  of  many  thou- 
sands of  yoices  on  the  coming  day.  We  were  not  mis- 
taken, for,  early  next  morning,  and  long  before  we  were 
out  of  bed,  we  were  surrounded  by  crowds,  so  that  it 
was  with  difficulty  we  could  pass  from  one  wagon  to 
another.  On  going  up  the  hill  to  haye  a  yiew  of  the 
neighbouring  country,  I  was  followed  by  a  number  of 
men,  who,  while  I  was  taking  some  bearings,  were  not 
a  little  surprised  at  the  compass,  which  they  regarded 
as  an  instrument  certainly  belonging  to  a  sorcerer,  though 
they  laughed  when  I  asked  them  if  they  thought  that  I 
was  one. 

About  ten  o'clock  aji.,  Makaba  made  his  appearance, 
with  his  retinue,  and  sat  down  opposite  to  my  wagon. 
The  bustling  crowd  retired  to  a  distance,  and  a  dead 
silence  ensued.  He  addressed  us  nearly  as  follows  : — 
*  My  friends,  I  am  perfectly  happy ;  my  heart  is  whiter 
than  milk,  because  you  haye  yisited  me.  To  day  I  am 
a  great  man.  Men  will  now  say,  <  Makaba  is  in  league 
with  white  people.'  I  know  that  all  men  speak  eyil  of 
me.  They  seek  my  hurt  It  is  because  they  cannot 
conquer  me  that  I  am  hated.  If  they  do  me  eyil,  I  can 
reward  them  twofold.  They  are  like  children  that  quar- 
rel ;  what  the  weiUcer  cannot  do  by  strength,  he  supplies 
with  eyil  names.  You  are  come  to  see  the  yillain  Ma- 
kaba ;  you  are  come,  as  the  Batlapis  say,  <  to  die  by  my 
hands.'  You  are  wise  and  bold  to  come  and  see  wid^ 
your  eyes,  and  laugh  at  the  testimony  of  my  enemies," 
etc  A  long  conyersation  afterwards  ensued  respecting 
the  state  of  the  country,  and  the  Mantatee  inyasion.  On 
this  topic  he  was  eloquent  whUe  describing  the  manner 
in  which  he  entrapped  many  hundreds  of  the  enemy  by 
ambuseades ;  and  stretching  forth  his  muscular  arm  in 
the  directi<m  of  the  field  of  conflict,  he  said,  *^  There  lie 
the  bleached  bones  of  the  enemy  who  came  upon  our 
hills  like  the  loeusts,  but  who  melted  before  us  by  the 
shaking  of  the  spear ;"  adding,  with  a  stentorian  yoice, 
and  with  superhitiye  self-comphicency,  *  Who  is  to  be 
eompared  to  Makaba,  the  son  of  Meleta,the  man  of  con- 
quest?" The  listenbg  multitude  broke  the  silence  hi 
deafonmg  appUuse.  I  then  told  hun  that  the  object  of 
ay  present  journey  was  to  open  a  communication,  that 
we  might  consider  him  in  future  as  one  of  our  chief 
friends. 

Makaba*8  city  was  very  large  for  an  African 
town*  He  had  many  wives,  each  of  whom  had  a 
laige  separate  establishment.  The  houses,  or  clus- 
ters of  huts,  though  not  larger,  were  neater  and 
letter  built  than  those  of  the  tribe  among  whom 


Mr.  Moffat  lived  ;  and  there  was  one  rare  feature 
in  theb  economy-— ^deanliness. 

The  accuracy  with  which  circles  were  formed,  and 
perpendiculars  raised,  though  guided  only  by  the  eye, 
was  surprising.  Their  outer  yards  and  house-floors  were 
yery  clean,  and  smooth  as  paper.  No  dairy-maid  in 
England  could  keep  her  wooden  bowls  cleaner  and  whiter 
than  theirs  were.  In  this  respect  they  formed  a  perfect 
contrast  to  the  Batlapis.  Makaba  frequently  referred 
to  the  barbarous  manners  of  his  southern  neighbours,  and 
asked  me,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  if  the  Batlapis  ever 
washed  a  wooden  bowl,  or  if  eyer  they  presented  me 
with  food  which  did  not  contain  the  mangled  bodies  of 
flies,  in  a  dish  which  had  had  no  better  cleaning  than  the 
tongue  of  a  dog. 

Ia  the  early  part  of  the  day  Makaba  was  generally 
employed  in  cutting  out  skins  to  sew  together  for  cloaks, 
and  in  the  afternoon  he  was  frequently  found  in  a  mea« 
sure  intoxicated,  from  a  stronger  kind  of  beer  made  for 
his  own  use.  He  appeared  aged,  although  his  mother 
was  then  aliye.  He  was  tall,  robust,  and  healthy ;  had 
rather  the  appearance  of  a  Hottentot ;  his  countenance 
displayed  a  good  deal  of  cunning ;  and,  from  his  oonver- 
sation,  one  might  easily  discern  that  he  was  weU  versed 
in  African  politics.  He  dreaded  the  displeasure  of  none 
of  the  surrounding  tribes ;  but  he  feared  the  Makodas, 

or  civilized  people While  walking  to  a 

neighbouring  height,  I  was  able  to  count  fourteen  consi- 
derable villages  ;  the  furthest  distant  about  one  mile  and 
a  half;  and  I  was  informed  that  there  were  more  towns, 
which  I  could  not  see. 

Though  Makaba  was  a  shrewd  man  about  all 
ordinary  affairs,  and  very  fond  of  what  he  called 
newiy  it  was  impossible  to  engage,  or  even  to 
awaken  his  attention  to  any  of  those  serious  topics 
upon  which  his  visiter  wished  to  converse.  Whea 
told  that  he  was  to  be  entertained  with  news, — 

His  countenance  lighted  up,  hoping  to  hear  of  feats 
of  war,  destruction  of  tribes,  and  such  like  subjects,  so 
congenial  to  his  savage  disposition.  When  he  found 
that  my  topics  had  solely  a  reference  to  the  Great  Being 
of  whom,  the  day  before,  he  had  told  me  he  knew  no- 
thing, and  of  the  Saviour's  mission  to  this  world,  whose 
name  he  had  never  heard,  he  resumed  his  knife  and 
jackal's  skin,  and  hummed  a  native  air.  One  of  his 
men,  sitting  near  me,  appeared  struck  with  the  charac- 
ter of  the  Redeemer,  which  I  was  endeavouring  to  de- 
scribe, and  particularly  with  his  miracles.  On  hearing 
that  he  raised  the  dead,  he  very  naturally  exclaimed, 
^  What  an  excellent  doctor  he  must  have  been,  to  make 
dead  men  live!"  This  led  me  to  describe  his  power, 
and  how  that  power  would  be  exercised  at  the  last  day 
in  raising  the  dead.  In  the  course  of  my  remarks,  the 
ear  of  the  monarch  caught  the  startling  sound  of  a  resur- 
rection. ''What!"  he  exclaimed  with  astonishment, 
**  what  are  these  words  about !  the  dead,  the  dead 
arise!"  ''Yes,"  was  my  reply,  «aU  the  dead  shall 
arise."  **  Will  my  father  arise  t"  **  Yes,"  I  answered, 
<<  your  &ther  will  arise."  **  Will  aU  the  slain  in  battle 
arise !"  <<  Yes."  '^  And  wiU  all  that  have  been  kUled 
and  devoured  by  lions,  tigers,  hyenas,  and  crocodiles, 
again  revive !"  "  Yes ;  and  come  to  judgment."  "  And 
vdll  those  whose  bodies  have  been  left  to  waste  and  to 
wither  on  the  desert  plains,  and  scattered  to  the  winds, 
again  arise  I"  he  asked,  wi^  a  kind  of  triumph  as  if  he 
had  now  fixed  ma.  **  Yes,"  I  replied,  ^  not  one  will  be 
left  behind."  This  I  repeated  with  increased  emphasis. 
After  lookmg  at  me  for  a  few  moments,  he  turned  to  his 
people,  to  whom  he  spoke  with  a  stentorian  yoice: — 
**  Hartc,  ye  wise  men,  whoever  is  among  you,  the  wisest 
of  past  generations,  did  ever  your  ears  hear  such  strange 
and  unheard  of  news!"  .  .  .  Makaba,  then  turning 
and  addressing  himself  to  me,  and  laying  his  hand  on 
my  breast,  said,  *^  Father,  I  love  you  much.  Your  visit 
and  your  presence  have  made  my  heart  white  as  milk. 
The  words  of  your  mouth  are  sweet  as  honey,  but  the 
words  of  a  resurrection  are  too  great  to  be  heard.    I  do 


542      MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 


not  wifih  to  hear  again  about  the  dead  rising !  The 
dead  cannot  arise !  The  dead  must  not  aiise  !*'  ^  Why/* 
I  inquired,  **  can  so  great  a  man  ref^ise  knowledge,  and 
turn  away  from  wisdom !  Tell  me,  my  friend,  why  I 
must  not  'add  to  words'  and  speak  of  a  resurrection!" 
Raising  and  uneoyering  his  arm,  which  had  been  strong 
in  battle,  and  shaking  his  hand  as  if  quivering  a  spear, 
he  replied,  ^  I  haye  shun  my  thousands,  (bontsintsi,)  and 
shall  they  arise!" 

There  is  much  to  interest  in  the  character  and 
romantic  history  of  this  barbarous  chief,  who,  in 
hb  own  fashion,  treated  his  visiters  with  princely 
munificence.  Before  their  departure,  he  entreated 
Mr.  Mofiat  to  let  him  see  muskets  discharged  on 
horseback.    Mr.  Moffat  says, — 

I  declined,  obserying  that  there  were  others  of  tiie 
company  fax  more  expert ;  but  he  would  not  be  satisfied 
unless  I  did  it,  as  I  was  a  white  man.  After  much  per- 
suasion I  submitted,  and  going  into  my  wagon,  profess- 
edly to  fetch  my  jacket,  put  into  my  pocket  a  brace  of 
pistols,  charged  with  powder  only.  After  going  a  few 
turns  round  the  smootii  grassy  plain,  while  the  king  and 
his  attendants  were  rtMuring  aloud  with  admiration,  I 
galloped  past  them,  discharging  the  contents  of  both 
pistols  nearly  at  once,  which  astonished  the  Bauangketsi 
more  than  anything  they  had  eyer  seen,  and  frightened 
them  too,  for  they  all  fell  prostrate  to  the  earth,  suppos- 
ing they  were  shot.  As  soon  as  I  alighted  from  the 
horse,  Makaba  began  to  unbutton  my  jacket  to  see  the 
''  little  roffues,"  as  he  called  them,  exclaiming,  ^  What  a 
blessing  that  yon  white  men  seek  to  be  friends  wi^  all 
nations, for  who  is  there  that  could  withstand  you!" 
Laying  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  he  added,  ^  I  do, 
indeed,  see  that  you  were  without  fear,  or  you  would 
have  had  your  pistols  this  morning."  After  remaining 
for  a  couple  of  hours  we  parted,  Makaba  highly  grati- 
fied, and  the  Griquas  tthey  had  been  distrustful]  no  less 
80  ynth  the  explanation  which  had  taken  place. 

A  still  more  remarkable  and  more  distant  chief 
named  Mosdekaise  the  king  of  a  division  of  Zoolus 
named  the  Matabele,  had  heard  of  the  white  men 
of  Peace,  and  sent  two  of  his  chief  men,  in  com- 
pany with  some  traders  who  had  ventured  into  his 
country,  to  make  themselves  acquainted  with  the 
manners  and  arts  of  the  Kuruman  teachers.  Know- 
ledge of  the  art  of  war,  of  the  means  of  destroying 
their  enemies  was,  at  first,  the  great  object  of  all  the 
chiefii  in  these  embassies  to  the  mission-stations. 
The  strangers  were  astonished  at  all  they  saw — 

Our  houses,  the  walls  of  our  folds  and  gardens,  the 
water-ditch  conveying  a  large  stream  out  of  the  bed  of 
the  river,  and  the  smith's  forge,  filled  them  with  admira- 
tion and  astonishment,  which  Uiey  expressed  not  in  the 
wild  gestures  generally  made  by  the  mere  plebeian,  but 
by  the  utmost  gravity  and  profound  veneration,  as  well 
as  the  most  respectful  demeanour.  *^  Yon  are  men,  we 
are  but  children,"  said  one ;  while  the  other  observed, 
**  Moeelekatse  must  be  taught  all  these  things."  .  /  . 
Nothmg  appeared  to  strike  them  so  forcibly  as  the  public 
worship  in  our  chapel.  They  saw  men  like  themselves 
meet  together  with  ^reat  decorum;  motiiers  hushing  their 
babes,  or  hastily  retiring  if  they  made  any  noise,  and  the 
elder  children  sitting  perfectly  silent  When  the  mis- 
sionary ascended  the  pulpit,  they  listened  to  the  hymn 
sung,  and  though  from  their  ignorance  of  the  Bechuana 
language  they  could  not  understand  all  that  was  said, 
they  were  convinced  that  something  very  serious  was  the 

subject  of  the  address We  embraced 

every  opportunity  of  telling  them  the  simple  truths  of 
the  Grospel,  and  laboured  to  impress  on  their  minds  the 
blessings  of  peace. 

It  is  often  remarked  that  the  Roman  Catholic 
religion,  from  its  imposing  and,  in  some  respects, 
impressive  ceremonial,  is  the  form  of  Christianity 


which  is  best  adapted  to  a  barbarous  people ;  be- 
cause it  appeals  at  once  to  their  senses.    But  may 
not  this  imposing  riitual,  with  its  attendant  pomps 
and  ceremonies,  which  so  powerfully  afifi&ct  the 
untutored  mind,  in  reality  interposeabarrier  between 
the  understanding  and  the  reception  of  spiiitual 
truth  ? — ^may  not  those  endless  outward  observances 
continue  to  hold  the  place  of  what  they  are  meant 
to  typify,  and  thus  become  hinderances  and  obsta- 
cles instead  of  helps  ?    A  picture  of  the  Madona, 
a  strain  of  music,  the  priests'  vestments,  the  lights, 
the  altar,  and  the  picturesque  odebraticm  of  the 
Catholic  worship  may,  like  any  other  spectacle, 
arrest  the  attention  of  those  who  cannot  all  at  once 
apprehend  the  unadorned  and  simple,  but  suhlinie 
truths  of  the  Gospel ;  but  to  gain  this  early  ad- 
vantage, is  it  wise  to  lay  a  fiedse  foundation  and 
endanger  the  rearing  of  a  superstructure  of  idle 
pageantry  and  useless  ceremonial,  while  professiiig 
to  teach  the  heathen  that  ^  God  is  a  spirit,  and  that 
they  that  worship  Him  aright  must  worship  him 
in  spirit  and  in  truth"? 

When  these  intelligent  barbarians  had  satisfied 
their  curiosity,  they  proposed  to  return  to 
their  tyrannical  and  capricious  soverttgn,  to 
report  their  embassy ;  but  their  way  home, 
lying  through  hostile  tribes,  was  unsafe,  and  any 
evil  happening  to  the  ambassadors  of  the  fierce 
and  warlike  chief  of  the  powerful  and  hostile  tribe 
of  the  Matabele,  must  be  productive  of  the  worst 
consequences  to  the  Bechuanas,  and  to  the  interests 
of  the  missionary  cause  in  South  Africa.  Mr. 
Moffat,  accordingly,  resolved  to  become  their  escort 
as  far  as  the  Bd^urutsi  country,  after  which  tkey 
could  safely  proceed  to  their  own  land.  The  ad- 
ventures on  this  journey  are,  like  the  details  of  all 
Moffat's  wanderings  in  those  wild  regions,  full  of 
incident  of  the  most  stirring  kind.  We  shall  refer 
to  them  again  in  connexion  with  some  of  the 
other  encounters  and  perils  from  lions  and  other 
wild  animals,  which  so  often  in  this  nanatire 
freeze  one's  blood.  We  now  take  up  the  trayeUers 
on  the  tenth  day  of  their  journey — 

We  arrive  at  Mosega,  the  abode  of  Mokhatla,  regent 
over  the  fragments,  though  still  a  laige  body,  of  the 
Bahnmtsi.  These  had  congregated  in  a  glen,  and  sub- 
sisted on  game,  roots,  berries,  and  the  produce  of  th^ 
corn-fields ;  having  been  deprived  of  their  flocks  by  tiie 
Mantatees.  They  were  evidently  living  in  fear,  lest 
Moselekatse  should  one  day  make  them  captives.  From 
these  people  I  received  a  hearty  welcome,  though  I  vras 
known  to  few  of  them  except  by  name. 

Having  fiilfilled  my  engagement,  in  oonveyisg  my 
charge  in  safety  to  the  BiUiurutsi,  I,  in  a  solemn  and 
fonnal  manner,  delivered  them  over  to  the  care  of  Mok- 
hatla, requesting  him  either  to  go  himself  or  send  a 
strong  escort  to  accompany  them  until  they  reached  the 
outposts  of  the  Matabele.  To  this  proposal  the  Tanas 
were  strongly  opposed,  and  entreated  me  most  earnestly  to 
accompany  them  to  their  own  country;  urging,  that  as  I 
had  shown  them  so  much  kindness,  I  must  go  and  ex- 
perience that  of  their  king,  who,  they  declared,  wonld 
kill  them  if  they  suffered  me  to  return  before  he  hid 
seen  me.  Mokhatla  came  trembling,  and  begged  me  to 
go,  as  he  and  his  people  would  flee  if  I  reftised.  I  pleaded 
my  numerous  engagements  at  the  Kuruman ;  but  aiga- 
ment  was  vain.  At  last,  to  their  inexpressible  joy,  I 
consented  to  go  as  for  as  their  first  cattle  outports. 
Mokhatla  had  long  wished  to  see  the  fearfiil  Moselekatse, 
who  had  desolated  the  Bakone  country,  and  the  proxi- 
mity of  whose  residence  gave  him  just  reason  to  tremble 


MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA.     543 


for  the  safetj  of  his  people ;  and  it  was  only  because  they 
were  not  the  rich  owners  of  herds  of  cattle,  that  they  had 
not  already  become  the  prey  of  this  African  Napoleon. 

The  rain  fell  heavily  for  sucoesaiye  days,  daring 
which  they  halted  with  Mokhatla,  who  did  not 
stand  high  in  favour  of  the  missionary.    His 

Physiognomy  and  manoeavres  evinced,  that,  while  he 
had  very  little  of  what  was  noble  abont  him,  he  was  an 
adept  at  intrigue,  and  exhibited  too  much  of  the  syco- 
phant to  command  respect.  He  resolved  to  make  hims^ 
one  of  my  retinue.  The  country  through  which  we  had  to 
travel  was  quite  of  a  different  character  from  that  we 
had  passed.    It  was  mountainous,  and  wooded  to  the 
summits.      Evergreens  adorned  the  valleys,  in  which 
numerous  streams  of  excellent  vrater  flowed  through 
many  a  winding  course  towards  the  Indian  Ocean.  Dur- 
ing the  first  and  second  day's  journey  I  was  charmed 
exceedingly,  and  was  often  reminded  of  Scotia's  hills  and 
dales.     As  it  was  a  rainy  season,  everything  was  fresh ; 
the  damps  of  trees  that  studded  the  plains  being  covered 
with  rich  and  living  verdure.  But  these  rocks  and  vales, 
and  picturesque  scenes,  were  often  vocal  with  the  lion's 
roar.   It  was  a  country  once  covered  with  a  dense  popu- 
lation.    On  the  sides  of  the  hills  and  Kashan  mounti^ns 
were  towns  in  ruins,  where  thousands  once  made  the 
country  aUve,  amidst  Aruitfbl  vales  now  covered  with 
luxuriant  grass,  inhabitated  by  game.    The  extirpating 
invasions  of  the  Mantatees  and  Matabele  had  left  to 
beasts  of  prey  the  undisputed  right  of  these  lovely  wood- 
land glens.  The  lion,  which  had  revelled  in  human  flesh, 
as  if  conscious  that  there  was  none  to  oppose,  roamed  at 
large,  a  terror  to  the  traveller,  who  often  heard  with 
dismay  his  nightly  roaring  echoed  back  by  the  surround- 
ing hUls.     We  were  merciftilly  preserved  during  the 
nights,  though  our  slumbers  were  often  interrupted  by 
his  fearfnl  bowlings.    We  had  frequently  to  take  our  guns 
and  precede  the  wagon,  as  the  oxen  sometimes  took  fright 
tt  the  sudden  rush  of  a  rhinoceros  or  buffalo  from  a 
thicket.    More  ih&D.  one  instance  occurred  when,  a  rhi- 
noceros being  aroused  from  his  slumbers  by  the  crack 
of  the  whips,  the  oxen  would  scamper  off  like  race-horses ; 
when  des^ction  of  gear,  and  some  part  of  the  wagon, 
was  the  result. 

We  have  little  space  for  African  landscapes ;  yet, 
for  the  sake  of  our  juvenile  readers,  we  must  copy 
this  pretty  picture  of  a  singular  community,  which 
will  remind  some  of  them  of  a  description  given  by 
Humboldt  of  the  Ottomaques  on  the  banks  of  the 
Orinoco. 

Having  travelled  one  hundred  miles,  flve  days  after 
learing  Mosega  we  came  to  the  first  cattle  outposts  of 
the  limabele,  when  we  halted  by  a  fine  rivulet.  My 
attention  was  arrested  by  a  beautiftil  and  gigantic  tree, 
standing  in  a  defile  leading  into  an  extensive  and  woody 
ravine,  between  a  high  range  of  mountains.  Seeing  some 
individuals  employed  on  the  ground  under  its  shade,  and 
the  conical  points  of  what  looked  like  houses  in  mini- 
ature protruding  through  its  evergreen  foliage,  I  pro- 
ceeded thither,  and  found  that  the  tree  was  inhabited  by 
several  families  of  Bakones,  the  aborigines  of  the  country. 
I  ascended  by  the  notched  trunk,  and  found,  to  my 
amaxement,  no  less  than  seventeen  of  these  ajfrial  abodes, 
and  three  others  unfinished.  On  reaching  the  topmost  hut, 
about  thirty  feet  from  the  ground,  I  entered,  and  sat 
down.  Its  only  fhmiture  was  the  hay  which  covered  the 
floor,  a  spear,  a  spoon,  and  a  bowl  ftiU  of  locusts.  Not 
having  eaten  anytlung  that  day,  and  from  the  novelty  of 
my  situation,  not  wishing  to  return  immediately  to  the 
wagons,  I  a^ed  a  woman  who  sat  at  the  door  with  a 
bal^  at  her  breast,  permission  to  eat.  This  she  granted 
with  pleasure,  and  soon  brought  me  more  in  a  powdered 
state.  Several  more  females  came  from  the  neighbouring 
roosts,  stepping  from  branch  to  branch,  to  see  the  stranger, 
who  was  to  them  as  great  a  curiosity  as  the  tree  was  to 
him.  I  then  visited  the  different  abodes,  which  were  on 
several  principal  branches.  The  structure  of  the*  houses 
was  veiy  simple.    An  oblong  scaffoldj  about  seven  feet 


wide,  is  formed  of  straight  sticks.  On  one  end  of  this 
platform  a  small  cone  is  formed,  also  of  straight  sticks, 
and  thatched  with  grass.  A  person  can  nearly  stand 
upright  in  ii;  the  diameter  of  the  floor  is  about  six  feet 
llie  house  stands  on  the  end  of  the  oblong,  so  as  to  leave 
a  little  square  space  before  the  door.  On  the  day  pre- 
vious I  had  passed  several  villages,  some  containing  forty 
houses,  all  built  on  poles  about  seven  or  eight  feet  from 
the  ground,  in  the  form  of  a  circle ;  the  ascent  and  de- 
scent is  by  a  knotty  branch  of  a  tree  placed  in  front  of 
the  house.  In  the  centre  of  the  circle  there  is  alvrays  a 
heap  of  the  bones  of  game  they  have  killed.  Such  were 
the  domiciles  of  the  impoverished  thousands  of  the  abo- 
rigines of  the  country,  who,  having  been  scattered  and 
peeled  by  Moselekatse,  had  neither  herd  nor  stall,  but 
subsisted  on  locusts,  roots,  and  the  chase.  They  adopted 
this  mode  of  architecture  to  escape  the  lions  which 
abounded  in  the  country.  During  the  day  the  families 
descended  to  the  shade  beneath  to  dress  their  daily  food. 
When  the  inhabitants  increased,  they  supported  the  aug- 
mented weight  on  the  branches,by  upright  sticks,but  when 
lightened  of  their  load  they  removed  these  for  flre-wood. 

In  the  original  work  there  is  a  wood  engraving 
of  the  tree  in  which  are  perched  those  human  nests. 
It  is  of  the  fig  species,  and,  we  need  not  say,  very 
large.  The  houses  in  the  boughs  look  like  so  many 
bee-hives.  Though  anxious  to  return  to  his  station 
on  the  Kuruman,  Mr.  Moffat  was  induced  to  go 
forward  by  the  eloquent  entreaties  of  his  compan- 
ions, of  whom  he  conceived  a  very  high  opinion. 
When  for  the  last  time  he  proposed  to  go  back 

IJmbate,  laying  his  right  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and 
the  left  on  his  breast,  addressed  me  in  the  following 
luiguage :  *^  Father,  you  have  been  our  guardian.  We 
are  yours.  You  love  us,  and  vrill  you  leave  us!"  and 
pointing  to  the  blue  mountains  on  the  distant  horizon, 
**  Yonder,"  he  added,  ^  dwells  the  great  Moselekatse, 
and  how  shall  we  approach  his  presence,  if  you  are  not 
with  us !  If  you  love  us  still,  save  us ;  for  vriien  we  shall 
have  told  our  news,  he  will  ask  why  our  conduct  gave 
you  pain  to  cause  your  return;  and  before  the  sun  descend 
on  the  day  we  see  his  face,  we  shall  be  ordered  out  for 

execution,  because  you  are  not." I  now 

found  myself  in  a  perplexing  position,  these  noble  sup- 
pliants standing  before  me,  'Umbate,  whose  intelligent 
countenance  beamed  with  benevolence,  while  his  mascu- 
line companion,  another  Mars,  displayed  a  sympathy  of 
feeling  not  to  be  expected  in  the  man  of  war,  who  could 
count  his  many  tens  of  slain  warriors  which  had  adorned 
his  head  vrith  the  ring  or  badge  of  victory  and  honour. 
My  own  attendants,  whom  I  had  the  day  before  been 
commending  for  their  intrepidity,  were  looking  on  the 
transaction  as  if  the  destinies  of  an  empire  were  involved ; 
and  heard,  not  without  strong  emotion,  my  consent  to 
accompany  the  strangers  to  their  king. 

We  now  travelled  alone  a  range  of  mountains  running 
near  E.S.E.,  while  the  country  to  the  north  and  east  be- 
came more  level,  but  beautifully  studded  with  ranges  of 
little  hills,  many  isolated,  of  a  conical  form,  along  the 
bases  of  which  lay  the  ruins  of  innumerable  towns,  some 
of  which  were  of  amazmg  extent.  The  soil  of  the  valleys 
and  extended  phiins  was  of  the  richest  description.  The 
torrents  from  the  a<yacent  heights  had,  from  year  to 
year,  carried  away  immense  masses,  in  some  places  lay- 
ing bare  the  substratum  of  granite  rocks,  exhibiting  a 
mass  of  rich  soil  from  ten  to  twenty  feet  deep,  where  it 
was  evident  native  grain  had  formerly  vraved;  and  water- 
melons, pumpkins,  kidney-beans,  and  sweet  reed,  had 
once  flourished.  The  ruins  of  many  towns  showed  signs 
of  immense  labour  and  perseverance;  stone  flmces,  aver- 
aging from  four  to  seven  feet  high,  raised  apparently 
vrithout  mortar,  hammer,  or  line.  Everything  was  cir- 
cular, frx>m  the  inner  walls  which  surrounded  each  dwell- 
ing or  fiunily  residence,  to  those  which  encircled  a  town. 
In  traversing  these  ruins,  I  found  the  remains  of  some 
houses  which  had  escaped  the  flames  of  the  marauders, 
^ese  were  large,  ai|d  displayed  a  far  superior  style  to 


544      MOPFATS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 


anything  I  had  witnessed  among  the  other  aboriginal  tribes 
of  Southern  Africa.  The  oir^ilar  walls  were  generally 
oomposed  of  hard  clay,  with  a  small  mixture  of  cow- 
dung,  so  well  plastered  and  polished,  a  refined  portion 
of  the  former  mixed  with  a  kind  of  ore,  that  the  interior 
of  the  house  had  the  appearance  of  being  yamished. 
The  walls  and  door-ways  were  also  neatly  ornamented 
with  a  kind  of  architraves  and  cornices.  The  pillars 
supporting  the  roof  in  the  form  of  pilasters,  projecting 
from  the  walls,  and  adorned  with  flutings  and  other 
designs,  showed  much  taste  in  the  architectressee. 

In  short,  there  were  many  signs  of  a  compara- 
tiyely  advanced  state  of  civilisation  visible  in  the 
dominions  of  the  terrible  Moselekatse,  dominions  not 
long  obtained  by  his  conquest  of  the  Bakones,  whose 
beautiful  country  had  recently  been  desolated  by  the 
Matabele.     Mr.  Moffat  relates — 

Having  Matabele  with  me,  I  found  it  extremely  diffi- 
cult to  elicit  local  information  ttom  the  dejected  and 
scattered  aborigines  who  occasionally  came  in  our  way. 
These  trembled  before  the  nobles,  who  ruled  them  wiUi 
a  rod  of  iron.  It  was  soon  evident  that  the  usurpers 
were  anxious  to  keep  me  in  the  dark  about  the  devasta- 
tions which  everywhere  met  our  eyes,  and  they  always 
endeavoured  to  be  present  when  I  came  in  contact  with 
the  aborigines  of  the  oountry,  but  as  I  could  speak  the 
language  some  opportunities  were  afforded.  One  of  the 
three  servants  who  accompanied  the  two  ambassadors  to 
the  Kuruman  was  a  captive  among  the  Mantatees,  who 
had  been  defeated  at  Old  Lithako.  He,  as  well  as  his 
fellow-servants,  felt  a  pleasure  in  spealdng  with  us  in 

Sechuana,  their  native  language He  was  a 

native  of  the  regions  through  which  we  were  now  pass- 
ing, and  would  sometimes  whisper  to  me  events  connected 
with  the  desolations  of  his  father-land.  These  nations 
he  described  as  being  once  numerous  as  the  locusts,  rich 
in  cattle,  and  traffickers,  to  a  great  extent,  with  the  dis- 
tant tribes  of  the  north On  a  Sabbath 

morning  I  ascended  a  hill,  at  the  base  of  which  we  had 
halted  the  preceding  evening,  to  spend  the  day.  I  had 
scarcely  reached  the  summit,  and  sat  down,  when  I 
fbnnd  that  my  intelligent  companion  had  stolen  away 
Arom  the  party,  to  answer  some  questions  I  had  asked 
the  day  before,  and  to  which  he  could  not  reply,  because 
of  the  presence  of  his  superiors.  Happening  to  turn  to 
the  right,  and  seeing  before  me  a  large  extent  of  level 
ground  covered  with  ruins,  I  inquired  what  had  become 
of  the  inhabitants.  He  had  just  sat  down,  but  rose,  evi- 
dently with  some  feeling,  and,  stretching  forth  his  arm 
in  the  direction  of  the  rums,  said,  **  I,  even  I,  beheld  it !" 
and  paused  as  if  in  deep  thought.  **  lliere  lived  the  great 
chief  of  multitudes.  He  reigned  among  them  like  a  king. 
He  was  the  chief  of  the  blue-coloured  cattle.  They  were 
numerous  as  the  dense  mist  on  the  mountain  brow  ;  his 
flocks  covered  the  phdn.  He  thought  the  number  of  his 
warriors  would  awe  his  enemies.  His  people  boasted  in 
their  spears,  and  laughed  at  the  cowardice  of  such  as  had 
fled  firom  their  towns.  '  I  shall  slav  them,  and  hang  up 
their  shields  on  my  hill.  Our  race  is  a  race  of  warriors. 
Who  ever  subdued  our  fbthers!  they  were  mighty  in 


combat.  We  still  possess  the  spoils  of  ancient  tunea 
Have  not  our  dogs  eaten  the  diieldsof  their  nobles! 
The  vultures  shall  devour  the  slain  of  our  enemies.'  Him 
they  sang  and  thus  they  daneed,  till  they  beheld  on 
yonder  heights  the  approaching  foe.  The  noise  of  thdr 
song  was  hushed  in  night,  and  their  hearts  were  iiUed 
with  dismay.  They  saw  the  clouds  ascend  from  the  plains. 
It  was  the  smoke  of  burning  towns.  The  conftisioD  of  a 
whirlwind  was  in  the  heart  of  the  great  chief  of  tiie 
blue-coloured  cattle.  This  shout  was  raised, '  They  an 
friends ;'  but  they  shouted  again,  *  They  are  foes,*  till 
their  near  approach  proclaimed  them  naked  Matabele. 
The  men  seised  their  arms,  and  rushed  out,  as  if  to  efasN 
the  antelope.  The  onset  was  as  the  voice  of  Ugfatning;, 
and  their  spears  as  the  shaking  of  a  forest  in  the  aatuBo 
storm.  T&  Matabele  lions  raised  the  shont  of  deatii, 
and  flew  upon  their  victims.  It  was  the  shout  of  rietory. 
Their  hissing  and  hoUow  groans  told  their  progress  among 
the  dead.  A  few  moments  laid  hundreds  on  the  ground. 
The  claah  of  shields  was  the  signal  of  triumpL  Oar 
people  fled  with  their  cattle  to  the  top  of  yonder  mount 
The  Matabele  entered  the  town  with  the  roar  of  the  lioo; 
they  pillaged  and  flred  the  houses,  speared  the  mothers, 
and  oast  their  infiints  to  the  flames.  The  sun  went  down. 
The  victors  emerged  from  the  smoking  plain,  and  pomed 
tiieir  course,  surrounding  the  base  of  yonder  hiU.  They 
slaughtered  cattle ;  they  danced  and  sang  till  the  dawn 
of  day }  they  ascended,  and  killed  till  their  hands  wen 
weary  of  the  spear."  Stooping  to  the  ground  on  which 
we  stood,  he  took  up  a  litUe  dust  in  his  hand ;  blowing 
it  off,  and  holding  out  his  naked  palm,  he  added,  ^  That 
is  all  that  remains  of  the  great  chief  of  the  blue-coloured 
cattle  1"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  descoibe  my  feelings 
while  listening  to  this  descriptive  efihsion  of  native  elo- 
quence; and  I  afterwards  embraced  opportunities  of 
writing  it  down,  of  which  the  above  is  only  an  abridg- 
ment. I  found  also  fr«m  other  aborigines  that  his  was 
no  fiabled  song,  but  merely  a  compendious  sketdi  of  the 
catastrophe. 

This  extract  shows  Moffat's  command  of  the 
language,  besides  affording  a  fine  specimen  of  the 
natural  eloquence  of  the  men  we  are  pleased  to 
call  savages.  One  of  the  ambassadors  preceded 
Moffat  to  announce  his  arrival  to  the  king;— 
^'  to  make  his  path  straight "  to  the  place  where 
dwelt  '^  the  great  King  of  Heaven,  the  Elephant, 
the  Lion's  paw."  The  inhabitants,  vrho  for  the 
first  time  beheld  men  on  horse-back,  scampered  off 
in  great  alarm  when  Mr.  Moffat  and  some  of  his 
attendants  appeared  mounted.  The  acconntofthis 
African  sovereign,  his  metropolis,  his  oourt^  and 
his  army,  is  one  of  the  most  original  parts  of  the 
work,  and  that  which  vnU.  probably  have  the  great- 
est interest  for  the  geographer.  We  pass  at  once 
into  the  august  presence  of  the  monarch,  which 
was  not  reached  until  due  care  had  been  taken 
to  impress  the  white  man  with  a  sense  of  Mb  power 
and  dignity. 


(To  he  concluded  in  nmet  No.) 


SONNETo 


Bread  for  the  body,  and  the  anxious  strifo, 
With  carking  care  too  oft  avail  to  smother 
My  duteous  love  to  thee,  my  loving  mother ; 

Yet  never  dies  that  love.    Tis  richly  rifo. 

Even  as  the  frame  in  sleep  with  lusty  life. 
And  when  some  hour  more  pleasant  than  another, 
Recalls  the  time  when  Joy,  my  childhood's  brother, 

Gambolled  by  me  at  thy  feet|  no  knifo 


Could  wake  the  deeper  with  more  sadden  tMu, 
Than  wake  my  fondest  memories  <^  thee. 
So  natural  does  thy  presence  seem  in  |^ee, 

I  start— and  look-Hmd  deem  'twai  thou  that  spokt 
When  the  wind  breathed.  Of  long,  long  years  b^gukd 
Whene'er  I'm  gbd,  I'm  near  thee,  stiU  a  child. 


£45 


ROBERT  NICOLL  AND  HIS  POEMS,*         >^ 


BT  BBBNSZXa  ELLIOTT. 


Hov  lefreshing  to  the  readers  of  poetiy,  sick  of 
the  pretensions  of  commonplace  men,  and  weary  of 
the  endless  struggles  of  mediocrity  for  distinction^ 
was  the  appearance,  a  few  years  ago,  of  the  Poems 
of  Robert  NicoU  !  Flowers  of  his  heart,  those 
poems  will  long  remain  fresh  and  beautiful,  for 
upon  them  are  the  dews  of  an  enduring  season. 
Ilie  little  volume  which  contains  them  (I  make  no 
exo^tioii.  in  favour  even  of  the  marvellous  frag- 
ments of  Keats)  is  the  best  ever  published  by  a 
mere  youth ;  and,  with  the  exception  of  the  first 
edition  of  the  poems  of  Bums,  the  best  first  publi- 
cation of  its  kind  ever  given  to  the  world  by  a  poet. 
Bums,  Byron,  and  S^tt,  at  his  age,  had  written 
nothing  worthy  of  comparison  with  the  early  pro- 
ductions of  NicoU.  It  does  not  follow  that,  had 
he  lived,  he  would  have  been  a  Bums,  a  Byron,  or 
a  Scott ;  but  he  was  in  all  respects  a  most  worthy 
sonof  ^man-childed  and  child-honoured  Scotland : " 
and  when  it  is  considered  that  he  was  exemplary 
in  every  relation  of  life,  that  hb  character  was  ab- 
solutely without  stain,  that  he  went  to  the  Judg- 
ment-seat of  God  almost  as  one  of  the  angels ;  and 
that  he  died  by  Act  of  Parliamenty  a  victim,  among 
innumerable  others,  of  the  food-tax,  and  the  mur- 
derous competition  of  which  it  is  the  cause,  surely 
Imay  be  pardoned,  if  I  look  back  with  some  degree 
of  monmAd  attention  on  the  character,  the  doings, 
and  the  fate,  of  such  a  man. 

To  the  complete  edition  of  his  poems  just  pub- 
lished by  Tait,  is  prefixed  an  afiecting  sketch  of 
his  life,  from  which  it  appears,  ^  that  Robert 
Kicoll  was  bom  (the  second  son  of  nine  children) 
on  the  7th  January,  1814,  in  the  farm-house  of 
Little  Tulliebeltane,  in  the  parish  of  Auchtergaven 
in  Perthshire,  which  lies  nearly  half  way  between 
Perth  and  Dunkeld ;  that  his  father,  Mr.  Robert 
NicoU,  was,  at  that  period,  a  farmer  in  comfortable 
circumstances:  that  his  mother  was  Grace  Fen- 
wick,  one  of  the  daughters  of  that  venerable 
^  Elder  John,'  of  whom  NicoU  speaks  so  afiect- 
ingly  in  his  poems ;  and  that  boUi  f amiUes  from 
which  he  immediately  sprung,  had  been  long  set- 
tled in  the  same  neighbourhood,  counting  a  long 
pedigree  of  decent,  honest,  God-fearing  people. 
When  he  was  about  five  years  old,  his  father, 
who  had  become  security  to  the  amoxmt  of  five  or 
six  hundred  pounds  for  a  connexion  by  mar- 
riage, failed,  and  became  a  day-labourer  on  the 
fields  ha  had  lately  rented.  NicoU  was  thus,  from 
the  date  of  his  earliest  recollection,  the  son  of  a  very 
poor  man.  field  labour  was  the  daUy  lot  of  his 
father,  and,  at  certain  seasons,  of  his  mother  also ; 
and  the  children,  as  soon  as  they  were  considered 
fit  for  labour,  were  one  by  one  set  to  work.  Ro- 
bert was  sent  to  the  herding  at  seven  years  of  age, 
and  continued  herding  aU  summer,  and  attending 
sdiool  aU  winter."     His  rural  employment  (there 


*  Foolscap  octttTo,  cloth ;  pp.  316.    Edinbugh :  Tait, 


have  been  thousands  of  herd  boys,  and  one  or  two 
of  them  have  been  poets)  may  have  helped  to  de- 
velope  his  imaginative  tendencies ;  but  it  could 
not  create  his  love  of  the  beautifiU,  and  did  not 
make  him,  what  he  is  and  wiU  ever  be,  a  first-class 
*'  poet  of  the  domestic  afifections,  and  an  apostle  of 
the  moral  and  poUtical  regeneration  of  society." 
Perhaps  some  infusion  of  "  gentle  blood"  is  neces- 
sary to  produce  the  poetical  constitution :  even 
Bums  was  descended  from  a  race  *^  of  decent,  God- 
fearing people,  '*  poor,  but  not  poorest. 

Always  excepting  Uiat  best  of  educations  which 
the  best  of  mothers  gave  him,  NicoU  may  be  truly 
said  to  have  been  his  own  instmctor.  "  To  flirther 
my  progress  in  life, "  he  writes  to  a  friend,  "  I 
bound  myself  apprentice  to  Mrs.  J,  H.  Robertson, 
wine-merchant  and  grocer  in  Perth.  When  I 
came  to  Perth,  I  bought  Cobbetfa  English  Oram- 
mar^  and  by  constant  study  soon  made  myself 
master  of  it.  A  gentleman  lent  me  his  right  to  the 
Perth  Library,  and  thus  I  procured  many  books 
which  I  could  not  get  before ;  MUton's  Prose 
Works,  Locke's  Works,  and,  what  I  prized  more 
than  aU,  a  few  of  Bentham's.  X  am  employed  in 
working  for  my  mistress  from  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning  untU  nine  at  night,  and  I  must  therefore 
write  when  others  sleep."  like  most  men  of 
genius,  Robert  NicoU  was  the  son  of  his  mother. 
From  her  probably  he  derived  his  constitutional 
peculiarities,  and  certainly  all  that  toas  given  him 
worth  calling  education.  A  Yankee  mother,  we 
are  told,  boasted  of  her  two  sons,  ^  that  if  they 
were  locked  in  a  bam,  they  would  Hve  by  swap- 
ping jackets  ;"  and  in  America,  the  ne  plus  vUra 
of  energetic  worldUness  is  said  to  be  a  ^'  Scotch 
Yankee ;"  but  Mrs.  NicoU  bade  her  son  "  Speak 
the  truth  in  love  ;"  and  whUe  she  taught  him,  by 
precept  and  example,  the  noblest  self-reliance,  she 
also  taught  him,  in  wrestling  for  the  bread  which 
perisheth,  not  to  wrestle  for  it  as  if  to  die  were  only 
to  forget  what  we  have  dreamed.  And  she  had  in 
him  a  pupU  worthy  of  her  teaching.  "  I  have  re- 
gistered a  vow  in  heaven,"  he  writes  to  one  of  his 
correspondents,  **  that  I  wiU  be  independent,  though 
it  be  but  on  a  crust  and  water."  "  You  have  dis- 
covered," he  writes  to  his  brother,  "  that  nothing 
can  be  accompUshed  without  labour.  But  do  you 
tkinky  and  engrave  the  principle  on  your  heart  ? 
I  am  grown  very  industrious.  I  read  in  the 
morning  whUe  sluggards  are  snoring  ;  aU  day  I  at- 
tend to  my  business ;  and  in  the  forenights  I 
learn  my  grammar."  Writing  of  Coleridge,  he 
says,  ^  Had  he  dared  to  be  poor,  how  much  leisure 
he  would  have  had  for  giving  shape  and  utterance 
to  his  immortal  thoughts.  Through  fear  of  losing 
caste  in  the  world,  he  lost  his  station  in  the  world 
of  mind.  Oh,  for  an  hour  of  John  MUton,  to  teach 
such  men  to  act  and  comprehend ! "  ^^  I  look  upon 
the  earth,"  he  writes  to  his  mother,  '^  as  a  place 
where  eveiy  man  b  set  to  straggle,  and  to  work, 


'>46 


ROBERT  NICOLL  AND  HIS  POEMS. 


that  he  may  be  made  humble  and  piure-hearted, 
and  fit  for  that  better  land,  to  which  earth  is  the 
gate.  I  think,  mother,  that  to  me  has  been  given 
talent ;  and  if  so,  that  talent  was  given  to  make  it 
useful  to  man.  I  am  determined  never  to  bend  to 
the  storm  that  is  coming,  and  never  to  look  back 
on  it  after  it  has  passed.  Fear  not  for  me,  dear 
mother.  I  feel  that,  whether  I  be  growing  richer 
or  not^  I  am  growing  a  wiser  man,  which  is  far  bet- 
ter." What  happiness  might  not  the  diffusion  of 
such  sentiments  as  these  produce,  "  if  there  were 
no  Governments  to  make  nations  miserable !"  * — no 
Acts  of  Parliament  to  make  food  dear  and  labour 
cheap,  by  preventing  the  industrious  from  obtain- 
ing employment ! — no  land-holding  paupers  to  rob 
the  employed  of  half  their  wages,  and  expect  us  to 
touch  our  hats,  when  they  happen  to  give  the 
parish  a  flannel  dicky  at  Christmas !  And  why 
should  such  paupers  be  allowed  to  prevent  the  dif- 
fusion of  such  sentiments,  if  six  hundred  acres  of 
land  employed  in  trade  at  Sheffield  can  maintain, 
in  decent  comfort,  one  hundred  and  ten  thousand 
inhabitants  ? — if  one  hundred  and  ten  thousand  of 
the  best  agricultural  acres  in  the  world  would  not 
do  more  than  keep  them  alive  ?t — and  if  five  hun- 
dred thousand  such  acres  could  not  maintain  them 
in  equal  comfort? — Why  should  land-holding 
paupers,  (or  any  paupers,)  be  allowed  to  destroy  a 
productive  power,  which  is  as  600,000  to  600  ?  Can 
it  be  destroyed  without  subverting  the  State  ?  If 
it  cannot^  Uie  determination  of  its  destroyers  to  be 
self-exterminated  vermin,  will  but  ill  console  their 
multitudinous  victims.    "  But  to  our  tale." 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  which  terminated  his 
apprenticeship,  Nicoll  went  to  Edinbuigh  in  quest 
of  employment ;  but  not  finding  it  there,  he  opened 
a  circulating  library  in  Dundee.  "  This  year,  1835, 
became  an  important  epoch  in  his  life.  He  wrote 
largely,  and  frequently  for  the  liberal  newspapers 
of  the  town ;  he  delivered  political  lectures ;  he 
made  speeches ;  he  wrote  poems  ;  and — ^he  pre- 
pared and  published  his  volume  of  'Poems  and 
Lyrics.'"  I  have  already  expressed  what,  per- 
haps, any  thorough  admirer  of  the  wisdom  of 
our  ancestors  would  deem  a  most  extravagant 
opinion  of  the  merit  of  these  poems ;  they  will  be 
found,  however,  to  deserve  and  sustain  it.  Cer- 
tainly, they  are  by  no  means  perfect.  Their  prin- 
cipal feiult  is  diffiision,  or  luxuriance  of  expression; 
a  fault  of  great  promise  in  a  young  author,  although 
the  terseness  of  Bums  may  be  said  to  go  against 
that  conclusion.  Of  him  it  has  been  said,  that  he 
was  often  coarse,  and  never  vulgar;  but  though 
the  nationality  of  Nicoll  was  real  and  intense,  there 
is  something  like  affectation  (and  affectation  is 
vulgarity)  in  his  determination,  that  his  readers 
should  pronounce  his  sweet  native  Doric  to  the  very 
letter.  Of  Bums  that  Doric  was  the  humble  ser- 
vant— Nicoll  made  it  his  master.  In  reading  Bums, 
we  never  wish  the  dialect  away ;  the  poems  he 

*  Colonel  Thompeon. 

i*  A  hundred  and  ten  thooaand  agricoltoral  acres  of  land 
could  do  no  more  than  barely  keep  the  inhabitants  of  Shef- 
field alive,  unless  human  beinn  can  be  furnished  with  food, 
shelter,  and  clothing,  in  bread-taxed  England,  for  less  than 
2i.  arveek;  and  unless  the  net  profit  of  land,  fiiirly  cropped, 
is  more  than  £5,  4s.  a-year  per  acre. 


wrote  in  it,  are  his  best ;  with  Nicoll  the  case  is 
otherwise ;  his  best  productions  are  English — and 
noble  English  he  writes.  Some  of  his  songs  have 
merit,  but  they  bring  him  into  immediate  compe- 
tition with  Bums  in  his  strength — and  the  weaker 
must  go  to  the  walL  He  could  not,  like  Burns, 
combine  the  humorous,  the  pathetic,  and  the  su- 
blime ;  there  is  no  humour  in  his  pathos,  no  so* 
blimityin  his  humour  ;  but  with  a  mastery  seldom 
equalled,  he  mingles  tenderness  with  beauty,  and  pa- 
thetic sentiment  with  picturesque  descriptbn.  How 
full  of  picture  and  sentiment  are  these  extracts  ^- 

The  memories  o'  my  fiather's  hame 
Are  twined  wi*  the  stanes  of  the  silver  bum. 
On  bonnie  Orde  braes. 


Laneness  and  Sweetness,  hand  in  hand, 
Gang  o'er  the  Ord^  braes. 

Onr  laigh  cot-house,  I  mind  fh'  weel : 

On  ae  side  mither  spinning  sate. 
Droning  aold  sonnets  to  her  wheel — 

And  porring  by  her  side  the  oat. 
Anent  was  sair-toil'd  father's  chair, 

Wha  tauld  us  stories,  sad  and  lane, 
O'  puir  folk's  waes,  untU  we  wish'd 

Them  a'  beside  our  cosh  hear^  stane. 

A  wither'd  woodland  twig  would  bring 

The  tears  into  my  eye  : — 
Laugh  on  !  but  there  are  souls  of  love 

In  laddies  herding  kye. 

And  when  they  sang  the  holy  psalm 

Her  voice  was  sweetest,  dearest  there — 
'Mang  a'  that  gaed  to  God  aboon, 

Hot's  was  the  purest,  hoUest  pnyer ! 
I  thought  the  light  o'  day  was  gane 

When  she,  ayont  the  kirkyani  wa'. 
By  yon  bum  brae  gaed  wandering  hune — 

The  bonnie  lass  o'  Turrit  Ha' ! 

I  like  to  pu'  the  heather — 

We're  a'  sae  mirthfu',  where 
The  sunshine  creeps  atour  the  crags. 

Like  ravell'd  golden  hair. 

I  wish  the  wandering  e'enin  wind 
Were  whistlin'  round  the  brakens  lone — 

That  I  might  live  another  hour 
O'  love  wi'  Mary  Hamilton. 

The  simmer  e'enin's  settin'  sun 

Into  my  dungeon  throws 
Ae  single  ray — a  holy  flower 

That,  'mid  the  darkness,  grows  : 
It  tells  me  o'  a  gowany  glen 

Afar,  where  it  hath  b^n — 
A  deep  wild  dell,  amang  the  hills, 

A'  spread  wi'  brakens  green. 

The  green  leaves  waving  in  the  morning  gale — 

The  little  birds  that  'mid  their  freshness  sing — 
The  wild  wood-flowers,  so  teuder-ey'd  and  pale — 

The  wood-mouse  sitting  by  the  forest  spring — 
The  morning  dew— the  wild  bee's  woodland  hum. 
All  woo  my  feet  to  Nature's  forest  home. 
There  I  can  muse,  away  firom  living  men. 

Reclining  peacefully  on  Nature's  breast — 
The  woodbird  sending  up  its  God-ward  strain. 

Nursing  the  spirit  into  holy  rest  I 
Alone  witii  Grod,  within  his  forest  fone. 
The  soul  can  feel  that  all  save  Him  is  vain. 
Here  I  can  learn — vAll  learn — to  love  all  things 

That  he  hath  made — to  pity  and  forgive 
All  fkults,  all  failings  :  Here  the  heart's  deep  qirings 

Are  open'd  up,  and  all  on  earth  who  live 
To  me  grow  nearer,  dearer  than  before — 
My  brother  loving,  I  my  God  adore. 


ROBERT  NICOLL  AND  HIS  POEMS. 


547 


ThoDghtB  like  these,  from  the  son  of  a  poor  ^  sair- 
toiled"  man,  (if  it  were  still  possible  to  live  and 
be  honest  in  bread-taxed  England,)  might  inspire 
the  despairing  with  hope,  that  such  men  ^*  would 
mak  the  warld  better  yet."  But  let  no  friend  of 
his  country  (imagining  that  our  masters  will 
educate  the  democracy,  in  time  to  guide  the  force 
which  they  cannot  control)  flatter  himself  into  the 
belief  that  such  are  the  sentiments  of  our  working 
men  generally,  or  that  Nicoll  is  a  fair  sample  of 
his  class,  norUi  or  south  of  the  Tweed.  I  can  assure 
all  sudi  persons,  from  extensive  personal  observa- 
tion, that  the  rising  race  of  working  men  in  this 
country  are  deplorably  inferior  in  all  good  quali- 
ties to  the  race  which  is  going  down.  If  the 
schoolmaster  is  abroad,  what  is  he  doing?  Henry 
Hunt  could  not  have  prevailed  on  the  men  of 
Peterloo  to  howl  for  a  food-tax,  and  become  the 
most  efficient  tools  and  supporters  of  its  authors. 
No.  The  descendants  of  tjiose  men  (I  speak  not 
of  Lancashire,  but  of  the  nation)  are  unworthy 
even  of  them.  Destitute  and  desperate,  utterly 
depraved,  and  worse  than  ignorant,  they  are  ready 
to  do  the  work  which  our  monopolists  have  pre- 
pared for  their  hands,  and  will  not  faU,  "  in  the 
hour  which  cometh,  and  will  come,"  to  cast  the 
horrors  of  the  French  revolution  into  deepest 
shade.  But  before  that  hour  come,  certain  imma- 
cnlates  would  do  well  to  ask  themselves,  if  they 
know  a  class  of  men  in  this  country,  who  have 
set  an  example,  to  the  destitute  and  desperate 
masses,  of  spoliation  and  murder  on  a  scale  of  gi- 
gantic destructiveness  unexampled  in  the  annals 
of  mitional  folly,  madness,  and  crime.  They  will 
not  put  this  question  to  themselves,  neither  will 
they  read  Robert  Nicoll's 

BACCHANALIAN. 
They  make  their  feasts,  and  fill  their  cups — 

liey  drink  the  rosy  wine — 
They  seek  for  pleasnre  in  the  bowl  :— 

Their  search  is  not  like  mine. 
From  misery  I  freedom  seek — 

I  crave  relief  from  pain  ; 
From  hanger,  poverty,  and  cold — 

I'll  go  get  drank  again ! 
The  wind  doth  through  my  garments  ran — 

I'm  naked  to  the  blast ; 
Two  days  hare  fluttered  o'er  my  head 

Since  last  I  broke  my  fast 
But  I'll  go  drink,  and  straightway  clad 

In  purple  I  shall  be  ; 
And  I  shall  feast  at  tables  spread 

With  rich  men's  luxury ! 
My  wife  is  naked, — and  she  begs 
Her  bread  firom  door  to  door ; 
She  sleeps  on  clay  each  night  beside 

Her  hungry  children  four  ! 
She  drinks — I  drink — ^for  why  1  it  drives 

All  poverty  away ; 
And  starving  babies  grow  again 

Like  happy  children  gay ! 
In  broad-cloth  clad,  with  belly  full, 

A  sermon  you  can  preach ; 
But  hunger,  cold,  and  nakedness. 

Another  song  would  teach. 
I'm  bad  and  vile — ^what  matters  that 

To  outcasts  such  as  we  1 
Bread  is  denied — come,  wife,  we'll  drink 
Again,  and  happy  be  !* 

*  The  best  of  all  temperance  aseociations, — the  best  of  all  I 


Maiy  Howit  said  of  NicoU's  eyes,  that  they  were 
the  finest  she  had  ever  seen  ;  and  the  poor  herd- 
boy  must  have  possessed  fine  eyes  for  observation, 
or  he  could  not  have  drawn  to  the  very  life  his 
portraits  of  The  Auld  Gudeman,  who  duly  sleepit 
the  sermons  at  kirk  and  preachin — Janet  Dunbar, 
who,  for  the  sake  of  the  baimies  at  school,  would 
scold  the  Dominie's  sel' — Minister  Tam,  who,  in 
his  youth,  rode  on  the  ram,  and  huntit  the  ewes  ; 
but  after  fighting,  wi'  a  masterful  heart,  up  the  brae, 
sported  a  wig,  white  with  pouther— -Janet  Mac- 
bean,  who  sate  in  the  Minister's  seat,  and  had  aye 
a  curtsy  for  the  laird  when  he  came  to  drink  his 
can — The  Dominie,  wi'  his  words  o'  queer  lang- 
nebbit  speech — The  Smith,  who  had  lost  fifty  law- 
pleas,  he  was  sae  weel  acquaint  wi'  law— Fiddler 
Johnny,  who  cared  not  a  hair  for  any  mortal  body 
— The  Provost,  who  was  twenty-first  cousin  to  a 
highland  laird,  and  could  lie  like  an  apple-wife — 
The  Bailie,  who  keeps  the  causey-crown,  and,  at 
kirk,  gi'es  fearsome  looks  to  the  folks  who  fill  the 
lofts — The  Gudewife,  of  whose  flytin  and  din  there 
was  never  an  end — The  Uncourted  Maiden,  who 
wished  every  lassie  married  but  hersel' — The  Auld 
Beggar  Man,  who  could  argue  like  a  beuk — ^The 
Peaceful  Hero,  around  whose  hearth  cheerful  faces 
were  an  unending  prayer — ^and  many  more  equally 
good. 

Before  I  resume  the  thread  of  Robert's  narra- 
tive, I  will  try  to  convince  all  doubters  that  I  have 
not  over-stated  the  merit  of  his  poetry  in  the  first 
paragraph  of  this  article.  If  they  will  read.  The 
Ha*  Bible— The  Poor  Man's  Deathbed— I  am 
Blind— Arouse  Thee,  Soul-— Wild  Flowers— The 
Mother— The  Village  Church — God  is  Every  where 
—The  Nameless  Rivulet— The  Dying  Maiden— 
The  Mossy  Stane— Life's  Pilgrimage — Stanzas  on 
the  Birth-day  of  Bums — ^Visions — I  Dare  not  Scorn 
— The  Questioner — We  are  Lawly — and  there  are 
others  equally  excellent — ^they  willfind  that  he  "has 
written  his  heart,"  in  compositions  which  require  no 
apology  on  account  of  the  age  or  circumstances  of 
the  author,— original  poems,  worthy  of  any  poet. 

"  In  the  spring  of  1836,  Nicoll  gave  up  his  shop  in 
Dundee,  where,  shortly  after  hb  coming,  he  had 
formed  an  attachment  to  a  very  pretty  and  amiable 
girl,  who  eventually  became  his  wife.  This  attach  - 
ment,  and  his  extreme  anxiety  to  relieve  his  mother 
from  the  small  pecuniary  involvements,  (great  to 
her,)  amounting  to  about  £20,  which  she  had  in- 
curred to  enable  him  to  establish  his  library,  render* 
ed  him  exceedingly  desirous  to  find  the  employment 
for  which  his  friends  conceived  him  at  least  as  well 
qualified  as  many  who  filled  similar  situations  ; 
and  they  were  as  happy  as  himself  when,  by  the 
kind  intervention  of  Mr.  Tait,  he  procured  the 
situation  of  editor  of  the  Leeds  TimeSy  with  even 
the  comparatively  small  salary  of  £100  a-year. 
He  made  a  short  visit  to  his  mother,  and  to  his 
betrothed  in  Dundee,  and  set  out  for  Leed?  in  high 


peace  associations,— the  best  of  all  anti-slavery  associations, 
would  be  an  association  for  the  establishment  and  conservation 
of  free-trade  relations  evei^here.  Is  it  not  high  time  for 
the  Society  of  Friends  to  Uiink  of  this,  and  act  on  their  con- 
victions, like  their  friend,  Joseph  Stor^  ?  Yes ;  for  free- 
trade  is  Peace — Religion—Christianity  m  its  essence:—^  Do 
unto  others  as  ye  would  that  they  should  do  onto  you/* 


548 


ROBERT  NICOLL  AND  HIS  POEMS, 


spirits.    So  perfbody  was  he  adapted  to  the  wants 
of  the  crisis^  and  with  so  mnch  enthusiasm  and 
energy  did  he  derote  himself  to  his  harassing  and 
multifarious  duties,  that  in  a  few  weeks  after  his 
arriyal  in  Leeds,  the  circulation  of  the  Times  he* 
gan  to  rise,  and  continued  to  increase  with  unpre- 
cedented rapidity.    Towards  the  middle  of  Decem- 
her,  1886,  he  stole  a  few  days  from  his  incessant 
toils,  and  came  down  to  Dundee  to  he  married. 
His  father  and  mother  met  him  there ;  and  with- 
out loss  of  time  he  returned  to  Leeds  with  his 
hride.    His  home  there  was,  in  all  respects,  as 
happy  as  any  one  in  which  young  and  pure  aflfeo- 
tions  eyer  found  a  sanctuary.    His  wife  had  an 
unbounded  admiration  for  the  talents  of  her  hus- 
band ;  and  in  his  brief  career  poor  Nicoll  tasted 
largely  of  the  higher  enjoyments  of  life, — *  of  all 
the  pleasures  of  the  heart,  ihe  lover  and  the  friend.' 
During  the  spring  of  1887,  in  letters  to  a  friend, 
he  frequently  alludes  to  the  happiness  of  his  humble 
home.    Between  it  and  his  office-duties,  between 
politics  and  poetry,  his  time  was  divided  and  very 
fully  occupied.    The  circulation  of  the  Times  was 
increasing  at  the  rate  of  200  a-week ;  and  his 
heart  was  in  every  word  he  wrote  in  it.    From 
the  period  that  he  went  to  Leeds,  until  the  hour 
that  he  left  it,  he  lived  in  a  constant  fever  of  ex- 
citement.   The  Leeds  Times  is  a  paper  of  large 
size ;  and  in  reporting,  condensing  news,  writing 
a  great  deal  for  every  number,  and  maintaining  a 
vnde  correspondence,  he  had  no  assistant*    Yet  in 
the  spring  of  1887,  to  increase  his  income,  he  was 
induced  to  write  the  leading  article  for  a  paper  just 
then  started  in  Sheffield.    This  was  dreadful  over- 
tasking."   But  in  bread-taxed  Britain,  ^^the  la- 
bour of  the  poor  is  his  life ;"  and  where  law  makes 
poverty,  poverty  is  crime.    Need  we  wonder  that 
his  health  gave  way?    "  The  finishing  blow  was 
given  to  it  by  the  general  election  in  the  summer 
of  the  same  year,  when  the  town  of  Leeds  was 
contested  by  Sir  William  Molesworth  in  opposition 
to  Sir  John  Beckett.     Into  this  contest  Nicoll 
naturally  threw  himself  with  his  whole  souL    His 
wife  afterwards  said,  that  had  Sir  WiMiam  failed, 
Robert  would  have  died  on  the  instant.    He  Was 
destined  to  live  on  for  a  few  more  sufiering  months, 
and  then  die  at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  carried  off 
by  a  disease  which,  under  other  droumstances 
might  have  been  overcome,  but  which  many  causes 
now  contributed  to  develope.     He  returned  to 
Scotland,  to  be  cured,  as  he  fondly  hoped,  "by  a 
breath  of  his  native  air  ;"  and  closed  his  brief  but 
noble  career  at  the  house  of  his  friend  Mr.  John- 
stone^ at  Laverock  Bank,  near  Edinburgh.    By 
that  gentleman,  by  Mr.  Tait,  Sir  William  Moles- 
worth,  and  others,  he  was  treated  to  the  last  with 
a  kindness  honourable  to  Scotland  and  human 
nature.    Among  the  last  words  he  wrote  were 
these:— 

Death  is  upon  me,  yet  I  fear  not  now  : 
Open  my  chamber  window — ^let  me  look 

Upon  the  silent  vales,  ihe  sunny  glow 
That  fills  each  alley,  close,  and  copsewood  nook. 

But  why  was  this  man  killed  by  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment? Alas,  the  law-made  competition  of  which 
he  was  a  victim,  is  destroying  millions  of  human 


beings  who  are  neith^  poets  nor  men  of  genhu, 
yet  every  one  of  them  an  immortal  soul !  God- 
fearing people  (I  do  not  mean  religious  formalists) 
should  think  of  this ;  and  while  there  la  time  to 
save  the  nation  from  anarchy,  (perhaps  then  k 
yet  time,)  act  resolutely  on  their  convictions.  Far 
if  all  ii^ustice  is  simply  a  violation  of  the  laws  of 
free  exchange,  taking  something  frt>m  somebodj 
without  returning  an  equivalent ;  and  if  murder  it- 
self is  only  the  worst  of  all  ii\justice,  because  it  takes 
that  for  which  no  equivalent  can  be  returned;* 
then  are  monopolists  the  worst  of  all  mnrderers^ 
and  our  food-monopolists  the  worst  of  their  daes; 
for  they  destroy  their  multitudinous  victims  by 
slow  torture,  and  in  cold  blood. 

I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  quote  one  of 
poor  Robert's  last  compositions,  writtNi  in  poieili 
and,  of  course,  unfinished ;  for  it  is,  as  his  editor 
observes,  '^  so  rich  in  descriptive  beauty,  that  it 
all  but  rivals  some  of  his  Scottish  moorland  land- 
scapes." 

A  WOODLAND  WALK. 

Thb  blackbird's  song  is  bursting  from  the  brake, 

And  moRiing  breeses  bear  it  fea  away ; 
The  early  snnl^am  from  its  breast  doth  shake 

The  floating  Toil  of  dewy  mist  so  gray ; 

The  dun  deer  wanders,  Uke  a  frighten'd  fky, 
Through  dingles  deep  and  wild,  wl^re  linnets  eiiig : 

Ah !  who  woold  slumber,  who  along  can  stray. 
Where  mighty  oaks  their  branches  o*er  him  fling, 
To  which  the  diamond  dew,  in  pearlings  bright,  doth 

cling! 

How  beautiful  I  the  green  com-flelds  are  waving, 
The  clouds  of  dawn  are  floating  on  the  sky ; 

The  fearful  hare  its  hidden  couch  is  leaving, 
And,  sporting,  to  the  clover-field  doth  hie : 
Beneath  the  morning  sun  the  waters  lie, 

Like  treasur'd  sunbeams  in  a  woody  nook  ! 
GK>d'8  earth  is  glorious ;  and  how  bless'd  am  I 

Who  love  it  all !    On  what  I  love  I  look. 
And  joy  runs  through  Ay  heart,  like  yea  calm,  tinkfiBg 
brook. 

The  oottage-hearths  are  cold,  the  peasant  sleeps, 
But  all  the  mighty  woodlands  are  awake ; 

Within  its  hermitage  the  primrose  sleeps. 
And  with  the  dew  the  beech-tree's  branches  dake, 
As  through  the  wood  my  devious  path  I  take; 

The  velvet  grass  a  fttiry  carpet  seems. 
On  which,  through  leafy  curtains,  licht  doth  hnak, 

Now  bright  and  strong,  and  now  in  fimd  gieama. 
As  'mid  realities  come  Nicy's  fiiirest  dreMas. 

Now  stooping  'neath  the  branches  wet  with  dew- 
Now  o'er  the  open  forest-glades  I  go — 

Now  listening  to  the  cushat's  wailing  coo — 
Now  starting  from  its  lair  the  bounding  roe ; 
And  now  I  hear  the  breezes,  to  and  fro, 

Making  among  the  leaves  a  pleasant  din ; 
Or  find  myself  where  silent  streamlets  flow, 

Like  hermits,  wandering  these  wild-woods  withb— 
While  hoar  and  aged  trees  bend  o'er  eadi  little  Umu 

The  lakelet  of  the  forest  I  have  left. 

Sleeping,  like  beauty,  in  a  branchy  bower ; 
The  woodland  opens  :--Grumbling  all,  and  defl, 
There  stands  the  ruin'd  Abbey's  lonely  tower. 
To  speak  of  vanlsh'd  pomp,  exhausted  power- 
To  hear  these  winds  among  the  leaflets  blow 

With  the  same  tone  as  in  its  proudest  hour— 
To  see  the  flowers  within  the  forest  grow. 
As  when  the  fiedlen  reigned — a  thousand  years  ago ! 


*  Think  of  this,  too,  j%  Cbd-feuers,  who  punish  murder  Vy 
r^)«atiiig  the  crime ! 


ROBERT  NICOLL  AND  HIS  POEMS. 


549 


Veetiymg,  roofless  walls  !  and  is  this  all 
That  Desolation's  blighting  hand  hath  left 

Of  tower,  and  pinnacle,  and  gilded  hall  i 
The  everlasting  rocks  by  time  are  cleft — 
Within  each  crevice  spiders  weave  their  weft ; 

The  wandering  gipsy  comes  to  hide  him  here, 
When  he  from  plnnder'd  housewife's  stores  has  reft 

The  needful  elements  of  gipsy  cheer : 
For  ghost  of  Abbot  old  the  gipsy  doth  not  fear. 

Where  are  the  glancing  eves  that  here  have  beam'd  I 
Where  are  the  hearts  which  whilom  here  have  beat ! 

Where  are  the  shaven  monks,  so  grim  who  seem'd ! 
Where  are  the  sitters  in  the  Abbot's  seat  I 
Where  are  the  ceaseless  and  unnoted  feet, 

That  wore  a  pavement-path  with  kneeling  prayers  I 
Where  is  the  coffin — ^where  the  winding-sheet — 

And  monuments  which  nobles  had  for  theirs, 
When  death  drew  nigh,  and  closed  life's  long  account  of 
cares! 

The  ivy  clings  around  the  ruined  walls 

Of  cell,  and  chapel,  and  refectory ; 
An  oak-tree's  shadow,  cloud-like,  ever  falls 

Upon  the  spot  where  stood  the  idtar  high : 

The  chambers  all  are  open  to  the  sky ; 
A  goat  is  feeding  where  the  praying  Imelt ; 

The  daisy  rears  its  ever  open  eye 
Where  the  proud  Abbot  in  his  grandeur  dwelt : 
These  signs  of  time  and  change  the  hardest  heart  might 

melt. 

Is  this  a  cell  f— Offended  God  to  serve 

By  the  heart's  crucifixion,  here  have  tried 
Self-immolated  men,  who  would  not  swerve, 

But  in  the  impious  work  serene  have  died : 

A  glory  on  the  lowly  wall  doth  bide ; 
For  though  the  hypocrite  hath  shuffled  here. 

Here,  too,  from  earnest  lips  did  often  glide 
The  words  of  men  mistaken,  but  sincere. 
Who,  with  pure  spirits,  tried  to  fight  man's  battle  here. 

The  buttercups  are  lifting  up  their  heads 

Upon  the  floor  of  the  confessional. 
Where  came  the  worshipper,  witii  counted  beads, 

Upon  his  knees  in  penitence  to  fall — 

Where  came  the  great  to  listen  unto  all, 
And  scoff  or  pray,  as  good  or  ill  was  he. 

Orald  words  come  forth  of  that  time-stricken  wall. 
Some  wondrous  tales  retold  again  would  be : 
The  maiden's  simple  love — the  feat  of  villany. 

This  is  the  chapel  where  the  matin  hymn 

Was  chanted  duly  for  a  thousand  years. 
Till  fjuth  grew  cold  and  doubtful — truth  grew  dim — 

TOl  earnest  hope  was  wither'd  up  by  sneers. 
Within  it  now  no  glorious  thing  appears : 

But  as  the  dewy  wind  blows  sweetly  by, 
Upon  the  thoughtful  list'ner's  joyful  ears 

Doth  come  a  sweet  and  holy  symphony. 
And  Nature's  choristers  are  chanting  masses  high ! 


Grow  up,  sweet  daisies,  on  the  silent  floor ; 

Fall  down,  dark  ivy,  over  every  wall ; 
Oak,  send  thy  branches  out  at  every  door  ; 

Goat,  fh)m  its  chambers  to  thy  mate  do  call. 

Power  reigo'd  in  might,  and  never  fear*d  a  fall. 
And  where  is  it !    And  what  is  here  to-day  I 

Truth  triumphs  over  mitre,  crown,  and  all ; 
Mind  rent  its  iron  fetters  all  away. 
The  tyrants,  proud  and  high — where,  at  this  hour,  are 

they? 
Old  walls  and  turrets,  moulder  silently, 

Till  not  a  trace  of  all  your  state  remain  ! 

The  throstle's  song,  fh>m  yonder  spreading  tree, 

Doth  call  me  to  the  woodlands  once  again ; 

Louder  doth  rise  the  blackbird's  passing  strain, 
And  gladness  fVom  its  sacred  heart  doth  flow. 

Till  music  falls,  like  summer's  softest  rain, 
On  all  that  lives  and  suffers  here  below, 

Making  a  flower  upon  the  lonest  pathway  grow ! 
The  sun  is  higher  in  the  morning  sky — 

His  beams  embrace  the  mossy-trunk^d  trees ; 
Yonder  the  squirrel,  on  the  elm  so  high, 

Frisketh  about  in  the  cool  morning  breeze — 

Down  peeps  his  diamond  eye — amazed,  he  sees 
A  stranger  in  his  solitary  home; 

And  now  he  hides  behind  the  oaken  trees — 
And  now  he  forth  upon  a  branch  doth  come. 
To  crack  his  beechen-nuts,  and  watch  me  as  I  roam. 
The  hawthorn  hangs  its  clusters  round  me  now, 

Through  which  5ie  sky  peeps  sweetly,  sweetly  in ; 
Through  the  green  glades  doth  come  the  cattle's  low 

From  the  rich  pastures  of  the  meadow  green. 

Look  up  I — aloft,  the  twittering  birds  are  seen 
Upon  the  branches,  their  wild  matins  singing : 

Look  down !  the  grass  is  soft  and  thick,  I  ween ; 
And  flowers  around  each  old  tree-root  are  springing. 
Wood  fancies,  wild  and   sweet,  to  the  lone  wanderer 

bringing. 
And  here  are  rich  blaeberries,  black  and  wild. 

Beneath  the  beech-tree's  thickest  branches  growing; 
This  makes  me  once  again  a  wayward  child, 

A  pilgrimage  into  the  woodland  going — 

The  haunt  of  squirrel  and  of  wood-mouse  knowing. 
And  plucking  black  blaeberries  all  the  day. 

Till  eastward  mountain-shadows  night  was  throw- 
ing, 
And  sending  me  upon  my  homeward  way, 
Fill'd,  both  in  soul  and  sense,  with  the  old  forest  gray. 
I  must  away,  for  I  have  loiter'd  long 

Amid  the  wood,  and  by  the  ruins  old  : 
I  must  away,  for  &r  the  sky  along 

The  sun  doth  pour  his  beams  of  brightest  gold. 

Farewell,  sweet  glades,  wild  dingles,  grassy  wold — 
Squirrel  and  olackbird,  linnet  and  throstle,  too- 
Farewell,  ye  woodland  streamlets,  pure  and  cold — 
Sweet  cooing  cushat — ^primrose  wet  with  dew — 
To  Woodland  thoughts  and  things  a  sweet,  a  short  adieu! 


THE  MODERN  CRUSADER. 

At  the  public  meeting  held  in  the  Town  HaU,  Calcutta,  to  address  Lord  Auckland  on  leaving  India,  Bishop  Wilson  said, 
in  T«ference  to  the  late  disasters  in  Afghanistan  and  the  preparaHons  made  to  repair  them,  **  the  triumph  of  the  Affghans 
will  be  short ;  the  spring  will  come,  the  snows  will  melt,  tne  pass  will  be  ascended,  and let  mbtUffetai  them.' " 


Oi«  India's  shore,  armed  cap-2i-pie, 

(What  marvels  time  doth  didi  up !) 
Of  deeds  of  blood,  right  valoronslyy 

Discoursed  a  burly  Bishop. 
Or  sword  or  shield  he  could  not  wield, — 

He  ne'er  was  taught,  'ad  rat  'em ! 
But  martial  skill,  nuide  up  in  will. 

Cried,  <*  Let  us  but  get  at  'em !" 

^  Those  scoundrel  hordes,  ASgjiana  and  Koords, 

Have  tarnished  Britain's  glory ; 
Yet,  please  the  Lord,theyll  soon  afford 

Theme  for  triumphant  story. 

yO,  CIV. — VOL.  IX. 


**  Author  of  peace ! '  our  efforts  aid. 

'  Lover  of  concord !'  fkt  'em 
Like  sheep  for  slaughter  by  our  blade, 

O  let  us  but  get  at  'em ! 
^  Dogs  circumcised  profonely  dared 

R^st  thine  own  anointed. 
Who  merely  pUuin'd  the  goodly  land 

To  take,  by  heaven  appointed. 
Dogs  dared  defend  hearth,  altar,  friend, 

In  Bolan's  pass  too,  sate  'em, 

•Collect. 


2X 


55a 


THE  MODERN  CRUSADER. 


And  dealt  hard  knocks,  behind  the  rocks, 

On  us— O  to  get  at  'em  I 
^  Hear,  Lord  of  Hosts !  oar  Litany,-— 

*From  '  sudden  death  *  and  '  battle ' 
Save  us,  but  pour  thy  reddest  wrath 

On  Acbar's  Moslem  cattle  I 
Dark  unbelieyers,  let  'em  die 

Who  Infidelly  gat  'em. 
In  anns  to  fight  for  native  right,— 

0  help  us  to  get  at  'em ! 
^  My  friends  1 1  see  that  ohartistry, 

And  Erin's  thin  potations. 
Are  link'd  in  league  with  Russ  intrigue 

Against  the  Queen  of  nations. 
That  Jonathan  and  wild  Afighan 

'Gainst  Church  and  State  have  set  'em : 
Please  hearen,  the  rod  at  home,  abroad, 

They'll  taste,  if  we  get  at  em  I 
**  Up,  Britons,  up  t  smite '  hip  and  thi|^' 

Spare  none  in  fight  or  flying ; 
^Vengeanoe  I'  our  dead,  like '  seraphim, 

Continually '  are  crying. 

*  Litany. 


Cabool  bombard,  the  gates  petard. 

Leave  not  one  living  atom. 
And  be  your  song,  or  ri^t  or  wrong, 

*  0  let  us  but  get  at 'em !  "• 

The  wide  hall  rang  with  plausive  elang 

From  each  war-smit  observer. 
That  Peace's  vest,  on  Prelate's  breart, 

Should  hide  such  martial  fervour. 
A  few,  more  cool,  inquired  what  iokool. 

What  tiger  who  b^t  him. 
Had  taught  the  frere,  the  parioos  pray^, 

''O  let  us  but  get  at 'em  r 

One  ivritch'd  my  ew,  ^Hist,  eomiade,  kear, 

Tis  no  new  creed  he  teaches, 
The  curate  lean,  and  portly  dean, 

The  self-same  doctrine  preaches ; 
The  pulses  all  of  cleric  life 

For  'lands  of  promise'  beat  'em, 
The  earliest,  oftenest,  heartiest  prayer 

Is,  <  Let  us  but  get  at  'eml"^ 

A.B.T.C.a 


THE  OLD  OAK-TREE. 


Thb  MAMft  of  itH^jki  if  MBie  1  *liB  SpBiNe's  luznriant 

reign  I 
She  moves  in  lovellnesf  and  graoe^— the  Wood-nymphs 

in  her  train. 
Mellow'd  by  distance,  hark  I  how  sweet  the  wUd-bird's 

tuneAil  throat. 
Borne  on  the  breese,  from  tvee  and  grove  the  strains  of 

music  float ! 
Nature  looks  glad  at  her  approach,  smiles  forth  from 

each  retreat. 
And  spreads  the  fini-frnits  of  the  year  in  beauty  at  her 

feet! 

And  yonder  still  the  old  Oak-tree,  our  hamlet's  pride  is 
seen 

Standing  in  all  its  noble  age  upon  our  village-green, 

As  ft^h  as  when  in  childhood's  hours  beneaSi  its  spread- 
ing shade 

With  the  glee  and  buoyancy  of  life  In  merry  sport  we 
play'd, 

Nor  deem'd  that  aught  of  chanee  or  change  should  ever 
come  to  shed 

Gloom  o'er  those  happy,  hMifipf  days,  alas !  too  quickly 
fled. 


'Mid  the  dark  tofM  bonghs  thai  wid«  ^udt  i 

shadows  fling. 
The  raven  there  hath  built  her  neaty  and  pluMdbcr 

glossy  wing. 
There  oft  at  Even's  pensive  hour  upon  tiie  well-wofn  sett 
^de  flxed  around  its  mossy  trunk  old  frieada  femOisr 

meet. 
And  love  to  speak  of  bygone  days  and  hMrts  whose 

kindred  glow 
Had  power  to  hallow  every  joy,  and  sweeten  every  wee ! 

I  love  each  straw-thatched  dwelling  there,!  love  the 

village  chur^ 
And  the  tall  linden-treea  that  grow  around  ito  mend 

porch, 
I  love  its  time-worn  dial  tooy  oft  lingering  paose  iimI 

weep 
Beside  the  grave-stcmes  o'er  the  ifot  vfhere  frieadf 

departed  sleep. 
Yes,  these,  through  years  of  hope  and  grief,  have  bees 

endeared  to  me. 
And  those  of  mine,  yet,  most  of  all,  I  love  the  Old 

Oak-Trbk  ! 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


The  Biographical  Dtetumary  of  iho   Socie^  for 
the  Diffiuion  of  Useful  Knowledge.    Volume  I. 
Octavo,  doth.  Pp.  440,  double  columns.    Long- 
man, Brown,  Green,  &  Longmans. 
Any  approximatiim  to  a  tolerably  accurate  and  com- 
plete Biographical  Dictionary  is  highly  desirable,  as  there 
is  no  such  work.    The  design  ought  to  be  taken  up  by 
the  State,  and  could  not  be  properly  completed  for  a 
generation  ;  as  it  is  next  to  impossible  that  either  pri- 
vate speculators,  or  any  one  literary  man  could  effec- 
tually accomplish  so  difficult  and  comprehensive  a  work. 
Next  to  the  fhnds  and  power  of  Government  taking  up 
the  work  as  a  national  or  a  European  eoncem,  is  its 
being  projected  by  a  body  of  enlightened  and  influential 
individuals,  who  may  fairly  be  assumed  capable  of  seeing 
the  undertaking  as  well  executed  as  circumstances  ad-  i 


mitof,  and  who  are  sure  of  receiving  that  degree  of  pal^* 
lie  oonfldence  and   support   in   carrying  it  throB|b, 
which  no  ordinary  publisher  could  reckon  upon.    Tb9 
work  is,  therefore,  exactly  one  which  &lls  withm  ft* 
province  of  the   Society  fl>r  the  Diflukm  of  UsiAil 
Knowledge ;  which  is  more  than  vre  could  afflzB  ^ 
some  books   brought   out  under  its  auqiioe&     ^^ 
are  pleased  to  flnd  that  the  prefhoe  doea  not  preaitf 
too  much ;  though  the  plan,  so  fkr  as  h  is  detaOedf 
appears  good  ;  and  the  volume  published  a  Ikir,  thoi|k 
not  a  faultless  specimen  of  what  the  work  will  be. 
There  will  be  some  danger  of  it  becoming  too  votsni* 
nous ;  and  also  that  the  memoirs  of  merely  learwtd  w/t 
may  trench  upon  space  better  devoted  to  gr4a$  mm ; 
men  of  science  and  of  practical  usefulness.    In  fesenl 
the  initials  of  the  writer  are  i^^ended  to  each  bio- 
graphy, no  matter  how  brief  it  may  be  ;  and  this  is  ess* 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


551 


BMBdftble,  aa  iBTolTini^  a  proper  degree  of  indiTidual 
reeponsibility.  It  ia  probable,  that  if  the  work  is  to  oon- 
tinae  ae  eomprehenaiYe  in  namea  aa  the  first  Tolome} 
mooh  len  can  be  told  of  some  of  the  great  obscure  than 
we  find  in  it  There  are,  for  example,  fifty  Aarons, 
chiefljT  Rabbies  and  Jewish  writers  ;  and  more  than 
three  times  that  nomber  of  ^ftroAdmt,  besides  the  Father 
of  the  FaithftaL  If  all  the  Christian  Johns  and  Jamesee 
who  hare  written,  shall  be  equally  distingnidied,  the 
Dictionary  will  become  a  fbrmidable  affiur;  thongh  it  is 
erring  on  the  right  tide,  to  make  a  book  of  reference  as 
ftiD  as  possible.  But  this  is  more  than  a  mere  book  of 
ref(Breno6  :  some  of  the  more  important  Urea  are  toler- 
ably oomprehenaiTe,  as  well  as  ably  written.  We  would 
specify,  among  others,  the  articles  Ahdard,Ahereromby, 
JEcUneg,  ^$chylu$y  Adcum — Samuel,  and  many  others. 
Aa  this  ia  a  work  in  whieh,  from  ita  importance,  a  na- 
tional intereat  must  be  felt^  we  trust  to  seeing  it  proaper 
from  national  encouragement. 

Mmoirs  qf  Sir  Robert  PeeL    By  the  »aihor  of 

""TheLifBoftheDokeofWelliiigtoii."    2to18. 

port  8yo,  oloth.    London :  T.  C.  Newby,  and 

T.  &  W.  Boone. 

This  work  la  confined  to  the  public  career  of  the  Pre- 
mier, of  whom  it  is  abundantly  laudatory;  the  author 
apparently  forgetting  that  Sir  Robert  Peel's  character 
as  a  statesman  must  be  determined  by  the  results  of  a 
poUcy  npon  which  no  one  can  yet  decide,  though  impar- 
tial opinion  is  hostile  to  the  course  which  he  is  at  present 
pursuing.  The  book  opens  with  an  account  of  the  Peel 
fiunily,  the  origin  of  which  is  highly  respectable ;  honour- 
able, indeed,  in  the  truest  sense,  from  the. industry  and 
httegrity  of  all  among  his  ancestors  of  whom  anything  is 
known.  The  Peels  are  yery  probably  an  old,  stanch  Saxon 
fraily,  though  they  had  no  known  grandfibthers.  Sir 
Bfihn^n  tkihm,  whose  public  career  ia  well  known, 
waa  a  shrewd  and  entarpriaing  man;  uid  one  of  the  unmi- 
tigated commercial  and  manufftcturing  Pitt  Toriea  of  the 
eloae  of  the  laat  century  and  the  beginning  of  the  present. 
He  was  bom  at  PeePs  Croa,  near  Bhickbum,  and 
wia  the  son  of  '^  a  small  farmer  and  manuftMJturer," 
when  an  manu&cturers  were  comparatiTely  smaU.  The 
first  baronet  is  said  to  haye  had  an  early  presentiment 
that  be  waa  to  becomeagreat  or  arich  man,  and  to  found 
a  family;  but  Ms  most  sanguine  youthful  expectations 
must  hare  been  hi  distanced  by  the  reality.  About  the 
beginning  of  the  century,  he  had  15,000  persons  in  his 
employment,  many  of  whom  were  pauper  children.  He 
did  something  to  mitigate  the  eylls  to  which  these  poor 
friendless  creatures  were  exposed  in  the  fiMstories.  The 
aecumnlsted  fortune  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  was  enormous — 
his  personal  property  being  nearly  a  million.  To  his 
eklesl  SOB,  the  present  Sir  Robert,  he  left  landed  pro- 
perty to  the  Talne  of  £l»000  a-yew,  and  aboye  half  a 
million  of  money.  The  early  career  of  the  suljeet  of 
the  Memoirs  is  sufficiently  well  known.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  Harrow,  from  whence  he  went  to  Oxford ;  and 
at  twisaty-one  he  to<A  Ms  aeat  m  Parliament  for  the  city 
of  Gaahel,  aa  a  hopeftil  young  supporter  of  the  Tory 
party.  He  was  appointed  Chief-Secretary  for  Ireland 
when,  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Peroeyal,  Lord  Liyerpool  be- 
came the  head  of  the  Goyemment.  Of  Peel's  Irish  ad- 
miniatration  the  leaa  that  ia  now  said,  he  may  probably  be 
the  bolter  pleased.  It  ia  enough  that  our  Prime  Minister 
is  said  to  be  a  man  moulded  by  droumstances,  and  one 
anable  to  oontond  wHh  or  oremiaster  them,  and  to  form 


hia  own  and  a  nation'a  fate.  During  hia  Irish  adminis- 
tration, new  lights  began  to  dawn  feebly  upon  him ;  the 
oonaequence,  probably,  of  hia  bitter  experience  of  the 
Orange  or  Ascendency  party,  with  and  for  whom  he  then 
acted,  and  whoae  idol  he  waa  ao  long  as  he  waa  contented 
to  be  their  tool  and  tiieir  alaye.  This  Memoir  of  Sir 
Robert  Peel  is  properly  a  political  history  of  his  times 
since  the  period  that  he  entered  on  public  life;  beginning 
with  hia  Irish  Goyemment,  and  closing  with  his  able 
speech  on  introducing  the  Income-Tax.  The  work  is 
somwhat  difibae,  and  the  hero  m  often  lost  sight  of  alto- 
gether. Of  Sir  Robert's  priyate  life  not  a  sentence  oc- 
curs, aaye  thai  he  married  an  amiable  woman,  and  is 
the  &ther  of  a  large  fkmily. 

jReeoUectims  of  the  Life  of  the  Rev,  A.  L.  Scott, 
DJ>^  Lord  Nelson's  Chaplain,  12mo,  cloth,  pp. 
302.     Saunders  &  Oiley. 

Thia  biography  ia  compiled  by  the  daughter  and  aon- 
in-law  of  E^.  Scott.  It  may  thOTcfore  be  kind  and  par- 
tial, but  it  is  not  exaggerated.  The  Lounger y  we  think 
it  is,  who,  fluently  meeting  the  minister  of  the  parish 
at  dinner  at  the  mansion  of  hia  friend  Colonel  Caustic, 
accounts  for  the  reyerend  peraon  being  more  of  a  gentle- 
man in  hia  manners  than  country-clergymen  are  some- 
times found,  i^m  the  circumstance  of  his  haying  been 
the  chaplain  of  the  Colonel's  regiment,  before  obtaining 
the  liying.  Dr.  Scott,  in  like  manner,  as  the  friend  of 
Nelson,  was  brought  into  contact  with  a  more  yaried  and 
higher  society  than  ia  uaual  with  men  of  aimilar  yocation. 
In  the  West  Indies,  in  Spain,  Italy,  at  Naples,  Sardinia, 
andjwhereyer  his  patron  went,  the  chaplain  was  present; 
and  he  seems  to  Imye  been  at  times  employed  in  confi- 
dential matters,  while  acting  aa  priyate  secretary  as  well 
as  chaplain,  which  are  not  usually  reckoned  among  the 
becoming  duties  of  a  clergyman.  He  was  present  at 
tiie  battle  of  Trafalgar,  and  brought  the  corpse  of  hia 
iUuatrioua  friend  to  England,  where,  for  a  time,  he  aeema 
to  haye  been  himself  a  kind  of  lion,  and  much  in  society. 
Considering  his  claims  as  the  secretary  and  friend  of 
Nelson,  he  was  not  yery  liberally  treated,  either  by 
those  posaeased  of  Church  patronage,  or  by  the  brother 
of  the  Earl,  who,  in  the  biography,  appeara  in  the 
light  of  a  aordid  and  ungradoua  person,  totally  unmind- 
ftil  of  the  dying  wishes  of  the  hero,  to  whom  he  and  his 
family  owed  eyery  thing.  Dr.  Scott  married  at  an  ad- 
yanoed  age.  He  enjoyed  a  serene  old  age,  after  a 
troubled  youth  and  middle  life,  and  seems  to  haye  been 
much  beloyed  by  his  family  and  hia  neighbours,  for  the 
kindness  of  hia  heart  and  the  amenity  of  hia  mannera. 

The  Songs  of  Charles  Dibdiny  Chronologiealfy  Ar- 
ranged; with  NoteSy  Historicaly  BiographicatyOnd 
Critical,  and  the  Music  of  the  best  and  most  popu- 
lar of  the  MelodieSy  with  Pianoforte  accompani- 
moHts.    Part  IX. 

Thia  work  has  been  interrapted  and  delayed  by  an 
accidentia  fire  ;  it  ia  now,  howeyer,  completed  by  thia 
ninth  Part^— in  which  appears  a  Memoir  of  Dibdin, 
written  by  Mr.  George  Hogarth.  The  Memoir  is  brief ; 
and  doea  not  tend  to  exalt  the  character  of  Dibdin,  nor 
in  any  way  to  commend  him  to  the  eateem  or  affectiona 
of  the  reader.  It  ia,  in  short,  not  written  in  an  indul- 
gent spirit,  but  in  what  is  perhaps  better  in  the  long-run 
—with  seyere  troth.  Dibdin,  though  a  man  of  great  and 
sterling  genius,  whether  we  regard  him  as  a  musician, 
or  aa  a  copious  and  fortile  dramatic  and  lyric  writer,  waa 


552 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


lamentably  deficient  in  many  of  those  qualities  which 
gain  a  man  the  affection  of  his  fHends,  and  entitle  him 
to  the  esteem  of  the  world.  He  affords  another  proof 
of  the  moral  contamination  to  which,  at  least  in  the  past 
generation,  composers  for  the  stage,  and  persons  brought 
into  close  intercourse  with  its  votaries,  were  exposed. 
But  independently  of  the  temptations  and  seductions  of 
the  theatre,  the  early  life  of  Dibdin  was  not  fiiTourable 
to  the  formation  of  good  principles,  or  prudent  habits. 
He  was  thrown  at  a  yery  early  period  of  life  entirely 
upon  his  own  resources,  without  any  one  to  care  for  or 
control  a  neglected  lad  of  strong  passions,and  conscious  of 
great  powers.  He  was  among  the  youngest  of  eighteen 
children,  and  intended  for  the  Church.  When  at  Win- 
chester College,  his  passion  for  music  broke  out,  and  he 
abandoned  his  studies,  and  took  to  musio  as  a  profession. 
A  profitless  and  disheartening  one  it  long  proved  to  him. 
But  his  mind  was  based  on  that  strong  principle  which 
makes  genius  cling  to  its  darling  pursuit  in  the  face  of 
every  obstacle,  and  he  ultimately,  though  not  until  after 
a  long  and  hard  battle,  triumphed.  Yet  was  not  his 
course  of  life,  when  the  tide  turned,  either  happy  or  re- 
putable, though  the  elements  of  the  virtues  and  kindly 
affections  must  have  been  richly  mingled  with  his  original 
character.  His  were  the  days  in  which  open  licentiousness 
was  not  regarded  as  any  blemish  in  the  character  of  a  man 
connected  with  the  theatre,andwhenacertain  off-handed- 
ness,  and  reckless  generosity,  were  held  to  redeem  every 
vice.  According  to  this  short  memoir,  Dibdin  not  only 
deserted  his  wife  for  a  mistress^— a  chorus-singer  of 
Covent  Grarden, — but  ^  left  her  in  great  privation  i* 
and  the  mistress  he  in  turn  abandoned  for  another, 
whom,  upon  the  death  of  his  wife,  he  married.  His 
children  by  his  first  mistress  are  those  who,  by  their 
talents,  have  done  the  most  honour  to  his  memory  ;  yet 
to  him  they  owed  nothing,  save  existence.  He  neglected 
his  sons,  and  was  greatly  offended,  it  is  stated,  when 
they  assumed  his  name.  Loving  and  pitying  their  mother, 
they  neither  cared  nor  pretended  to  care  for  their  un- 
fatherly  fother.  Another  feature  of  Dibdin's  character 
was  continual  squabbles  with  actors,  managers,  and  musi- 
cal publishers,  all  of  whom  he  alleged  cheated  him  and 
enriched  themselves  at  his  expense.  Yet  when  his  income 
became  large,  he  was  constantly  needy,  and,  as  at  every 
period  of  his  life,  involved  in  pecuniary  difficulties,  and 
the  consequent  meannesses  into  which  they  so  often  plunge 
a  man  who  is  neither  sustained  by  principle  nor  pride. 
When  his  income  became  very  large,  he  was  not  much 
nearer  independence  than  when  striving  for  daily  bread, 
and  compelled  to  let  sordid  publishers  take  advantage 
of  his  necessities.  The  sketch  of  his  life  detracts  so 
much  from  the  enjoyment  which  arises  flrom  his  nume- 
rous and  beautiful  compositions,  whether  musical  or 
lyrical,  that  one  could  almost  wish  it  away.  But  how- 
ever erring,  and  unhappy  his  life  may  have  been,  his 
compositions  are,  many  of  them,  as  faultless  as  they  are 
found  foscinating  to  persons  of  all  ages,  and  of  every 
gradation  of  rank,  as  much  from  their  genuine  English 
humour  and  tenderness,  and  naturalness  of  sentiment,  as 
from  the  exceeding  beauty  of  the  melodies  to  which 
they  are  set.  Dibdin  was  the  author  of  above  a  hundred 
operatic  and  other  pieces,  and  he  also  composed  the  musio 
for  several  pieces  that  were  written  by  other  persons. 
His  sea-songs  alone  will  keep  his  memory  alive.  Of  them 
it  is  hard  to  say  whether  the  poetry  or  the  music  be  the 
finer.  The  present  edition  we  consider  one  of  the  most 
important  Ute  accessions  to  the  number  of  those  natire 


works  which  ought  to  find  a  place  in  every  popular 
private  library.  It  is  got  up  in  the  best  maimer,  both  as 
regards  internal  qualities  and  external  appearanoe. 
The  NimrCkmfoTmids  SketchrBooh;  a  Series  tsf 
Views  of  a  State  Churchy  and  its  AttendatU  Evils, 
These  Essays  or  Sketches  originally  appeared  in  Ifae 
Non-Con/ormistf  an  able  and  earnest  liberal  weekly 
newspaper.  They  must  consequently  be  already  knowi 
to  many  of  our  readers.  They  advocate  the  '^  Volnntaiy 
System,"  or  rather  they  repudiate  the  **  Unholy  aUiaDee** 
system,  upon  broad  and  indefeasible  grounds.  All  ^ 
essays  may  not  be  exactly  to  the  point  in  hand,  but  all 
are  pithy  and  apt.  The  writer  does  not  spare  lokewam 
and  trimming  dissenters,  or  ^drowsy  Yoluntarjism,"  and 
for  that  we  give  him  praise. 

The  Two  Dangercus  Diseases  of  EngUmdyCcntmmf' 

tion  and  Apoplexy ^  their  nature^  cmtses^  and  ctnr. 

By  Rowland  East,  Surgeon,  &c.     12mo,  doth, 

pp.  129.    London :  John  Lee. 

This  appears  to  us  a  sensible,  judicious,  and  wdl- 
vritten  treatise  ;  and  indeed  of  iMe  years  all  medical 
publications  are  improved  in  character.  Rising  abon 
pedantry  and  mystery,  they  more  and  more  approximate 
to  the  plain,  practical,  and  rational.  The  charaeteristie 
feature  of  the  book  is  the  reliance  placed  upon  the  u- 
haler  in  the  cure  of  consumption,  or  for  arresting  the 
progress  of  the  disease,  and  in  the  prevention  of  apoplexy 
strict  temperance,  or  abstemiousness,  and  the  quietade 
of  the  passions.  Mr.  Rowland  East  thinks  that  young 
ladies  in  this  country  are  in  more  danger  of  dying  from 
tight-lacing,  thin  shoes,  and  want  of  fiannel,  than  eTeo 
from  broken  hearts  and  unrequited  love;  and  he  counsels 
them  accordingly. 
The  Botanical  Looker-Out  among  the  Wild  Flowen 

of  the  Fields^  WoodSy  and  MomUams  of  England 

and  Walesy  ^c.  S^.     By  Edwin  Lees,  FJJ5. 

TUt  &  Bogue. 

This  is  a  popular  work  for  the  stroller  in  the  fields, 
woods,  and  mountains,  and  also  for  the  amateur  Bota- 
nist. It  is  enriched  by  apt  poetical  quotation,  local  de- 
scription, and  antiquarian  and  literary  allusion.  It  ii 
systematized  by  being  divided  into  Montkt;  the  WEd 
Flowers  of  each  month  forming  a  chapter.  It  is,  ii 
short,  one  of  a  class  of  books  which,  if  but  tolerably 
well  executed,  cannot  fail  to  please,  bringing,  as  it  does, 
^science,  poetry,  and  adventure"  to  the  investigatioi 
of  what  are  so  charming  in  themselves,  ^  our  Wnd 
Flowers.*'  A  good  many  pieces  of  original  floral  vezse 
are  interspersed  with  the  text,  though  we  cannot  ssy 
that  the  poetry  excels  the  prose. 

Geography  Generalized ;  or  an  IntrodneHon  to  At 
Study  of  (Geography.  By  Robert  Snlliyan,  Esq. 
A.M.,  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  Dublin:  Curry 
&Co. 

This  elementary  treatise  appears  to  be  con^iiled  witk 
care,  and  ability. 

An  Outline  of  the  General  Regulations  and  MeAods 
of  Teaching  in  the  Male  National  Model  Schocls, 
By  Professor  Sullivan.    Dublin  :  Folds. 
We  point  out  this  work  to  teachers  in  general,  thoi^ 

it  may  be  found  the  most  usefiil  to  those  who  tnia  ^ 

the  Fystem  adopted  in  the  Model  Schools. 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


553 


ITke  I>omettie  Dietumafy.    By  Gibbons  Merle,  and 

John  Reitch,  M.D.     Octavo,  cloth,  pp,  424. 

London:  Strange. 

This  book  giyea  recipes  for  everything  ;  toothache  and 
riJUff  typhus  and  turnips,  in  their  yarieties,  cnltiyation, 
ind  mode  of  cooking.  Perhaps  it  does  all  this  as  well  as 
uiy  book  can  do  which  attempts  too  much,  and  in  which 
the  authors  are  mnch  oftener  guided  by  precedent  than 
personal  knowledge  or  experience.  This  observation  does 
not  apply  to  the  medical  receipts,  which  occnpy  a  large 
portion  of  the  whole  work,  and  appear  useful. 
Odes  and  SormOs^  with  other  Poem,  Scotch  as  weU 

as  English,    By  the  Rev.  C.  Lessingham  Smith, 
.  M  JH..,  Rector  of  Little  Canfield,  Essex.    Deigh- 

ton,  Cambridge. 

A  Tolume  this,  consisting  of  short  poems  on  every 
theme,  and  composed  in  every  cheerfhl  and  happy  mood; 
one  which  consequently  contains  things  adapted  to  every 
taste,  and  which  must  give  pleasure  to  everybody.  It 
boasts  of  nothing  very  great  or  enduring,  but  of  many 
things  that  are  highly  pleasing,  and  some  that  are  charm- 
log  :  as  for  example, — 

MY  mother's  SBlfTIMENTS. 

A  UTTLB  stream  that's  never  dry, 

When  summer  suns  are  glqwing  ; 
That,  when  the  vnntry  storm  sweeps  by, 

Is  never  overflowing : 
Such  is  the  wealth  that  I  implore, 

And  God  has  given  me  such  and  more. 
Daughters  more  excellent  than  fair ; 

A  son  not  great  but  good  ; 
Servants  with  whom  IVe  learned  to  bear. 

Whatever  be  their  mood  : 
In  peace  with  these,  in  love  with  those, 
I  calmly  live  and  have  no  foes. 
A  house  for  comfort,  not  too  small. 

Not  large  enough  for  pride  ; 
A  garden,  and  a  garden-waU, 

A  little  lake  beside  ; 
In  these  I  find  so  sweet  a  home, 
That  not  a  vnsh  have  I  to  roam. 
A  little  land  to  graze  my  cow, 

Whose  milk  supplies  my  table ; 
A  warm  sty  for  my  good  old  sow  ; 

And  for  my  nags  a  stable : 
All  have  their  space  for  food  and  play, 
And  all  are  glad,  both  I,  and  they. 
I  feed  the  poor  man  in  his  cot. 

The  beggar  at  my  gate  ; 
And,  thankAU  for  my  quiet  lot, 

I  envy  not  the  great : 
But  rather  praise  my  Grod  on  high, 
Happy  to  live,  prepared  to  die. 
This  matronly  philosophy  is  quite  beantifbl.     The 
Scotch  poems  are  great  curiosities  in  their  way ;  as 
we  should  imagine  it  not  much  more  difficult  for  a 
modem  Englishman  to  write  verses  in  Norwegian  or 
German,  than  in  broad  Scotch.    Some  of  the  Scotch 
poems  are,  moreover,  very  sweet  and  pretty.  The  nation- 
al sentiment  is  caught,  as  well  as  the  trick  of  the  lan- 
guage.   For  example,  this  song  of 

BONNIE  ANN. 

I  doutna  whiles  but  I  could  wale 

A  lass  wi'  mair  o'  gowd  and  Ian' ; 
But  no  a  lass  in  a'  the  vale 

I  lo'e  so  weel  as  bonnie  Ann  I 
Her  een  sae  sparklin'  and  sae  blue, 

Aye  speak  o'  mirth  and  luve  to  me  ; 
An'  then  her  sweet  wee  rosy  mou' 

Just  for  ae  kiss  what  wad  I  gie  I 


Her  daddie's  aye  a  preaohin'  o't 
That  she's  ower  young  as  yet,  ye  ken ; 

But  gudeness  guide  us  !  that's  a  faut 
T£ht  ilka  day  an'  hour  maun  men'. 

She's  seen  the  flowers  o'  saxteen  springs, 

Hersel'  the  sweetest  flower  ava' ! 
An'  a'  thing  on  her  guidin'  hings 

In  bam  and  byre,  in  house  and  ha'. 

0'  saxty  nowt  she's  aye  the  mle  ; 

0'  sheep  and  kye  two  hunder  ta\ 
Then  whar,  I'se  like  to  ken,  the  ftiles 

Wad  threep  she's  no  a  woman  nou'  I 

But  I  maun  bide,  as  weel 's  I  may. 

To  please  her  daddie,  honest  man  ! 
Though  sair  I  lang  for  that  blythe  day 

When  I'm  to  wed  my  bonnie  Ann. 

LECTunss  to  YouNo  Men.  Delivered  at  the  request 
of  the  Edinburgh  Young  Men's  Society.  Edinburgh: 
Dalrymple. — These  Lectures,  twelve  in  number,  were 
delivered  by  clergymen  invited  firom  diflTerent  parts  of 
the  country.  The  subjects  are  widely  dlflbrent  in  upany 
respects.  The  majority  of  the  discourses  are  apt  and 
able ;  and  all  have  the  merit  of  brevity. 

Popular  Cyclopedia  of  Natural  SasNCE.  Botany. 
Wright,  Alty,  Baynall :  Aldine  Chambers. — The  object 
of  this  volume  of  the  series  is  to  communicate  a  popular, 
but  at  the  same  time,  a  scientific  view  of  the  chief  tribes 
of  the  Flowering  Plants.  The  system  of  Dr.  Lindley's 
*^  Ladies'  Botany"  is  adopted,  as  that  best  suited  to  ^e 
anonymous  author's  purpose. 

The  Pictorial  Catechism  of  Botany.  By  Anne 
Pratt,  author  of  ^  The  Flowers  and  their  Associations," 
"  The  Field,  the  Garden,  and  the  Woodland."  Suttaby 
&  Co. — This  is  a  neat  Lilliputian  quarto,  bound  in  cloth, 
and  with  gilt  leaves,  and  altogether  a  handsome  little 
book;  and  we  doubt  not  a  good  one,  too,  for  its  purpose. 
The  illustrations,  which  give  it  the  name — pictorial,  are 
exceedingly  well  engraved. 

Baport  on  the  Present  State  of  the  New  Obsxrva* 
TORY  of  Glasgow.    By  Professor  Nichol. 

I.  Klauer's  German  Manual  for  Sblf-Tuition* 
Two  volumes,  12mo,  cloth.  Third  edition ;  entirely  re« 
vised  and  improved.  London:  Rolandi,  Foreign  Book- 
seller.— We  have  had  occasion  to  speak  with  approbation 
of  this  hand-book  of  the  German  language  before  now. 
It  is  not  leas  deserving  of  praise  after  the  pains  bestowed 
upon  improving  it. 

II.  Klauer's  Progrsssivb  ExERasss  in  Writino 
German.  Two  volumes,  doth.  Second  edition. — These 
two  volumes  are  bound  in  one  for  the  conyenienoe  of 
students. 

III.  Klauer's  Key  to  German  ExsRasxs. 


SERIAL  WORKS. 

Brandb's  DidnoNARY  OF  Science,  Literature,  and 
Art.  Part  XII.  Longmans. — This  valuable  work  is 
now  completed.  For  accurate  information  upon  a  vast 
variety  of  subjects,  brought  up  to  the  present  day  and 
hour,  (in  matters  of  progressive  science  and  discovery,) 
and  carefnliy  digested,  this  work  is,  in  its  peculiar  depart- 
ment, unequalled.  As  a  compendious  book  of  reference 
upon  all  subjects,  it  will  long  retain  its  value. 

England  in  thb  Nineteenth  Century.  Northern 
Division.  Part  VII :  Lancashire. — Among  other 
curious  traditionary  matter,  the  new  Part  of  this  elegant 
work  contains  a  history  of  the  Peel  family,  and  a  pretty 


50* 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


wood-engraying  of  ihe  oottege  or  Bmall  (krm-honse  in 
whjch  the  irst  Sir  Robert  was  bom;  the  enphomoas 
name  of  Peel  Orois,  his  alleged  birth-place,  being,  how- 
erer,  vulgarized  into  Fish-Lane,  Blackbnm.  In  the 
same  neighbourhood,  the  ingenious  Hargraye,  the  in- 
Tentor  of  the  spinning-jenny,  was  bom.  How  opposite, 
as  this  world  judges,  has  been  the  fate  of  the  two  fami- 
lies i  The  Part  contains  many  valuable  Tables  necessary 
to  a  complete  Ckranty  History. 

M'Cdlloch's  Gbooiuphical  and  Statisticai.  Dic- 
TiONABT.  Part  XV. — Another  Part  will  complete  this 
valuable  work,  whether  it  be  regarded  as  a  book  of 
reference  or  one  of  information.  The  Part  comprehends 
Turkey,  Texaty  and  many  important  towns,  and  in  it  is 
commenced  the  article  United  Stateg, 

Chahbebs's  Infoemation  for  the  People.  Part 
Xnil.  Agriculture,  and  the  Kitchen  and  Flower 
Chirden. 

CuMHiNo's  Fox's  Book  op  Marttrs.  Part  XIII. 
— The  commencement  of  the  second  volume. 

Facts  and  Figures.    No.  XI. 

Martin  Doyle's  Ctclopbdia  of  Aqriculiurk.    Part 

ni. 

Thornton's  British  India.     Vol.  III.    Part  III. 
Willis's  Scbnbrt   and   Antiquities  om  Ireland. 
Paw  XIV. 
Willis's  Canadian  Scbnbs.    Part.  XXV. 

PAMPHLETS. 
Introductory  Lecture  on  Pictorial  Anatomy.  De- 
livered to  the  Students  of  the  Edinburgh  School  of 
Design.  By  James  Miller,  F.RS.E.,  F.RC.S.E.,  Lec- 
turer on  the  Principles  and  Practice  of  Surgery,  As- 
sistant-Surgeon to  the  Royal  Infirmary,  &c.,  &c.,  &c — 
This  able  and  eloquent  address  has  been  published  at 
the  request  of  the  Commissioners  of  the  Board  of  Tms- 
tees  fbr  the  encouragement  of  Scottish  manu&ctures, 
under  whose  superintendence  the  School  is  placed.  It 
is  the  Introductory  Lecture  to  a  eourse  upon  Picto- 
rkU  Anatomy,  which  Dr.  MUler  is  at  present  delivering 
ie  tiie  students  of  this  eminent  school  of  elementary 
art.  The  Honourable  Commissioners  conceived  "tiiat 
it  woukl  be  hi|^y  desirable  that  the  Lecture  was  not 
•oofliwd  to  the  j^iaoe  where  it  was  delivered,"  and  re- 


quested Dr.  Miller  to  publish  it.  The  aaae  motfie 
makes  us  desirous  to  extend  its  usefolness  as  &r  as  this 
announcement  may  reach ;  for  its  objects  are  extensiTe 
as  the  knowledge  of  art,  and  its  instmctions,  or  rathir 
the  impulse  it  gives,  is  as  available  to  students  in  Loc* 
don,  Liverpool,  er  Glasgow,  as  in  the  city  where  it  yu 
delivered.  As  a  brief  specimen  of  a  Lecturer's  style,  vbs 
seems  himself  imbued  with  the  love  of  art,  we  quote  fisi 
eulogium  on  Wilkie  : — 

And  is  not  Scotland  doing  her  own  share  of  the  woil! 
[The  Lecturer  is  speaking  of  the  advance  of  art  in  Bri- 
tain.] It  is  true  we  have  lost  a  '^  name  in  whidi  Scot- 
land had  a  high  and  endearing  pride,  which  EoglsBd 
delighted  to  honour,  and  which  was  cherished  in  the 
breast  of  every  reflecting  man  throughout  the  whole 
civilized  world," — our  own  Wilkie  is  gone!  He  who 
"  made  the  cottage  hearth  his  grave  theme^ — ^who  sir- 
rounded  the  lives,  and  cares,  and  daily  occupatioDs  of 
the  poor  with  dignity  and  beauty," — ^who  indeed  fond 
sermons  in  stones,  books  in  the  running  streajns,  mi 
good  in  everything, — and  who  left  in  all  his  weria  te 
same  breathing  health,  as  in  the  air  wafted  from  tke 
heather  of  his  native  land."  He  is  gone  1  but  he  lai 
left  a  name, — and  a  fame  as  pure  and  unsullied  as  the 
bright  sky  which  shines  above  a  painter's  grave.  He 
has  filled  our  minds  and  memories  with  what  is  moon- 
f  ul,  yet  as  soothing  as  the  rolling  of  the  blue  waters  over 
his  honoured  head.  Scotland,  though  in  sorrow,  cannot 
be  despondent.  More  than  one  son  is  left  her  of  tk 
noblest  promise ;  and  to  them  she  looks  in  eonfidence. 
How  many  Wilkies  may  there  not  be  bow  stmggliiig 
onward  in  the  path  of  fkme  f  The  exhibition  of  <m 
Royal  Academy  makes  rapid  progress  both  In  the  nam- 
her  and  merit  of  its  works,  and  will  bear,  nay  ohallenje 
competition  with  any  in  the  Empire." 

Who  is  to  Blame  f  or  a  Gursort  Revisw  of  the 
American  Apology  for  American  Accession  to 
Slavery.  By  James  Grahame,  Esq. — Since  this  pai&- 
phlet  was  published,  we  have  heard  of  the  death  of  iti 
author,  the  historian  of  the  United  States.  It  is  woith}', 
from  its  spirit  and  object,  of  being  a  Christiaii  philanthro- 
pist's  loit  li^ur  for  his  kind. 

The  Duty  of  Free  States,  or  Remarks  Suqobsxcd 
BY  THE  Case  of  the  Creole.    By  Dr.  Channing. 

A  Word  of  Appral  and  Advice  to  thx  Charhsxs. 
By  the  Rev.  Henry  Edwards. 

The  Present  Crisis  and  its  Remedy. — ^The  ftdl  etik 
of  the  crisis  are  not  clearly  apprehended.  The  remedy 
is  wild  and  visionary. 


THE  PRIVATE  BUSINESS  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS. 


To  the  Editor  of  TuWb  Magazine. 


Sir,— Having  been,  during  the  two  last  months,  in 
Iiondeny  superintending  the  progress  of  a  private  bill 
through  Parliament,  I  am  enabled  to  communicate  some 
information  with  regard  to  the  manner  in  which  the  pri- 
vate business,  as  it  is  oalled,  of  the  House  of  Commons 
isconducted,  and  which,  I  believe,  is  not  generally  known 
to  your  readers,  as  the  proceedings  of  Parliament  in  this 
department  are  very  seldom  published. 

Private  bills,  you  are  aware,  are  frequently  of  the 
greatest  importaaoe,  not  only  to  the  individuals  immedi- 
ately interested,  but  to  the  public  in  general.  Under 
this  head  are  comprehended  road,  fexry,  railway  bills, 


Private  bills,  when  opposed,  after  having  been  its^ 
twice  in  the  House  of  Commons,  are  sent  to  a  CobbH- 
tee^  consisting  of  about  twenty  members,  where  tb^  are 
gone  over  clause  by  dause.  The  bill,  if  not  r^jeotedbj 
the  Committee,  is  reported  to  the  House  of  GonB«f» 
with  the  alterations  made  in  it,  and  then  rtad  a  Utari 
time,  and  sent  to  the  House  of  Lords,  where  predsdf 
the  same  process  is  adopted.  Of  course  the  wh<^  Hfftfe 
of  Commons,  and  the  whole  House  of  Lords,  have  tk 
power  of  altering  the  decisions  come  to  by  their  re^we* 
tive  Committees ;  but  as  this  is  seldom  done,  the  ftte  d 
a  private  bill  may  be  said  to  depend  on  the  Gomnittees 
of  the  two  Houses^  whose  judgments  me  gmienUy  ««• 


THE  PRIVATE  BUSINESS  OF  THE  HOUSE  OP  COMMONS. 


555 


irand  by  ttie  Hoiues,  although  certainly  attempts  are 
frequently  made,  and  that  sometimee  too  laooeBsfhlly  to 
OTereet  in  the  Houbo  of  Oommona  the  decidonB  come 
to  by  their  Gommittees. 

The  members  of  Gommittees  on  {HriTate  bills,  haye 
thus  most  important  duties  to  perform.  They  have  not 
only  to  decide  as  to  the  general  merits  of  the  measore, 
bat  hare  to  adjudicate  on  most  delicate  points  of  equity, 
betwixt  opposing  parties,— for  instance,  on  questions  of 
direct  compensation  betwixt  indiyiduals  and  the  pro- 
moters ef  a  bill,  or  the  prineiple  by  which  such  compen- 
sation shall  be  afterwards  determined.  The  members 
of  Parliamentary  Gommittees  may  therefore  be  con- 
sidered, to  all  intents  and  purposes,  to  be  judges — bound 
to  act  upon  the  same  principles,  and  to  be  regulated  in 
their  intercourse  with  the  different  parties  by  the  same 
fillings  of  delicacy  and  honour,  by  which  the  Judges  of 
Great  Britain,  may  be  said  to  be  uniyersally  guided. 

Such  being  the  case,  the  first  thing  which  naturaUy 
BuggestB  itself,  is,  that  the  members  composing  the  Gom- 
mittees on  priyate  bUls  should  haye  no  interest  in  the 
question  that  is  to  come  before  them,  either  in  their  own 
persons  or  in  that  of  their  relations.  Such  an  interest 
would  be  a  disqualification  to  a  judge  of  the  Gourt  of 
Session  deciding  upon  an  abstract  point  of  law ;  and 
much  more  ought  it  to  be  a  disqualification  in  a  question 
of  equity,  such  as  those  which  come  before  Parliamen- 
tary Committees,  where  the  members  ought  to  be  influ- 
enced solely  by  a  sense  of  what  is  expedient  and  just. 

In  the  next  place,  a  member  of  Gommittee  should 
keep  himself  aloof  from  eyery  species  of  influence.  He 
ou^^t  to  come  to  the  sittings  with  his  mind  unbiassed 
either  on  one  nde  or  the  other.  Aboye  all,  he  should 
permit  no  canyassing,  no  attempt  to  obtain  the  promise 
of  support  from  him,  by  ex-parte  statements  out  of 
doors.  A  judge  of  the  Gourt  of  Session  who  would  sub- 
mit to  this,  would  be  considered  infunous,  and  totally 
unfit  to  sit  on  the  Bench. 

I  shall  now  inform  you  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
Committees  are  appointed.  Ghreat  Britain  and  Ireland 
are  divided  into  a  number  of  districts ;  and  the  members 
of  Parliament,  elected  by  the  constituencies  of  each  dis- 
trict, form  a  Gommittee,  before  which  eyery  private 
bill  relating  to  that  district  is  brought.  For  instance, 
the  South-eastern  list  of  Scotland  is  composed  of  the  two 
members  for  Edinburgh,  the  members  for  Leith,  Dum- 
fries, Berwick-upon-Tweed,  and  the  Haddington  burghs, 
and  the  members  for  the  counties  of  Linlithgow,  Edin- 
burgh, Haddington,  Berwick,  Peebles,  Selkirk,  Rox- 
burgh, and  Dumfries, — amounting  in  all  to  fifteen. 
Every  private  bill,  relating  to  any  of  those  counties  or 
burghs,  is  sent  to  this  Gommittee ;  and  it  is  the  same  in 
the  other  districts. 

It  is  thus  apparent,  that  on  the  Gommittee  of  every 
private  bill,  it  must  be  nearly  certain  that  there  will  be 
at  least  one,  most  probably  more,  partisan  judges,  either 
in  fovour  or  opposed  to  the  measure, — having  a  direct 
personal  interest  to  warp  them,  and  taking,  as  is  always 
the  case,  the  most  active  share  in  the  proceedings,  and 
in  influencing  the  other  members.  Let  us  sappose  a  bUl 
for  a  road  through  the  county  of  Edinburgh :  Would  net 
Mr.  Gibson-Graig,  one  of  the  members  for  the  city,  and 
Mr.  Ramsay,  the  member  for  the  county,  have  a  direct 
personal  interest  to  have  this  road  pass  through,  or  as 
near  as  possible  to  their  estates,  even  although  the  pub- 
lic advantage  required  it  in  a  different  direction  ?  I  in- 
Btanee  snch  a  possible  case,  as  no  road-bill  for  the  county 


of  Edinburgh  has  been  introduced  since  those  gentlemen 
have  been  in  Parliament 

This  is  the  first  great  defect  of  the  Gommittee  system 
of  the  House  of  Gommons.  Instead  of  a  private  bill 
being  sent  to  a  Gommittee  of  tiie  district  members,  there 
ought  to  be  a  positive  regulation  that  no  member  having 
the  least  interest  in  the  matter  should  be  allowed  to  sit 
in  that  Gommittee.  This  is  the  case  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  who  have  no  district  Gommittees,  and  where  a 
Gommittee  is  expressly  appointed  for  eaeh  bill ;  oare 
being  always  taken  that  no  member  shall  be  named  who 
is  personally  or  even  locally  oonnected  with  the  measure. 
From  this  circumstance,  it  arises  that  the  G<»nmittees  of 
the  House  of  Lords  are  looked  upon  as  tribunsUs,  fairer, 
more  impartial,  and  infinitely  better  in  every  respect 
than  the  Gommittees  of  the  House  of  Gommons.  One 
proof  of  which  is,  that  the  decisions  of  the  Gommittees  of 
the  Lords  are  never  attempted  to  be  set  aside,  when  the 
bill  is  brought  baek  to  the  House ;  whereas,  in  the  House 
of  Gommons,  continui^  eflbrts  are  made  by  parties  to 
upset  the  decisions  come  to  by  their  Gommittees :  thus 
proving  that  the  House  of  Lords  look  on  the  members 
of  their  Gommittees  as  impartial  judges,  while  the  Hoom 
of  Gommons  regard  theirs  as  mere  partisans. 

But  to  return  to  the  House  of  Gommons,  it  may  here 
be  mentioned  that,  by  a  late  regulation,  five  members, 
(called  the  selected  members,)  not  connected  with  the 
district,  are  appointed  on  every  Gommittee,  to  act  along 
with  the  district  members.  This  was  done  to  give  a 
show  of  impartiality  to  the  Gommittee.  But  the  five 
seleeted  members  fbrm  such  a  small  part  of  the  whole 
number,  and  are  in  general  so  indifferent  to  the  measurei 
compared  to  those  locally  interested,  that  their  presence 
is  of  very  little  use  in  giving  fairness  to  the  proceedings. 

There  is  no  obligation  on  any  member  to  attend  a 
Gommittee  on  a  private  bill ;  so  that  it  often  occurs  that 
measures  of  great  importance  are  delayed,  to  the  enor* 
mous  cost  of  parties,  and  sometimes  eventually  lost  fer 
the  session  from  the  want  of  a  quorum  of  members ;  and 
those  who  do  attend  are  principally  composed  either  of 
men  who,  having  a  personal  interest  In  the  measure^ 
ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  be  members  at  all,  or  of  men 
who  have  been  canvassed  to  attend  by  those  having  ad 
interest. 

Let  us  next  conisider  the  mftnner  in  which  the  Gom- 
mittee so  appointed  conduct  themselves.  With  regard 
to  this,  there  is  no  difference  of  opinion  among  those  ao* 
quainted  with  their  proeeedings.  A  more  oomplete 
system  of  jobbing  and  ooiruption,  fer  I  can  call  it  nothing 
else,  does  not  exist  than  that  carried  on  in  the  Gomiait- 
tee:  of  the  House  of  Gommons.  It  is  not  reckoned  eti- 
quette to  canvass  the  five  teUet^  members  of  a  Gommit- 
tee :  but  with  regard  to  the  district  members,  whq  com* 
pose  three-fourths  of  the  whole  number,  not  only  may 
they  be  canvassed  and  solicited  by  both  parties,  but  those 
opposed  to  such  a  corrupt  practice  as  that  of  canvassing 
judges,  are  obliged  to  comply  with  the  rule,  lest  the  memr 
hers  not  called  on  should  consider  themselves  slighted, 
and  vote  against  the  party  neglecting  them.  It  is  quite 
notorious  that  the  fate  of  a  bill  depends  not  upon  the 
expediency  of  the  measure  or  its  intrinsic  merits,  but 
upon  the  success  of  the  intrigues  carried  on  in  its  favour 
or  against  it  by  the  parties  or  the  members  interested, 
who  are  always  the  most  active  and  infiuential  partisans. 
The  members  of  Gommittee,  for  the  most  part,  seem  to 
consider  themselves  entitled,  whenever  their  own  con- 
stituents, whom  they  may  be  afraid  to  offend,  are  not 


556 


THE  PRIVATE  BUSINESS  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS/ 


interested,  to  gratify  their  particular  interesta,  friend- 
ships, and  caprices.  They  do  not  seem  to  think  that 
they  have  any  public  duty  whatever  to  perform.  One 
member  compliments  a  Mend  by  promising  to  support 
a  bill  before  he  has  read  one  clause  of  it ;  another  Yotes 
against  it  because  he  personally  dislikes  the  party  or 
agent  promoting  it.  And  all  tlus  they  can  do  with  the 
most  perfect  impunity  ;  because  the  diyisions,  and  not 
only  the  dlTisions,  but  the  discussions  amongst  the 
members  themselyes,  take  place  with  closed  doors,  and 
the  public  hare  no  access  to  the  record  of  the  divisions, 
unless  in  the  case  of  Committees  on  Railways,  the  minute 
of  the  proceedings  of  which,  by  a  recent  regulation  of 
the  House  of  Commons,  have  been  ordered  to  be  pub- 
lished with  the  votes.  That  there  are  exceptions  to  this 
mode  of  conduct  I  willingly  allow  ;  but  that  this  is  the 
case  in  the  great  majority  of  instances,  I  believe  every 
one  acquainted  with  Parliamentary  practice  will  admit. 
So  perfectly  is  this  understood  to  be  the  case,  that  the 
principal  qualification  of  a  Parliamentary  solicitor  is,  to 
be*a  man  of  gentlemanlyappearance  and  demeanour,  and 
to  have  a  funiliar  and  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
members,  that  he  may  bring  them  down  to  the  House 
or  to  the  Committees  to  support  or  oppose  the  bills,  ac- 
cording as  he,  the  solicitor,  is  employed  to  do  so.  It  is 
quite  ridiculous  to  see  the  manner  in  which  the  solici- 
tors haul  about  the  members,  (the  judges  !)  and  make 
them  do  whatever  they  want. 

Those  members,  in  addition  to  those  personally  inter- 
ested, who  make  a  practice  of  attending  the  Committees 
on  private  bills,  are,  for  the  most  part,  men  who  have 
plenty  of  time  on  their  hands,  who  are  not  in  office,  and 
whose  voices  are  never  heard  in  the  debates  of  the  house, 
and  who  are  desirous  of  acquiring  a  little  consequence  by 
playing  their  part  in  a  Committee  on  a  private  bill,  where 
the  agents  and  the  parties  are  obliged  to  flatter  and 
court  them,  lest  they  should  revenge  themselves  by 
throwing  out  the  measure.  It  is  quite  absurd  to  see  the 
airs  those  little  personages  assume — the  manner  in 
which  they  keep  their  hats  on  during  the  dog  days,  to 
distinguish  themselves  ftrom  the  audience,  and  swagger 
and  lay  down  the  law  with  the  most  peremptory  caprice, 
and  that  without  in  the  slightest  degree  understanding 
the  case  before  them. 

In  what  I  have  stated,  I  am  not  in  any  degree  acted 
upon  by  spleen  ;  for  the  bill  in  which  I  was  interested 
has  passed  most  triumphantly  through  both  Houses,  and 
of  course  I  am  naturally  inclined  to  be  of  opinion  that 
our  Committee  was  an  excellent  one  in  every  respect. 

The  question  then  is— How  are  these  defects  to  be 
remedied  !  This,  I  conceive,  can  only  be  done  in  one 
way.  ^  .The  members  of  Committee  must  be  paid.  I  am 
more^md  more  convinced,  from  what  I  have  lately  seen, 
that  we  never  shall  have  an  efficient  legislature  until  the 
members  are  remunerated  for  their  services ;  and  this 
might  be  commenced  by  paying  those  who  sit  in  Com- 
mittees on  private  biUs.    At  the  present  time,  members 


actually  conceive  that  they  confer  a  favour  on  a  party 
by  attending  a  Committee  ;  but  let  them  be  paid,  and 
they  will  feel  that  this  is  a  duty.  The  only  two  mem- 
bers who  are  now  paid  for  their  services,  as  members  (rf* 
the  House  of  Commons,  are  the  Speaker,  and  Mr.  Gieei, 
the  Chairman  of  Ways  and  Means,  who  have  btth 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  passing  of  private  bilk 
From  this  circumstance,  both  the  Speaker  and  lb. 
Green  are  completely  at  the  public  service.  They  at- 
tend in  their  offices  at  certain  hours  every  day,  and  tk 
solicitors  can  consult  them  ft«ely  on  every  point  of 
difficulty. 

It  appears  to  me,  that  there  should  be  selected  tarn. 
the  House  of  Commons,  at  the  commencement  of  evoj 
session,  twenty  men  of  good  sense  and  business  halHts, 
who  should  receive  j£500  a-year  each ;  and  that  from 
those  twenty  members  a  Committee  of  five  should  be  ap- 
pointed for  every  private  bill,  care  being  taken  that  uj 
personal  or  local  interest  should  exclude  a  member  frm 
a  particular  Committee.  We  should  thus  have  fovr 
standing  Committees,  composed  of  men  paid  for  tiieir  ser- 
vices, and  therefore  bound  to  act  really  as  judges — to  re- 
fuse themselves  to  every  species  of  canvassing  and  soHd- 
tation;  and  who,  ftt>m  being  paid,  would  be  always  leadj 
when  required,  ttom  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  the 
House  met  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  to  sit  onprivate 
bUls. 

I  am  convinced,  if  some  such  plan  as  this  were  adopt- 
ed, justice,  equity,  and  expediency  would  supersede  is- 
fiuence  and  intrigue,  and  bills  of  the  greatest  advaaUge 
to  the  community  would  be  introduced  and  carried  bj 
parties  who,  knowing  the  corrupt  tribunals  throng 
which  they  must  at  present  pass,  vrill  not  venture  on  the 
expense  and  uncertainty  now  attendant  upon  Pariiame&- 
tary  Committees.  The  decision  of  such  Committees 
would  be  viewed  as  the  decision  of  judges,  and  would 
never,  except  on  the  ground  of  some  glaring  and  acknow- 
ledged mistake,  be  interfered  with  by  the  House  of  Coc- 
mens,  any  more  than  the  judgments  of  the  Lord  Chaa- 
cellor  and  the  legal  Peers,  delivered  on  appeals,  are  in- 
terfered vnth  by  the  House  of  Lords.  The  pro<»edings 
before  such  practised  Committees,  perfectly  Tersed  in  tbe 
forms  of  Parliament  and  the  laws  of  evidence,  would  be 
shortened  to  at  least  one-fourth  of  their  present  dm- 
tion,andthe  expense  of  carrying  abill  through  ParliaBaent 
would  be  diminished  in  a  like  ratio.  Thus,  for  a  cost  cf 
£10,000,  paid  to  the  members  of  Committee,  many  bnn- 
dred  thousands  a-year  would  be  saved  to  the  country. 

Such  a  reform  as  I  have  suggested  would  still  leav? 
with  the  House  of  Commons  all  the  power  it  at  pre»it 
possesses.  And  as  private  biUs  have  no  connexion  wiUi 
party,  I  do  not  see  how  there  would  be  any  difficult j  it 
selecting,  from  both  sides  of  the  House,  competent  aes, 
willing  to  undertake  the  duties  of  acting  as  pensaaat 
judges  on  Committees. — Yours,  &c. 

JAMES  AYTOTO. 

REFORif  Club,  London, 
June  28, 1842. 


Printed  byjWiLLiAM  Tait,  107,  Prince's  Street,  Edinburgh. 


TAIT'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 

SEPTEMBER,  1842. 


TAYI^OR^S  NOTES  OF  A  TOUR  IN  THE  MANUFACTURING  DISTRICTS 

OF  LANCASHIRE.* 


Dr.  Taylor's  new  work  is  critically  timed.  Some 
proof  is  required  of  '*  the  moral  worth  and  social 
importance  of  the  Factory  System  ;"  at  a  moment 
when  the  outrages  of  the  exasperated  and  starving 
operatives  is  frightening  the  isle  from  its  propriety. 
Had  facts,  with  us  in  the  north,  not  anticipated 
his  statements,  these  would  have  prepared  us  for 
even  worse  excesses  than  have  yet  heen  committed 
in  Lancashire.  They  show  the  day  of  hope  and 
fbrfoearanoe  to  be  departing  ;  some  of  the  people  to 
be  possessed  by  a  reckless  and  vindictive  spirit ; 
and  not  always  alive  to  the  reeU  causes  of  the  misery 
they  have  so  long  and  patiently  endured.  Yet  the 
more  intelligent  among  them  do  attribute  the  pre- 
vailing distress  to  restrictions  on  trade,  the  burthen 
of  excessive  taxation,  and  corrupt  political  institu- 
tions ;  to— in  the  phraseology  of  tiie  day — **  class 
legislation." 

Dr.  Taylor  is  so  thorough  an  admirer  of  the 
Factory  System,  that  he  can  perceive  no  inherent 
lefect  in  its  nature,  even  of  the  slightest  kind ;  nor 
uiy  contingent  evil  which  might  not  be  remedied 
by  £ree  trade,  and  the  careful  superintendence  of 
he  master  manufacturers.  The  comparative  con- 
iition  of  the  operatives  in  some  of  the  great  rural 
)r  village  factories  belonging  to  enlightened  and 
>hilanthropic  individuals  possessed  of  large  capi- 
als,  goes  far  to  confirm  his  opinion  :  though  all  Uie 
nills  in  England  may  not  be  exactly  like  those  of 
Tnrton  and  Egerton  ;  nor  all  the  mill-owners  like 
he  Messrs.  Ashworth.  The  work-people  of  these 
;entlemen  had  the  good  sense  to  own  that  the  re- 
iaction  of  their  wages,  which  the  masters  had  de- 
ayed  as  long  as  was  possible,  was  not  owing  to 
iny  selfish  design,  but  to  the  decay  of  trade — 
irhich  evident  and  alarming  decay  the  operatives 
iniversally  attributed  to  the  refusal  of  the  govem- 
oexit  to  admit  the  materials  of  payment  profiered 
y  those  who  were  anxious  to  become  our  custom- 

*  In  a  Seriet  of  Letters  to  his  Gnee  the  Archbishop  of 
hiblui.  By  "W.  Cooke  Taylor,  LL.D.,  author  of  the  «  Natural 
[istory  of  Society/'  &c  &c.  1  vol.  cloth.  London :  Duncan 
',  Maloolxn. 

?*0.  CV. — VOL.  IX. 


ers.  This  view  would  not  seem  to  have  reached 
many  of  the  rioters  and  depredators  in  Manchester, 
and  the  towns  around  it. 

It  was  Dr.  Taylor's  practice  to  enter  into  all 
the  cottages  and  dwellings  of  the  operatives  open 
to  him ;  and  to  converse  freely  with  the  people 
wherever  he  found  them  congregated,  or  chanced 
to  fall  in  with  them.  He  thus,  both  by  eye  and 
ear,  gained  much  information  which  is  lost  to  the 
tourist  who  does  not  diverge  and  pry.  He  re- 
lates— 

On  one  oeoadon,  the  group  with  which  I  was  con- 
veraing  on  the  road  was  joined  by  a  man  who  was  stated 
to  have  belonged  to  a  laig^  fkctory  which  had  just  been 
closed.  He  described  the  increasing  misery  which  tUs 
event  had  produced  in  the  district  from  which  he  came, 
— I  think  tiie  neighbourhood  of  Accrington^— and  then 
quite  astounded  me  by  declaring  that  abundant  means 
of  fiimishing  food  to  the  starying,  and  employment  to 
the  idle,  so  as  immediately  to  relieve  all  the  distress  of 
the  manufacturing  districts,  were  in  the  country,  and 
were  perversely  withheld.  Not  a  little  surprised  and 
perplexed,  I  a^ed  him  for  an  explanation.  **  The  com 
in  bond,"  he  instantly  replied;  ''it  would  pay  for  my 
former  employer's  yam,— it  would  give  food  to  my 
starring  family, — it  would  set  those  wheels  going  which 
are  never  likely  to  turn  another  spindle."  Here  was  a 
lesson  in  politi(»l  economy  fh>m  a  vagrant  cotton-spinner 
which  I  had  not  learned  from  my  university  education 
or  private  study.  I  felt  and  confessed  my  obligation. 
He  coolly  replied,  '^  I  hope  you  will  never  have  such  a 
teacher  as  I  have  had,— it  ka9  been  itarved  into  meT 

At  the  village  of  HoUymount^  in  the  Forest  of 
Rosendale,  the  tourist,  on  a  morning,  witnessed  the 
Factory  System  under  the  fairest  auspices,  in  the 
laige  establishment  of  the  Messrs.  Whithead, 
where  all  was  harmony  and  happiness.  Here  were 
to  be  seen  comfortable  and  ample  houses,  dean, 
and  well  furnished;  neat,  healthy,  and  intelligent 
children  ;  a  school  well  attended,  and  on  the  best 
foundation ;  a  handsome  chapel ;  tee-totalism  in 
many  cases ;  and  money  in  the  Savings  Bank. 

I  found  the  villagers  of  HoUymount  healthy,  happy, 
and  contented.  The  operatiTes,  one  and  all,  declared 
that  their  only  anxiety  was,  lest  the  progress  of  distress 
should  reach  the  establishment  of  HoUymount,  and  de- 
prive them  of  the  employment  they  possessed,  and  tlm 

2Y 


558    TAYLOR'S  TOUR  IN  THE  MANUFACTURING  DISTRICTS  OF  LANCASHIRE. 


comforts  they  produced Within  the 

memory  of  liying  men  Hollymonnt  and  the  snrronnding 
district  were  little  better  than  an  nnonlUyated  waste, 
where  the  stony  ground  prodnced  a  scanty  heibage  fbr 
a  few  cattle  :  its  present  condition  need  not  be  afain 
described,  nor  a  contrast  drawn, 

Burnley,  lately  so  famous  in  the  annals  of  fa- 
mine, was  reached  on  the  same  evening,  and  pre- 
sented that  painftd  oontrattto  HoUymount^  which 
the  latter  may  ere  thi«  present  to  its  former  self. 

From  Hollymonnt  we  drove  to  Crashaw  Booth,  as  I 
had  been  invited  to  make  Sunnyside  my  quarters.  Here 
I  parted  from  my  companions ;  and  as  it  was  yet  early^ 
I  proceeded  on  the  same  evening  to  Burnley,  where  the 
contrast  to  what  I  had  seen  in  the  morning  was  perfectly 
heart-rending.  Groups  of  idlers  stood  in  the  midst  of 
the  street ;  iheir  fkees  haggard  with  famine,  and  their 
eyes  rolling  with  that  fierce  and  uneasy  expression 
which  I  have  often  noticed  in  maniacs.  I  went  up  to 
some  of  them,  and  entered  into  oonversation.  IRiey 
were  perfectly  candid  and  communicative ;  for  the  men 
of  this  part  of  Lancashire  retain  much  of  the  sturdy 
independence  of  the  ancient  foresters:  they  will  go 
miles  to  do  you  a  service,  but  they  vrill  not  stir  one  inch 
to  do  homage  to  wealth  or  station.  Each  man  had  his 
own  tale  of  sorrow  to  tell ;  their  stories  were  not 
'<  The  short  and  simple  aonals  of  the  poor  ;** 

they  were  complicated  details  of  misery  and  suiFeiing, 
gradual  in  their  approach,  and  grinding  in  their  result ; 
borne,  however,  with  an  iron  endurance  such  as  the 
Saxon  race  alone  displays,  and  witii  the  sternness  be- 
longing to  that  noblest  form  of  pride— 4he  pride  of  in- 
dependent labour.  ^  We  want  not  eharity,  but  employ- 
ment,"  was  their  unanimous  declaration ;  and  proofii  of 
their  truth  were  abundant  in  the  anecdotes  told  and 
verified  of  men  having  travelled  miles  to  obtain  a  Job, 
however  heavy  the  labour,  and  however  vnretched  the 
remuneration. 

I  found  them  all  Ghartisis,  but  with  this  difference-* 
that  the  block-printers  and  handloom-weavers  united  to 
their  Chartism  a  hatred  of  machinery,  whidi  was  fiir 
from  being  shared  by  the  fketory  operatives.  The  latter 
also  deprecated  anything  like  an  appeal  to  physioid 
fDree,  while  the  former  strennously  urged  an  immediate 
appeal  to  arms.  There  was  no  ooncealment  of  sentiment 
en  either  side.  I  heard  more  than  twenty  openly  advo- 
cate the  expediency  of  burning  down  the  mills,  in  order 
to  compel  Uie  fkctoiy  hands  to  join  in  an  insurrectionary 
movement.  A  mill  had  been  buned  down  at  Colne  two 
ni^ts  previously;  doubts  vrere  entertained  whether 
this  had  been  the  result  of  design  or  accident;  and  in 
the  streets  of  Burnley  there  were  groups  expressing 
their  hopes  that  it  would  be  traced  to  design,  and  fol- 
lowed by  imitation,  while  the  heaviest  curses  vrere  be- 
stowed on  the  fkctory  hands  of  Colne  for  having  heartily 
exerted  themselves  to  check  the  conflagration,  and  to 
supply  water  to  the  engines.  Permit  me  to  repeat  that 
these  sentiments  vrere  expressed  openly  and  in  tiie  pub- 
Ho  streets.  I  stood  amongst  them  and  was  known  to 
be  a  stranger :  there  vras  no  appearance  of  speaking 
either  with  a  design  to  be  overheard,  or  an  anxiety  for 
concealment.  Had  I  been  one  of  the  posts  in  the  street, 
my  presence  eould  not  have  been  viewed  wiUi  more 
perfsct  indifference. 

Now  we  begin  to  obtain  the  key  to  tiie  disgraoe- 
fdl  scenes  that  hare  occurred  in  Lancashire.  An 
intelligent  manufaoturer,  with  whom  Dr.  Taylor 
oonyersed  on  the  causes  of  the  existing  distress, 
repeated  in  substance  what  has  been  said  a  hun- 
dred thousand  times  of  the  oom-laws,  and  the  con- 
sequent want  of  employment ;  and  now  we  reach 
the  next  link  in  that  chain,  the  termination  of  which 
it  is  frightful  to  contemplate.    This  gentleman 

Dwelt  very  strongly  on  the  moral  results  of  the  crisis, 
which  he  described  as  fiff  more  alarming  than  its  physi- 


cal consequences ;  marriages  had  neaily  eeaoedy  wUe 
young  persons,  from  having  no  work,  vrere  thrown  to- 

Sther  in  dangerous  circumstances,  their  passiona  stiBi- 
ted  by  anger,  and  their  powers  of  restraint  destroyed 
by  de^^eranon.  Revenge,  ^the  wild  justice  &t  tibe 
hopeless,"  was  preached  by  itinerant  incendiaries ;  kt 
while  "  the  shadow  of  a  chance'*  remained,  he  did  atfc 
believe  that  the  people  would  have  recourse  to  ▼iolwse. 
"IL  however,'*  he  continued,  ^they  once  get  it  into 
theb-  heads  tl»t  no  remedy  is  to  be  expected^  these  wiL 
be  no  safety  in  Buml^  for  any  man  with  a  decent  cost 
to  his  back."  From  uie  conversations  which  I  sabs- 
quently  had  vrith  several  of  the  unemployed  operativBi 
in  this  district,  I  am  firmly  persuaded  that  my  infonast 
did  not  exaggerate. 

Conversations  held  with  the  people  themselves, 
at  difiTerent  places,  left  no  room  for  doubt,  although 
such  conclusions  were  not  to  be  drawn  from  tib 
state  of  physical  sufiFering  in  which  they  wen 
found.  The  manufacturing  population  are  repre- 
sented as  very  reluctantly  yielding  to  accept  pazkk 
relief  yet  one-fourth  of  the  people  of  Colne  wm 
receiving  relief ;  the  rates  had  been  raised  from  Sh. 
to  lOs.  in  the  pound,  and  the  relief  granted  wis 
considered  so  iimdequate  by  the  paupersi,  that  it  wu 
distributed}  in  one  place,  under  the  protection  of  a 
military  guard.  It  was  here  that  the  tonrist  fint 
adopted  the  plan  which  he  afterwards  invariably 
followed. 

I  went  to  the  maricet-place,  and  addressed  myself  io 
the  most  intelligent-looking  of  the  many  idle  operatim 
by  whom  it  was  crowded.  I  asked  him  to  guide  me  te 
the  streets  vrfaere  the  unemployed  work«people  resided, 
that  l  might  see  with  my  own  eyes  t&  oonditioB  to 
which  they  had  been  reduced.  As  I  had  never  been  io 
this  part  of  the  country  before,  it  vras  impossible  fbr 
me  to  select  specimens,  and  I  took  care  thiU  my  gside 
should  not ;  fbr,  though  he  led  to  the  streets,  I  took  the 
houses  at  random.  ]&  all,  I  visited  eighty-three  dwell* 
ings,  selected  at  hasard.  They  were  destitute  of  hxu- 
ture,  save  old  boxes  for  tables,  and  stools,  or  even  bz|e 
stones,  for  chairs ;  the  beds  were  composed  of  straw  sad 
diavings,  sometimes  vrith  torn  pieces  of  carpet  or  pedii^  | 
canvass  for  a  covering,  and  sometimes  witiiout  any  kiid 
of  covering  idialever.  Hie  food  vras  oatneal  sad  water  | 
for  breakfSut ;  flour  and  water,  with  a  UtUe  skimaai 
milk,  for  dinner ;  oatmeal  and  water  again  for  a  third 
supply,  with  those  who  went  through  the  form  of  eatis| 
three  meals  a-day.  I  vras  inform^  in  fifteen  foaulieB 
that  their  children  went  vrithout  the  *'  bhie  milk,"  «r 
milk  from  which  the  cream  had  been  taken,  on  altemU 
days.  I  vras  an  eye-witness  to  children  appeasing  tbi 
cravings  of  the  stomach  by  the  reftise  of  decayed  vege- 
tables in  the  root-market.  I  saw  a  vroman  in  the  voT 
last  stage  of  extenuation,  suckling  an  inlluit,  whi^  nm 
scarcely  draw  a  single  drop  of  nutriment  from  hsrex* 
hausted  breast.  I  inquired  the  child's  age!  BfleeK 
months.  Why  vras  it  not  weaned!  Another  mtiik 
would  be  added  to  the  number  of  those  fbr  whoa  tbt 
present  supply  of  oatmeal  was  insufficient.  I  vras  tM 
that  there  had  been  several  instances  of  death  hy  Ami 
starvation.  On  asking  why  application  had  net  kea 
made  to  the  parish  for  relief,  I  was  informed  that  tkif 
were  persons  from  agricultural  districts,  who^  on  con- 
mitting  an  act  of  vagrancy,  would  be  sent  to  tkar 
parishes,  and  tiiat  they  had  rather  endure  anyih^  a 
the  hope  of  some  manu&oturing  revival,  than  vstan  i» 
the  condition  of  fihrm-labourers,  from  whiok  thty  kid 
emerged.  This  vras  a  fiMst  perfectly  new  to  me^  wd  tf 
the  f^  blush  utterly  incredible. 

To  us  it  appears  equally  incredible^  though  H 
is  plausibly  supported.  Tke  houses^  and  the  per- ; 
sons  of  the  people  of  Colne,  miserable  as  they 
in  every  respect,  were  ^  scrupulously  dean. 
children  were  in  ragSy  but  not  in  fdtlL 


TAYLOR'S  TOUR  IN  THE  MANUFACTURING  DISTRICTS  OF  LANCASHIRE     559 


with  their  nei^bonn,  they  were  also  remarkable 
for  calm  endurance.  At  Padiham,  a  township  in 
which  the  owner  of  the  land  had  flowed  no  milla 
to  be  erected,  the  distress  was  equally  great ;  but 
the  people  were  violent  and  fierce. 

Here  teeth  were  set,  hands  were  olenehed,  and  corses 
of  fearfhl  bitterness  pronooneed  with  harrowing  energy. 
*We  wait  but  for  the  word  to  begin,**  was  stated 
broad!  jT  and  open!  jr  by  eyery  hand-loom  wearer  or  block- 
printer  I  met  in  the  place,  and  the  tone  in  which  this 
declaration  was  uttered  gave  startUng  eyidence  of  its 
sincerity.  There  was  a  reckless  desperation  about  the 
aspect  of  misery  in  Padiham,  which  was  nnlike  anything 
I  erer  saw  in  Lancashire,  but  I  doubt  if  it  be  more 
dangerous  than  the  steady  and  fixed  resolution  to  obtain 
a  redress  of  real  or  imaginary  grieyances  which  I  found 
among  the  people  in  CoTne  and  Marsden.  The  destitu- 
tion in  all  Uiese  places  is  much  alike  ;  in  all,  you  may 
hear  the  same  declaration,  that  *^  things  are  worsenin^r 
in  all,  too,  you  may  find  something  like  a  determination 
to  efibct  a  change ;  but  in  Padihuu  and  its  neighbour- 
hood there  are  superadded  aspirations  for  rengeance, 
and  threats  of  retaliating  wrongs  on  the  head  of  sup- 
posed oppressors.  In  Padiham  I  heard  a  man  in  the 
open  streets  go  beyond  eyen  the  yiolence  of  Burnley, 
and,  amidst  the  cheers  of  some  scores,  express  an  eager 
hope  that  ^  Captain  Swing  would  take  command  of  the 
manofkcturing  districts." 

The  sight  of  the  idle  wheels,  and  smokeless 
chimneys  of  a  beautiful  village  upon  the  Irwell, 
gives  rise  to  a  painful  strain  of  moralizing,  on  the 
obduracy  and  actual  madness  of  those  who  con- 
tinue to  oppose  the  only  rational  remedy ;  the  last 
chance  of  amelioration,  and  of  averting  that  fierce 
conflict  between  the  "  Have-nots"  and  ^^the  Haves" 
which  has  already  broken  out  in  so  many  districts. 
It  is  said  here,  and  the  fEict  begins  to  be  realized, 

Coleridge's  fSearfhl  eclogue  of  f^Fire,  Famine,  and 
Slaug^iter,"  will  become  applicable  to  districts  fhr  more 
important  and  extensive  than  La  Yend^.  This  alarm  is 
suggested  by  no  loud  threat  or  angry  declaration;  I  have 
heard  little  of  such  vapouring  &  Lancashire;  it  arises 
£rom  hearing  stem  declamations  made  with  a  concen- 
trated energy  and  bitter  resoluteness  which  found  vent 
in  fiew  and  brief  sentences  :  these  were  pregnant  with 
meaning,  and  meant  fkr  more  than  they  said.  I  endea- 
voured to  remonstrate  with  one  of  these  men,  and  to 
show  him  the  perils  of  the  course  which  he  wished  to 
see  adopted :  he  cut  me  very  short,  and  coolly  imformed 
me  that  ^  the  time  for  argument  was  gone  past." 

In  this  village  I  met  with  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  I  have  ever  seen,  a  perfect  specimen  of  the  ^  abnor- 
mis  sapiens:"  he  never  studied  logic  in  his  life,  but  I 
never  saw  any  one  who  approached  him  in  quickness  of 
detecting  a  ftdlacy  or  exposing  a  sophism.  His  art  of 
reasoning  consisted  in  his  powers  of  graphic  and  comic 
illostration.  For  instanee,  some  conversation  arose  re- 
specting war ;  he  said,  in  a  strong  Lancashire  dialect 
which  I  am  quite  unable  to  imitate,  ^  My  father  was 
killed  at  Waterloo  ^there  was  a  day  appointed  for 
thanksgiving  in  church; — ^parson  comes  to  me  and  says — 
Will  you  not  come  to  church  and  thank  God  for  Ae 
great  vietory  which  he  has  bestowed  upon  your  country ! 
And,  says  I,— What  should  I  thank  God  for !  Is  it  for 
killing  my  fother  1" — He  told  us  several  anecdotes  of 
his  anti-com-law  debates,  for  he  is  a  zealous  agitator  in 
the  cause  of  repeaL 

A  Methodist  preacher  told  this  man  that  the 
present  distress  was  a  visitation  from  Gcd  for  the 
sins  of  the  working-classes.  The  man's  bold  and 
startling  reply  is  hardly  fit  for  publication,  though 
it  does  less  dishonour  to  the  Divine  goodness 
than  b  implied  in  the  averment  of  the  Methodist. 
An  observation  made  by  this  man  merits  to  be 


quoted,  for  its  power,  originality,  and  practical 
wisdonu  The  minds  of  the  operatiTes  are  at  pr^ 
sent  an  universal  raw. 

^  Every  improved  fooulty  of  the  mind  is  new  strength 
of  muscle  to  help  us  forwiurd  when  times  are  prosperous; 
but  in  such  seasons  as  this  each  improved  foculty  is  a 
new  rem  on  which  the  whip  descends  more  painfiilly  and 
bitterly." 
A  poor  silk  weaver  in  Stockport  said — 
"  The  distress  is  owing  to  bad  legislation.  Landed 
gentlemen  will  not  let  trade  open,  because  it  will  hurt 
them  ;  but  if  com  was  cheaper,  it  would  never  do  any 
good  until  taxes  came  off.  Irs  the  luuional  ddi ;  we  had 
no  wiee  in  eontreieting  that  ddt,  and  Idon*t  tkiiUe  we  are 
HaUe  to  pay  it.  This  is  the  opinion  of  the  working-men ; 
I  dont  know  what  the  gentlemen  think  about  it  The 
working-men  get  together  and  talk  of  these  things  ; 
I  have  not  been  much  among  them  for  twelve  months. 
There  will  be  no  good  without  a  law  to  fix  wages."  Be- 
ing asked  iHiether  such  a  law  would  force  masters  to 
find  work,  he  said  **  No."  He  added,  **  There's  another 
thing :  there  's  too  many  salaries  ;  this  6k)vemment  's  as 
bad  as  the  last  in  that ;  pensions,  and  things  of  that 
sort." 

I  mav  add  here  that  Pownall*s  sentiments  respecting 
the  national  debt  are  not  singular ;  I  heard  similar  de- 
clarations made  in  various  parts  of  Lancashire ;  and  one 
operative  worded  his  argument  in  such  an  original  and 
forcible  form  that  I  at  once  copied  it  into  my  notes.  His 
words  were,  **  The  national  debt  was  contracted  to  pro- 
tect property,  but  the  burthen  of  its  payment  has  been 
thrown  upon  industry;  now  Property  has  no  more  right 
to  ask  Industry  to  pay  its  debts  than  I  have  to  ask  yoa 
to  pay  mine."  I  represented  to  him  Napoleon's  invari- 
able hostility  to  the  trade  and  commerce  of  England, 
and  endeavoured  to  show  that  the  French  wars  were 
maintained  for  the  protection  of  industry  as  well  as  of 
property.  He  a^ed  me,  with  a  bitter  sneer,  ^  How 
mudi  worse  the  working-classes  would  be  off,  if  Napo- 
leon had  conquered  the  country^  than  they  are  now  t" 
He  then  added,  ^  The  policy  of  Buonaparte,  you  say. 
was  hitended  to  destroy  the  trade  and  commerce  of 
England ;  have  not  the  corn-laws  a  direct  and  obvious 
tendency  to  produce  the  same  result !  You  know  they 
have,  and  so  does  everybody  know  who  can  put  two 
ideas  together.  We  cannot  sell  to  people  whose  pay- 
ments we  refuse.  So  that,  according  to  your  account^ 
we  have  spent  hundreds  of  millions  to  prevent  Buona- 
parte from  doing  that  which,  at  the  V617  moment  of  his 
fall,  we  set  about  doing  ourselves.  This  is  exceedingly 
like  the  story  told  of  a  man  who  paid  his  serrant  for 
saving  him  from  an  assassin  on  the  very  morning  that  he 
committed  suicide." 

So  much  needful  publicity  has  of  late  been  gi  v^ 
to  the  statistics  of  misery  in  Lancashire,  that  there 
is  some  danger  of  hearts  becoming  callous  in  the 
continued  contemplation  of  evils  which  some  sel- 
fish people  would  fain  persuade  themselves  cannot 
be  remedied.  We  shall  not,  therefore,  load  our 
pages  with  relations  of  the  distress  prevailing 
throughout  these  districts ;  and  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  exaggerate.  Along  with  sufiering  comes 
recklessness  and  despair.  At  Colne,  where  the 
people  are  described  as  patient  and  peaceful,  more 
than  twenty  persons,  with  whom  rt.  Taylor  con- 
versed  in  the  streets,  or  their  own  houses,  said— 
^  We  used  to  think  that  something  better  would 
turn  up  ;  but  have  waited  so  long  Qiat  hope  itself 
is  worn  out.  We  must  do  something  for  ourselvee^ 
since  those  above  us  will  never  do  anything  for 
us."  Others  are  represented  as  listless  and  apa- 
thetic, their  souls  having  been  gradually  cruriied 
within  them.  In  this  pitiable  and  hopeless  con- 
dition were  the  operatives  of  Stockport,  who,  within 


560    TAYLOR'S  TOUR  IN  THE  MANUFACTURING  DISTRICTS  OF  LANCASHIRE. 


a  few  years,  had  been  among  the  most  prosperous 
and  happy  of  the  manufacturing  population  of 
Lancashire.  It  is  of  them,  and  of  the  people  of 
Bolton,  Burnley,  &c.,  that  the  tourist  exclaims  — 
I  haye  seen  misery  in  many  forms :  I  have  been  in  the 
hnts  and  hoyels  of  Ireland,  when  my  native  land  was 
Tisited  with  the  fearfol  scourge  of  cholera ;  I  have 
▼isited  the  cellars  of  Liverpool,  where  existence  assumes 
an  aspect  which  ceases  to  be  human  ;  I  have  penetrated 
into  &e  wynds  and  vennels  of  Glasgow,  localities  which 
would  try  to  the  uttermost  the  hardest  of  hearts  and  the 
strongest  of  stomachs  ; — but  nowhere  have  I  seen  misery 
which  so  agonized  my  very  soul  as  that  which  I  have  wit- 
nessed in  the  manufacturing  districts  of  Lancashire.  And 
why  I  Because  the  extreme  of  wretchedness  was  there, 
and  there  only,  combined  with  a  high  tone  of  moral  dig- 
nity, a  marked  sense  of  propriety,  a  decency,  cleanliness, 
and  order,  the  elements  which  produced  the  vast  wealth 
I  have  described,  and  which  do  not  merit  the  intense 
suffering  I  have  witnessed.  I  was  beholding  the  gradnd 
immolation  of  the  noblest  and  most  valuable  population 
that  ever  existed  in  this  country,  or  in  any  other  under 
heaven.  We  are  not  stocks  and  stones  :  I  am  as  firmly 
persuaded  as  I  am  of  my  own  existence,  that,  if  the 
noble  and  wealthy  had  witnessed  the  scenes  'which  I 
have  gone  through,  they  would  fling  all  prejudices  and 
selfish  interests  to  ^e  winds,  they  would  stretch 
forth  eager  hands  to  raise  the  sufferers,  pour  oil  and 
wine  into  the  wounds  they  have  inflicted,  and  devote  the 
whole  of  their  energies,  heart  and  soul,  to  prevent  the 
recurrence  of  such  misery. 

We  are  hardly  able  to  embrace  this  charitable 
view. 

The  whole  of  the  volume  is,  if  not  a  studied 
eulogy  of  the  Factory  System,  somewhat  liable  to 
a  suspicion  of  one-sidedness.  But  at  the  present 
juncture,  this  is  the  wise  as  well  as  generous  lean- 
ing. The  immediate  necessity  for  the  total  abolition 
of  the  Corn-laws  is,  if  not  directly  advocated,  inci- 
dentally and  powerfully  made  out ;  and  the  thread- 
bare fallacies  regarding  over-production,  emigra- 
tion, and  danger  to  agriculture  and  machinery,  are 
once  more  demolished,  and  driven  from  their  last 
refuge  of  lies.  But  nothing  in  the  work  b  half  so 
important  as  the  report  of  the  spirit,  as  well  as  of  the 
actual  condition,  of  the  operatives,  which  is  gathered 
from  their  own  lips;  and  thatnotunderthe  restraints 
of  an  examination  before  a  formal  board  of  Commis- 
sioners, but  in  free  and  spontaneous  conversation. 

Dr.  Taylor  was  in  Manchester  when  the  Bri- 
tish Association  lately  held  there  its  meeting  for 
1842.  The  members,  in  spite  of  the  prevailing 
distress  and  embarassments,  were  as  hospitably 
received  as  in  any  of  the  towns  in  which  they  had 
held  their  previous  meetings ;  and  the  inhabitants 
ti^  to  keep  their  many  anxieties  and  causes  of 
nneasiness  out  of  dght  of  their  transient  guests. 
Matters  were  at  this  time  hastening  to  a  crisis.  And 
we  are  told,  by  one  who  saw  behind  the  curtain — 

A  very  different  state  of  feeling  was  manifested  when 
they  were  visited  in  their  warehouses  and  counting- 
houses.  Even  a  fortnight  had  made  an  immense  differ- 
ence; men  whom  I  h^  known  the  most  strenuous  ad- 
vocates of  Conservative  principles  were  now  foremost  in 
urging  resolutions  and  addresses  to  stop  the  si^plies  ; 
those  who  were  moderate  Liberals  have  become  advo- 


cates of  the  five  points  of  the  Charter :  and  many  jrete 
ready  to  join  in  an  association  for  the  non-payment  of 
taxes  :  in  short,  a  very  angry  and  dangerous  spirit  wis 
increasmg,  and  this  in  a  class  which  had  been  always 
remarkable  for  prudence  and  moderation.  The  diop- 
keepers  were  not  less  excited  ;--the  collector  of  the  ia- 
oome-tax  in  Manchester  will  have  a  situation  as  littk 
enviable  as  that  of  an  inspector  of  mines  under  Lod 
Ashley's  new  bill.  I  found,  too,  that  the  i^ioetlei  of 
mischief  and  sedition  were  not  idle  at  a  crisis  so  £avoQ^ 
able  to  their  schemes ;  indeed,  they  openly  declare<I 
that  tiieir  detestable  project  of  an  appeal  to  arms,  aad 
the  consequent  result  of  a  total  change  in  the  eonstite- 
tion  of  the  country,  were  now  close  at  hand.  In  the 
midst  of  this  threatening  ind  distressing  aspect  of  afiir^ 
I  seem  to  myself  to  see  the  prospect  of  some  good  aris- 
ing. I  think  that  many  will  learn  the  lesson  of  the  very 
little  importance  of  the  constitution  of  governments- 
considered  as  it  relates  to  parties  and  persons  rather 

than  to  principles. 

I  am  not  at  all  sorry  that  the  leading  politiciiBs 
of  Manchester  are  **  looking  more  to  things  as^ 
less  to  men."  There  is  a  proof  of  it,  which  I  very  muck 
lament,  but  which  nevertheless  I  am  bound  to  reocrd, 
that,  with  the  majority  of  the  members  of  the  Anti-Con- 
Law  League,  the  most  unpopular  man  at  the  present 
moment  is  Lord  John  Rna9ell.  I  have  endeavoored  to 
ascertain  the  cause,  because  I  am  far  from  being  pleased 
with  the  fact;  and  I  have  only  received  vague  9tkd  inde- 
terminate answers.  Still  the  fact  may  be  quoted  ai  i 
proof  that  there  is  a  growing  tendency  among  ^le  BaoiH 
facturers  to  look  to  themselves  as  a  body,  and  not  to  rest 
their  dependence  upon  any  party  in  the  state. 

The  causes  of  the  unpopularity  of  Lord  John 
Russell  with  the  Anti-Com-Law  party,  are  sorely 
not  difficult  to  divine,  any  more  than  his  unpopu- 
larity with  Radical  Reformers,  among  whom,  by 
the  way.  Dr.  Taylor  is  not  to  be  numbered.  He 
concludes  with  an  earnest  exhortation  to  the  ma- 
nufacturers and  the  League  to  unite  and  cohboU- 
date  their  strength ;  to  form,  henceforth,  &n  ac- 
tive as  they  are  a  powerful  interest  in  the  state ; 
and  not  to  rest  contented  with  merely-  carrying 
the  abolition  of  the  Corn-laws.  He  would  have 
them  stand  by  their  order,  of  which  they  have, 
till  now,  seem^  ashamed ;  rescue  their  dependents 
from  false  teachers,  by  becoming  their  actual,  as 
they  are  their  natural,  guides ;  and,  in  short, 
though  this  is  not  put  in  words,  exercise  that 
mor^  and  political  influence  over  them  which  the 
landowners  do  over  the  agricultural  populatioii, 
assuming  that  influence  to  be  wholly  benefidsL 
We  do  not  mean  to  advert  to  several  matters 
treated  in  Dr.  Taylor's  Letters.  He  is  a  Chordi- 
man ;  and,  in  suggesting  some  needful  changes 
would  work  only  by  machinery  instituted  by  a 
state  church.  Yet  there  is  good  included,  both  m 
his  means  and  ends. 

We  are  sincerely  happy  to  have  hb  tefltimooy 
to  the  increasing  harmony  between  the  employen 
and  the  employed,  although  it  has  not  been  oarro' 
borated  by  some  of  the  circumstances  and  fuis 
attending  the  late  outbreaks. 

We  need  scarcely  add,  that  this  work,  thoi^b 
hasty  and  cursory,  is  well  written,  as  well  aa  abiy 
reasoned,  and  peculiarly  well-timed. 


!jGI 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 

BY  MRS.  GORE. 
(Continued  fivm  page  501  of  our  August  No,) 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

On  taking  possession  of  his  old  lodgings  on  his 
letnzn  from  the  Tower,  the  first  circumstance  com- 
mxuiicated  to  Basil  by  his  landlord, — (the  retired 
butler  of  a  noble  family,) — was,  that  a  shabbyish- 
looking  person  had  called  repeatedly  with  earnest 
inquiries  concerning  the  moment  and  manner  of  his 
arriyal. 

**A  gentleman?'' — inquired  Basil,  who,  being 
oat  of  debt,  had  less  apprehension  of  shabby-looking 
persons  calling  with  inquiries,  than  might  have 
been  the  case  with  Maitland  or  Wilberton. 

**  Why,  I  should  say,  yes,  Sir,"  replied  the  man, 
^  though  there  wam't  much  matters  to  boast  of  in 
the  coat  on  his  back. — ^But  he  spoke  like  a  person 
of  eddication." 

Basil  smiled  approvingly  at  the  distinction,  which 
did  not,  however,  assist  his  guesses. — ^At  length,  it 
occurred  to  him,  so  strongly  as  to  bring  the  colour 
to  his  £ace,  that  the  mysterious  stranger  was  most 
likely  the  Protean  Abednego ;  a  suspicion  fuUy 
confirmed  by  the  information  which  his  minute 
inquiries  now  managed  to  elicit. 

*^  And  he  said  he  would  call  again?"— demanded 
young  Annesley. 

«  Thb  evening.  Sir, — ^he  said  he  would  be  sure 
to  look  in  this  evening." 

And  the  tone  of  glee  in  which  the  young  guards- 
man hastened  to  give  orders  that  the  moment  his 
strange  visiter  arrived  he  should  be  admitted  into 
his  sttting-room,  relieved  the  mind  of  the  landlord, 
(with  whom  his  first-floor  was  a  first  favourite,) 
from  a  suspicion  that  **  a  small  account," — a  name 
usually  given  to  a  very  large  one,  had  been  the 
cause  of  the  spontaneous  clumge  of  colour. 

(<  I  shall  come  home  immediately  after  dinner  to 
meet  this  gentleman,"  observed  the  young  guards- 
man ;  **  but  if  by  chance  he  should  arrive  here  first, 
you  would  infinitely  oblige  me,  Mr.  Smith,  by 
detaining  him  till  I  come." 

Thus  adjured,  Mr.  Smith  lost  no  time  in  con- 
verting the  shabby-genteel  man  into  a  rich  uncle 
of  eccentric  habits;  and,  accordingly,  when  the 
stranger  reaify  made  his  i^pearance,  he  was  re- 
ceived with  fjl  the  state  and  ceremony  due  to  the 
Ambassador  of  one  of  the  Great  Powers! — Ten 
minutes  only  had  he  been  seated,  however,  in  the 
favourite  arm-chair  of  Basil,  beside  his  shaded  read- 
ing lamp,  when  the  young  man,  who  had  hurried 
home  torn  the  house-dinner  of  the  Club,  entered  the 
room. 

"  Ferdal*' — cried  he,  starting  at  sight  of  his 
unexpected  guest ;  "  this  is  indeed  a  most  agreeable 
surprise] — I  was  afraid  you  had  dismissed  me 
alt<^§nether  from  your  recollection ! " 

^It  is  not  so  easy  to  dismiss  those  altogether 
from  our  recollection,  Mr.  Annesley,"  gravely  re- 
joined the  old  artist, "  towards  whom  we  have  heavy 
obligations," 


"  If  such  be  your  only  motive  for  remembering 
me,"  cried  Basil,  warmly,  "God  knows  1  have 
litde  desire  to  occupy  a  place  in  your  memory. 
Unless  remembered  as  one,  towards  whom,  in  a 
foreign  country,  in  sickness  and  neglect,  you  did 
the  part  of  a  kinsman,--one  whom  you  admitted 
to  sit  before  your  household  fire,  one  to  whom  you 
conceded  almost  the  privileges  of  a  son,  one  who 
has  never  ceased  to  regard  you  as  a  father,«-I 
would  fain  be  utterly  forgotten." 

Basil  flung  down  his  hat  impetuously  on  a  chair, 
while  uttering  this  tender  expostulation ;  to  which 
Verelst  replied  only  by  turning  away,  as  if  seeking 
for  some  papers  he  had  plao^  on  the  table  beside 
him. — ^But  Basil  fancied  when  the  old  man  again 
addressed  him,  that  there  was  a  kindly  moisture  in 
his  eye,  as  though  his  own  words  had  not  been 
utterly  disregarded.  Still,  the  painter  attempted 
no  direct  reply  to  the  appeal. 

"  I  am  come.  Sir,"  said  he,  evading  the  question 
of  such  reminiscences,  "  with  a  thankftil  and  re- 
joicing heart,  to  discharge  the  obligations  you  so 
nobly  conferred  upon  me.  It  would  have  been  easy 
to  do  so  by  letter,  or  through  the  intervention  of  a 
third  person:  but  I  was  unwilling,  my  dear  Mr. 
Annesley,  you  should  a  moment  suppose  that,  be- 
cause able  to  return  back  the  exact  tale  of  monies 
you  generously  disbursed  on  my  account,  I  had 
become  unmindful  of  the  favour,  never  to  be  for- 
gotten, which  your  timely  aid  bestowed  with  them 
on  me  and  mine. — Letters  are  cold  and  dry  in  the 
expressions  of  such  feelings  as  now  swell  within 
my  bosom.  Nor  should  I  have  foxmd  it  easy  so 
to  define  my  own  sentiments  as  to  render  you 
sensible  with  what  fervour  I  and  mine  recognise 
the  extent  of  our  obligations,  without  overlooking 
the  cruel  manner  in  which  you  have  attempted  to 
force  your  way  into  the  painful  secrets  of  a  family, 
which  had  withheld  nothing  else  from  your  parti- 
cipation." 

"As  I  live  and  breathe,  my  dear  Verelst,"  cried 
Basil,  eagerly,  "I  have  not  the  most  remote  sus- 
picion to  what  you  allude  :  nor  did  I  ever,  in  your 
case,  or  any  other,  attempt  to  possess  myself  un- 
handsomely of  the  secrets  of  other  people ! "       • 

The  artist  gravely  shook  his  head ;  and  taking 
from  the  pocket-book  beside  him  three  notes  of 
£100  each,  placed  them  in  the  hand  of  Basil,  who 
had  now  seated  himself  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
table. 

"  I  am  glad  you  bring  me  these,"  cried  Basil 
Annesley,  laying  them  carelessly  down,  "  because 
it  is  a  proof  that  you  are  more  prosperous  than 
when  I  had  the  happiness  of  enjoying  your  society. 
But  what  is  the  return  of  this  money  compared  with 
that  of  your  friendship!  I  fondly  trusted,  on  seeing 
you  under  my  roof,  that  you  were  come  to  tell  me 
my  unknown  offence  was  forgiven  ;— that  you  had 
repented  your  injustice  towards  me;— rthat  you 


562 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


were  again  about  to  open  jour  arms  and  heart  to 
one  who  has  no  denre  on  earth  so  uigent  as  to  find 
them  unclosed  to  him  as  of  old.  I  swear  to  you^ 
dear  Sir,  that  never,  from  the  first  moment  of  our 
acquaintance,  have  I  cherished  a  thought  or  feeling 
that  was  not  kindness  itself  towards  70a ! " 

^^  In  that  case,"  replied  the  artist^  evidently  much 
moved,  and  gazing  upon  the  agitated  young  man 
with  eyes  which  the  tenderness  of  an  almost 
paternal  afieotion  filled  with  tears,— ^in  that  oase, 
why  insult  my  wife  by  disclosing  to  her  that  you 
have  discovei«d  her  family  connexion  with  one 
who— but  no  matter!" 

^  On  my  honour  as  a  gentleman,"  cried  Annesley, 
^  I  have  made  no  discoveries, — I  have  intentionally 
ofiered  no  insult. — ^As  regardsthe  family  connexions 
of  Mrs.  Verelst,  she  may  be,  for  anything  I  know 
to  the  contrary,  the  daughter  of  a  peer  or  the 
daughter  of  a  peasant! — I  never  heard, — ^I  never 
inquired  even  her  name  I  It  was  enough  lor  me 
that  I  knew  her  to  be  everything  that  is  amiable, 
gentle,  patient  in  woman, — ^the  kindest  of  mothers 
«— the  most  devoted  of  wives.  In  what  way  the 
book,  which  appears  to  have  constituted  my  ground 
of  offence,  could  have  interested  her  feelings,  I  am 
wholly  at  a  loss  to  surmise. — ^By  a  strange  fatality, 
liowever,  the  very  same  volume  proved  to  be  of 
equal  importance  in  the  eyes  of  a  person  by  a  singu- 
la coincidence  of  circumstances  highly  interesting 
to  myself, — a  Mr.  Osalez, — a  man  still  more  widely 
and  more  unsatisfactorily  known  under  the  name 
ofA.  0." 

"  You  have  said  it !  "—exclaimed  Verelst,  al- 
most shuddering. 

^What  have  I  saidr  inquired  the  astonished 
Baml. 

<<  You  have  named  the  man  by  whose  vindictive 
persecutions  the  heart  of  my  poor  wife  was 
broken!  ** 

•^Persecutions!"— exclaimed  Annesley.  "Surely, 
surely  you  must  be  mistaken ! — Chance  hasbrought 
me  somewhat  familiarly  acquainted  with  this  sin- 
gular individual;  and  as  far  as  my  observation  and 
experience  reach,  I  have  found  him  the  enemy  only 
of  his  own  comfort  ;  generous  to  others^ — ^to  him- 
self alone  parsimonious;  and  even  then,  wilfully 
and  waywardly, — as  if  in  vengeance  or  atone- 
ment ! " 

*  What  should  you  know  of  him  companed  with 
mypoorRachaeir  faltered  the  artist,much  agitated 
by  recurrence  to  the  subject  evidently  so  painftiL 
"  How  should  chance  have  taught  you  more  of  his 
character  and  motives  than  is  known  to  her?" 

"  Pardon  me !  '* — ^repUed  Basil. — **  Circumstances 
which  I  will  hereafter  explain  to  you,  make  it 
evident  to  me  that  it  is  Mr.  Osalez  who,  by  a  liberal 
expenditure  of  time,  trouble,  and  money,  has  been 
the  means  of  bringing  to  light  those  impositions  so 
injurious  to  your  prospects  as  an  artist,  which  have 
been  recently  exposed  in  the  newspapers.  It  was 
my  intention,  had  you  not  visited  me  to-night,  to 
take  an  early  opportunity  of  apprizing  you  of  the 
&ct." 

**  I  am  aware  of  it,"  replied  Verelst,  coldly.— 
**The  Marquis  of ^,by  whose  munificent  patron- 
age I  have  been  enabled  to  discharge  my  obl^ations 


towards  you,  informed  me  that  it  was  to  Mr.  Osalez 
he  was  indebted  for  his  knowledge  of  my  address. 
But  since  acquainted  with  it, — since  himself  res- 
dent  in  this  country,  and  aware  that  my  unfortunate 
family  had  been  driven  hither  for  refuge, — wbat 
but  the  most  cmdi  and  revengeful  obduracy  pre- 
vented his  ofiering  the  crumbs  from  his  table  to 
appease  the  hunger  of  his  nearest  kindred?" 

Basil  Annesley  started  from  his  seat  to  hatettt 

^^  Even  if  diimosed  to  persist  in  his  animoKtM 
against  myself  resumed  Verelst^  ^  what  pretext 
was  there  for  withholding  from  his  poor  sister  the 
aid  that  might  have  assus^  the  pangs  of  nekness, 
and  relieved  the  anxieties  of  a  mother  twsnMiug 
for  the  destiny  of  her  girls !" 

Pale  as  death,  and  scarcely  able  to  articulate,— 
Basil  could  now  only  fdter,  **  Sister !— Mrs.  Vereiit 
sitter  to  the  notorious, — the  infsmous  A*  O.  V 

Verelst  appeared  surprised  in  his  turn. 

^  A  few  minutes  ago,"  remonstrated  the  artist, 
**you  were  advocating  his  cause! — ^You  efrenae- 
siued  me  that  chance  had  brought  you  fiuniliaiijr 
acquainted  with  circumstances  inspiring  high  in- 
spect for  his  character?" 

"I  repeat  itr-" 

"  Yet  you  apply  to  his  name  such  reckless  epitiieli 
as  infamous  and  notorious! "  interrupted  the  artist 

"Say  rather  to  his  coWm^/"  retorted  Baal  An- 
nesley. 

"  in  commercial  England,  you  have  surely  littk 
right  to  despise  it!"— observed  Verelst,  in  some 
amazement. 

"  Commercial  England  has  her  fair  and  Intimate 
modes  for  the  disposal  of  Capital,"— observed  BssO, 
somewhat  nettied. 

"  I  had  always  fancied  that  Exchange  specula- 
tors, so  long  as  prosperous,  occupied  an  important 
position  in  the  monied  world ! "  replied  V»dBt— 
**  Without  them,  how  are  the  finances  of  king- 
doms to  be  carried  on?  The  father  and  grand- 
father of  my  wife  were  the  wealthiest  merchantB 
in  Cadiz.  Osalez,  prospered  by  the  advantages  of  as 
English  education,  entertained  higher  ambitious. 
—On  the  death  of  his  father,  he  gathered  together 
his  enormous  capital,  and  renouncing  the  hazards 
of  commerce,  attempted  a  career  whidi,  but  fcf 
the  accident  of  his  singular  personal  disappoint- 
ments, might  have  sufficed  for  his  happiness.  Of 
that  period  of  his  life,  alas!  it  becomes  me  not  to 
speak ;  but  when  enabled,  later,  to  resume  his 
position  'in  society,  it  was  surely  insufficient  \» 
couple  his  unblemished  name  with  such  epithet 
as  *  notorious '  or  *  infamous,'  that  it  became  one  d 
the  most  accredited  and  widely  known  of  ti»« 
which  convulse  the  Stock  Exchanges  of  the  various 
capitals  of  Europe  ?  " 

^'  Some  of  the  first  financiers  and  most  veqiecied 
men  in  the  country,  have  been  Stockbrokers,"  cried 
Basil.  "But  a  Money-lender,— an  advcrtiaif 
Money-lender ! " 

"  How  mean  you?"— cried  Verelst,  growing  fib 
in  his  turn. 

"The  money  that  now  lies  so  unsatisfiMtwilj 
before  me,"  observed  Basil,  "  enables  me  to  inform 
you  without  further  scruples  of  delicacy,  tlut  1 
should  have  been  exposed  to  some  personal  diffieoltj 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


563 


by  the  payment  of  the  hUIs  I  accepted  in  your 
hTCfoif  but  for  haying  raised  the  ■mn  in  denumd 
by  the  assistance  of  a  oommMi  nsorer,— whom  I 
tkm  beUered  to  be  a  Jew,  and  knew  only  by  his 
ill  repute  in  the  world,— ^onder  the  opprobriated 
nameof  A.O.r 

^And  these  incqnvenienciee— this  hazard  yon 
incurred  so  generously  for  onr  sake !  "—cried  the 
artist,  seiaing  his  hand,  and  losing  all  interest  in 
the  disdosore  more  immediately  concerning  his 
fiunily  on  discovering  the  real  amount  of  his  obli* 
Sstion  to  BasiL^-^'Fool  that  I  was  I— How  little, 
bow  wery  little  did  I  conjecture  the  truth  !-*I 
fuided  that  you  were  obliging  me  out  of  the  over* 
flowiags  of  an  abundant  fortune,— and  eren  then, 
was  grateful ! — ^But  that  you  should  hare  hasarded 
for  our  sake  the  shame  of  the  spendthrift, — ^the 
eares  of  the  prodigal ! — That  you  should  hare  been 
forced  into  contact  with  the  vile  and  degraded.— 
Ah!  Basil— oh  1  Mr.  Anneeley!«-4his  touches  me 
to  the  quick!" 

And  reading  in  the  expression  of  his  young 
friend  s  countenance  a  degree  of  emotion  almost 
equal  to  his  own,  Verelst,  without  further  effort  to 
eontam  his  feelings,  threw  himself  upon  the  shoulder 
•f  Annesle J  and  wept  like  a  child. 

**  And  we  presumed  to  find  fault  with  you  ?  "— - 
ffthered  the  artist,  raising  his  head  after  some 
moments  of  absorbing  agitation.—*^  We  dared  to 
condemn  you !— -to  call  you  proud,— to  suspect  you 
of  an  intention  to  offend  and  insult  us  1 " 

^  You  cannot  surely  haye  been  so  unjust!"  cried 
Baai],  starting  from  his  embrace.  ^Surely  your 
wife— ^your  daughters—" 

''My  wife  could  place'no  other  interpretation  upon 
your  conduct  in  suddenly  placing  before  her  a  book, 
fonnerly  the  property  of,  and  bearing  the  names 
of  her  father  and  brother ;  by  the  former  of  whom 
■be  liad  been  cast  off  on  account  of  her  improvident 
loarriage,— by  the  latter  of  whom  she  was  visited 
with  still  bitterer  perseveraaoe  of  vengeance." 

''I  have  only  to  reiterate  my  assurances  that  I 
bad  not  the  most  remote  suspicion  of  the  nature  of 
the  insoriptfen  or  the  meaning  of  the  initials,'* — 
Aid  Annesley;  ^and  that  I  borrowed  the  work 
^m  my  mother^s  library,  with  no  other  object 
tban  to  afford  you  entertainment.  How  it  even 
cime  there,  must  be  the  subject  of  dose  and,  I  fear, 
▼ezatious  inquiry  hereafter. — ^Very  little,  alas!  did 
I  mirmise  your  kinsmanship  with  a  man  so  dis- 
jnoed  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  as  the  individual 
^^lose  initials  (as  I  then  supposed  by  the  effect  of 
«hanee)  were  inscribed  therein." 

''And  yet,"  said  Yerelst,  '^you  assure  me  that 
yon  were  aware  of  the  interporition  of  Osales  in 
my  professional  career  ?" 

"Still,  believing  you  to  be  utter  strangers  to  each 
^therl — I  fancied  he  was  interesting  himself  in 
your  behalf  as  he  would  have  done  in  that  of  any 
otiier  man  of  genius  lying  under  the  scouige  of  evil 
'■'^tnne.  But  advantageously  as  I  am  prepared  to 
^hhik  of  Abednego  in  comparison  with  those  who 
h^  him  only  as  a  Jew, — a  miser, — an  extortioner, 
'^"there  are  revolting  mysteries  both  in  his  character 
^  circumstances,  which  I  am  wholly  unable  to 
BoIve.^The  more  I  ponder  on  all  I  know  of  him, 


the  more  I  become  perplexed  by  that  which  I  am 
unable  to  understand. — At  one  moment,  I  believe 
him  to  be  one  of  the  greatest, — ^at  another,  the 
meanest  of  human  beings.  In  him  all  extremes 
appear  united :— opulence  and  penury, — generosity 
and  baseness^— enlightenment  and  ignorance, — 
liberality  and  prejudice, — ^tenderness  and  brutality ! 
—How  am  I  to  reconcile  all  this?" 

"  But  during  the  intimate  intercourse  you  appear 
to  have  held  together,"  demanded  the  artist,  "  did 
Osalez  never  become  aware  of  your  interest  in  my 
p]X>f essional  fortunes  ? — ^Nor  give  you  to  understand 
the  bond  of  kindred  blood  uniting  him  with  my 
wife?" 

**  Never ! — ^never  in  the  slightest  degree  I "  cried 
Basil  Annesley.  "  Yet,  now  I  think  of  it,  I  re- 
member hearing  him  refer  to  your  position  as  an 
indigent  artist ;  a  proof  that  the  misfortunes  of 
his  excellent  sister  must  have  been  fully  known 
to  him." 

"  Till  withhi  a  few  weeks,"  observed  Verelst, 
'^  we  were  utterly  ignorant  of  his  social  position  in 
this  country;  and  aware  of  his  antipathy,  and 
dreading  further  persecution  at  his  hands,  my  wife 
had  not  courage  to  address  him  with  representations 
of  the  abject  nature  of  our  own. 

^It  was,  thanks  to  that  very  picture-dealer  whose 
knavery  has  been  the  means  of  presenting  me  to 
the  Marquis  of  — — ,  (from  whom  I  have  already 
received  orders  that  will  keep  my  easel  in  full 
activity  for  years  to  come,  and  at  a  rate  of  remu- 
neration exoeeding  my  most  enthusiastic  anticipa- 
tions,)— I  had  grounds  for  conjecturing  that  a 
picture  of  mine, — a  design  from  the  '  Notre  Dame' 
of  Victor  Hugo, — ^had  fidlen  into  the  hands  of  the 
wealthy  brother  of  my  wife.— Even  then,  I  knew 
not  his  abode,— I  perceived  not  his  riches  and  con- 
sequence. Nay,  I  believed  him  to  have  fallen 
considerably  from  his  high  estate,  till  apprized 
yesterday,  by  my  noble  patron,  of  his  prosperity. 
Little  did  his  lordship  imagine  when  apologising  to 
me  at  his  breakfast-table  this  morning,  for  the 
absence  of  the  enlightened  patron  of  the  arts  to 
whom  he  was  indebted  for  his  knowledge  of  my 
works,  that  he  was  talking  to  me  of  a  brother !" 

"More  irrecoBcileable  incongruities  I"— exclaimed 
Basil,  greatly  depressed  by  his  discovery  of  a  con- 
nexion which  he  knew  would  be  more  fatal  to  the 
interests  of  his  affection,  with  his  mother,  than  the 
fact  that  his  beloved  Esther  was  a  teacher,  and  the 
daughter  of  an  artist,— inasmuch  as  a  mero  remote 
allusion  to  Jewish  partialities,  had  been  the  cause 
of  driving  Lady  Annesley  to  fnntic  exasperation. 

"  That  very  picturo  of  the  Esmeralda,"  resumed 
the  artist, "  affords  further  proof  of  the  contrariety 
and  eccentricity  of  character  of  poor  Osalez ; — 
nay,  but  for  my  certainty  of  his  infirmities  of  mind, 
I  should  be  wholly  unable  to  account  for  such  in- 
consistency. While  avoiding  or  injuring  bis  sister 
and  her  family,  he  was  induced,  it  seems,  to  give 
hundreds  of  pounds  for  a  work  of  inconsiderable 
merit,  simply  because  the  principal  figure  is  a  like- 
ness of  his  once-loved  Rachael  I" 

"  Far  more  so  of  her  daughter,^  added  Basil,  in 
a  lower  voice. 

"You  knew  not  my  dear  wife  in  her  days  of 


504 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


youth  and  beauty!"  faltered  the  artist.  "The 
patient  invalid, — the  smiling  driidge, — ^the  humble 
artbt's  wife ;  presents  but  a  poor  shadow  of  the 
worshipped,  the  lovely,  the  triumphant  Senora 
Osalez,  who  could  not  pass  from  her  father's  car- 
riage to  the  steps  of  the  church  or  theatre,  but  the 
idlers  of  Cadiz  crowded  to  feast  their  eyes  on  her 
more  than  oriental  beauty,— endowed  as  she  was 
with  the  intelligence  and  accomplishments  of 
Europe,  yet  glowing  with  the  riper  tints  of  the 
sunny  South." 

"  I  have  seen  all  this,  Sir,  in  your  daughters," 
again  hesitated  Basil. 

"  Esther  and  Salome  are  lovely  girls,  as  well  as 
the  most  duteous  of  daughters,"  observed  Verelst, 
with  deep  feeling ;  "  but  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  of  them  deserves  comparison  with  her  mother 
at  the  period  when  she  forsook  the  gorgeous  man- 
sion of  her  father,  to  become  the  bride  of  the  enthu- 
siastic Crerman  artist,  who  dedicated  to  her  beauty 
every  impulse  of  a  fervid  soul,  and  had,  alas !  nought 
beside  to  offer  to  her  acceptance. — The  marquis 
informs  me,"  added  Verelst,  after  a  long  pause, 
during  which  he  seemed  labouring  to  overcome  the 
struggle  of  his  feelings, — "that  large  as  was  the 
price  given  by  Osalez  for  my  Esmeralda,  he  has 
offered  him  double  the  money  to  part  with  it,  but 
in  vain. — I  cannot  help  fancying  that,  in  spite  of 
his  apparent  indifference  to  his  sister's  welfare, 
Abednego  was  unwilling  her  portrait  should  pass 
into  the  hands  of  a  stranger." 

"  That  can  hardly  have  been  the  case,"  observed 
Basil,  fancying  he  was  about  to  flatter  the  self-love 
of  the  artist.  "  On  the  contrary,  it  must  have  been 
the  intrinsic  value  he  discerned  in  the  execution  of 
the  picture,  that  rendered  him  so  tenacious ;  since 
it  was  from  his  own  hands,  and  as  a  free  gift,  that 
I  ol)tained  this  copy." 

While  thus  explaining  himself,  Basil  drew  forth 
from  his  bosom  where,  by  day  and  night,  it  was 
fondly  treasured,  his  enamel  copy  of  the  Esme- 
ralda! 

"What  means  this?"— cried  the  astonished 
Verelst,  regarding  at  first  sight  the  miniature  in  no 
other  light  than  as  a  portrait  of  his  wife.  Say, — 
say ! — what  means  this  ? — ^The  likeness  of  my  poor 
BAchael  in  your  possession?" 

The  explanations  rendered  necessary  by  the  emo- 
tion of  Verehit,  aroused  Basil  Annesley  to  a  sense 
of  his  own  imprudence. — It  was  impossible  to  give 
a  colouring  to  hb  singular  value  for  tiiat  lovely  face, 
otherwise  than  startling  to  the  painter. 

"  And  you  have  been  wearing  it  thus,  then, — 
wearing  it  next  your  heart — wearing  it  as  we 
treasure  only  the  gift  of  affection,  the  pledge  of 
fidelity ! "  cried  Verelst ;  "  and  all  the  while  we 
were  accusing  you  of  an  intent  to  mortify  us,— of 
coldness,— of — " 

"  Spare,  spare  me  these  vexatious  truths ! "  cried 
Basil,  eagerly. 

"  To  you"  resumed  Verelst,  after  having  hurriedly 
examined  the  beautiful  execution  of  the  miniature, 
(and  noticed  how  singularly  it  recalled  the  features 
of  those  who  were  dearest  to  him,  even  while 
realizing  one  of  the  brightest  creations  of  the  magic 
pf  romance,)  "  to  you  it  doubtless  serves  to  retrace. 


in  combination,  both  young  and  old  of  the  grateful 
family  of  the  artist  on  whom  you  have  confesTsd 
such  generous  obligations." 

Basil  Annesley  struggled  for  a  moment  with  his 
feelings.  However  afhud  of  alarming  the  |mde 
and  susceptibility  of  Verelst,  he  would  not  svdimit 
to  such  a  misconstruction  of  his  sentiments.  He 
satisfied  himself  however,  by  adding  in  a  sabdued 
voice—"  It  serves  at  least  to  recall  to  me  the  £sce 
which  unites  in  my  estimation  all  that  is  fainst, 
holiest,  and  dearest  in  human  nature." 

The  simple  artist  listened  with  ddight^  but 
wholly  without  enlightenment. — ^It  seemed  to  him 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  worid,  that  bis  cdd 
pupil,  his  generous  friend,  should  love  Esther  and 
Salome,  and  pronounce  them  dear  and  holy, — ^ey, 
whom  he  had  known  as  children  and  appreeiated 
in  their  womanly  discharge  of  filial  duty. — ^Bnt  dot 
he  should  love  either  of  them  singly  and  separately, 
or  one  of  them  more  than  the  other,  never  occunvd 
to  poor  Verelst ! 

"You  have  received  a  eommission  then,  frora 
the  marquis  ? "  inquired  Annesley,  by  way  of  giving 
a  new  turn  to  the  conversation. 

"A  commission  that  delights  me!"  cried  the 
painter  with  enthusiasm ;"  for  it  will  enable  me  to 
realize  my  highest  ambitions ! — I  am  to  paint  in 
fresco  the  new  gallery  of  his  castle  in  the  North ; 
— a  series  of  designs  from  English  history ! — ^For 
this,  by  the  way,  I  must  read  as  well  as  paint." 

"  But  by  such  an  engagement,  you  will  be  com- 
pelled to  remove  your  whole  fandly  fix)m  town!' 
cried  Basil,  in  a  tone  of  consternation,  on  behold- 
ing his  newly-erected  castles-in-the-air  precipitated 
in  a  moment  to  the  ground.  "  Under  such  cin^tm- 
stances  you  will  stand  in  need  of  funds  previous  to 
receiving  the  remuneration  due  to  you ;  and  I 
eamestiy  entreat  you,  as  a  friend  on  whom  you 
have  conferred  obligations,  and  who  has  ooose- 
quently  a  claim  to  priority  of  service  in  return,  t» 
appropriate  the  notes  you  have  forced  upon  me  to 
your  own  use.— At  some  future  time,  when  yon 
become  rich,  (as  you  now  cannot  fail  to  do,)  you 
shall  pay  the  money  back  to  me.  I  promise  yoa 
that  it  will  be  an  act  of  charity  so  to  secure  it;  fir 
nearly  a  year  will  elapse  before  it  becomes  dne  to 
A.  0.,  from  whom  I  borrowed  it  on  interest ;  and 
in  the  interim,  if  lying  idle  in  my  hands,  it  migirt 
lead  me  into  a  thousand  senses. — ^It  might  teach 
me  to  become  a  prodigal, — a  gambler, — a  ooxoomtv 
— ^heaven  knows  what ! — ^Money,  you  know,  m 
dear  Verelst,  is  the  corrupter  of  all  human  hearts! " 

"  An  axiom  of  the  truth  of  which  my  own  ex- 
perience, heaven  knows,  has  availed  littie  to  per- 
suade me ! " — said  the  poor  artist,  with  a  bitter  si^. 
— "  Your  arguments,  my  dear  Mr.  Annesley,  •« 
kind  as  they  are  specious.  But  my  noble  patna 
has  rendered  your  assistance  needlees.  Await  of 
the  difficulties  to  be  encountered  by  a  poor  painter 
of  historical  pictures,  in  such  matter-of-€Mt  dsn 
as  the  present,  he  has  generously  presented  me  with 
a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  in  advance.  I  am  iieii» 
my  dear  young  friend, — ^rich, — ^rioh, — ^I  was  ab«t 
to  say  rich  as  a  Jew — ^but  thatthe  word  is  in  utterdis- 
taste  in  my  family !  Trust  me,  I  am  fully  ^uM 
to  remove  them  all  to  the'North  in  ease  and  comfbit.'' 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


5C5 


^Bat  mrely/'  cried  Basil,  horror-strack  at 
such  a  prospect,  ^*  surely  so  long  a  journey,  with 
soch  uncertain  prospects  at  the  dose,  will  be  dis- 
adTantageous  to  poor  Mrs«  Verelst,  whose  infirm 
state  appears  to  demand  the  utmost  care  and  con- 
sideration?'' 

"  Rachael  would  suffer  twenty  times  as  much, 
my  dear  Sir,  by  separation  from  her  husband. — 
As  to  accommodations,  the  Marquis  has  assigned 
to  OQT  use  a  suite  of  apartments  in  the  castle." 

Here  was  a  new  source  of  anxiety  for  Basil!— 
Esther, — ^his  own  Esther,  exposed  to  the  injurious 
admiration  which  her  beauty  must  necessarily  call 
forth  in  such  a  house ! 

**  Surely,"  said  he,  attempting  a  new  line  of 
argument,  ^  such  an  interruption  to  the  engage- 
ments of  the  Miss  Verelsts — " 

**  Engagements  ?" — ^interrupted  the  proud  father, 
with  enthusiasm.  "You  surely  do  not  suppose 
that,  now  I  am  able  to  earn  bread  for  them,  I  will 
allow  them  to  waste  their  precious  talents  in  teach- 
ing idiotic  children  or  languid  Misses  ? — ^No,  no,  no ! 
— ^No  more  engagements  for  my  girls ! — ^It  is  one 
of  my  chief  sources  of  joy  and  triumph  on  this  oc- 
casion, that  henceforward  those  dear  children  may 
live  for  the  enjoyment  of  life, — ^for  the  embellish- 
ment of  life, — for  the  delight  of  others,  as  ever, 
ever,  of  their  fond  and  happy  parents! — No,  no! — 
No  more  engagements  for  Salome  and  Esther 
Verelst." 

Baml  was  inexpressibly  touched  by  the  utter 
foigetfnlness  of  self  manifest  in  all  the  calculations 
of  the  good  old  man, 

"Yet  surely,'*  said  he,  unwilling  to  abandon  all 
hope  of  their  future  society, — "  surely  such  utter 
se^nsion  as  will  await  the  young  ladies  at  the 
castle—" 

"  They  will  not  both  bear  us  company,"  replied 
Verelst,  calmly, — ^little  suspecting  the  pain  he  was 
about  to  inflict. — "  Salome  is  to  go  down  with  her 
mother ;  hut,  at  present,  Esther  will  remain  on  a 
visit  to  Madame  BranzinL  AU  was  settled  this 
morning.  The  Duke  di  San  Catalda  would  not 
hear  of  her  quitting  London  just  now ;  and  after 
some  contestation,  I  acceded  to  their  imited  request." 

Basil  Annesley  had  not  strength  or  courage  to 
give  utterance  to  the  question  that  rose  to  his  lips 
— ^  They  are  engaged,  then, — positively  engaged  V 

He  could  only  stagger  to  a  seat,  and  press  his 
band  to  his  heart  wiUi  the  consciousness  that  its 
-warm  impulses  of  hope  and  affection  were  crushed 
for  ever. 

Shocked  by  his  sudden  change  of  countenance, 
Verelst  was  starting  forward  with  inquiries  into 
the  nature  of  his  seizure,  when  at  that  moment  the 
door  opened; — and,  imannounced  and  unaccom- 
panied, there  appeared  on  the  threshold  the  striking 
figure  of— A.  0. 1 

CHAPTER  XrV. 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  Verelst  to  change  counte- 
nance ;  and  a  succession  of  strong  emotions  were 
rapidly  portrayed  on  the  open  physiognomy  of  the 
painter,  incapable  of  artifice  or  disguise.  Surprise, 
vexation,  satisfEiction,  perplexity,— obtained,  by 
$unis  the  mastery.    There  were^  tears  in  hb  large 


grey  eyes ; — ^there  was  determination  in  the  lines 
surrounding  the  firmer  and  more  expressive  mouth. 
His  brother-in-law,  on  the  other  hand,  betrayed 
not  the  slightest  touch  of  feeling.  Master  of  him- 
self, hardened  to  habits  of  dissimulation,  whatever 
emotions  mi^t  be  swelling  in  his  heart,  the  coun- 
tenance of  Abednego  was  undisturbed.  Though 
apprized  that  Basil  was  engaged  with  Verelst^  he 
had  still  sought  the  interview.  Nay,  it  soon  became 
apparent  that  his  visit  was  produced  by  the  expec- 
tation of  finding  his  brother-in-law  with  his  young 
friend. 

On  recovering  &om  the  shock  occasioned  by  his 
sudden  entrance,  Veielst,  while  Osalez  gave  his 
hand  to  young  Annesley,  (who,  deprened  and 
desperate,  was  scarcely  sensible  to  his  mode  of 
salutation,)  had  snatched  his  hat  and  was  preparing 
to  quit  the  room. — But  the  unwelcome  guest  inter- 
posed ere  he  could  reach  the  door. 

'^Hear  me  before  you  go!"  said  Osalez,  in  a 
firm  voice.  "I  came  hither  for  the  express 
purpose  of  meeting  you.  The  presence  of  a  mutual 
friend  was  a  fitter  spot  for  our  interview,  than  thai 
of  a  cold  stranger  like  the  Marquis.  It  was  not 
disinclination  that  kept  me  away  from  his  house 
thb  morning." 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  Verelst  to  exhibit  com- 
posure! 

"  Had  I  been  aware  of  your  intentions,"  said  he, 
coldly,  "  I  would  certainly  have  deferred  my  visit 
to  Mr.  Annesley  till  a  future  moment." 

**  You  could  not!"  was  the  cool  reply  of  Osalez* 
^^  It  would  have  been  impossible  for  you  to  sleep 
this  night,  with  a  sum  of  money  in  your  possession' 
which  you  knew  to  be  the  property  of  yonder  boy. 
— I  know  ye  both!  —  The  same  hot-headed  en- 
thusiasm that  prompted  him  to  pledge  his  name, 
his  peace  of  mind,  his  narrow  income,  to  a  Money- 
lender, to  obtain  the  means  of  obliging  you,  would 
render  it  impossible  to  you  to  close  your  eyes, 
while  unnecessarily  remaining  his  debtor." 

^  I  have,  I  find,  to  thank  you  for  the  means  of 
repaying  him,"  observed  Verelst,  somewhat  soften- 
ed— "  For  titat  favour,  accept  my  acknowledgments. 
But  it  does  not,  it  cannot  efiace  from  my  recollec- 
tion your  long  neglect  and  unkindness  towards  the 
most  deserving  of  women.  Farewell  I — ^Against 
you  we  cherish  no  resentment ;  but  there  can  be 
neither  love  nor  amity  between  thine  and  mine." 

'^  Thine  are  mine!"  replied  Abednego,  neither 
abashed  nor  dismayed  by  these  bitter  reproaches. 
^Resist  as  we  may  the  dictates  of  nature,  the 
ocean  can  no  more  dissever  from  its  waves  an  of- 
fending drop,  than  your  wife  and  children  expel 
from  their  veins  the  blood  that  is  kindred  with  my 
own." 

*^  Neither  are  we  the  first  of  those  so  conjoined 
by  nature,"  interrupted  Verelst,  **  who  have  con- 
verted kindred  blood  to  drops  of  gall ! — ^Again  I 
say,  therefore,  accept  my  thanks  and  my  farewell. 
Between  persons  so  closely  united,  it  must  be  peace 
or  war.  With  others  there  might  exist  a  medium 
of  lukewarm  good- will, — with  us  there  must  be  love 
or  hatred ! " 

*^  I  want  no  medium,"  said  Osalez,  still  preventing 
his  departure,  and  with  such  steadiness,  that  Basil 


566 


r 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


Annealey,  deeply  interested  in  the  diBonssion,  was 
driven  to  despair  by  the  sturdy  perseverance  of 
Verelst.  ^  There  must  be  love  between  us, — there 
must  be  peace  I — ^Never  too  late  for  peace.  Your 
firiend  here  will  tell  you,"  he  continued,  glancing 
towards  Basil,  *^  that  I  have  recently  wrestled,  face 
to  face,  with  Death.  At  such  a  moment  the  truths 
to  which,  in  health  and  amid  the  contenticms  and 
struggles  of  life,  we  close  our  ears  and  eyes,  speak 
trumpet-tongued  to  the  Soul,  and  reveal  tiieir  dread 
decree  in  characters  as  legible  as  those  manifested 
in  warning  to  Belshazzar.  I  have  sinned  against 
you,  Verelst — ^I  have  suffered  vindictive  feelings, 
and  resentment  of  a  single  injury,  to  efface  from 
my  bosom  those  hallowed  ties  of  affection  vouch- 
safed by  the  Almighty  for  the  solace  and  consecra- 
tion of  human  life. — I  have  allowed  your  officious 
interposition  in  my  affairs  to  steel  my  heart  against 
the  sufferings  of  a  once-loved  sister  and  the  children 
^e  has  bom  to  you. — ^In  this,  I  have  greatly  of- 
ftnded,  and  I  therefore  seek  you,  in  all  Christian 
kmdility,  to  acknowledge  my  fault  and  entreat  the 
finvour  of  your  forgiveness." 

Utterly  thrown  off  his  guard  by  this  singular 
lelf-ahasement  oa  the  part  of  tJie  haughty  and 
obdurate  Abednego,  Verelst  was  so  far  softened  as 
to  hesitate.— But  a  moment's  consideration  brought 
before  him  anew  the  years  of  suffering  and  priva- 
tion endured  by  his  excellent  wife  and  lovely  chil- 
dren ;  and  again,  he  hardened  his  heart,  and  put 
forth  no  answning  token  to  the  extended  hand  of 
Osales. 

"You  have  my  full  forgiveness,"  said  he. — 
^  Friendship  is  not  a  thing  to  start  into  life  spon- 
taneously, on  the  slight  demand  of  a  converted 
•nony. — The  wrongs  of  my  family  forbid  me  to 
say  more : — the  sense  of  what  is  due  to  your  tardy 
repentance  to  concede  less." 

Once  more  the  agitated  arUst  made  a  movement 
to  depart.    But  Basil  Annesley  now  interposed. 

"  My  dear  Verelst  1 "  cried  he—"  it  is  you  who 
are  now  exhibiting  a  vindictive  spirit.  How — ^how* 
can  you  allow  yourself  to  torture  a  nature  so 
beneficent,  so  cordial  as  your  own, — ^in  order  to 
assume  feelings  of  animosity,  which,  even  if  they 
existed,  should  be  disarmed  by  the  frank  and  fer- 
Ttnt  manner  in  which  the  olive-branch  is  extended 
towards  you — " 

"  If  you  only  knew,  my  dear  young  friend," 
cried  the  painter, — "  what  a  series—* 

"  I  know,  and  seek  to  know  nothing  on  the  sub- 
ject of  your  quarrel !  "  hastily  interrupted  Basil. 
"But  this  I  know, — ^that  half  the  quarrels  and 
half  the  resentments  of  this  world,  arise  from  mis- 
understandings, which  a  few  reasonable  words 
would  suffice  to  clear  up." 

"  In  this  case  all  is  perfectly  understood,"  replied 
the  artist,  coldly ;— "nor  are  we  children,  to  obey 
the  impulses  of  momentary  passion. — ^Both  have 
brooded  upon  our  wrongs,  till  mutual  hatred  has 
been  engendered." 

"  If  engendered,— on  one  side,  it  has  been  bitterly 
atoned,— on  the  other,  bitterly  repented,"  rejoined 
Osalez,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  My  dear  Verelst ! "  cried  Basil  Annesley,  deeply 
moved  by  witnessing  such  profbund  emotion  on  the 


part  of  men  of  advanced  years,—-"  half  an  hour  t^ 
you  were  pleased  to  express  towards  me  feelingii 
gratitude  and  regard.  If  I  have  ever  served  70^ 
and  you  wish  to  mark  your  sense  of  obligatioo^I 
beseech  you  do  it  at  once,  and  effiaoe  all  tr^e  U 
ever, — ^by  accepting  the  hand  which  I  see  trembliii| 
with  eagerness  to  enclasp  your  own  1 "  At  tbi 
appeal,  Verekt,  for  the  first  time,  turned  hit  e;« 
fall  upon  his  brother-in-law:  and  either  the  t»o« 
of  time  and  care  perceptible  in  his  broken  frun 
and  withered  countenance,  or  the  mamfestatioii<tf 
emotions  which  Abednego  was  at  no  pams  to  ooe- 
ceal,  softened  the  obduracy  of  the  indignant  h^ 
band ;  for,  on  finding  the  hand  of  Osales  placed  in 
his,  a  moment  afterwards,  by  Basil  Annei%,lK 
no  longer  persisted  in  rejection.  At  one  momoi, 
both  gave  a  loose  to  the  long-resiBtod  prompttD^i 
of  nature ;  and  the  "iron  tears  of  Pluto's  cheek'' 
were  emulated  in  those  that  fell  profusely  ba 
beneath  the  shaggy  eyebrows  of  A.  0. 

Basil  was  about  to  retire  to  the  adjoining  nom, 
leaving  the  two  brothers  to  a  more  copioas  nmtoii 
e]q>lanation.  But  Osalez  prevented  him.— -'^Nsj,' 
said  he, — *'  you  are  as  if  of  our  own  fledL— Twiy 
and  hear  all!  — ^I  have  no  secrets,— I  wish  to  hn 
none  from  you." 

Amid  all  his  struggles  of  feeling,  Basil  oooU 
scarcely  refrain  from  a  smile  I— To  hear  A  0. 
boasting  of  having  no  secrets  from  him  !^-A  0. 
whose  whole  life  was  a  mystery, — ^whose  right  haiui 
knew  not  the  doings  of  tiie  left ! — ^A.  0.,  who  con- 
centrated in  his  own  person  h&lf-a-dozen  s^ttiats 
existences,  and  unaccordant  fortunes  I 

"  I  would  fain  have  taken  steps  towards  tills 
reconciliation,  many  months  ago, — fxcfm  the  mo* 
ment  of  my  first  acquaintance  with  this  impioTi* 
dent  boy,  your  friend  Annesley,"  resumed  OssImj 
when  at  length  confidentially  seated  beside  Verel^ 
on  the  sofa,  (having  resumed  his  own  self-ponessioi 
long  before  the  simple  artist  had  ceased  to  sob  like 
a  child,)—"  but  that  I  did  not  choose  to  appM^i 
as  a  benefactor  the  man  I  wished  to  condliste  ai& 
brother.—- 1  wished  you  to  be  independent  in  ci^ 
cumstances, — ^rich  through  your  owntskntssBd 
endowment, — before  I  addressed  myself  to  yoo 
with  overtures  of  good-will,  of  which  tiie  nectsaties 
of  your  family  might  seem  to  compel  yonr  accep* 
tance.  We  have  now  met  upon  equal  ground ;  id 
you  have  granted  me  your  forgiveness,  as  a  Chris- 
tian and  a  kinsman,  without  forfeiting  yonr  fldf- 
respect.— All  is  as  it  should  be  I— I  have  tabs 
every  precaution  to  spare  your  pride  as  well  tf 
promote  my  own  interest  in  your  affection.  Ad 
now,  tell  me — ^when  will  you  propose  a  viat  6od 
me  to  my  sister? — In  her  infirm  condition,  wo  row* 
beware  of  producing  agitation, — more  especislly 
on  the  eve  of  a  long  journey, — if,  indeed,  irftff  ow 
mutual  explanations,  you  persist  in  fulfilling  joor 
engagements  to  the  Marquis." 

"  I  will  speak  to  Rachael  this  very  nij^t,"  re- 
plied Verelst, — "  but  calmly  and  oautiouriy.— I^ 
will  require  time  to  prepare  her  for  so  tiybiy  w 
interview.  Years  of  hardship, — the  loss  of  lettttl 
children,  which  she  attributes  to  the  same  <•'**''! 
and  positive  ailments  arising  fifom  those  noi^ 
causes,  have  so  altered  my  poor  wfft^  thst  tie 


ABEDNEGO  TH£  MONHY-L£rNB£&. 


587 


ireatMt  pncaution  b  indispensabk.  Sho  is  bo 
lianged  that  you  will  not  know  her.'' 

^  I  have  been  Bnanj  tunes  in  her  presence 
rithin  theee  last  few  months^"  said  Osalez,  with  a 
mile. 

^  Yon  are  mistaken,— quite  mistaken ! "  eagerly 
^joined  the  artist.—-^  She  nerer  quits  the  house, 
ksk  Mr.  Anneeley !— She  never  leaves  even  her 
mm  room ! " 

'^  It  was  t^&re  our  interview  took  place,"  cahnly 
ejoined  Abednego. 

"  Mistaken,— mistaken !"— pendsted  Verelst  with 
i  smile, — gently  shaking  his  head.  "  I  promise 
rou  that  you  would  not  know  poor  Rachael  were 
rontomeet!" 

**  She  is  far  less  changed,  however,  than  myself," 
epliedOsales  ;^since»when  we<llimeet,Irecognised 
ler  perfectly ;  while  she,  addressed  me  as  a  stran- 
|er ! — ^Do  you  remember  the  person  who  fetched 
'rom  your  rooms  the  two  battle-pieces  sold  by  the 
«oundrel  Stubbs  to  the  Duke  of  Rochester?" 

Verelst  paused  a  moment^  for  consideration. 

**  Perfectly,"  said  he,  at  length.  **  But  Ma«  was 
mold  Jew?" 

« It  was  myself!" 

The  artist  replied  by  an  incredulous  smile. 

"  Do  you  recoUect,  that  when  you  received  the 
hree  five-pound  notes  fdr  which  you  had  sold  the 
dctoree,  or  rather,  in  consideration  of  which  you 
tad  be^i  robbed  of  them  by  the  knavish  dealer — 
rou  bad  him  inform  Mr.  Stubbs  that  the  original 
tesign  of  the  Battle  of  the  Standard  was  still  in 
rour  hands,  having  mthdrawn  it  from  your  series 
(f  military  sketches,  as  the  ground-work  of  the 
lioture  in  question,  and  produced  at  the  suggestion 
if  a  dear  friend?" 

"Which  dectr  friend,  was,  I  trust  myself?" — 
^y  interrupted  Basil. 

**But.jww  were  not, — ^you  cannct  have  been  that 
llthy  old  Jew?"— cried  the  artist,  in  utter  amaze- 
nent. 

"  You  have  seen  me  more  than  once  in  disguises 
equally  unseemly,"  replied  Osalez,  undisturbed. — 
^  For  years  past,  I  have  placed  a  great  gulph  be- 
wixt  myself  and  what  is  called  the  world ;  and 
vhen  once  we  hazard  so  bold  a  step  as  to  fling  off 
he  bond  of  fellowship  with  our  brethren,  we  require 
he  creation  of  prodigious  interests,  and  excitements 
ndeed  strong,  to  fill  up  the  vacuum. — I  have  long 
iten  at  war  with  mankind, — as  long  as  they  were 
ireviously  my  enemies. — Out  of  my  sixty  years, 
or  thirty  did  I  support  their  injustice ;  and  during 
he  last  thirty  I  have  revenged  mysdf ! — ^But  he 
vho  fights  single-handed  against  society,  must 
nultiply  the  guises  under  which  he  wields  his 
veapons ;  and  shrink  from  no  means  or  measures 
>y  which  he  can  strengthen  his  cause. — For  such 
fxplanations,  however,  we  shall  find  a  time  here- 
tfter.  Enough  that  you  promise  me  to  prepare 
ny  poor  dear  sister  to  receive  me. — ^Basil  Annesley 
vOl  apprize  me  of  your  success ;— or  better  still, 
ionduct  you  to  my  abode. — ^The  way  to  yours  I 
eamt  from  him  ; — few  people,  I  suspect,  are  better 
icquainted  with  it." 

The  young  soldier  cobuied  deeply  at  this  hazard- 
rusalludon« 


"I  was  not  aware,"  said  he,  ^  of  having  mentioned 
to  you  the  address  of  Bir.  Verelst." 

"  It  was  from  your  pictures,  which  I  found  in 
the  hands  of  Stubbs  and  others,"  replied  Abednego, 
addressing  Verelst,  rather  than  replying  to  his  host^ 
"that  I  became  aware  of  your  being  a  resident  in 
this  country. — ^But  you  may  imagine  with  what 
care  and  cunning  these  knaves  guarded  the  scent^ 
so  long  as  you  remained  a  dupe  in  their  avaricious 
hands." 

"  And  it  was  my  good  friend  Mr.  Annesley,  then, 
who  did  me  this  further  service,"  exclaimed  the 
painter,  warmly. 

"  Indirectly. — ^I  was  anxious  to  know  the  object 
of  a  certain  levy  of  money  which  he  effected  through 
my  means ;  and  since,  whether  as  Osalez  the[CroesuS) 
or  as  A.  O.  the  Money-lender,  (who  created  Osalez 
the  Croesus,)  I  have  the  means  of  investigating  and 
comparing  sJl  the  secrets  of  the  two  money  markets^ 
(the  great  and  the  small,)  I  had  no  d^culty  in 
discovering  that  the  acceptances  he  had  to  meet 
were  in  fttvour  of  one  Gerard  Verelst,  a  painter 
living  near  South  Audley  Street. — The  rest  was 
readily  ascertained,— the  miniature  I  presented  to 
him  afibrds  sufficient  proof  how  soon  and  how 
thoroughly  I  made  myself  master  of  the  secrets  of 
the  family!" 

Basil  Annesley  gasped  for  breath.  There  was 
no  guessing  where  the  indiscreet  revelations  of 
Abednego  might  stop. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  regardless  of  the  embarrass- 
ment he  had  created, — "I  must  wish  you  good- 
night.— Though  I  have  found  time  to  say  much 
that  may  have  appeared  to  one  or  both  of  you 
superfluous,  I  am  in  the  greatest  haste  and  some 
anxiety. — I  have  business  to  transact  before  mid- 
night, that  dearly  concerns  the  happiness  of  a 
family  whose  ruin, — whatever  I  may  do  to  av^ 
the  fatal  crash, — ^will  ere  long  produce  nearly  as 
much  sensation  in  the  bedlam  called  the  beam 
moncky  as  that  of  the  Duke  of  Rochester. — ^I  should 
leave  these  Maitlands,  in  fact,  to  the  consequences 
of  their  folly,  but  that  one  of  ^e  girls  has  managed 
to  soften  my  old  heart  by  the  eager  interest  she 
takes  in  the  fortunes  of  a  certain  brother  officer  of 
her  brother,  named  Basil  Annesley." 

**  Is  all  up  then,  with  Lord  Maitland  ?"  demanded 
Basil  in  a  tone  of  regret,  without  noticing  his  al* 
lusion. 

^  IBs  bills  have  been  hawking  about  the  town 
this  year  past,"  replied  A.  0.,  with  one  of  his 
former  sarcastic  smiles. — ^'^Her  ladyship  is  at 
Almacks,  while  her  signature  is  in  liie  hands  of 
the  Jews!" 

After  a  few  more  bitter  allusions  to  the  improvi- 
dence of  the  family,  he  was  gone ; — ^nor  did  Basil 
much  regret  that  Verelst,  in  his  eagerness  to  com- 
municate to  his  family  the  singular  reconciliation 
which  had  taken  place,  instanUy  followed.  When 
the  artist  had  taken  his  departure,  his  young  friend 
picked  up  from  the  floor  ike  three  hundred-pound 
notes  which,  amid  the  varied  interests  of  the  fore- 
going conversation,  had  fallen  unnoticed  to  the 
ground. 

**  Would  any  one  imagine,"  said  he,  vrith  a 
mournful  smiley  as  he  placed  Uiem  in  his  desk,-^ 


56B 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


"  how  short  a  time  has  elapsed  since  the  possession 
of  these  notes  appeared  to  he  a  matter  of  life  and 
death ! — ^And  would  not  any  one  helieye  that,  in- 
stead of  the  beggarly  fellow  I  am,  I  had  the  wealth 
of  the  Indies,  or  of  Abednego  Osalez,  at  my  com- 
mand ! — ^Bot,  alas !  what  further  care  have  I  for 
money?— Verelst  is  now  prosperous, — E^stherlost 
to  me  for  ever.  As  to  my  poor  mother,  though 
straitened  in  means,  her  pride  is  so  much  greater 
than  her  poverty,  that  I  am  convinced  she  pi'efers 
dispensing  with  the  luxuries  of  life  to  being  in- 
debted for  them  to  any  mortal  living,-— even  to  her 
son!" 

By  degrees,  as  he  began  to  recover  the  cruel  shock 
arising  from  the  discovery  that  the  object  of  his 
afiections  was  nearly  akin  to  the  infamous  A.  O. 
and  affianced  to  another,  Basil  was  forced  to  ad- 
mit to  himself,  that  the  former  circumstance  was  of 
a  nature  to  reconcile  him  to  the  latter!  Never 
would  his  haughty  mother  have  consented  to  his 
pledging  his  faith  to  the  niece  of  a  Money-lender ! 
— ^Abednego,  if  not  a  Jew,  could  not  be  many  gener- 
ations removed  from  Hebraism;  and  Basil  was 
only  too  painfully  aware  of  her  rooted  antipathy 
to  anything  even  remotely  connected  with  the 
Jewish  nation. 

As  this  aversion  now  recurred  with  redoubled 
energy  to  his  mind,'  he  also  recalled  with  surprise 
the  half-foigotten  fact  of  her  being  in  possession  of 
a  book  of  a  peculiar  nature,  which  Verelst  stated  to 
have  been  the  property  of  his  wife's  father  and 
brother.  By  what  posnble  concatenation  of  events 
was  thb  to  be  accounted  for? — Once  more,  he 
was  compelled  to  ask  himself,  through  what  fortui- 
tous dudn  of  incidents  the  daughter  of  Lord  L , 

and  widow  of  Sir  Bernard  Annesley,  could  have 
been  brought  into  connexion  with  the  family  of 
A.O.? 

Summer  was  at  hand  ;  and  he  resolved  to  make 
the  inviting  nature  of  the  weather  a  pretext  for  a 
short  visit  to  Barlingham. — ^The  discussions  which 
had  already  arisen  between  him  and  Lady  Annesley 
would  afford  ground  for  such  interrogations  as 
could  not  fail  to  throw  light  upon  the  mystery. — 
It  was  time  that  all  relating  to  Abednego  Osalez 
should  be  cleared  up  ! — He  would  no  longer  be 
silenced  like  a  child.  He  was  resolved  to  confront 
the  utmost  indignation  and  harshness  on  the  part 
of  the  rigid  recluse,  rather  than  remain  a  martyr 
to  the  mysteries  by  which  he  now  felt  himself  to 
be  encompassed. — The  more  he  had  achieved  to- 
wards fkUioming  their  darkness, — ^the  more  he 
seemed  involved  in  new  perplexities ! 
It  was,  however,  an  inexpressible  comfort  to  Basil, 
tiiat  his  confidende'in  his  old  friend  was  ia  process 
of  restoration. — To  find  him  openly  avowing  his 
disguises,  and  glorying  in  his  eccentricity,  was  far 
more  satisfactory  than  to  fancy  him  the  confederate 
of  knaves  and  impostors ;  and  even  the  certainty 
of  his  obdurate  estrangement  from  a  sister  so  worthy 
as  Mrs.  Verelst,  was  nothing  in  comparison  with 
the  pain  of  supposing  him  in  lei^e  with  Stubbs 
the  picture-dealer,  in  a  double  imposition  upon  the 
Duke  of  Rochester  and  the  unfortunate  Verelst. 

The  first  ^>ei8on  who  accosted  Basil  Annesley 
on  the  following  day,  as  he  was  about  to  enter  his 


Club,  was  John  Maitland ;  who,  instead  of  the  sod 
that  usually  passed  between  them,  surprised  htm 
by  a  sudden  and  fervent  grasp  of  the  hand. 

^Come  a  little  way  down  St.  Jameses  Street  with 
me.  Nan,"  said  he,  hooking  his  arm  into  that  o£ 
Basil,  and  proceeding  with  him,  leisurely,  towards 
Brookes's. — ^  You  are  a  good  fellow,"  he  resmned, 
as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  hearing  of  WjlbertoiL» 
and  one  or  two  others  who  were  clustered  xtnoid 
the  door. — ^^^  Believe  me,  I  feel  the  full  force  of  our 
obligations!" 

*^  What  obligations?"  demanded  the  aatonisfaed 
Basil. 

"  Oh !  you  need  not  affect  ignorance. — ^No  tie- 
casion  to  be  afraid  now  of  my  pleasantries  on  the 
subject  of  A.  O. — I  am  as  fully  aware  as  you  can 
desire  that  ^<^' a  Mend  in  need  is  a  friend  indeed.* — 
Yesterday  afternoon,  my  dear  fellow,  my  progno»> 
tications  were  fulfilled. — ^There  was  an  exeeutiw 
in  our  house. — A  pleasant  thing,  eh?  for  her  lady- 
ship and  the  girls,  to  see  bailifis  sitting  in  the  hall! " 
— ^he  continued,  with  a  swelling  bosom. — ^^  How- 
ever, it  is  partly  their  own  fault,  if  that  be  an? 
comfort ! — ^All  the  blame  was  not  on  ray  father's 
side, — ^though  they  choose  to  place  it  there  T* 

"  I  am  heartily  sorry, — sincerely  sorty,"  Basil 
was  beginning. 

"  Come,  come ! — don't  talk  so  like  the  Dowager- 
colonel !"  cried  John  Maitland — "  Carr  was  hear- 
tily sorry, — sincerely  sorry  ! — ^but,  hang  it — you 
were  better  than  sorry !" 

"  What  was  I,  then  V*  inquired  Basil,  shroggin; 
his  shoulders  at  the  levity  of  his  friend, — ^^or,  npoo 
my  soul,  I  have  not  the  least  idea  !** 

^'  Of  course  not, — ^because  ^ou,  forsooth,  have  not 
the  slightest  acquaintance  with  A.  0.  ! — It  was 
not  you  who  interceded  in  behalf  of  my  family  ! — 
It  was  not  your  liking  for  Lucy,  (who  by  the  way 
is  half  out  of  her  wits  with  thankfulness,)  which 
induced  you  to  determine  the  man  whom  yoa  will 
not  own  as  friend  or  acquaintance,  but  over  whom 
you  have  all  the  influence  of  a  master  over  a  slave, 
or  a  Czar  of  Muscovy  over  a  C<donel  of  Hussars, 
to  come  forward  once  more  to  my  father's  reliefs- 
discharge  the  writ, — ^and  (on  condition  of  his  lettii^ 
the  house  in  Arlington  Street,  and  retiring  te  Mait- 
land Park,)  reestablish  the  family  affairs  ? — Oh ! 
no  1 — It  was  not  by  any  means  ^ou  who  did  us  this 
excellent  service ! " 

"As  I  live  and  breathe, — noT  ciied  Basil  An- 
nesley, with  such  earnestness  as  to  cause  his  com- 
panion to  stop  short  for  a  moment. — ^  Had  I  the 
power,  indeed,  I  would  have  done  as  much,  or 
twice  as  much  for  a  friend. — ^But  I  have  not  a 
guinea  in  the  world !" 

"  My  dear  Nan,  it  is  too  late  to  recommence  wilJi 
this  flummery!"  cried  Maitland,  almost  angiy^ 
his  seeming  mistrust. — "  This  man,  (I  beg  his  par- 
don, this  gentleman, — ^for  a  gentleman,  God  know% 
he  has  shown  himself  to  us,)  owned  to  me,  in  » 
many  words,  that  he  was  acting  at  your  instigatioo; 
or,  more  correctly  speaking,  with  a  view  of  afibrd- 
ing  you  pleasure." 

"  He  has  afforded  me  sincere  pleasure  by  bi^ 
liberality,'^  rejoined  Basil.  "  But  he  must  hare 
divined  my  wishes  by  preternatural  pAeans,  for  \ 


.ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


569 


wear  I  never  expressed  them ;  nor,  ou  my  word 
f  honour  as  a  gentleman,  have  I  any  claims  upon 
im  that  could  justify  my  attempting  to  influence 
is  conduct  in  the  smallest  particular." 

John  Maitland  replied  hy  another  incredulous 
mile.-— But  they  had  now  returned  to  the  Cluh 
ioor. 

"Not  a  word  of  all  this  before  the  others!" — 
ras  the  parting  injunction  of  John  Maitland ; — ^a 
raming  altogether  superfluous, — ^for  nothing  would 
tave  induced  Basil  to  advert,  in  presence  of  his 
brother  officers,  to  any  subject  even  remotely  in- 
volving mention  of  a  name  so  repellent  as  A.  0. 

Before  night,  Basil  had  managed  to  obtain  a 
creek's  leave  of  absence,  with  the  view  of  accom- 
plishing his  visit  to  Barlingham ;  and  despatched 
i  letter  to  his  mother  entreating  her  sanction  to 
ns  journey.  The  delay  occasioned  by  waiting  for 
iier  reply  would,  however,  necessarily  detain  him 
two  days  in  town ;  a  circumstance  he  would  gladly 
liave  avoided,—- dreading  that  the  renewal  of  his 
intimacy  with  the  artist's  family,  and  their  recon- 
cilement with  Abednego,  might  throw  him  once 
inore  into  their  society,  and  compel  him  to  become 
ft  witness  of  the  mutual  afiection  and  happiness 
of  the  Duke  di  San  Catalda  and  Esther  Verelst ! 

On  the  morrow,  however,  he  was  to  be  on  guard, 
which,  for  four-and-twenty  hours  at  least,  would 
secure  him  from  contact  with  any  member  of  the 
family. 

The  weather  was  now  as  fine  as  London  weather 
ever  pretends  to  be ; — for  even  the  height  of  sum- 
mer is  scarcely  soenjoyable  inthemetropolisasthose 
delicbus  days  of  opening  May,  before  the  young 
leaves  have  found  out  into  what  a  world  of  soot 
and  smoke  they  have  budded :  but  bear  their  ver- 
dure in  purity  and  freshness,  like  the  bright  and 
unsullied  countenance  of  a  sinless  child. — The 
skies  were  blue, — ^the  leaves  green, — ^the  sparrows 
^ihbping  gaily  in  park  and  square,  as  if  making 
the  most  of  their  time,  ere  London  was  covered 
once  more  with  dust  and  ashes,-— her  leaves  seared 
And  shrivelled, — ^heratmosphere  obscured* — Atsuch 
*  season,  it  is  difiicult  for  the  buoyant  heart  of  two- 
ftud-twenty  to  sink  under  the  pressure  of  care ! 

At  the  instigation  of  its  own  pulses,  it  hopes 
when  hope  there  is  none, — ^it  loves,  when  prospect 
of  happiness  there  is  none !  The  spring-tide  of  life 
^wices  wildly  and  irresistibly  within  its  bosom. — 
^0  !  despair  is  indeed  difficult  for  the  young. 

Basil  usually  disliked  being  on  guard  ;  from  the 
ntere  restraint  of  being  tied  to  time  and  place ; — 
getting  up  earlier  than  usual,  and  being  restricted 
for  the  day  to  such  pastimes  as  a  lounge  in  the 
British  GaUery.  Unaffected  and  unpretending, 
lie  had  no  taste  for  parading  himself  and  his  uni- 
form m  St  James's  Street,  an  appetite  that  rarely 
extends  beyond  the  first  fortnight  of  escape  from 
cubhood  to  ensignhood ;  during  which,  a  young 
guardsman  is  privileged  to  astonish  the  waiting- 
3vomen  at  Grange's  and  melt  half  the  Mirific  Balsam 
ui  Williams  shop,  with  the  splendour  of  his  scarlet 
and  gold. 

But  on  the  day  in  question,  howbeit  the  evening 
**fore  he  had  congratulated  himself  on  the  certain- 
ly thus  afforded  of  escape  from  the  visits  of  Osalez 


or  Verelst,  no  sooner  was  he  established  at  St. 
James's,  than  he  became  insupportably  irritated 
by  his  enthralment.  He  discovered  that  it  was 
essential  to  go  and  pay  a  visit  of  ceremony  to  the 
Branzinis,  before  Esther  was  installed  in  their 
household.  He  found  out  that,  in  the  family  dis- 
tresses of  the  Maitlands,  he  should  be  inexcusable 
if  he  failed  in  the  respect  of  leaving  a  card  at  their 
door. — In  point  of  fact  he  wanted  only  to  be  free. 
— ^In  the  restlessness  of  his  discontent  he  fumed 
and  fretted  to  be  master  of  his  own  actions.  Had 
he  not  been  on  guard,  Basil  would  probably  have 
ridden  off  into  the  country ;— devised  business  at 
Bichmond,  or  sulked  to  his  solitary  white-bait  at 
the  Crown  and  Sceptre ;— and  when  there— have 
suddenly  become  equally  fidgety  to  return  to  Lon- 
don. He  was,  in  fact,  burning  with  desire  to  know 
all  that  was  passing  under  the  roof  of  the  artist. 
For  the  first  time,  the  brother  officers  on  guard 
witli  him  found  him  absent  and  unsociable.---Col- 
onel  Loftus,(John  Maitland  being  absent,)  had  ven- 
tured to  banter  him  upon  hb  flirtation  with  Lucy  ; 
and  the  pain  which  her  manifest  partiality  was 
supposed  to  cause  to  their  friend  Blencowe. — ^But 
the  fractiousness  of  Basil's  replies  soon  convinced 
them  that  he  was  in  no  mood  to  be  trifled  with. 
They  saw  that  he  was  thoroughly  out  of  temper  ; 
nor  was  it  till  they  had  watched  him  fling  away 
two  or  three  successive  cigars  as  they  all  stood 
smoking  together  on  the  steps  after  dinner,  that 
they  attributed  his  captious  fastidiousness  to  the 
right  cause ; — ^the  irritation  of  a  man  crossed  in 
love,  and  whom  everything  and  everybody  else 
consequently  crosses, — ^for  if  the  course  of  true  love 
never  runs  smooth,  it  assuredly  seldom  fails  to 
render  us  equally  stumbling-blocks  in  the  paths  of 
other  people. 

The  fint  thing  intimated  to  Basil  on  reaching 
his  lodgings  after  coming  off  guard  the  following 
morning,  was,  that  Mr.  Osalez  had  called  upon  him 
once  or  twice  in  the  course  of  the  preceding  day^ 
manifesting  great  anxiety  to  see  him. 

^^  And  why  did  you  not  tell  him  I  was  on  guard  ?  '* 
—demanded  young  Annesley ;  to  whom  it  appeared 
as  easy  amatter  to  pay  a  visit  at  St.  James  s,  as  at 
his  private  residence. 

'^I  did.  Sir;  but  the  gentleman  seemed  put 
out^  and  muttered  something  about  ^puppies'  and 
^  coxcombs,'  which  made  me  think  it  unlikely  he 
would  drive  further,"  replied  the  prim  Mr.  Smith* 

^<  He  was  in  his  carriage,  then  V  inquired  BasiL 

«  He  was,  Sir." 

"And  alone?" 

"No,  Sir. — There  was  another  old  gentleman 
with  1dm,  whom  I  could  not  rightly  see.  But 
both  of  them  seemed  much  disappointed  at  not 
finding  you." 

After  receiving  this  intelligence,  Basil,  while 
dressing  and  breakfasting,  resolved  to  proceed 
immediately  to  the  house  of  Osalez. — Something 
regarding  the  interests  of  Verelst  might  be  in  agi- 
tation, in  which  his  assistance  was  needfuL — But 
to  which  among  the  many  residences  of  his  Protean 
friend  was  he  now  to  address  himself? 

"  As  he  caUed  in  his  carriage,"  mused  the  young 
guardsman,  "he  cjtme,  I  conclude,  in  the  channjter 


\570 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDEIL 


of  Osaldz  the  financier  ;  and  I  will  theref(»e  hastan 
to  Bernard  Street'' 

Having  mounted  his  hack^  he  proceeded  thither 
in  hatte  ;  but  at  the  door  received,  from  the  now 
obsequious  butlei^  who  delighted  to  honour  all 
whom  his  master  delighted  to  receive  at  his  dinner- 
table,  the  information  that  might  have  been  anti- 
cipated— ^  Mr.  Osalez  had  been  off  to  the  city 
these  two  hours." 

^And  where  am  I  to  find  him  in  the  city?" 
demanded  young  Annesley;  a  query  that  appeared 
to  excite  as  much  amazement  in  ^e  rotund  pant- 
ler,  as  though  he  had  demanded  in  what  quarter  of 
the  town  he  was  to  look  for  Westminster  Abbey  I 

"  You  will  find  Mr.  Osalez,  Sir,  on  the  Stock 
Exchange,"  said  he,  conceiving  that  the  handsome 
young  gentleman,  difi^ring  so  widely  from  the 
usual  visitants  t)f  that  house,  must  be  infirm  of 
intellect — **  If  off  'Change,  you  will  find  him  at 
his  house  of  business." 

**  And  where  is  that  ?"— incautiously  inquired 
BasiL 

The  man  seemed  to  draw  largely  upon  the  de- 
corum of  his  calling,  in  order  to  refrain  from  a 
laugh. 

"In  the  Old  Jewry,  Sir. — But  you  need  only 
mention  the  name  of  Mr.  Osalez  in  the  city.  Sir, 
for  any  one  to  show  you  the  way.  The  first  cab- 
man or  orange-boy  you  meet  will  inform  you." 

To  the  city  Basil  now  hurried ;  and  his  park 
hack  was  probably  as  much  amazed  as  his  master, 
to  find  hhnself  wedged  between  wagons  full  of 
puncheons  of  sugar  or  bales  of  dry  goods,  the 
gigantic  size  of  which  accounted  equally  for  the 
power  of  the  splendid  draught  horses  and  extent 
of  the  teams  in  use,  which  appeared  to  belong  to  a 
world  of  more  colossal  dimensions. — ^The  stunning 
rumble  of  Cheapside,  the  perpetual  motion  involv- 
ing so  much  of  the  uHle  and  so  little  of  the  duke 
of  life,  served  to  excite  his  wonder  how  the  less 
practical  part  of  business,  the  portion  requiring 
the  aid  of  figures  and  calculations,  could  ever  be 
carried  on  in  the  midst  of  such  a  hubbub  ! 

On  turning,  however,  into  the  narrow  lane  sug- 
gested to  him,  at  his  first  inquiry,  as  containing 
the  house  of  business  of  Osalez  &  Co.,  he  perceived 
that  even  the  city  has  its  ^  quiet  situations,"  its 
•*  no  thoroughfares," — like  the  aristocratic  Park 
Places,  and  St.  James's  Places,  adjoining  the  parks 
of  the  West  End,  The  narrow,  dirty,  dingy  lane 
was  apparently  occupied  by  the  warehouses  of 
wholesale  trade. — ^For  just  as  every  house  of  mark 
in  St.  James's  had  formerly  its  iron  extinguisher 
beside  the  door,  to  put  out  the  flambeaux  of  the 
footmen,  every  doorway  had,  in  token  of  distinc- 
tion, its  ponderous  iron  crane,  and  the  lower  win- 
dows of  the  houses  were  closely  boarded.  On 
every  door-post  was  inscribed  one  or  more  names, 
as  unaristocratio  as  "  Jacob  Grimms  &  nephew,* 
"Fiskin,  brothers,"  **Dando  &  Company,"  with- 
out further  indication  of  their  calling,  names  con- 
stituting the  Tmostentatious  thews  and  sinews  of 
commercial  life ; — and  though  little  or  no  traffic 
was  going  on,  at  that  hour,  in  the  street,  it  is  pro- 
bable that  a  larger  amount  of  capital  passed  through 
«very  one  of  those  shabby  doorwajrs  in  the  course 


of  a  week,  than  into  any  mansion  in  St.  imii 
Square  in  the  period  of  a  year ! 

Half-way  down  the  lane,  however,  was  an  opei. 
ing  into  a  small  court,  which,  by  calcnktioD,  i^ 
peared  to  contain  the  number  indicated  to  finii; 
and  having  accordingly  dismounted  and  gino  la 
horse  in  charge  to  a  steady-looking  old  man^tk 
put  himself  forward  for  the  chaige,  Basil  prooeede^ 
through  the  gorge  of  a  narrow  court  into  alujs 
one,  surrounded  by  high  buildings ;  one  side  if 
which  seemed  occupied  by  a  handsome  M-fA 
ioned  dwelling-house,  and  the  other  by  a  m^i 
buildings,  the  basement  story  of  wfnah  was  app 
priated  to  counting-houses.  Of  this  poition  k  ^ 
mansion,  the  huge  swing-doors  seemed  in  continui 
vibration  to  admit  or  emit  a  perpetoal  striag  i 
human  beings  ; — ^the  sort  of  careworn,  nUoi- 
cheeked  people,  who  walk  with  thdr  coate  dosdj 
buttoned  over  their  pockets,  and  their  blank  vis- 
ages indicating  a  mind  wandering  at  manj  niW 
distance ; — ^whom  one  recognises  at  first  sight  ai  t)» 
children  of  the  tribe  of  Mimunon. 

Unnoticed, — ^for  such  people  proceed  stiaiglitti 
their  place  of  rendezvous^  without  a  vacant  thoa|b 
to  bestow  on  auguries  of  the  flight  of  crows  or  i^ 
of  strange  faces, — ^Basil  pushed  his  way  thm|h 
the  *swing-doors  among  the  rest ;  and,  after  paon^ 
a  second  swing-door,  found  himself  in  a  ta^ab 
lighted  chamber,  containing,  by  way  of  fmrntsn^ 
a  large  time-piece  against  the  wall,  thiae  ki^ 
ranges  of  wooden  counters,  forty  wooden  M 
and  forty  wooden  clerks  sitting  calcuktii^  theie- 
upon  ;  each  with  his  parchment-bound  ledge  ^ 
fore  him,— -each  with  the  multiplioation-t^  a* 
graved  on  his  soul  in  characters  efiacing  even  titoa 
of  the  tables  of  the  hiw! 

In  the  centre  of  the  hall,  was  a  smgle  mahogu; 
desk  and  stool,  somewhat  loftier  than  tiie  rnt) 
apparently  destined  to  the  use  of  the  high-priert 
of  the  temple  of  Mammon.  But  it  was  vaeui-^ 
Clerks  were  bustling  backwards  and  forwards,  with 
cheque-books,  or  pocket-books,  or  printed  papw 
in  their  hands ;  apparently  as  mechanical  in  op*- 
ations  involving  the  disposal  of  millions,  as  tb 
time-piece  against  the  wall  in  admeasnremeDt « 
the  still  more  valuable  currency  asaigwd  to  itt 
computation. — ^A  buzz  of  whispers,  nevw  risM 
into  unbusiness-like  tumult,  seemed  to  tm  > 
portion  of  the  heated  and  unsavoury  atmoipba* 
of  the  place  ;-^he  money  shoveUed  badcwiii 
and  forwards  across  the  grated  pay-oonnter  ba^ 
of  no  more  account  in  the  eyes  of  the  indiridtfi 
occupied  in  promoting  its  circulation,  than  bam/' 
sugar  in  those  of  the  confectionwc's  boy  to  wbos 
prohibition  has  ceased  to  be  irksome. 

As  usual,  when  in  chase  of  his  extiwiW 
friend,  Basil  Annesley  found  himself  among  a  »«* 
of  persons  with  whom  he  had  neither  an  «w^ 
nor  an  impulse  in  common ;  and  after  being  pn*^ 
against,  and  shuffled  aside  for  a  minute  or  two,  w 
individuals  having  business  to  transact^  and  as^ 
less  in  their  outward  man  as  is  usually  the  ca»  ** 
those  who  have  anything  to  do  in  the  ^^"T^ 
mquired  for  Mr.  Osalez.  The  clerk  to ^<i»^ 
applied,  pointed  to  the  vacant  diair,  as  ij""'^^ 
say,  **  Can't  you  use  your  eyes  and  pewciw  tW 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER* 


571 


to  absent  f— when  Basil,  perceiving  that  his  in- 
fonnant  was  yoong  and  beardless,  a  stripling  like 
liiTOWftlf^  moved  a  few  steps  towards  the  swing- 
doors,  and  again  addressed  the  inquiry  to  a  grave* 
looking,  middle-aged  man,  with  a  bald  head,  seedy 
coat,  and  mourning  ring  on  his  little  finger ; — ^who 
was  wasting  his  time  in  mending  his  pen,  and  had 
the  appearance,  among  his  brother  derks,  of  a 
heavy  ooadi  nmning  against  the  mails. 

On  finding  himself  civilly  accosted  by  a  well- 
dressed  stranger,  the  elderly  derk  slipped  from 
beneath  the  counter,  and  desiring  Basil  to  follow 
him,  led  the  way  to  the  extremity  of  the  hall,  to- 
wards a  room  divided  from  it  only  by  a  glazed 
compartment,  shaded  with  green  curtains;  but 
containing  only  another  desk  with  an  old  silver 
standiah  and  writing  implements,  and  half-a-dozen 
horse-hair  chairs. 

<<  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir,"  apologized  the  dull  old 
derk, — ^*  I  landed  Mr.  Osalez  must  be  here ! — ^He 
must  have  just  stepped  out.  He  will  be  back  at 
two.  He  is  always  here  as  the  dock  strikes  two. 
Perfai^  you  will  return?— or  at  least  favour  me 
by  writing  your  name  for  him  ?  " 

Basil  declined  doing  either.  He  felt  that  he  had 
conunitted  a  blunder  in  following  Osalez.  He  found 
hunself  as  little  at  home  in  that  vast  establishment, 
as  at  the  bottom  of  a  gold  mine.  The  place  was  as 
little  adapted  to  the  confidences  he  was  expecting 
V  the  little  noisy  chamber  containing  the  dock- 
works  of  St.  Paul's ! — ^Angry  with  himself  and  the 
deric  for  the  time  he  had  wasted,  he  muttered  some- 
thing about  calling  again ;  and  bustled  his  way 
back  again  through  the  hall,  when  his  transit  was 
as  little  noted  as  that  of  one  of  the  motes  dancing 
in  ihe  slanting  sunbeams  straggling  through  the 
skylight^ — as  if  in  searoh  of  some  living  being  on 
which  to  confer  enjoyment,  from  the  paved  open 
space  adjoining  the  old  mansion-house,  and  ruralized 
by  the  name  of  garden,  because  containing  a  pump, 
and  an  old  sycamore,  with  about  as  much  sap  in 
the  trunk  as  thero  exists  in  the  copper-tree  form- 
ing part  of  the  Chatsworth>0(5  d*e<m. 

Having  reached  once  moro  the  narrow  opening 
of  the  court  into  the  street,  Basil  was  about  to 
remount  his  horse,  the  rein  of  which  was  offered 
him  with  one  hand  by  the  old  man,  while  holding 
out  the  other  for  the  expected  remuneration ;  when, 
as  he  was  groping  in  his  pocket  for  a  sixpence, 
instead  of  the  shilling  he  would  probably  have 
given  had  his  visit  been  less  infraotuous,  the 
man  whispered  in  a  tone  of  mysterious  oonfidenoe, 
•*  Vy  for  you  sheek  him  hero,  ma  tear  ?  ** — and  lo, 
after  a  start  of  surprise,  young  Annedey  recognised 
in  the  decent-looking  individual  by  whom  he  was 
addressed^  the  fellow  who,  both  in  Delahaye  Street 
and  at  Rochester  House,  had  abready  marked  his 
respectful  recognition  of  the  prot^g^  of  A.  0. 

^  And  where  should  I  seek  Mr.  Osalez,  unless  at 
his  house  of  business?  "—demanded  Basil,  angrily. 

*^  He  hash  moro  houshes  of  bushinesh  than  van, 
two,  or  dree,"— -roplied  the  familiar  of  Abednego's 
inquisition. 

**  Take  me  to  the  one  whero  I  am  most  likdy  to 
find  him,  then, — and  it  shall  be  worth  your  while," 
observed  Basil  Annedey. 


The  old  man,  who  had  been  stooping  in  seomfyil 
examination  of  the  minute  coin  bestowed  on  him 
by  Annedey,  now  peered  up  into  his  face  with  a 
cunning  glance,  that  not  even  the  disappearance  of 
his  rusty  beard  could  disguise  from  being  that  of 
the  old  Jew ;  and  with  only  a  familiar  nod  of  the 
head  by  way  of  signal  of  acquiescence  and  intelli- 
gence, he  now  took  the  head  of  Basil's  horse  and 
preceded  him  through  a  tortuous  complexity  of 
dirty  lanes,  in  which  the  stagnant  atmosphero 
seemed  imprisoned  as  in  the  cell  of  a  felon ! 

At  the  dose  of  a  ten-minutes'  walk,  he  paused 
in  a  small  shabby  street,  which,  from  the  unequal 
form  of  the  buildings,  seemed  to  constitute  the 
rear  or  outlet  of  one  of  greater  magnitude,  and 
taking  a  key  from  his  pocket,  opened  a  mean^ 
looking  green  door,  to  whLch  neither  knocker  nor 
bell-handle  was  attached ;  then,  stepping  back 
stealthily  to  Basil,  resumed  the  roin  of  his  horse. 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  I  am  going  to  run  my 
head  into  an  earth  so  uninviting  as  that  ?"— cried 
young  Annedey,  warmly. — **  How  do  I  know  into 
what  sort  of  a  den  of  thieves  yon  may  be  deooying 
me?" 

"  Tievesh  if  ye  shoose ! "  said  the  Jew,  no  whit 
offended.  **  But  the  pashage  b^oro  you,  ma  tear, 
leadsh  shtraigh  whero  you  would  find  A.  0,  ThtOih 
all!" 

Reassured  by  his  provious  knowledge  of  the  old 
fellow's  connexion  with  Abednego,  Basil  determined 
to  daro  the  adventuro  1 — Single-handed,  he  knew 
himself  to  be  a  match  for  most  men  ;  and  his 
strange  Conductor  would  scarody  venturo  to  alluro 
into  any  dangerous  resort  an  ofiicer  of  the  guards, 
for  whom  active  search  would  be  made  in  case  of 
disappearance,  and  who  would  easily  be  traced, 
through  the  house  of  business  of  Osalez,  to  the 
suspicious  spot.  Nevertheless,  the  entrance  to  the 
narrow  passage  was  grim  and  ropelling  enough  to 
daunt  a  bolder  adventuror. 

Once  crossed  the  threshold,  he  was  rather  exdted 
than  otherwise,  by  the  mysterious  aspect  of  the 
spot.  But  scarody  had  he  groped  a  few  steps 
along  the  dark  stone  corridor,  when  the  door  was 
clapped  to  behind  him ;  and  he  found  himself  alone 
in  the  stone  passage,  which  roceived  light  only 
through  small  gratingsinserted  in  the  doors  at  dther 
end,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  ventilation. — Since  It 
was  as  easy  to  attempt  further  progross,  as  to  rotum, 
Basil  pushed  his  way  forwards ;  and  on  approach- 
ing the  door  at  the  end,  he  perceived  that  near  it, 
the  passage  widened,  so  as  to  form  a  recess  contain- 
ing a  wooden  bench ;  while  through  the  grating, 
which  was  on  an  exact  level  with  his  face,  voices 
in  eager  disputation  reached  him  from  within.-— 
One  of  them,  at  least,  was  familiar  to  him— one  of 
them  was  that  of  A.  O.I — The  other  was  a 
woman's ! 

On  appl3ring  his  hand  to  find  a  latch  or  opening, 
he  found  to  his  surprise  that  what  he  had  conceived 
to  be  a  door,  was  simply  a  portion  of  the  passage, 
— ^the  wooden  bench  being  continued  across ;  and 
after  a  moment's  rofiection,  the  naturo  of  the  apart- 
ment within,  and  of  the  conversation  which  he 
could  not  forbear  overhearing,  convinced  him  that 
he  was  simply  installed  in  some  hiding-place  or 


572 


ABEDNEGO  THE  MONEY-LENDER. 


observatory, — some  Dionysius's  ear, — ^from  which 
the  Money-lender  was  in  the  habit  of  exercising 
Jiis  nnholy  inquisition  over  his  victims  previous  to 
a  closer  encounter  I  To  interrupt  such  a  conversa- 
tion as  was  passing  in  the  chamber  beyond,  with 
ihe  admission  of  having  been  an  eavesdropper, 
would  convey  mortification  to  one  party,  vexation 
to  the  other ;  and  Basil  felt  consequently  privileged 
to  abide  the  result  of  the  interview. 

The  fragment  of  discourse  that  now  reached  his 
ears,  however  it  might  disgust,  afforded  him  no  new 
insight  into  the  character  or  conduct  of  the  lady 
upon  whom  he  was  thus  forced  to  play  the  spy, 
— ^being  no  other  than  the  young  Countess  of 
Winte^eld.  All  he  had  formerly  heard  to  her 
disadvantage  from  Abednego,  naturally  recurred  to 


his  mind ;  and  he  was  consequently  less  sorptued 
at  the  tone  of  harslmess  and  air  of  contempt  openly 
assumed  towards  her  by  the  Money-lender. 

For  it  was  no  longer  the  well-dressed,  wD- 
mannered  Osalez  who  stood  before  him.  There 
was  nothing  to  recall  the  distinguished  financier,- 
the  enlightened  patron  of  the  Arts ! — ^It  wu  tk 
hard,  cautious,  calculating  old  usurer  of  Soho  wb 
occupied  a  plain  arm-chair ;  opposite  to  the  8(4 
whereon,  arrayed  in  all  the  elegance  of  £afihioi, 
alternately  smiling  and  weeping,— exerdsbg  k 
coquetry  as  a  beauty,  and  her  pathos  as  &  peti- 
tioner,— sat  the  unhappy  woman,  who  erid^j 
trusted  to  the  effect  of  her  mingled  channs  ai^ 
eloquence,  to  soften  the  obdurate  heart  of— A.O.! 


THE  BROTHERS. 


Corsican  Hero  !  Citizen  of  France  ! 
In  manhood  fire  and  light — ^as  in  youth  flame  ! 
Famed  by  a  name  which  ages  in  advance 
Shall  echo  doubly — nor  let  die  that  fame; 
Buonaparte — Hero  ! — Lucien  is  thy  name. 
Murmur  the  world  o'er  his  dead  brother's  glory, 
As  vain  winds  whistle  o'er  day's  dying  gleam  ! 
ThoBe  pnuses  like  that  breeze  are  transitory. 
Awe-struck,  we  sorrow  for  ambition's  child, 
(The  oft-repeated,  still  forgotten  story,) 
Beguiled  by  what  has  sometimes  cUl  beguiled — 
War,  victory,  conquest,  empire  grim  and  gory. 
Not  all — true  fHend  and  brother  free — ^not  Thee^ 
Patriot,  Citizen,  more  than  Emperor  firee. 

Emperor  o'er  thy  own  aspiring  soul. 
Whose  virtuous  «oul  withstood  His  guilty  art, 
Whose  pilot-voice  warned  of  the  perilous  shoal, — 
Why^from  thy  friendship  did  Napoleon  start ! 
Iiove's  rose-links  once  light-wreathed  Hit  living-heart. 
He  grasp'd  a  sceptre.    The  chill  touch  of  power 
Shot  through  his  nature  a  torpedo  dart — 
Harden'd  that  heart,  and  petrified  each  flower. 
He  wedded  Empire.    Deadly  was  her  dower — 
Jealousies,  envyings,  whisperings,  and  divorce. 
The  phantom  soon  o'er  land  and  sea  'gan  tower 
Beckoning  o'er  corpses  and  through  blood  his  course. 
The  giant  shade,  world  shadowing,  rose  beforo  him. 
And  carrion  War's  strong  wings  in  triumph  boro  him. 

Destiny  pitying  tried  the  name  of  ^  Father." 
Love's  looks  and  childhood's  prattle  Peace  persuaded. 
In  vain.    Not  long  he  now  loved  Love.    Hate  rather 
With  wild  songs  lured  him.    Youth  and  Joy  had  faded. 
If  Wde  woke  Insult — Insult  called  in  Wrong — 
Wrong  met  with  Wrath — and  Wrath  to  Ruin  rush'd, — 
What  marvel !    Bapid  is  the  strife — ^not  long — 
When  the  worid's  demon  deities  mingle,  flush'd 
With  War's  wild  drunkenness,  and  drunk  desiro 
Of  more — ^more  blood,  more  vengeance,  more  dominion. 
If  touchwood  kindle — ^will  not  powder  fire  I 
If  hawks  will  soar — ^will  eagles  stoop  their  pinion ! 
If  rats  begirt  with  foes  will  fight  for  life- 
Will  the  wolf,  tiger,  lion  shrink  from  strife ! 


Was't  strange— that,  with  the  whole  world's 

round  him. 

Long  kept  at  bay,  he  fell ! — He  fell  to  rise- 
Rose  to  fight — ^fought  to  fall.  And  then  they  bonodlik 
Yet  Destiny,  still  pitying,  her  child's  eyes 
With  solemn  visions — such  as  make  man  wise- 
In  that  first  fall  and  second  rise  had  blest; 
Rent  the  sun-dazzling  silver  veil  that  drest 
Glory's  demoniac  face  in  its  disguise. 
Avignon's  hatred  and  Grenoble's  love, 
Echomg  a  brother's  warnings,  both  exprest 
His  **  had  been"  and  his  '^  should  have  been,"— and  von 
Spells  round  his  soul  that  might  have  given  it  rest, 
And  his  realm  blessing; — had  it  been  his  doom 
To  reign  again— or  rest,  but  in  his  tomb. 

Oh  France  !  thou  wert  not  to  be  blest.    Thy  trial 
Was  not  yet  ended,  as  His  nearly  was. 
That  power  whom  thou  hadst  mock'd  by  thy  denial, 
Found  not  thy  heart — ^if  his — ripe  for  repose. 
Yet  look  on  these  two  brethren.    Let  the  earth 
Look  on  this  drama  of  high  heaven  witii  thee. 
On  Glory's  rocks  red  flares  the  beacon  forUi— 
Home's  hearth-flame  shines  more  softly,  yet  as  free. 
Which  vrill  ye  shun  ?  which  seek  ? — Lucien  !  once  d^ 
Upon  thy  amaranthine  crown  I  gaze. 
There  Genius,  Freedom,  SeUf-restraint,  the  lore 
Of  art,  of  science,  and  of  learning  blaze 
O'er  eyes  the  stars  of  pure  and  faithful  Love. 
(If  so — no  nobler  gem  the  skies  above.) 

Those  eyes  have  gone  searehing  the  starry  road 

With  Herschel,  child  of  Science.    Found  they  not 

There  a  new  world, — Hope's,  Liberty's  abode ! 

When  fiery  hearts  are  laid  in  earth  to  rot, 

Should  these  Two  Brethren  meet  on  such  a  qMt, 

In  ages  yet  undream'd  of—shall  the  last 

Be  first  ?  and  the  first  last  1  yet  not  a  thought 

Of  envy-wakening  Ambition  cast 

Its  old  shade  o'er  the  recreated  spirit ! 

Until  precedence  merge  in  love  divine. 

And  each  the  long-lost  brotherhood  inherit— 

And  both  hearts,  perfect,  in  one  will,  combine. 

Who  will  make  answer  I — Answer  it  who  can. 

Hath  Knowledge,  Faith,  or  Fancy  such  a  span  f 


573 


MUSINGS  IN  THE  WEN.— No.  V. 


LEGENDARY  LORE. 


London  is  extremely  poor  in  localised  tradition. 
A  good  ghost,  such  as  every  close  and  wynd  in  the 
Canongate  of  Edinburgh  can  furnish,  is  not  to 
be  had  for  love  or  money.  Some  attribute  this 
deficient  supply  of  spectres,  in  a  market  which  has 
a  swallow  capacious  enough  for  them  or  anything 
else,  to  the  density  of  the  population,  and  the 
rapidity  with  which  events  calculated  to  arrest  the 
attention  of  the  populace  succeed  each  other. 

^  Ghosts,"  say  this  class  of  reasoners,  **  are  noto- 
riously a  shy  and  proud  race.  They  do  not  like  to 
mix  in  a  crowd :  it  would  almost  seem  that  the 
thin  air  of  which  they  are  composed  requires  more 
elbow-room  than  our  condensed  bodies,  and  is 
more  susceptible  of  pain  and  inconvenience  from  a 
squeeze.  And  they  are  (strange  to  say  of  immor- 
tal beings)  mortally  offended  at  the  slightest  show 
of  disreq[>ect.  Luther  used  to  drive  away  the  in- 
fernal apparition  by  which  he  was  haunted  by 
*  rumping  him,'  to  borrow  a  phrase  once  current 
at  the  court  of  'the  first  gentleman  in  Europe;' 
and  everybody  knows  that  ghosts  do  not  conde- 
scend to  appear  to  those  who  do  not  pay  them  the 
respect  of  thinking  a  good  deal  about  them.  In 
the  throng  of  London,  a  ghost  can  scarcely  find  a 
quiet  comer  where  it  can  place  its  thin  substance, 
without  incurring  the  risk  of  somd  down  'putting 
his  foot  in  it;'  and  the  people  are  kept  so  con- 
stantly gaping  by  new  shows  and  wonders,  that 
the  shadowy  people  feel  a  want  of  proper  atten- 
tion, and  withdraw  themselves  altogether." 

This  is  rather  plausible ;  but  does  not  account 
for  the  want  of  localised  l^ends  of  a  merely  human 
and  mortal  interest,  which  are  quite  as  scanty  as 
the  others.  The  truth  appears  to  be,  that  there  is 
a  scarcity  of  traditions  in  London,  because  there 
have  been  so  few  permanent  resting-places  for  them 
to  nestle  in.  L^ends,  like  the  *'  temple-haunting 
nuurtlet,"  require  ''buttress  and  coigneof  vantage, 
to  make  their  pendent  nest  and  procreant  cradle." 
In  the  busy  ever-changing  world  of  London,  but- 
tresses and  coignes  are  both  knocked  down  before 
time  is  given  to  buOd  the  nests.  Had  Sir  Thomas 
Gresham's  old  original  Exchange  survived,  it  is 
possible  that  the  ghost  of  the  knight  might  have 
been  found  taking  its  nocturnal  rounds  to  see  how 
afiairs  went  on.  Possibly  the  enormous  posterior 
protuberanoe  of  the  trunk-hose  of  some  Dutch 
merchant,  who  killed  himself  with  Schiedam,  for 
grief  at  having  been  overreached  by  a  Jew  in  some 
l>&igain  about  the  blood-manured  spices  of  Am- 
l>oyna,  might  have  been  seen  or  heard  to  rustle 
along  his  countrymen's  walk  at  the  witching  hour, 
A  gleaming  meer-schaum  in  his  mouth,  from  which 
issued  strong  fumes  of  sulphur.  But  Sir  Thomas 
had  little  personal  connexion  with  the  late,  and 
^^  have  less  with  the  new  Exchange ;  while  both 
^>«long  to  an  era  at  which  the  hinder-ends  even  of 
Batchmen,  having  been  compressed  withinmoderate 
limits,  have  become  much  too  common-place  to  be 
^tting  wear  for  the  denizens  of  the  spectral  world. 

VO.  CV.--VOL.  IX. 


Then  again  if  ever  a  deceased  worthy  had  a  right 
to  "  walk,"  (we  use  the  technical  phrase  of  ghost- 
seers,)  it  was  Thomas-4-Becke^ — not  only  on 
account  of  the  rude  manner  in  which  his  spirit  was 
dislodged  from  its  earthly  tenement,  but  on  account 
of  certain  freaks  and  pranks  of  his  younger  days, 
before  he  set  up  for  a  saint.  And  London  as  his 
native  place,  and  Londoners  as  entertaining  a  great 
affection  for  him,  (the  guild  or  corporation  of 
brewers  made  him  their  patron  saint,)  were  more 
likely  than  any  other  place  or  persons,  (except 
perhaps  Canterbury  and  its  well-fed  monks,  wor- 
thily represented  in  these  Protestant  days  by  its 
no  less  well-fed  prebends  residentiary,)  to  catch  a 
sight  of  him.  But  his  own  and  his  father's  house 
at  the  comer  of  the  Old  Jewry  has  been  swept 
away,  and  the  site  built  upon  over  and  over  again, 
till  no  ghost  could  recognise  it,  and  till  the  very 
antiquaries  of  the  ward  and  parish  have  ceased  to 
associate  the  place  with  St.  Thomas — "  the  blissful 
holy  martyr,"  as  Chaucer,  the  first  Cockney  poet, 
(and  an  inveterate  Cockney  he  was,)  calls  him. 
But^  above  all,  we  incline  to  attribute  the  extreme 
paucity  of  traditions — spectral  or  human — ^to  be 
met  with  in  London,  to  the  great  fire  of  1666, 
which  "  burned  them  out,"  a  summary  method  of 
ejection  still  pursued  towards  another  class  of 
refractory  undesirable  neighbours. 

Almost  the  only  man  of  note,  who  has  kept  his 
ground,  is  Oliver  Cromwell — and  that  is  as  a  flesh- 
and-blood,  not  as  a  ghostly  character.  You  no 
more  hear  of  his  spectre  being  visible  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Tyburn  (or,  as  it  is  now  called,  with 
that  strange  fatality  which  seems  to  identify  a  cer- 
tain ducal  title  "  illustrious  by  courtesy,"  with 
everything  disagreeable,  Cumberland)  gate,  than 
you  do  of  that  of  Charles  I.  haunting  the  precincts 
of  Whitehall.  And  yet,  if  vulgar  butcherly  spite, 
vented  upon  his  remains  by  poor-spirited  enemies, 
ever  gave  a  man's  ghost  a  right  to  disturb  peace- 
able, unoffending  people,  Cromwell's  has  that  right. 
But  though  he  does  not  condescend  to  appear  for 
the  purpose  of  keeping  people  in  mind  of  him,  he 
has  not  been  forgotten. 

You  can  scarcely  remain  any  length  of  time  in 
any  part  of  London,  or  its  suburbs,  without  hear- 
ing of  some  house  which  local  tradition  represents 
as  connected,  some  way  or  other,  with  the  Lord 
Protector.  In  the  year  1794,  there  was  still  stand- 
ing, in  Clerkenwell,  a  large  house,  said  to  have  been 
inhabited  by  Oliver  Cromwell.  It  was  burned 
down  some  years  since ;  but  the  memory  of  its  site 
is  perpetuated  by  a  Cromwell  Place,  which  has 
risen  upon  the  ruins.  In  Hoxton,  in  the  far  East, 
is  or  was  a  building,  which  claimed,  in  like  man- 
ner, to  have  been  once  a  residence  of  Oliver  Crom- 
well. In  Old  Brompton,  there  is  a  Cromwell 
Honse,  in  which,  so  long  as  it  was  open  to  sight- 
seers, the  old  crone,  who  enacted  the  part  of  Cice- 
rone, was  wont  to  point  out  recesses  and  hiding- 
places   in  chimneys,  and  behind   wainscots,    in 

•2Z 


5T4 


BfUSINGS  IN  THE  WEN-— LEGENDARY  LORE. 


which,  as  she  ayerred,  Cromwell  was  wont  to 
ensconce  himself  when  the  soldiers  were  in  pursuit 
of  him.  What  strange  freaks  oral  tradition  does 
play  with  its  heroes  !  converting  Cromwell,  from  a 
hunter  of  fugitive  cavaliers,  into  a  *'  partridge 
hunted*'  through  priest's  hiding>holes ;  and  Greorge 
Buchanan,  from  a  grave  reformer  of  universities, 
into  "the  king's  fool."  Whoever  has  traversed 
the  suhurhan  continuation  of  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  towards  Highgate,  through  Kentish-town, 
must  remember  an  old  square  brick  mansion,  with 
the  appearance  of  having  once  been  moated  round. 
Lonely  and  isolated  it  appears,  though  not  remote 
from  houses,  upon  its  smooth  level  of  stunted  grassy 
with  one  or  two  dwarf  trees  beside  it.  Every  time 
we  have  occasion  to  pass  it,  some  new  evidence 
appears  of  its  yielding  to  the  insidious  sapping  of 
the  elements — some  widening  crack  in  the  walls, 
through  which  daylight  is  visible — some  falling  of 
a  lump  of  brick- work,  leaving  the  lathing  bare  to 
view  :  and  yet,  although  new  structures  are  rising 
all  around,  and  the  site  is  an  eligible  one,  nobody 
seems  to  think  of  removing  the  ruins,  and  erecting 
a  new  dwelling  in  their  stead.  Is  it  that  no  one 
can  make  out  a  title  to  the  land  ?  Is  it  that  no 
one  cares  to  take  up  his  abode  upon  that  spot  ? 
We  know  not ;  but  ask  any  of  the  natives  what 
that  old,  decrepit  man8ion--<iead  and  lonely  amid 
the  surrounding  life  and  bustle — has  been,  and  you 
will  be  told  it  was  Oliver  Cromwell's  house. 

It  is  at  first  somewhat  perplexing  to  find  as  many 
localities  in  London  contending  for  the  honour  of 
having  been  the  residence  of  Oliver  Cromwell  as  there 
were  cities  in  Greece  contending  for  the  honour  of 
having  given  birth  to  Homer ;  seeing  that  Cromwell 
was  a  country  genUeman,  and  had  litUe  or  no  pei^ 
manent  connexion  with  the  metropolis,  till  near  the 
time  when  he  occupied  the  regal  palaces.  The  ex- 
planation of  the  anomaly  seems  to  be  in  the  fact,  that 
there  were  various  Crom  wells,  who  occupied  distin- 
guished offices  at  different  times, and  who  are  known 
to  have  resided  in  London  ;  but  that  none  of  these 
having  made  any  very  deep  or  lasting  impression 
upon  the  popular  imagination,  the  little  lights  of  all 
of  them  have  in  turn  been  absorbed  in,  and  swaUowed 
up  by  that  Cromwell  who  did  leave  an  indelible 
impression  of  his  power  upon  it.  So  in  the  East, 
wherever  any  little  Alexander,  (or  Iskinder,)  has 
contrived  to  write  his  name,  we  find  it,  in  a  gene- 
ration or  two,  coming  to  be  taken  for  that  of  the 
Alexander — the  Macedonian.  This  circumstance 
of  the  traditionary  fame  of  Cromwell  being  swelled 
by  so  many  tributary  brooks,  is  the  best  proof  of 
the  reality  and  extent  of  his  popularity.  It  must 
have  been  a  gigantic  reputation  that  could  so  en- 
gross the  attention  of  men  as  to  make  them,  in  a 
manner,  forget  that  any  other  of  the  name  had 
ever  existed.  And  it  is  never  in  an  unkindly  man- 
ner that  his  memory  is  kept  up.  Even  in  the  time 
of  Charles  II.,  it  was  recalled  with  a  kind  of  con- 
fiding affection — a  fact  to  which  the  court-hunt- 
ing, though  not  very  courtiy,  Mr,  Pepys,  more 
than  once  bears  testimony. 

Something  of  the  same  kind  has  happened  in  Scot- 
land with  the  name  of  Wallace.  The  one  Wallace, 
like  the  one  Jupiter  of  the  Greeks,  has  absorbed  the 


minor  glories  of  all  others  of  the  name  ;  and  we 
find  Wallace  caves  and  Wallace  seats  where  the 
real  Wallace  never  has  been.  Wordsworth  remarks 
in  one  of  his  poems,  that  the  ^  Scottish  patriot  has 
left  the  name  of  WaUace  to  be  found  like  a  wild- 
flower  all  over  his  dear  country."  Oliver  Crom- 
well, let  those  to  whose  minds  the  name  oonveyi 
none  but  distasteful  associations  look  grim  as  they 
may,  is,  in  like  manner,  the  flower  of  London— 
"  I^ndon  pride," — there  was  a  flower  which  used  so 
to  be  called  in  our  younger  days.  In  Scotland  y<m 
are  a  kind  of  polytheists:  besides  the  univerMl 
name  of  Wallace,  every  nook  and  gl«i  of  ^e 
country  has  its  local  minor  deity.  But  London, 
were  it  not  for  Cromwell,  would  be  utterly  devoid 
of  traditionary  associations.  Your  hills  are  de^ 
rooted.  They  will  not  shift  and  move  from  t^eir 
places  at  the  will  of  man.  They  ¥rill  scarce  ev«D 
alter  one  feature  of  their  stem  countenances  at  his 
bidding  :  whilst  our  brick- work  varies  in  form  mk 
situation  almost  as  rapidly  and  unsteadily  as  tke 
smile  and  frown  pass  interehangeably  across  a  ha« 
man  face,  like  sun-bursts  chasing  the  clonds*  sha- 
dows over  a  field  of  ripening  grain.  It  is  eem- 
paratively  easy  for  man  to  write  his  history  in  the 
memories  of  the  few  deep-thoughted  inhabitants  of 
a  mountain  country,  where  intruders  rarely  come ; 
but  that  must  indeed  have  been  a  mind  of  rare  and 
startling  qualities,  (we  speak  not  of  their  moral 
worth,)  which  could  stamp  its  lineaments  for  p»>- 
petuity  upon  the  inexpressive  surface  of  the  riefa 
but  commonplace  undulations  of  the  site  of  our 
metropolis,  and  on  the  unimpressible  minds  of  its 
shifting  crowd,  where  the  inhabitants  of  to-day  are 
elbowed  out  by  the  new-comers  of  to-morrow ;  and 
where  the  glare  and  din  of  the  busy  scene  of  which 
he  forms  a  part,  blinds  and  deafens  every  man  to 
all  other  sights  and  sounds.  It  is  a  miracle  scarce- 
ly short  of  a  man's  *^  writing  his  name  in  water* 
in  lasting  characters. 

There  is  one  popular  monument  of  Oliver  CrooH 
well's  '^whereabout,"  that  has  considerable  proba- 
bility.   West  of  Hyde  Park  Comer,  a  little  pasi 
where  the  roads  to  Fulham  and  Kensington  sepa- 
rate, on  the  rising  ground  up  which  the  laUer 
curves,  directiy  in  front  of  the  cavalry  barracki^ 
is  an  old-fashioned  building,  which  ^is  cnrrently 
understood  to  have  been  Oliver  Cromwell's  postii^ 
house,  and  the  head-quarters  of  his  body-guard. 
It  has  in  every  respect,  except  that  it  has  been  of 
late  most  glaringly  white-washed,  the  appearance 
of  the  inns  of  the  seventeenth  century.     The  front 
is  long  in  proportion  to  its  height,  and  the  windows 
are  as  broad  as  they  are  high  ;  at  the  west  end  of 
the  house  a  gateway  admits  into  a-  back-yard, 
round  which  are  (or  rather  have  been,  for  the  oon- 
tinuity  is  now  somewhat  interrupted)  tiers  of  t^ea 
galleries,  out  of  which  the  bedrooms  (now  in  many 
instances  occupied  as  separate   tenements)  opes 
immediately.    The  house  is  tenanted  by  a  gena- 
ine  Scot,  who  promises  in  his  tap-room  windows 
excellent  Scotch  whisky  in  addition  to  tiie  iikdi- 
genous  beverages  of  the  South,  and  has  extended 
above  the  house  a  board  long  and  broad,  ranging 
the  whole  extent  of  the  building,  contuning,— aoKsif 
other  delectable  devices  of  two  grim  green-plsided 


MUSINGS  IN  THE  WiW.— LEGENDARY  LORE, 


575 


HigblttudttFt  gapperting  the  Fvaaer  armsy-— an  inti- 
noAtioii  of  the  connexion  formerly  existing  between 
the  inn  and  the  Lord  Protector  of  these  kingdoms. 
The  place  seems  to  enjoy  a  fair  share  of  the  cns- 
ioxn  of  the  inmates  of  the  neighbouring  barracks. 
It  woold  be  curious  if  one  could  ascertain  what  are 
the  prevailing  traditions  of  the  army  about  old 
Noll--for  the  army,  (we  mean  the  privates  there- 
of,) like  all  corporate  bodies,  has  a  set  of  traditions 
especially  and  exclusively  its  own,  of  which  the 
"world  at  large  is  in  a  great  measure  ignorant. 
There  are  a  many  of  military  romance  writers  in 
our  days ;  but  the  liUrati  of  the  army  are  either 
the  officers  (and  English  officers  know  little  of  the 
men  except  on  parade)  or  young  men  of  some  edu- 
cation who  have  drifted  by  their  follies  into  the 
ranks,  and  never  become  perfectly  amalgamated 
with  Uiem.    The  genuine  old  soldier  is  not  a  writ- 
ing but  a  gossiping  being,  and  he  feels  too  awk- 
ward in  the  presence  of  bis  superiors  to  open  out 
to  them.    Even  the  historian  of  the  Peninsular 
^War,  whose  battles  read  like  passages  from  some 
epic  poem,  has  failed  in  giving  us  an  idea  of  the 
British  soldier.    Smollett  and,  still  more,  Fielding 
have  left  us  one  or  two  happy  sketches ;    and 
Hogarth's  grenadiers    are  the  men    themselves. 
But  the  opinions  and  traditions  of  the  army — ^the 
current  topics  of  conversation,  the  conventional 
creed  of  the   private  soldiery, — ^have  yet  to  be 
recorded.      It    would    nowise    astonish    us    to 
find   that  Oliver   Cromwell   occupied   a  distin- 
guished place   in  their  muster-roll  of  military 
saints.    One  at  least  of  the  regiments  which  con- 
stitute the  British  army,  dates  from  about  his 
time ;  and  of  the  component  members  of  the  origi- 
nal companies  of  the  Guards,  organized  under  his 
successors,  Charles  and  James,  not  a  few  were  draft- 
ed from  the  broken-up  army  of  the  Commonwealth. 
The  revolution  gave  a  tone  to  the  soldiery  favour- 
able to  the  reminiscences  of  the  civil  wars,  and  the 
^  iron-sides"  who  drubbed  the  Cavaliers,  the  legiti- 
mate ancestors  of  the  Jacobjtes.   Marlborough  was 
a  Whig,  and  the  Tories  (being  mostly  out  of  place) 
were  the  great  declaimers  against  standing  armies. 
It  is  far  from  unlikely  that,  could  we  creep  into  the 
confidence  of  the  hMM$  of  the  guard-room,  we 
might  find  Oliver  warmly  spoken  of.     This  at 
least  is  in  favour  of  the  supposition  : — Knights- 
bridge,  the  locality  which  has  suggested  these  con- 
jectures, has  been  long  a  military  station.     The 
Marquis  of  Granby  had  his  head-quarters  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  village  from  the  present  cavalry 
barracks,  behind  the  great  gallery  where  Mr.  Dunn 
Is  now  exhibiting  his  Chinese  museum,  and  all  the 
aristocracy  are  flocking  to  muse  on  the  glories  of 
the  Opium  War ;   but  none  of  our  more  recent 
warriors  have  retained  their  position  on  the  sign- 
posts around  :  Marlborough,  the  Duke  of  Cumber- 
land, the  Marqub  of  Granby — all  have  disappeared. 
A  bleached  Admiral  Keppel  at  Little  Chelsea,  is  the 
only  rival,  and  scarcely  a  rival,  to  the  jolly  tavern 
immortality  of  the  sonof  the  brewer  of  Huntingdon. 
None  of  our  legitimate  sovereigns  has  enjoyed 
such  a  popular  immortality  as  this  anomalous  in- 
truder, whose  presence  has  sorely  perplexed  the 
hem»iamo»  of  our  deeorous  historians,  in  classifying 


and  designating  the  successive  rulers  of  England. 
He  is  not  unfrequently  concealed  under  the  gener- 
al title  ^  the  Commonwealth,"  like  a  pill  in  a  spoon- 
ful of  jelly.  "Commonwealth,"  indeed,  where  one 
man's  will  was  law,  as  surely  as  in  the  days  of 
Blufi^  Harry  VIII !  He  was  a  king  in  Enghind, 
— a  king  with  as  little  power  of  appreciating  and 
respecting  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  as  one  bom 
to  the  trade,  but  withal  a  greater  master  in  their 
line  of  business  than  any  of  them.  He  and 
Napoleon  are  more  likely  to  live  in  the  memories 
of  the  people,  than  those  who  merely  come  to 
occupy  a  throne  by  hereditary  succession ;  because 
it  has  been  their  lot  to  reestablish  the  subverted 
throne,  in  order  to  sit  in  it, — ^to  build  up  a  new 
monarchy  out  of  the  dejecta  membra  of  the  old, 
weltering  in  gurgite  vasto  of  a  revolution.  They 
obtain  their  hold  on  the  public  mind  partly  as  de 
faeto  rulers,  partly  as  belonging  in  some  sort  to  the 
class  of  LycuTgus  and  Mahomet. 

We  have  not  quite  so  great  an  admiration  fat 
the  CromweU  and  Napoleon  class,  or  so  maudlin  a 
love  for  them,  as  is  felt  or  affected  by  some  «wr- 
gumens  of  the  press  at  present.  They  shine,  in 
part,  with  a  reflected  light ;  what  seems  their  own 
innate  power,  is  in  a  great  measure  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances,— ^they  are  cold,  calculating,  and  swim 
with  the  tide,  and  thus  succeed,  not  so  much  be- 
cause they  are  better  and  braver  than  others,  as 
because  they  are  less  accessible  to  self-forgetting 
enthusiasm.  Take,  for  example,  the  latter  of  the 
two  monarchs  named  above,  whose  career  being 
nearer  to  us,  whose  feelings,  and  views,  and  lan- 
guage being  those  common  to  an  age  in  which  we 
have  lived,  we  can  more  easily  understand.  When 
the  revolution  began.  Napoleon  hailed  it  gladly, 
because  it  removed  the  obstacles  in  the  way  of  his 
rising  in  his  profession.  When  he  witnessed  the 
capture  of  the  ThuiUeries,  and  saw  Louis  XVI. 
addressing  hb  emancipated  serfis  with  the  honMt 
rouge  on  his  head,  he  merely  exclaimed, "  It  is  all  over 
with  that  man."  He  did  not  sympathize  with  the 
possessor  of  faUen  power,  over  whom  all  the  savages 
who  had  been  allowed  or  forced  to  grow  up  in  the 
bosom  of  a  seemingly  civilized  society,  learning  to 
imitate  (as  savages  always  will  do)  its  vices  more 
easily  than  its  virtues,  scampered  with  their  muddy 
and  bloody  hoofs.  But  neither  did  he  83nnpathize 
with  the  emancipated  multitude  who  were  by  this 
outwardly  revolting  act  rendered  more  assured  of 
that  freedom  which  man  may  abuse,  but  in  which 
alone  he  can  grow  good  or  great.  He  sympathized 
merely  with  the  idea  of  power,  which  had  been 
overthrown,  because  deposited  in  feeble  hands,— 
he  sighed  only  for  its  restoration, — and  perhaps 
even  then  the  consciousness  of  what  was  within 
him,  whispered  the  thought  that  he  might  be  the 
person  destined  to  weld  its  broken  chain.  He  felt 
the  instinct  of  domination  strong  within  him,  and  he 
obsequiously,  though  warily,  followed  the  pointing  of 
his  own  appetite.  There  would  be  no  tyrants  were 
there  no  willing  slaves.  Already  had  the  gilded 
and  essenced  sentimentalists  of  rank — already  had 
the  comfortable  citizen — discovered  that  the  road  to 
that  liberty  which  looked  so  fair,  and  which  they 
dreamed  could  be  obtained  by  grasping  ai»  was 


576 


3IUSINGS  IN  THE  WEN.—LEGENDARY  LORR 


long  and  rough,  a  succession  of  hard  stony  ground 
which  cut  their  tender  feet,  and  sloughs  of  despond. 
They  were  yearning  right  heartily  for  the  flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt.  And  destitute  of  a  man  to  encourage 
them  in  the  right  path,  they  found  one  ready 
enough  to  lead  them  hack  to  their  old  land  of 
slavery,  and  to  he  himself  to  them  in  the  place  of 
the  silly  Pharaoh  who  lay  whelmed  heneath  the  red 
waves  of  the  Revolution.  All  the  seekers  after  a 
quiet,  easy  life— horrified  hy  the  terrors  of  the 
revolution — ^unable  to  muster  sufficient  manliness 
to  resolve,  since  they  had  drunk  of  the  bitter  cup, 
to  make  an  effort  to  obtain  some  enduring  recom- 
pense for  their  sufferings— cried,  **  Come  and  king 
it  over  us."  The  epicurean  selfishness  of  society 
rose  en  massey  and  crushed  beneath  its  feather-bed 
weight  not  only  the  ruffians,  but  the  heroes  of  the 
revolution.  Buonaparte  was  as  much  the  more 
than  half-passive  figure  borne  along  by  this  wave 
of  reaction,  as  Mirabeau,  Danton,  and  Robespierre, 
had  in  their  turn  been  merely  the  most  conspicuous 
objects  whirled  along  by  the  advancing  wave  of 
the  revolution.  Those  effects  were  attributed  to 
him,  which  were,  in  fact,  marked  by  the  combined 
force  of  the  mass,  at  the  top  of  which  his  good-luck 
as  much  as  his  genius  had  thrown  him.  He  got 
credit  for  doing  himself  everything  that  was  done 
in  his  name. 

Something  of  the  same  kind  can  be  traced  in  the 
career  of  CromwelL  He  was  bom  with  the  instinct 
of  command,  and  he  acted  in  blind  obedience  to  it. 
He  was  strong — ^but  strong  like  the  elements,  an 
involuntary  power  moving  in  obedience  to  a  neces- 
sary law.  He  had  not  that  degree  of  choice  (most 
limited  in  all)  which  higher  orders  of  intellect,  by 
much  wrestling,  can  attain  to.  He  was  the  instinctive 
impulse  of  command  contending  against  the  equally 
blind  appetite  for  having  their  own  way,  which  ani- 
mated theherd  over  whichhe  triumphed.  That  there 
must  be  some  kind  of  government  is  admitted  upon 
all  hands.  This  being  the  case,  men  are  required 
with  the  taste  and  talent  for  commanding,  just  in 
the  same  way  that  men  are  required  with  aspira- 
tions after  independence  to  keep  the  self-will  of 
rulers  in  check.  Minds  like  Cromwell  and  Napoleon 
are  not  to  be  lightly  esteemed  or  indiscriminatingly 
reviled  ;  but  neither  are  they  to  be  deified,  as  is 
the  fashion  with  a  class  of  pseudo-liberals— K)f  men 
so  liberal,  that  good  and  evil  seem  to  them  alike. 
The  wor^ip  of  a  strong  will  is  as  degrading  and 
more  dangerous  than  the  worship  of  ^^  the  moon  as 
she  walketh  in  brightness,"  and  of  the  whole  host 
of  heaven  to  boot.  They  have  their  uses :  their 
merits  are  to  be  allowed — and  their  despotism  op- 
posed. 

It  is  a  fatal  thing  for  the  greatness  and  happi- 
ness of  a  nation  when  such  men  arise  at  too  early 
a  period  of  their  revolutionary  struggles  for  liberty. 
The  Toby  Belches  and  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheeks,*^ 
who  cluster  round  them,  foster  their  innate  egotism 
to  a  growth  grotesque  as  it  is  gigantic.  The  mighty 
ruler  learns  to  look  upon  himself  as  an  end,  not  as 
the  means  to  an  end.  The  convulsive  struggles, 
the  sufferings  of  the  nation,  all  are  deemed  to  have 


*  SW  To6y.— -Wilt  thou  set  thy  foot  upon  my  neck? 
fiftr  Andrew  Aguecheck, — Or  upon  mine  either? 


been  undergone  in  order  that  he  and  his  race  might 
be  raised  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  crowd.  The  strife 
of  men  against  a  tyrant — of  men  against  a  false 
and  degrading  belief — ^becomes  a  strife  of  the  dav^ 
of  contending  dynasties.  Men  beat,  and  bruise, 
and  hate  each  other,  for  empty  words,  or  enxptkr 
puppets  on  a  throne ;  and  the  investigation  of  tru^ 
the  flights  of  imagination,  the  cultivation  of  social 
happiness,  are  ba^ed  and  d^;raded. 

These  thoughts  are  for  the  present  and  for  prac- 
tical use :  in  the  past  we  can  r^ard  the  strife  » 
we  do  a  pageant  on  the  stage — we  can  afford  to  hi 
just  to  the  merits  of  the  idols  of  the  populace.  We 
do  not  quarrel  with  its  deification  of  Cromwell, 
though  we  do  protest  against  recent  attempts  to 
reestablish  the  old  idolatry  of  king  and  ^  hero- 
worship."  And  we  feel  that  the  isolation  of  Crom- 
well as  the  one  hero  of  the  localized  traditions  of 
London,  has  its  bright  side  as  a  tribute  to  real,  in 
preference  to  mere  conventional  greatness. 

Itispossiblethat  wemaybetoldthat  there  are  othos 
besides  him,  whose  memory  is  inseparably  associ- 
ated with  certain  places  or  buildings  in  the  metro- 
polis :  and  to  obviate  this  objection  we  must  pcant 
out  the  distinction  between  genuine  and  bookid 
tradition.  Crook-backed  Dick  has  an  associatiofi 
with  Crosby  Hall,  but  onjy  for  the  play-goer  or 
reader  of  plays.  It  is  the  Richard  III.  of  Shak- 
speare,  not  the  real  man  that  is  thus  remembered ; 
and  it  is  mainly  by  the  reading  public.  This  is  a 
very  different  immortality  from  that  which  a  man 
earns  by  his  own  efforts,  impressing  the  recollection 
of  his  lineaments  and  deeds  upon  all,  instead  oi 
having  it  done  for  him  at  second-hand  by  a  poeL 
This  hook-worm  tradition  is  forced  work,  net 
spontaneous :  its  shadowy  objects  stand  in  some- 
what the  same  relation  to  those  of  the  vulgar  creed, 
that  the  grim  phantom,  which  forced  its  presence 
upon  Luther,  does  to  the  fiend  whom  Doctor 
Faustus  conjured  up  with  hard  work  and  much 
sweat.  There  is  a  life,  a  distinctness,  a  reality 
about  the  voluntary  spectre,  that  the  reluctant 
slave  of  spells  never  at^tdns  to.  Uncouth,  tastteksB, 
distorted  are  the  lineaments  of  the  heroes  of  popular 
tradition, — ^they  are  like  fine  drawings  etched  in 
lead  or  pewter, — ^but  something  of  the  geniality  of 
the  original  does  cling  to  them  ;  and  this  is  what 
we  most  desiderate  in  the  associations  of  mere  mm 
of  letters.  Readers  of  the  Taller  and  t^pectaier, 
of  Boswell's  Johnson,  of  the  writers  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age,  have  pleasing  conceptions  of  their 
heroes,  and  take  pleasure  in  endeavouring  to  asso- 
ciate them  with  the  localities  they  once  haunted. 
But  the  effort  is  fruitless ;  the  tie  which  bound 
them,  has  been  severed  by  a  mightier  than  man, 
and  cannot  be  reknit. 

i"  Proximus  illi  tamen  occuparit 
Pallas  honores : " — 

if  any  of  the  publicities  of  former  days  can  hi 
said  to  approximate  to  the  traditionary  vitali^  of 
Cromwell,  it  is  the  hero  of  one  of  the  works  y^ 
alluded  to,  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson.  He  has  an  'm- 
mortality  independent  of  Boswell,  and  extenfi^ 
beyond  the  mere  reading  public.  The  drayman  is 
aware  that  Johnson's  Court,  was  once  inhabited  by 


MUSINGS  IX  THE  WEN^LEGENDARY  LORE. 


o77 


hvLge,  blinking)  ill-dressed  gentleman,  who  ''kept 
le  crown  o'  the  causeway"  (to  use  a  northern 
hraae)  when  he  walked  the  streets,  and  wrote 
ooks.  His  chair  is  still,  or  some  jears  ago  (as 
re  grow  older  those  vanitj-fairs  cease  to  attract 
a)  was  shown  at  The  Coci;  and  there  the  hag- 
lan,  who  drinks  his  stout  and  eats  his  oysters, 
news  who  and  what  Dr.  Johnson  was  without 
eing  beholden  for  his  information  to  the  penny- 
-liners,  whose  house-of-call  it  is ;  and  not  hy  any 
leans  the  more  pleasant  hecause  of  their  company. 
It  the  Magog  hrew-house  of  Barclay  and  Perkins, 
he  beer-swoln  Cicerone  points  out  to  you  a  little 
oom  over  the  gateway,  in  which,  tradition  says.  Dr. 
Fohnaon  oompoeed  his  Dictionary.  The  anachron- 
sm  contained  in  this  last  legend  (for  Johnson  and 
he  Thrales  were  not  acquainted  till  long  after  the 
)uhlication  of  the  Dictionary)  warrants  it  genuine ; 
DO  aophisUcated  extract  of  hooks.  And  it  is  right 
that  Johnson  should  thus  live  in  the  people's  me- 
mory, for  he  had  strong  feelings  for  the  rights  of 


men,  breaking  through  and  illuminating  his  pre 
judices.  He  worshipped  Church  and  State  in  the 
abstract,  but  he  tore  to  tatters  the  cant  which  de- 
fended West  Indian  slavery,  or  any  cruelty  to  man 
that  was  brought  directly  to  his  perception ;  and 
it  is  not  in  his  books^  but  in  Boswell,  that  we  have 
his  mind  treasured  up.  A  very  incarnation  was 
he  of  the  spirit  of  domination,  and  tyrannised  it  in 
no  genUe  manner  in  the  circles  to  which  he  be- 
longed. But  his  conversation  showed  constant 
coruscations  of  robust,  healthy  judgment,  which 
must  have  made  him  somebocfy  had  not  his  pension 
allowed  him  to  indulge  his  constitutional  idleness ; 
and  his  tyranny  was  vented  in  words  which,  though 
they  give  pain,  break  no  bones.  He  always  strikes 
us  as  resembling  Oliver  Cromwell,  much  after  the 
fashion  that  the  swoln,  distorted,  and  unsubstantial 
limbs  of  the  giant  spectre  of  the  Brocken  do  those 
of  the  traveller  who  stands  wondering  at  his  un- 
couth mimicry. 

Middle  Temple,  Juljf. 


THE  SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS. 


THE  SONG  OF  8EPTEMBBB.— NO.  IX. 


I. 

SiTifMBB,  in  radiant  paradise, 

Was  redolent  and  bright 
Of  wings  and  eyes,  that  matched  the  skies, 

In  their  celestial  light ; 
And  man,  with  laughing,  joyous  Eve, 

Basked  in  the  perftimed  bowers 
Of  orange  trees,  that  interweave 

Their  golden  fhiit  with  flowers : 
Bat  Earth's  enjoyments  were  not  fall 
—Though  bright  and  bland,  and  beaatif  al — 

And  SO  the  whisper  ran. 
That  fikir  September's  hand  mnst  give 

The  heavenly  grape  to  man, 
Which  tasted,  he, 
Like  Gods,  should  be 
Immortal,  wise,  imperative. — 
Hearing  the  words,  I  breathed  around. 

And  young  Creation  well'd 
Its  essence  forth  from  sky  and  ground. 
Man  sought  the  vine ;  with  eager  soul 
Compressed  its  nectar  jn  a  bowl 
Of  melon's  rind,  qnafTd  deep,  and  grew 
Wise,  witty,  feariess ;  felt,  and  knew, 
Gods'  hearts ;  and  so  rebell'd. 
Triumphant  o'er  his  clay,  my  spell. 
That  ripened  grape,  had  kept  1dm  well, — 
Bat  in  hiB  joy  Death  dash'd  the  draught  with  evil  things 

fromhelL 

NO.  C?.— YOU  IX. 


II. 

Ages  had  passed,  the  canker  worm 

Of  Death  still  eating  on. 
Till  came  the  term  Life  hid  its  germ 

In  old  Deucalion ; 
Who,  ere  the  deluged  earth  was  dry, 

Ere  ocean  drank  its  brine, 
Where  Ararat  climbs  to  the  sky 

Had  planted  Eden's  vine  : 
All  that  is  left  of  heaven  below. 
To  cherish  JiOve  'midst  death  and  woe. 

So  felt  that  ancient  man ; 
And  when  the  purple  blush  I  pressed 

On  its  rich  fhiit,  began. 
Like  he  who  sees 
High  mysteries. 
To  feel  immortal,  rapt,  and  blest. — 
Seeing  him  glad,  I  swore  to  teach 

His  children  truths  divine. 
Beyond  the  priest's  or  prophet's  reach. 
And  when  I  thrilled  good  Bacchus  through 
With  knowledge  Grods  themselves  scarce  knew; 
How  life's  love-spell,  wine,  drunk  on. 
Mimics  or  mocks  Oblivion, 

What  wisdom  equalled  mine! — 
No  blight  have  I,  no  dearth,  no  storm ; 
I  breath  soft  dew,  my  sun  is  warm, 
Yet  only  boast  my  grape  and  wine,— heaven's  light  in 

earthly  form.  J.  A.  O. 

;j  A 


578 


MADDEN^ S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN.* 


If  the  tpy  vyt/bm  be  nally  leriyed  in  Ireland, 
which  one  insidAted  but  ytry  decided  Hd  appean 
to  intimate,  then  ^The  LiTts  and  Timet  of  the 
United  Irii^en  "  is  a  work  donblj  called  for.  It 
forms  the  history  of  the  horrible  epoch  known  as 
^  the  Rebellion  of  '96** ;  an  insurrectionary  moTe- 
ment  which  is  not  the  least  memorable  episode  in 
the  dyilised  world's  grand  vetohitionary  epic ; 
opening  with  the  lerolt  of  the  British  Americim 
colonies,  bnt  where  or  when  to  tennlnate,  no  poli- 
tical prophet  is  yet  alite  that  can  foretelL 

Dr.  Madden,  thronghont  a  long  course  of  years, 
has  bestowed  no  ordinary  pains  in  inrestigating 
facts,  and  collecting,  from  ihe  most  authentic  origi- 
nal sources,  materials  for  his  desultory  work ;  which 
may  best  be  described  as  a  series  o£  biographical 
sketches  of  the  Irish  rebel  leaders,  iUustratiye  of 
the  profligate  policy  of  the  Irish  government.  If 
the  work  fail  in  accomplishing  the  perhaps  impos- 
sible task  of  exalting  the  more  distinguished  of  the 
actors  and  sufierers  of  that  disastrous  period  into 
pure  patriots  and  self-sacrificing  martyrs,  it  com- 
pletely succeeds  in  revealing  tiie  unworthy,  and 
often  atrocious  conduct  of  the  government  and  its 
base  myrmidons ;  the  total  unfitness  for  their  im- 
portant trust  of  liiose  to  whom  England  then  com- 
mitted the  safety  of  her  most  unmanageable  con- 
quered province,  and  the  blindness  of  that  dishonest 
policy  with  which  Irish  aflairs  have  at  all  periods 
been  administered.  Nothing  save  that  fiEunt  dawn- 
ing of  a  more  auspicious  period,  indicated  by  the 
active-passive,  or  resisting-nonresisting  peaceful 
agitation,  commenced  by  the  Irish  Catholic  Asso- 
ciation,which  involves  a  grand  principle  in  politi- 
cal [science  still  very  imp^rfactly  developed  and 
from  which  society  may  hope  for  an  illimitable 
power  of  self-improvement, — nothing  save  this 
could  give  us  courage  to  enter  upon  the  investi- 
gation of  a  period  so  deeply  stigmatized  by  every- 
thing foul,  treacherous^  and  base  among  the 
rulers ;  and  hardly  redeemed  by  the  imperfect 
virtues  and  equivocal  motives  of  the  majority 
of  the  patriot  leaders.  In  looking  closely  into  the 
conduct  and  character  of  the  more  distinguished 
leaders  in  the  Irish  rebellion,  even  as  displayed 
in  this  eulogistic  woric,  little  is  to  be  seen  save 
the  fierce  discontent  of  oppressed  men  wreak- 
ing itself  indiscriminately  upon  whatever  was 
nearest  at  hand ;  or  the  mercenary  spirit  which, 
in  nearly  the  words  of  the  old  Highlander's  prayer, 
wished  to  see  the  world  turned  upside  down,  that 
honest  men  might  make  their  bread  out  of  its 
troubles.  With  the  few  exceptions  of  the  innocent 
victims  most  unscrupulously  sacrificed  by  the  vil- 
lanous  policy  of  the  Irish  government,  and  who  are 
represented  by  such  individuals  as  the  elder  Emmet ; 

♦  '*  Lives  and  Times  of  the  United  Irishmen.''  By  B. 
R.  Madden,  M.D.  2  Vols.,  cloth.  London :  J.  Madden 
&Co. 


and  of  the  honest  if  rash  and  thoitsightad  < 
asts,  who  may  be  typified  by  Lord  Edwud  fiis- 
gerald  ;  there  is  really  little  amMig  the  leading  Ink 
patriots  of '98,  or  1803,  to  command  tha  synpalhkB 
of  impartial  inquiieia  lookhig  eahnly  back  alter 
forty  years ;  though  thoe  lemains  much  to  czdfti 
the  bitterest  indignati<m  against  thoaa  wiio  played 
the  DeviTs  part,  in  indti^  to  the  oommiaioii  <f 
those  acts  or  crimes  which  made  the  pTtnuineit 
sure  of  its  victims  at  all  hasarda.  We  art  aa4  ahle> 
lor  example,  greatly  to  admire  the  puUio  chanelcr 
ofTheobald WolfeTone,noryetthatofth«  MeanL 
Sheares,— and  are  very  donbtfnl  of  their  eUfan  to  W 
enrolledin  thelistof  genuinepatriots;  butweaie^ca 
the  other  hand,  left  in  nomannerof  doubt  at  toths 
utter  political  profligacy  of  Lord  Castlaraagh  and 
Lord  Clare,  and  the  unredeemed  baseness  of  tfaer 
subordinates  and  hired  spies :  if,  indeed,  enlighieDed 
morality  does  not  regard  the  tempter  as  a  greater 
criminal  than  the  meaner  and  more  needy  villain ; 
and  if  the  world's  hollow  code  of  honour  has  not 
blinded  society  to  the  true  moral  principleB  bj 
which  actions  are  to  be  judged.  Of  the  more  pro- 
minent actors  of  that  period,  it  is,  as  in  all  sodi 
cases,  much  more  easy  to  distinguish  the  degrees 
of  rank  and  worldly  estimation,  than  of  crime  and 
of  treacherous  meanness.  Lord  Castiereagh,  when 
the  occasion  was  past,  certainly  became  heartilj 
disgusted  and  ashamed  of  his  spy  and  proteg^  Mr. 
Reynolds ;  but,  upon  the  other  hand,  that  gmtlj 
wronged  and  calumniated  patriot  became  exceed- 
ingly exasperated  at  the  selfish  noble  patron,  who 
ceased  to  appreciate,  or  to  acknowledge,  the  pmity 
of  his  exalted  motives,  rather  sooner  than  was 
quite  convenient  for  him.  In  all  natioaa  thete 
is  naturally  a  greater  conglomeration  of  ideas 
upon  questions  of  political  than  of  social  ukonls ; 
and  the  Irish  are  certainly,  in  this  respect^  not  in 
advance  of  other  nations ;  their  cardinal  principle 
being  blind,  implicit  fidelity  to  their  party  ^d 
their  leaders.  And  yet  it  is  remarkable  to  find  ihe 
tie  sacredly  observed  by  the  lower  daaa  sa  in- 
quentiy  and  basely  violated  by  thoee  above  them 
in  social  position,  as  becomes  apparent  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  Irish  Trouble6.t  Tbid  sense  of  honoor 
found  its  last  refuge  among  the  very  lowest  of  the 
oppressed  people.  There  were  no  tiaiUns  aaMU^ 
the  infuriated  peasantry,  and  little  middle-dass 
patriotism  that  seemed  proof  against  the  tenpta- 
tion  of  personal  safety  and  a  sumof  mon^ ;  yAuk 
to  many  it  seemed  matter  of  indifiereaee  whe- 
ther the  great  object,  wealth  and  distinction,  eoM 
to  them  from  Engli^  oppressors  or  Ibieign  inva- 
ders, so  that  it  was  obtained. 

We  must  be  prepared  for  an  immense  burst  of  ia- 
dignation  Irom  the  young  and  generous  of  all  < 


t  May  it  not,  however,  be,  that  among  the  lower  €r- 
ders  there  were  none  whom  it  would  have  serred  &e 
government  to  tempt  to  became  rogues  h-E.  7*.  Jf. 


MADDEirS  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


679 


*ie8,  but  especially  from  the  Irishy  when  we  Yentore 

>  acknowledge,  that  the  well-known  and  most  pa- 
letic  efiPosion  of  one  of  the  mo6t  immaculate  of  the 
riish  patriots^appeanto  as  to  embody  avery  eqniyo- 
il  sentiment.  *'  It  was  not  thos,  it  was  not  thus,  my 
arah!"  says  young  Emmet,  in  his  memorable 
irewell  letter  to  Curran's  daughter,  on  the  eye  of 
is  execution.  It  was  not  thus,  in  sorrow  and  in 
liame,  that  the  rash  and  ambitious  young  barris- 
nr,  now  become  a  sort  of  poetical  idol,  had  looked 

>  close  that  career  which  he  had  chalked  out  for 
Imsel^  and  of  which  individual  exaltation  seemed 
t  this  stage  quite  as  much  the  object,  as  wise,  con- 
Lderate,  and,  abore  all,  disinterested  patriotism. 
H  this  noble  quality  there  is,  alas!  yery  little 
i>  be  found  in  the  whole  world's  history ;  and 
reland  has  not  hitherto  been  the  land  most  fiayour- 
ble  to  its  growth.  Yet  society  must  act  through 
mperfect  human  agents,  and  not  by  angel  inter- 
erence ;  though  this  is  no  reason  why  it  should 
iot  examine  and  judge  of  the  true  character  and 
ees  of  all  its  instruments. 

We  shall  at  once  clear  the  ground  before  us,  by 
cknowledging  that  the  great  majority  of  the  peo- 
le  of  Ireland,  the  whole  Catholic  body,  were  fully, 
nd  upon  eyery  principle  of  right,  justified  in  their 
esistance  to  the  policy  of  England,  and  almost  in 
rying  to  shake  oflF  her  yoke ;  and  are  only  to  be 
•lamed  for  the  ill-adyised  and  suicidal  manner  in 
rhich  their  resistance  was  displayed. .  The  policy 
f  O'Connell,  or  whomsoeyer  the  merit  may  be- 
yng  to,  is  immeasureably  superior  to' the  tactics  of 
he  leaders  of  the  United  Irishmen.  It  is  the  true 
ecret  of  all  efficient  resistance.  It  is  that  which 
lone  is  fitted  to  obtain  the  desired  end,  indepen- 
Lently  of  the  ayoidance  of  the  yast  amount  of  yio- 
3noe,  crime,  and  suffering  entailed  by  armed  resis- 
uice.  The  ostensible  object  of  the  United  Irish- 
aen  was,  in  eyery  yiew,  just  and  sacred ;  the  means 
hey  employed  were  unjustifiable  upon  any  princi- 
ple whateyer.  Wisdom,  humanity,  the  kws  of 
lan  and  the  commandments  of  religion  alike 
ondemned  them;  and  the  insane  attempt  was, 
hough  at  great  expense  of  human  suffering,  hap- 
lily,  if  by  foul  means,  crushed ;  happily,  we  belieye, 
or  the  Irish  people,  who  had  at  least  as  much  to 
Bar  from  spurious  natiye  patriotism,  and  from  ra- 
acious  foreign  auxiliaries,  as  from  that  acknow- 
edged  oppression  which  had  goaded  them  into 
ebellion.  To  the  account  of  that  rebellion  which 
low  lies  on  our  table,  a  literary  friend  of  the 
uthor  has  contributed  an  able  and  luminous  His- 
orical  Introduction,  in  which  he  giyes  English 
eaders  a  tolerably  clear  notion  of  tbe  anomalous 
elations  that  haye  eyer  subsisted  between  the  coun- 
ries ;  and  a  summary  yiew  of  the  yarious  means 
aken  to  subdue  and  coerce  the  Irish  nation,  from 
he  conquest  of  Strongbow  to  the  crushing  of  the 
societies  of  United  Irishmen ;  wading  through  the 
lifi^erent  stages  of  forfeitures,  penal  enactments, 
inee,  tortures,  military  law,  and  the  bloo4- wrought 
ubjugation,  finally  consummated  by  the  Union. 
The  Society  of  United  Irishmen,  though  its  objects 
!xpanded  with  its  growth,  was  the  natural  offspring 
>f  the  Irish  Volunteersy — of  those  yolunteer  political 
Moeiations,  which  had  become  so  formidable,  and 


whTch  had  only  ceased  to  exist  actiyely  for  a  few 
years ;  while,  in  contemplation  of  the  French  Re- 
yolution,  the  principles  of  these  reform  clubs  were 
fast  gathering  strength.  The  same  eyent  which  ex- 
cited the  Irish  to  a  fresh  struggle  for  freedom,  made 
it  imperatiye  upon  the  Englbh  goyemment  to  carry 
the  long-desired  measure  of  the  legislatiye  Union  ol 
the  kingdoms ;  and  to  counteract  at  thb  crisis  the  in- 
fluence of  the  reform  associations,  the  Irish  goyem- 
ment first  tried  the  effect  of  the  Orange  societies, 
now  become  so  formidable  to  the  successors  of  those 
who^  if  they  did  not  actually  call  them  into  exis- 
tence, countenanced  and  endeayoured  to  extend 
them,  and  who  haye,  at  all  times,  freely  employed 
them  as  instruments  for  adyancing  their  own  pur- 
poses. It  was  all^;ed  by  the  leaders  of  the  United 
Irishmen,  that  until  the  goyemment  courted  the 
alliance  of  these  associations  of  fanatics  and  self- 
seekers,  the  patriots  neyer  had  recourse  to  France ; 
and  that  the  proximate  cause  of  the  Rebellion,  was 
the  cmelty,  rapacity,  and  bigotry  of  the  Orange- 
men ;  who  used  the  pretext  of  religion,  in  the  hope 
of  obtaining  possession  of  the  property  of  their  op- 
pressed Catholic  neighbours;  together  with  the 
enormities  perpetrated  under  military  law,  in  the 
few  counties  in  which  disturbances  had  arisen, 
either  from  predial  agitation  and  religious  ani- 
mosities, or  from  actual  Orange  depredation.  We 
haye,  in  the  Introductory  Chapter,  this  account  of 
the  origin  of  these  societies,  fostered  by  Lord  Castle- 
reagh  to  become,  in  process  of  time,  the  torment  of 
Sir  Robert  Peel,  if  ^eir  mischief  shall  terminate 
with  him. 

The  idea  of  Orange  societies  arose  from  the  associa- 
tion of  the  aldermen  of  Skinners'  Allej ;  the  latter  owed 
its  origin  to  the  restoration  of  the  old  corporate  body  to 
their  former  power  and  privileges,  at  the  departure  of 
James  the  Second.  Their  meetings  were  chiefly  for  the 
indnlgenee  of  that  kind  of  Cherokee  festivity,  which  is 
indicative  of  sanguinary  struggles  or  successfbl  on- 
sUuj^ts,  past  or  expected.  'Dieir  grand  festival  was 
on  the  first  of  July,  the  anniversary  of  the  Battle  of  the 
Boyne,  on  which  occasion  the  charter-toast  was  drunk  by 
every  member  on  his  bare  knees.  At  the  time  of  Sir  Jon^ 
Harrington's  initiation,  ^his  fHend  Dr.  Duigenan  was 
the  Grand  Master."  The  itanding  dish,  at  the  Skinners'- 
Alley  dinners,  was  sheep's  trotters,  in  delicate  allusion 
to  lOng  James's  last  use  of  his  lower  extremities  in  Ire- 
land ;  and  the  cloth  being  removed,  the  charter-toast, 
the  antiquity  of  which  was  of  so  ancient  a  date  as  the  year 
1689,  was  pronounced  by  the  Grand  Master  on  his  bare 
joints  to  tiie  kneeling  assemblage,  in  the  following 
words :  ^  The  glorious,  pious,  and  immortal  memory  of 
the  great  and  good  King  WilUam,  not  forgetting  Oliver 
Cromwell,  who  assisted  in  redeeming  us  from  popery, 
slavery,  arbitrary  power,  brass  money,  and  wooden  woes, 
&0.,  &c.,  &c."  The  concluding  part  of  this  loyal  toast 
is  a  tissue  of  vulgar  indecencies,  and  impious  impreca- 
tions on  ^  priests,  bishops,  deacons,"  or  any  other  of  the 
fraternity  of  the  clergy  who  refuse  this  toast,  consign- 
ing their  members  to  the  operation  of  red-hot  harrovrs, 
and  their  mangled  caicases  to  the  lower  regions. 

This,  the  Normal  School  of  Orangeism  is  described 
by  Sir  Jonah  Barrington  as  "  a  very  curious,  but 
most  Icyal  society." 

The  first  society  of  United  Irishmen  is  said  to 
haye  been  formed  at  Belfast,  in  the  close  of  1791, 
and  by  the  celebrated  Theobald  Wolfe  Tone,  then 
a  barrister  of  short  standing.  In  a  few  weeks 
afterwards.  Tone  and  Napper  Tandy  organized  a 
similar  society  in  Dublin.     The  ostensible  object  of 


580 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


both  was  a  better  form  of  parliamentaiy  represen- 
tatioD.  These  societies  were  naturally  viewed  with 
great  suspicion  by  the  Irish  Executiye ;  and  the 
system  of  persecution  for  opinion-~of  gross  injus- 
tice perpetrated  under  the  form  of  law,  was  at 
once  adopted.  With  this  policy  on  the  part  of  the 
gOYemment,  the  tactics  of  the  societies  were  at 
once  changed.  They  no  longer  affected  to  seek 
only  parliamentary  reform.  Oaths  of  secrecy 
were  administered  to  all  the  members  ;  an  execu- 
tive body  was  chosen ;  each  province  of  Ireland 
had  its  local  Directory ;  and  the  now  almost  avow- 
ed and  well  understood  object  of  the  rapidly  ex- 
tending organization,  was  the  establi^ment  of 
Ireland  as  an  independent  Republic,  by  means  of 
a  revolution,  and  with  the  aid  of  France.  The 
government  could  not,  in  such  circimistances,  stand 
by  supine  ;  and  its  hired  spies  were  already  select- 
ed, not  only  from  among  the  most  active  and  con- 
spicuous, but  from  among  the  earliest  enrolled 
members  of  the  societies.  They  were  individuals 
holding  the  most  important  and  confidential  offices ; 
and  the  government  consequently  knew,  at  the 
earliest  hour,  all  the  danger  which  did  exist,  and 
also  all  that  its  tools  chose  to  incite  or  to  invent, 
where  it  served  their  purpose.     And, 

The  betrayers  of  their  society  were  not  the  poor  or 
inferior  members  of  it ;  some  of  them  were  high  in  the 
oonfidenoe  of  the  directory  ;  others  not  sworn  in,  but 
trusted  in  its  concems,  learned  in  the  law,  social  in  their 
habits,  liberal  in  their  politics,  prodigal  in  their  ex- 
penses, needy  in  their  circumstances,  and  therefore 
covetoas  of  money ;  loose  in  their  public  and  private 
principles,  therefore  open  to  temptation. 

Another  fact,  though  much  more  incredible, 
seems  to  rest  upon  good  evidence, — 

The  want  of  good  fSuth,  however,  was  not  alone  on 
the  side  of  the  diBaffected;  in  the  closets  of  the  most 
influential  firiends  and  agents  of  government,  there  ex- 
isted channels  of  communication  with  the  leaders  of  the 
United  Irishmen,  by  means  of  which  the  most  important 
measures  of  the  administration  were  made  known  to  the 
directory,  and  to  others  in  the  confidence  of  its  members, 
which  frequently  baffled  the  designs  of  government,  and 
disconcerted  the  plans  of  the  law  officers  of  the  crown, 
in  the  course  of  the  proceedings  instituted  against  the 
members  of  this  society.  . 

Arthur  0'Ck>nnor,  on  his  examination  before  the  secret 
committee  of  the  House  of  Lords,  stated— that  ^  minute 
inclination  of  every  act  of  the  Irish  government "  was 
obtained  by  the  executive  directory. 

There  seems  a  strong  probability  that  this  was 
either  an  entire  misconception  or  an  idle  boast. 
The  Crovemment  were  too  cunning  for  the  Direc- 
tory ;  and  the  instances  of  secret  kindness  shown 
by  men  of  approved  "loyalty"  to  "traitors" 
like  Lord  Edwajrd  Fitzgerald,  are  only  among 
those  traits  of  high-minded  generosity  which  illu- 
mine the  blackest  periods  of  civil  strife.  That 
officers  of  rank  in  the  army,  and  persons  in  the 
confidence  of  the  Government,  furnished  the  lead- 
ers of  the  United  Irishmen  with  money  to  carry 
out  their  objects,  is  also  extremely  doubtful.  And, 
indeed,  almost  every  important  event  in  the  history 
of  that  period  is  involved  in  doubts  and  endless 
contradictions,  even  in  the  simplest  matters  of 
fact,  such  as  the  arrest  and  last  hours  of  Lord  Ed- 
ward Fitzgerald.  From  a  civil  organization 
reaching  to  provinces,  counties,  and  baronies,  the 


next  change  was  to  a  military  organization,  until 
the  total  number  of  those  enrolled  considered  ca- 
pable of  bearing  arms,  amounted  to  900,000 — a 
half  million  having  taken  the  test.    But  these  num- 
bers are  probably  much  exaggerated.     The  sworn 
members  were  next  divided  into  battalions,  ud 
officers  were  appointed  to  each  of  them  in  regnlai 
order — all,  however,  only  on  paper  ;  for,  throogh- 
out  the  movement,  there  was  at  all  times  "  great 
cry  and  little  wool."     All  the  individuals  whose 
names  have  come  down  to  us — as  Emmet,  Arthur 
O'Connor,  and  Oliver  Bond — ^held  high  milttair 
rank,  and  were,  at  the  same  time,  memb^s  of 
the  Executive  Directory,  or  Provisional  Govkb- 
ment.     Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  ^m  his  rank  if 
not  his  military  capacity,  was  chosen  as  ihe  Gene- 
ralissimo of  diis  paper  levy  en  masse;  and  the 
general  rising — ^precipitated  by  the  policy  of  Castle- 
reagh,  who  afterwards  boasted  that  he  had  caused 
the  revolution  to  explode  prematurely — ^was  fixed 
for  a  particular  day  in  March  1798.    The  nulitair 
incapacity  of  the  leaders  in  the  Irish  RebeUion  h 
fully  as  remarkable  as  the  devoted  fidelity  sai 
bravery  of  the  peasants  in  their  after  skinniflbes. 
A  conversation,  vouched  for  in  this  work  as  au- 
thentic and  as  deserving  full  credit,  whidi  took 
place  between  Lord  Ed\vard  and  a  man  unnamed, 
but  who  seems  to  have  possessed  some  oommon 
sense,  goes  far  to  dispel  the  false  halo  with  which 
gallantry,  intrepidity,  an  unhappy  death,  and  a 
genuine  if  ill-based  enthusiasm,  has  surrounded 
the  name  of  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald.     It  is  im- 
portant as  an  historical  fact,  and  valuable  for  the 
lesson  and  warning  it  holds  out  to  aU  conspiraton, 
however  pure  may  be  the  ends  they  have  in  view. 

On  the  accuracy  of  the  information  given  respectisg 
this  matter  the  most  implicit  confidence  may  be  reposed. 
The  person  in  question  met  Lord  Fitzgerald  by  appoint- 
ment at  the  Shakspeare  Gallery,  Exchequer  Stzeet, 
about  one  month  before  the  arrests  in  March,  to  eoofer 
with  the  delegates  from  the  different  counties  respectiag 
the  projected  rising.    After  Lord  Edward  had  received 
the  different  reports  of  the  number  of  men  ready  for  tibe 
field  in  the  different  counties,  he  called  on  the  geotlemaa 
above  referred  to  for  his  opinion.    Lord  Edward  said, 
^he  deeply  regretted  his  friend  should  have  withdrawn 
himself  so  long  firom  any  active  interference  in  the  baa- 
ness  of  the  Union,  and  that  one  in  whose  judgment  ht 
so  much  confided,  should  stand  aloof  at  sneh  a  momcBt : 
if  he  unfortunately  persisted  in  so  doing,  the  fHends  of 
the  Union  might  be  led  to  imagine  he  had  deserted  tboo 
in  the  hour  of  need  ;  that  he,  Lord  Fitzgerald,  had  de- 
termined on  an  immediate  and  general  rising  of  the 
people,  their  impatience  for  which  was  no  longer  to  be  ir- 
strained,  nor,  with  advantage  to  the  cause,  to  be  reststed.** 
He  then  appealed  to  the  delegates  fbr  the  truth  of  ikss 
assertion,  and  his  opinion  was  confirmed  by  them.    H^ 
firiend,  it  is  well  to  state,  had  withdrawn  himself  froa 
the  Union,  about  the  beginning  of  the  year,  when  the 
system  was  changed  from  a  civil  to  a  miUtary  oigniB- 
tion On  the  Sunday  pre- 
vious to  the  arrests,  the  gentleman  I  allude  to  had  de- 
clined an  introduction  to  Reynolds,  at  Jackson^  ii 
Church  Street,  notwithstanding  M'Cann's  reoommeB^ 
tion  of  him,  as  ^  one  of  the  best  and  honestest  men  b 
the  Union."    He  had  avoided  Reynolds,  because  be  dM 
not  like  his  character.    He  informed  Lord  Edwaii 
though  be  had  taken  no  part  for  some  time  in  the  afiirs 
of  the  Union,  he  did  not  cease  to  give  his  opinion  wfc* 
consulted,  and  especially  by  Lord  Edward—tho^  ^ 
was  well  aware,  when  once  his  lorddiip  had  nad*  ^P 
his  mind  on  a  point,  he  was  little  influenced  (7  the 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


r>8l 


onnsel  of  anj  man  :  when  Lord  Edward  had  spoken  of 
is  deserting  the  cause,  the  latter  felt  hnrt  by  the  ob- 
Brration,  and  repUed  in  strong  terms  that  he  had  not 
eserted  the  people,  nor  betrayed  their  cause ;  bnt  those 
eople  had  done  so,  who  had  precipitated  measures  pre- 
latnrely  taken,  which  did  not  afford  the  least  promise 
f  snceess.  ^  My  Lord,**  said  he,  ^  I  am  not  a  person 
»  desert  a  cause  in  which  I  have  embarked.  I  knew 
le  dangers  of  it  when  I  joined  it :  were  those  dangers 
aly  for  myself,  or  the  fidends  about  me,  I  am  not  the 
tan  to  be  deterred  by  the  consideration  of  what  may 
»ppen  to  myself  or  them — ^we  might  fall,  but  the  cause 
light  not  ftul  ;  and,  so  long  as  the  country  was  served, 

would  matter  litUe  :  bnt  when  I  know  the  step  that 
on  are  taking  will  inTolve  that  cause  in  the  greatest 
Lfficolties,  my  fears  are  great :  I  tremble  for  the  result 
[ J  Lord,  all  the  serrices  that  yon  or  your  noble  house 
»Te  eyer  rendered  to  the  country,  or  erer  can  render  to 
y  will  never  make  amends  to  the  people  for  the  misery 
ad  wretchedness  the  fkilure  of  your  present  plans  wiU 
Miae  them.**  ^  I  tell  you,**  replied  Lord  Edward  impe- 
lously,  **  the  chances  of  success  are  greatly  in  fkTOur  of 
or  attempt :  examine  these  retum]^-4iere  are  returns 
^hich  show,  that  one  hundred  thousand  armed  men  may 
e  connted  on  to  take  the  field."  **  My  Lord,"  replied 
is  firiend,  '^  it  is  one  thing  to  have  a  hundred  thousand 
len  on  paper,  and  another  in  the  field.  A  hundred 
lonsand  men  on  paper,  will  not  fbmish  fifty  thousand  in 
rray.  I,  for  one,  am  enrolled  amongst  the  number ; 
Dt  I  candidly  tell  you,  you  will  not  find  me  in  your 
inks.  You  know  for  what  objects  we  joined  this 
Jnion,  and  what  means  we  reckoned  on  for  carrying 
tiena  into  effect.  Fifteen  thousand  Frenchmen  were 
Dnndered  essential  to  our  undertaking.  If  they  were 
>  at  that  time,  still  more  so  are  they  now,  when  our 
rarlike  aspect  has  caused  the  goyemment  to  pour  troops 
ito  the  country."  *<  What !"  said  Lord  Edward, 
would  you  attempt  nothing  without  these  fifteen  thou- 
ind  men— would  you  not  be  satisfied  with  ten  thou- 
ind  r*  **  I  would,  my  Lord,"  replied  his  friend,  « if 
tie  aid  of  the  fifteen  could  not  be  procured." 

"  Bat,"  continued  Lord  Edward,  <<  if  even  the  ten 
ould  not  be  got,  what  would  you  do  then  !" 

"  I  would  then  accept  of  fivfe,  my  Lord,"  was  the 
sply. 

'^  Bat,"  said  Lord  Edward,  fixing  his  eyes  with  great 
imestness  on  him,  ^  we  cannot  get  fiye  thousand  ;|  and 
ith  respect  to  the  larger  force  we  originally  wished 
>r,  had  we  succeeded,  with  so  large  a  body  of  French 
roops  we  might  have  found  it  difficult  enough  to  get 
id  of  our  allies."  To  this  it  was  replied,  ^  My  Lord,  if 
re  found  it  possible  to  get  rid  of  our  enemies,  ten 
mes  as  numerous  as  our  allies,  we  could  have  little 
tfficnlty  in  getting  rid  of  the  latter  when  necessity  re- 
uircd  it" 

<<BatI  tell  you  we  cannot,"  said  Lord  Edward  ^get 
ren  the  five  thousand  you  speak  of;  and  when  you 
now  that  we  cannot,  will  yon  desert  our  cause !"  The 
yes  of  the  delegates  were  turned  on  the  person  thus 
ddressed.  He  felt  that  Lord  Edward  had  put  the 
latter  in  such  a  light  before  those  present,  that  he 
rould  have  been  branded  as  a  traitor  if  he  abandoned 
lie  cause,  while  there  was  a  ray  of  hope  fbr  its  success. 

'^  My  Lord,"  said  he,  **  if  five  thousand  men  could  not 
e  obtained,  I  would  seek  the  assistanoe  of  a  sufficient 
umber  of  French  officers  to  head  our  people,  and  with 
bree  hundred  of  these,  perhaps  we  might  be  justified  in 
taking  an  effort  for  independence,  but  not  without 
hem.  What  military  men  haye  we  of  our  own,  to  lead 
ur  unfortunate  people  into  action  against  a  disciplined 
rmyl" 

Some  fiirther  conyersatioii  passed  to  the  same 
mport,  and  then — 

Lord  Edward  and  his  friend  parted  with  the  same 
ordiality  and  confidence  in  each  other  that  had  always 
ubsisted  between  them. 

**  Lord  Edward,"  says  that  indiyidual,  who  knew  him 
terhaps  better  than  any  other  of  his  associates,  **  was 
he  noblest-minded  of  human  beings.    He  had  no  deceit, 


no  selfishness,  no  meanness,  no  duplicity  in  his  nature  ; 
he  was  all  frankness,  openness,  and  generosity  ;  but  he 
was  not  the  man  to  conduct  a  revolution  to  a  successftil 
issue." 

The  measures  of  the  Government  to  make  the 
insurrection  (which  they  had  winked  at,  if  they 
had  not,  as  is  often  all^^ed,  fostered  its  growth) 
explode  prematurely,  by  the  simultaneous  arrest  of 
the  leaders,  we  shall  not  dwell  upon,  though  they 
are  here  fully  detailed.  Its  secret  machinery  of 
informers,  spies,  corrupt  witnesses,  or  regularly 
drilled  "  battalion  of  testimony,"  are  more  curious, 
as  well  as  more  instructive.  The  Government  seems 
to  have  been  aware  of  the  most  secret  proceedings 
of  the  United  Irishmen  from  the  very  first ;  and 
we  would  &xa  hope  it  is  not  possible  that,  among 
any  people  whom  persecution  and  oppression  has 
not  debased,  instruments  could  have  been  found  in 
equal  abundance,  to  do  the  same  obnoxious  and 
despicable,  even  when  necessary,  work.  In  1795, 
a  regular  system  of  espionage  was  adopted ;  and  in 
the  following  year  the  most  hidden  secrets  of  the 
societies  were  in  the  hands  of  the  Grovemment 

Mr.  Cockayne,  in  1794,  was  the  first  person  who  in- 
formed the  government  of  the  communication  between 
France  and  Ireland.  The  agent  of  the  French  govern- 
ment, the  Rev.  W.  Jackson,  broached  his  nussion  to 
Theobald  Wolfe  Tone  and  other  United  Irishmen,  at  the 
house  of  (Counsellor  Leonard  M^ally,  in  Dublin.  The 
treasonable  communications  were  carried  on  with  his 
knowledge  and  concurrence  ;  the  government  was  ap* 
prised  of  the  fiMt  by  Cockayne ;  Jackson  was  tried  and 
conricted,  and  Tone  had  to  quit  the  country:  but 
M^ally  was  not  molested ;  and  being  an  United  Irishman, 
and  being  generally  employed  as  the  professional  advo- 
cate of  the  persons  of  that  society  who  had  been  arrest- 
ed and  arraigned  on  the  charge  of  treason,  his  means  of 
acquiring  information  were  very  considerable ;  and  it 
was  only  discovered  at  his  death,  that  government  had 
availed  themselves  of  his  knowledge,  and  had  confierred 
a  pension  of  £300  a-year  upon  hhn  for  his  pritate 
services. 

I  do  not  here  refer  to  the  ordinary  gang  of  spies  and 
infbrmers  domiciled  at  the  Tower,  or  in  &e  purlieus  of 
the  Castle,  under  Messrs.  Sirr,  Swann,  Hanlon,  or  O'Brien. 
These  formed  ^  the  hacks  of  the  department,"  of  which 
I  shall  have  to  speak  hereafter,  and  ''the  battalion  of 
testimony,"  in  generaL  We  now  only  have  to  do  with 
the  ''half-mounted"  and  "squireen"  class  of  them,  who 
appeared  in  the  witness-box  in  the  garb  of  gentlemen, 
or  whispered  yet  unsworn  informations  in  the  ears  of 
Mr.  Cooke,  and  drew  their  biUs  from  time  to  time  on 
demand  ;  and  several  of  whom,  after  all  the  enormous 
sums  paid  to  them  during  the  rebellion,  retired  from 
business  on  their  pensions,  provided  with  the  means  of 
a  respectable  subsistence. 

Mr.  Frederick  Dutton,  who  at  an  early  period  was 
employed  in  the  north  as  an  informer,  and  had  been  sent 
especially  to  Maidstone  to  ensure  the  conviction  of 
O'Connor,  was  a  regular  informer  of  this  class— a  most 
reckless  one  in  the  case  of  the  unfortunate  priest, 
Quigley,  in  whose  great-coat  pocket,  by  mistake  for 
Arthur  O'Connor's,  vras  placed  tiie  treasonable  paper  on 
which  he  was  convicted.  Mr.  M'Gucken,  the  solicitor 
of  the  United  Irishmen,  was  another  of  the  private  in- 
formers, who  vras  intrusted  vrith  the  defence  of  the 
prisoners  charged  with  treason  in  Belfast,  and  at  the 
same  period  was  in  the  pay  of  government — ^was  largely 
paid,  and  ultimately  pensioned ;  and  during  these  fright- 
frd  times  M'Gucken  continued  to  possess  Sie  confidence 
of  the  United  Irishmen. 

For  upwards  of  twelve  months  before  the  breaking 
out  of  the  rebellion,  several  members  of  the  Ulster 
United  Irish  Society  were  likewise  in  the  pay  of  govern* 
ment.    John  Edwud  Newell  entered  on  his  duties  at 


582 


MADDEN*S  HISTORY  OP  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


the  Castle  the  13th  of  April,  1797,  and  retired  from  them, 
rather  abruptly,  the  6th  of  February,  1798.  Nicholaa 
Magaan,  of  Saintfield,  in  the  oonnty  of  Down,  a  member 
of  the  proYincial  and  county  committees,  and  also  de* 
scribed  in  the  report  of  1798,  as  a  colonel  in  their  mili- 
tary system  daring  the  whole  of  1797,  and  down  to 
Jane,  17  98,  regularly  attended  the  meetings  of  the  oounty 
Down  United  Irish  Societies,  and  communicated  to  the 
Earl  of  Londonderry's  chaplain,  the  Rev.  John  Cleland, 
a  magistrate  of  that  countv,the  treasonable  proceedings 
of  those  societies  after  each  meeting. 

Mr.  John  Hughes,  a  bookseller  of  Belfkst,  another 
member  of  the  United  Irish  Society,  was  apprehended 
at  Newry,  and  brought  into  Belfast  the  20th  of  October, 
1797,  on  a  charge  of  high  treason,  and  ^e  $am4  even^ 
ing  wot  liberated  onhaU,  Mr.  Hughes's  character  and 
p<ut  serrices,  it  cannot  be  doubted,  obtained  for  him  an 
mdnlgence  so  extraordinary  in  those  times.  No  date  is 
assigned  to  the  disclosures  of  Mr.  Hughes,  which  were 
subMquently  published  in  the  secret  report  of  1798 ;  but 
there  is  reason  to  belieye  that  he  was  known  to  General 
Barber  as  an  informer  in  the  latter  part  of  1796.  On 
the  7th  of  June,  1798,  this  man  sgain  went  through  the 
formal  process  of  an  arrest,  and  was  transmitted  to 
Dublin  for  special  service  there.  Another  member  of 
the  United  Irish  Society,  named  Bird,  alias  Smith,  had 
f^om  the  same  period  been  in  the  pay  of  goyemment — 
had  laid  informations  against  Neilson  and  several  of  his 
associates,  and  in  the  latter  part  of  1797,  like  Newell, 
abruptly  relinquished  his  employment.  Both  refused 
to  oome  forward  as  witnesses  on  the  trials  of  Messrs. 
M'Oaoken,  Flannaghan,  Barret,  and  Bumside.  Bfr. 
Thomas  Reynolds,  of  Kilkea  Gastle,  at  length  supplied 
whatever  evidence  was  wanting  to  enable  government 
to  complete  its  "  timely  measures." 

It  is  not  a  little  reyolting  to  find  that  the  legal 
advisers,  the  attorneys  and  counsel  of  the  accused 
parties,  were  among  the  regular  secret  agents  of 
the  Goiremment. 

The  fame  of  Reynolds,  if  not  his  services,  soon, 
like  his  pay,  far  exceeded  that  of  all  who  had 
gone  before  him. 

Reynolds,  of  whom,  in  the  course  of  these  de- 
tails, we  hear  enough,  or  more  than  enough,  is 
thus  described : — 

The  person  whose  disclosures  of  the  designs  of  the 
Leinster  societies  of  United  Irishmen,  government  ulti- 
mately availed  themselves  of,  was  Mr.  Thomas  Reynold^ 
a  silk  manufacturer  in  the  Liberty,  whose  business  had 
been  carried  on  at  9,  Park  Street,  the  house  in  which  he 
was  bom,  on  the  12th  of  March,  1771.  On  the  anni- 
versary of  that  day,  twenty-seven  years  subsequently, 
namely,  on  the  12th  of  March,  1798,  the  first  striking 
incident  in  the  drama  of  his  public  life  took  place,  at 
the  house  of  his  friend  Oliver  Bond,  in  Bridge  Street, 
where  the  latter  and  fourteen  others  of  his  associates, 
dele^tes  firom  various  societies  of  United  Irishmen, 
holdmg  a  provincial  meeting,  were  arrested  on  his 
information. 

Previously  to  these  arrests,  Reynolds,  who  was 
known  to  be  a  man  of  indifierent  private  char- 
acter, had  been  suspected  by  the  more  discreet  of 
the  United  Irishmen  ;  though,  as  in  many  other 
cases,  impudence,  and  the  knavish  affectation  of 
excessive  eeal,  imposed  on  the  greater  number. 
How  invaluable  to  society,  and  how  formidable  to 
bad  governments,  is  the  secret  of  having  nothing 
to  conceal!  The  striking  incident  referred  to 
above  took  place  at  the  house  of  Neilson,  and  is 
related  by  the  younger  Curran  in  the  Memoirs  of 
his  father.  It  proves,  that  without  a  certain  kind 
of  daring  hardihood,  and  great  presence  of  mind, 
there  cannot  be  a  perfect  villain.  Reynolds  was 
an  Irishman,  and  Uierefore  could  not  fail  in  per- 


sonal courage ;  and  he  was  troubled  with  none  of 
the  misgivings,  and  scruples  of  oonseienoe  or  fed- 
ing  which,  in  emexgencies,  embarrass  less  hardened 
rogues.     Before  tiie  arrests,  Reynolds  was  de- 
nounced by  a  distant  relative  of  his  own,  who  was 
himself  one  of  the  United  Irishmen,  and  whs, 
Brutus-like,  proposed  to  assassinate  the  traitor; 
a  proposal  wMch  was  n^tived  by  the  meeting  at 
which  it  was  made.    His  life  viras  afterwards,  at 
different  times,  in  danger,  from  the  exasperated 
people  whom  he  had  be^yed ;  and  it  Is  probable 
that,  had  he  continued  to  reside  in  Ireland,  Mr. 
Reynolds  might  not  have  died  in  his  bed.    The 
services  of  Reynolds  were  not  obtained  for  nothings 
indignant  as  he  at  first  affected  to  be  at  the  idea  of 
reward  for  saving  his  country.     A  person  named 
Cope,  with  whom  he  had  some  money  dealings, 
first  sounded  him,  and  made  lavish,  vague  pro- 
mises.    Reynolds  was  quite  willing  to  betray  his 
friends,  but  he  shrunk  from  being  known  aaaa 
informer ;  and  though  he  would  take  no  reward, 
he  was  willing,  nay,  eager  to  obtain  ample  indem- 
nification for  his  trouble  and  alleged  louee.    That 
indemnification,  first  and  last,  in  gratuities,  ap- 
pointoients,  and  pensions,  still  continued  to  bis  &- 
mily,  has  already  cost  the  country  above  £45,000, 
Nor  is  this  debt  of  gratitude  yet  fully  diacbargvL 
Besides  the  arrests  early  in  March  at  tlie  hoiiae 
of  Oliver  Bond,  upon  information  given  by  Rey- 
nolds, the  arrest  of  Thomas  Addis  Emmet^    Dr. 
M'Nevin,  and  other  of  his  late  associates,  ^eedOy 
took  place,  and  were  followed  by  that  of  Lord  Ed- 
ward Fitzgerald,  who  had  been  the  personal  bene- 
factor of  his  betrayer.   The  dishonesty  of  tbia  man, 
in  the  closest  relations  of  private  life,  was  protred 
against  him  on  the  State  Trials  of  the  United  Irish- 
men, in  order  to  invalidate  his  evidence.     There 
was  even  proof  of  his  attempting  to  poiscm  bis  own 
mother,  whom  he  had  previously  robbed.      At 
the    trial   of  one  of  the   unfortunate    periosis 
done  to  death  by  his  evidence,  beside  the  teatimooy 
against  his  character  borne  by  several  respeotable, 
impartial  persons,  two  of  his  female  relative, 
nuns,   his    brother-in-law   Major  Wttberington, 
and  another  brother-in-law  of  the  same   name ; 
his  late  partner  in  trade,  and  his  dark,  swoie 
that  they  did  not  consider  him  worthy  of  betag 
believed  on  his  oath.    But  the  Government  needed 
convictions;  pliant  juries  were  tampered  with; 
and  his  own  attorney,  and  a  clergyman^  a  friend 
of  the  Crown-solicitor,  swore  that  Mr.  Rsync^ 
was,  in  their  opinion,  worthy  of  credit.    If  fndj 
takhig  oaths  the  most  solemn,  and  as  freely  break- 
ing them,  could  make  him  so,  his  credit  was  us- 
impeachable.    He  had  been  sworn  to  secreey  aad 
fidelity  when  admitted  as  a  member  of  the  United 
Irishmen's  Society  ;  and  again  to  his  Captaiv 
when  he  was  appointed  a  Colonel  in  the  projected 
Rebel  Army.  He  solemnly  swore  at  Oliver  BondX 
when  suspected  and  accused,  that  he  had  not  be- 
trayed his  associates ;  and  he  swore  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance, and  to  the  truth  o£  the  infbrmatioa  he 
gave  the  Privy  Council,  quite  as  often  as  he  iw 
required.      It  was  afterwards  attempted,  wfcea 
Irish  policy  was  for  a  season  introduced  into  1^ 
iand,  to  place  this  notorious  person  upm  an  fif^ 


MADDEN*S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


583 


ih  jury ;  but  tht  nam*  was  ill«oinen6cl ;  hii  tnie 
laraeter  transpired,  and  the  in^uny  was  crushed 
f  public  indignation*  So  self-deluding  is  the 
unaa  hearty  and  so  reluctant  is  even  tlie  most 
)graded  'of  educated  human  beings  to  be  cut  off 
«Hn  all  sympathy  and  fellowship  with  his  kind, 
lat  it  is  not  surprising  that  eren  a  Reynold^ 
M)uld  have  had  some  reserve  in  his  own  favour : 
it  it  la  wonderful  to  find  another  man,  though 
lAt  sum  be  his  son,  attempting  not  merely  to 
xilogise  for  his  father's  deep-dyed  crimes,  but 
»  represent  him  as  an  extremely  ill-used  man  by 
le  TLngrateful  Qovemment  which  he  had  so  essen- 
ally  served.  According  to  this  book,  if  not  pro- 
arly  appreciated,  Mr.  Reynolds  was  at  least  very 
"ell  paid«  Thus  stands  the  account  wiUi  him, 
Jcen  fix)m  authentic  public  documents — 

"^  1798,  Sept  29,  Mr.  T.  Heyaolds  neeived  £1000 
«r    Nov.    16,        IMtto  ditto  2000 

1791),  Jan.     19,        Ditto  ditto  1000 

^    March  4,        Ditto  ditto  1000" 

*4o  aomplete  £5000.*'  Aad,  oMmover,  oa  the  14th 
r  Joiie,  1799,  Mr.  Beynelds  reeeived  bis  ammity  ef 
1000,  '^  in  ftOl  to  the  25thof  Mareh  1799f  ttfm  which 
dried  till  his  death,  the  18th  of  August  1836,  his  pen- 
on  eontinned  to  be  paid  to  him. 
The  aaoimt  of  that  pension  was  £1000  Irish,  or  £930 
Irilish.  He  leeeived  it  fbr  a  tern  of  thirty-seven 
ears. 
he  0O8S  anonnt  Ibr  the  above  period,  at 

£920  per  annum,  is 
fntoity  befbre  the  trials  of  Bond,  M^Oann^ 

and  Byrne, 500 

rratuities  between  September  1798,  and 

March  4, 1799, 5,000 

VMisnlship  at  Lisbon,  Ibur  years,  at  £1400 

per  annum, 5,600 

^onsolship  at  Iceland,  two  yearn,  at  £300 

per  annum, 600 


£34,040 


£45,740 
In  1810  be  was  appobted  to  the  Oonsulate  at  Lisbon, 
rhere  he  remained  nearly  four  years,  the  salary  and 
moluments  of  which  office  avenyed  £1400  per  annum. 
In  1817  he  was  appointed  to  the  consulate  at  Iceland, 
rhere  he  remained  about  one  yeari  on  a  sahury  of  £300 
er  annum  ;  he  returned  to  iSigland,  and  in  1819  went 
aek  to  Copenhagen,  where  he  continued  a  few  months, 
nd  then,  on  leave  of  abeence,  repaired  to  France,  leav- 
If  his  son  to  act  in  his  stead  as  vice-consul,  in  which 
mce  he  continued  till  1822 ;  another  son  obtained  a 
icratire  appointment  under  the  stamp-office  department 

This  enormous  sum  of  £45,740,  the  ^  dishiterested 
Hand  cf  his  country*'  received;  aad  as  the  pension  on 
he  Irish  dvil  list  reverts  to  his  widow  and  to  his  two 
ons,  who  are  now  in  the  prime  of  life,  it  is  by  no  means 
iQprobable  that  one  of  the  parties  may  suiviye  the  per- 
im  to  whom  it  was  cfiginallv  granted  some  five-and-< 
wen^  or  thirty  years;  and  if  so,  the  people  of  Great 
Sritaia  will  have  the  ffbrther  gratification  of  paying 
■other  sum  of  twen^  or  five-aad-twenty  thousand 
•onnds  more,  for  the  credit  of  Lord  Castlereagh's  go- 
enment  in  LrehMid,  (nomhiaUy  of  Lord  Camden's,)  and 
a  a  tribute  of  respect  to  the  memory  and  worth  dr  Mr. 
[Iiomas  Reynolds.  There  are  gentlemen  in  the  British 
parliament,  thought  not  forgetfid  of  the  services  of  Mr. 
le^lds  and  others  of  his  class,  who  may  think  this 
uhgect  deserring  of  their  attention,  iHio  may  imagine 
hat  the  childrea  of  the  starring  operatives  of  Leeds  aad 
lianchester,  ave  entitled  to  as  much  consideration  as 
hose  of  the  gentlemen  who  made  orphans  of  so  many, 
nd  niM,  dnmg  their  lives,  were  amply  rewarded  for 
tfiy  icryice  they  rendered  to  their  empli^ers. 

This  perscm  neglected  no  pretext  to  establish  peeu* 


niary  daims  against  the  Government.  While 
weaving  his  toils  around  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald, 
then  in  oonoealment  in  Dublin,  he  presented  his 
victim  with  a  pair  of  pistols,  to  be  used  in  self- 
defanoe,  together  with  powder,  bullets,  and  a  bullet- 
mould,  which  Mr.  Reynolds,  junior,  relates  as  a 
proof  of  his  father^s  friendship  for  the  unfortunate 
gentleman  he  is  said  to  have  betrayed.  He,  at  the 
same  time,  gave  Lord  Edward  some  money.  There 
is  a  bare  chance  that  Reynolds  might  have  wished 
his  viotun  to  escape;  Uiough  every  aj^>earance 
favours  the  eondusion  drawn  by  Dr.  Madden, 
when  he  saya-^ 

fRie  present  of  the  pistols,  with  the  powder,  and  buUet- 
monld,  fur  the  protecti<m  of  a  man  idiose  peril,  he  well 
knew,  was  the  consequence  of  his  own  treachery  to  him 
and  his  associates,  was  worthy  of  Reynolds ;  villany 
less  accomplished  would  hardly  have  devised  so  refined 
an  act  of  specious  perfidy.  It  was  a  particular  feature 
of  Reynolds'  infuny,  that  he  seems  to  have  felt  a  grati- 
fication la  witnessing  the  effMts  of  his  proceedings  on 
the  unfortunate  families  of  his  victims.  A  few  days 
af^  the  arrests  at  Bond's,  he  paid  a  visit  of  condolence 
to  Mrs.  Bond,  and  even  caressed  the  child  she  was  hold- 
ing in  her  arms.  He  paid  a  similar  visit  of  simulated 
friendship  to  the  wife  of  Lord  Edward  Fitigerald,  on 
the  16th  of  March.  Mr.  Reynolds*  son  must  tell  the 
particulars  of  this  interview  :  ^  She  (Lady  Fitigerald) 
also  eompUuned  of  a  want  of  gold ;  my  father  told  her 
he  had  (^vea  Lord  £dward  fifty  gumeas  the  preceding 
night»  aad  would  send  her  fifty  more  in  the  course  of  that 
day,  which  proaiise  he  pei^rmed.  Neither  of  these 
saais  were  ever  repaid.  In  the  course  of  their  conver- 
sation, my  Isther  mentioned  his  intention  of  leaving  Ire- 
land for  a  time ;  on  which  she  took  a  ring  from  her 
finger  and  gave  it  to  him,  sa^g  she  hoped  to  hear  ftom 
him  if  he  would  have  anything  of  importance  to  com- 
municate, and  that  she  would  not  attend  to  any  letter 
purporting  to  come  from  him,  unless  it  were  sealed  with 
that  ring,  which  was  a  saum  red  cornelian,  engraved 
with  the  figure  of  a  dancing  satyr." 

Mr.  Reynolds  hayiag  deprived  himself  of  his  pistols, 
oa  the  15th  of  March,  the  act  was  considered  by  him, 
aad,  at  a  later  period,  it  would  seem  was  recognlBed  by 
government  as  one  done  for  lA« jpnUie  f#reiM;  for  these 
pistols  were  replaced  by  Major  urv,  aad  the  hill  for  the 
case  purchased  on  this  oeeasieay  lor  the  Major  for  his 
friend,  was  duly  presented  to  Mr.  Cooke,  and  the  subae- 
quent  payment  of  it  was  not  fargotten. 

<"  1798,  July  26,  Major  Sivr,  for  pistols, 
for  Mr.  Baynolds,     .  .    £9    2     0** 

So  much  for  Uie  friendship's  offniagB  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Reynolds! 

The  insatiable  cupidity  of  this  man,  at  length  disgust- 
ed the  admhiistration  in  both  countries,  aad  when  his 
importunities  were  disregarded,  in  the  pathetic  language 
of  his  son,  having  settled  his  accounts  ^  he  bade  aa 
eternal  adieu  to  his  kindred  and  country,  and  arrived 
with  hii  fomily  in  London,  on  the  Ist  of  January,  1800." 

According  to  his  son's  statements,  this  ^'  Exile 
of  Erin"  was  not  much  better  used  by  the  English 
Grovemment  than  that  kindred  spirit,  Richmond 
the  Spy,  describes  himself  to  have  been  used  by  the 
Scotti^  Crown  lawyers. 

^During  two  years,"  continues  his  son,  ''he  did  not 
cease  to  urge  on  the  English  ministers,  the  promises 
made  to  him  on  leaving  Ireland,  but  to  no  purpose.  He 
received  much  politeness;  but  the  English  ministers  re- 
ferred him  to  the  Irish,  these  again  referred  him  to  those 
in  England,  until  at  length  disgusted  with  both,  he 
dropped  the  pursuit  and  applied  himself  exclusively  to 
the  care  of  his  fomily." 

It  azguesa  strange  state  of  moral  feeling  to  find 
that  this  person  continued  to  be  treated  with  the 


584 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


outward  shows  of  ciyility  by  men  bearing  the  char- 
acter of  respectable ;  though,  for  this,  he  may  have 
been  in  part  indebted  to  his  own  importunity  and 
impudence.  Mr.  Henry  Inglis,  in  his  Tour  in 
Irdand,  expresses  astonishment  at  having  seen 
decent-looking  country  people  in  the  Court-house 
of  Ennis,  at  an  assize,  familiarly  nodding  and 
smiling  to  a  prisoner  arraigned  for  a  foul  murder, 
and  of  whose  guilt  there  was  no  doubt ;  and  from 
the  Memoir  of  the  notorious  Reynolds,  published 
by  his  son,  who  probably  wrote  in  ignorance  of 
many  of  the  facts  of  the  case,  we  find  men  in 
high  situations,  bearing  (when  put  to  the  questbn 
by  him)  flattering  testimony  to  his  character;  and 
^  Jonah  Barrington  addressing  him,  when  Con- 
sul at  Lisbon,  as  *^  My  dear  Reynolds."  There  is^ 
by  the  way,  in  this  work,  some  statements  or  in- 
sinuations, which,  though  not  very  clear,  tend  to 
show  that  Sir  Jonah,  at  the  worst  period  of  the 
Irish  troubles,  phiyed  fast  and  loose  between  par- 
ties, and  took  good  care  of  himself,  whatever  be- 
came of  his  friends.  Lord  Castlereagh  shied  Mr. 
Reynolds  at  last ;  and  England  was  found  too  hot 
to  hold  him. 

In  1817  the  people  of  England,  who  had  given  them- 
selves very  litUe  ooneem  Sbont  Mr.  Re jnolds'  doings 
in  Ireland,  so  long  as  they  were  oonflned  to  that  eoon- 
try,  took  the  alarm  rather  suddenly,  when  they  found 
tlM  subject  of  treason  in  England,  and  the  system  of 
packing  the  jories  for  the  trial  of  the  traitors,  connected 
with  the  ominons  name  of  Mr.  Thomas  Reynolds.  On 
bills  being  found  by  the  grand  jory  of  Bliddlesex  against 
Dr.  Watson  and  four  others,  for  bigfal  treason,  (the  Spa- 
fields  Rioters,)  no  sooner  was  Mr.  Reynolds*  name  dis- 
covered  on  the  pannel,  than  the  press  of  £n(^and  took 
the  alarm,  and  the  walls  of  parliament  rung  with  loud 
denunciations  against  tiie  Irish  informer. 

Lord  Castlereagh  plainly  saw  the  folly  of  the  attempt 
to  resort  to  the  old  practices,  which  had  been  adopted 
with  80  little  trouble  in  the  sister  kingdom.  He  left 
Bfr.  Reynolds  to  his  &te  ;  and  when  he  threatened  to 
publish  a  vindication  of  his  acts,  it  was  plainly  intimated 
to  him,  that  it  was  the  pleasure  of  Lord  Castlereagh  that 
he  should  be  silent  on  these  subjects.  At  length,  the 
cooUest  sarcasm  on  an  importunate  candidate  for  public 
employment  that  ever  was  carried  into  eifect,  was  put 
in  practice  by  Lord  Castlereagh  in  1818,  when  he  sent 
that  ardent  patriot,  Mr.  Thomas  Reynolds,  to  freeze  in 
Iceland.  In  October,  1818,  Reynolds,  having  sickened 
of  his  Iceland  consulship,  abandoned  his  pMt  and  re- 
turned to  London.  On  his  arrival,  Mr.  Planta  communi- 
cated to  him  ''his  lordship's  extreme  surprise,  uid 
mariced  displeasure,  at  his  having  quitted  his  public 
duties  for  his  private  aiEurs,  without  his  lordship's  pre- 
vious sanction." 

Lord  Castlereagh  ''did  not  like  him  to  be  in 
London ;"  and  the  ill-used  Mr.  Reynolds,  who  had 
prevented  the  dismemberment  of  the  empire,  took 
great  ofience.  The  message  which  he  left  with  his 
old  friend,  his  Lordship's  secretary,  was,  that 

In  case  he  continued  to  hold  this  consulship,  he  ex- 
pected to  be  treated  with  attention  and  consideration 
by  the  British  ambassadors  wherever  he  settled,  and 
that  he  still  held  government  bound  to  provide  for  his 
twosons.  "I  tell  you  again,"  said  Mr.  Cooke,  "111  see 
them  on  it." 

This  must  have  been  a  scene  that  Gay  would  have 
delighted  to  have  witnessed  and  to  have  depicted,  for  no 
otiier  hand  could  have  done  justice  to  the  little  differ- 
ences of  the  gentlemen  of  those  golden  days  of  the  good 
old  times. 

In  1822,  the  star  had  set  on  the  prosperity  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Reynolds.    Mr.  Canning  bad  come  into  power. 


and  had  been  applied  to  for  employment  for  the  ftnaer. 
Young  Mr.  Reynolds  states,  that  Mr.  Phnta  eomwiBi- 
cated  to  his  fkther  Mr.  Canning's  final  determinatatB, 
"  not  to  employ  any  member  of  our  family  in  his  depart- 
ment, as  he  did  not  consider  himself  bound  by  LoH 
Londonderry's  engagements." 

Mr.  Reynolds  deemed  the  time  was  come  to  zetin 
from  the  turmoil  of  public  li|<B :  he  fixed  his  abode  ii 
Paris,  and  died  in  that  city  the  18th  of  August,  183d.* 

Reynolds  died  at  last "  in  the  odour  of  sanctity ;' 
but  the  less  that  b  said  of  such  great  jdnnen  and 
tardy  saints  the  better.  Charity  enjoins  that  w« 
shoidd  hope  the  best  of  every  man ;  wisdoin  and 
modesty,  that  in  such  cases  as  this  of  "  the  notori- 
ous Reynolds,"  a  modest  silence  should  be  preserv- 
ed, and  his  family  be  contented  with  their  pension. 

Dr.  Madden,  in  compiling  these  Memoirs,  upon 
which  he  has  spent  many  years,  and  trayelled  far 
and  wide  to  gain  information  from  the  aarviving 
eye  and  ear  witnesses  of  the  scenes  described,  has, 
among  other  documents,  obtained  a  narrative  con- 
taining an  account  of  the  arrest  of  Lord  £dward 
Fitzgerald.  It  was  drawn  up  by  Mr.  Nidiolas 
Murphy,  an  honest  shopkeeper,  in  whose  honse 
Lord  Edward  was  then  concealed.  It  is  the  plain 
story  of  an  honest,  unpretending,  and  peacelnl 
man,  brought  into  trouble  through  sheer  goodness 
of  heart.  It  possesses  much  of  the  De  Foeask 
gusto,  of  the  minute  and  graphic  narraiiTe  of  a 
deeply-interested  eye-witness.  We  shall  copy  oat 
a  few  extracts,  from  admiration  of  the  natoral 
manner  of  the  writer,  as  much  as  from  interest  in 
his  story. 

An  Account  of  the  Arreti  oftkelaU  Lord  Edward  Fka- 
gerald,  JVritUn  hy  Nickoloi  Murphy,  in  wkate  ikoeer 
tke  arred  took  place, 

"  On  the  night  of  Friday,  the  18th  May,  1798,  Lord 
Edward  Fitigerald  came  to  my  house,  (No.  15S,  ThoBas 
Street,)  in  company  with  a  lady^t  about  the  hour  of  ten 
or  eleTen  o'clock  at  night.  I  did  expect  him  the  preri- 
ous  eyening ;  and  the  reason  I  state  this  is,  that  a  frieiid 
of  his  came  to  me,  and  requested  that  I  would  receive 
him,  as  he  wished  to  moTc  from  where  he  was  at  pve- 
8ent.$  I  was  getting  the  house  cleaned  down  and  scooied, 
and  I  brought  his  friend  in,  and  he  saw  the  persons  em- 
ployed as  I  told  him;  he  mentioned  tiiat  it  was  not  in- 
tended to  remoTe  him  immediately,  but  said, '  I  think  a 
week  or  ten  days  would  answer.  I  assented;  and,  ia- 
deed,  with  reluctance: — howeyer,  I  made  no  mentiao  ef 
that.  In  a  few  days  prerious  to  Lord  Edward's  coming 
the  goTemment  had  (MBfered  one  thousand  pounds  reward 
for  his  apprehension.  I  certainly  felt  Tery  nneaqr  at 
this  circumstance,  and  I  widied  very  mudi  to  see  Lmd 
Edward's  friend;  but  where  to  see  him  I  did  not  know. 
As  a  man  of  honour,  I  wished  to  keep  my  word;  and  I 
could  not  think  of  revising  him  admittance  when  he 
came.  Unfortunately  for  him  and  myself  I  did  keep 
my  word.  I  expected  him  on  Thursday,  but  he  did  nol 
come  till  Friday,  the  18th  of  Bfay,  1798.§    I  j 


*  For  Banim'fe  portiait  of  ReynoldB,  see  TVnft  BSagaamt 
for  June  1842,  p.  374.—^.  T.  M. 

f  That  lady  was  Mib.  Mooro,  in  whota  haaband^  hoi 
Lord  Edward  had  been  previously  coneealed. 

X  The  person  alluded  to  was  Sui^geon  Lawlem.^ — &.  B.M. 

§  Lord  Edward  had  been  previoiuly  eoseealed  im  his  Wast 
for  a  fortnight,  on  his  leaving  the  resideace  of  die  WiAev 
Dillon,  ^  a  retired  house  on  Uie  banks  of  the  caaaL**  Wha 
Murphy  wrote  this  part  of  the  narmtivehe  was  in  prisoa,sad 
evidentlv  did  not  wish  to  run  the  risk  of  its  being  diseome^ 
that  he  nad  previously  sheltered  Loid  Edward. 

Bfr.  James  Davook,  a  respeotable  silk  maidiaiit  of  tht  cir 
of  Dublin,  informed  me,  a  snort  time  previooaly  to  hb  dam 


in  18S6,  that  he.and  two  other  persons  ooodiuled  Loid  Bi- 
ward  to  Murphy^s  house  the  first  time  he  was  in  ooneeehM^ 
there;  that  about  a  fortnight  before,  he  met  Muphystlb 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


585 


I  looked  T«]T  bad  and  altered  from  what  he  appeared 
ie»  I  «M9  Mm  before.  The  lady  thai  oame  with  him 
d  not  stay  long;  and  I  made  a  tender  of  my  services 

go  home  with  her,  as  she  lived  in  the  neighbourhood : 
lere  was  a  person  that  we  met  on  onr  way,  who,  I  be- 
»Te,  was  waiting  for  her— I  had  some  knowledge  of 
m  myself  :*  I  returned  to  the  house  with  a  troubled 
ind.  Lord  Edward  told  me  he  was  very  ill  with  a  cold, 
id  it  was  easy  to  pereeire  it.  I  had  procured  for  him 
hey,  and  put  some  sherry  wine  in  it.  At  this  time  he 
>peued  quite  tranquil,  and  went  up  to  the  room  in- 
nded  for  him — ^the  back  room  in  the  attic  story.  In 
le  morning  he  came  down  to  breakfiwt,  and  appeared 
itter  than  the  night  before.  The  friend  that  spoke  to 
•  respecting  his  coming,  came,  I  believe,  about  eleven 
dock.  Then  came  out,  for  the  first  time,  an  account 
r  the  rencontre  that  took  place  the  night  before,  between 
ord  Edward's  party  and  Mi^'or  Sirr's.f  It  is  perfectly 
ear,  in  my  humble  judgment,  that  Mi^r  Sirr  had  Imown 
r  hi^  removal,  and  the  direction  he  intended  to  take, 
>r  his  party  and  Lord  Edward's  came  in  contact  in  a 
Lace  called  Island  Street,  at  the  lower  end  of  Watling 
treet.  They  there  met,  and  a  skirmish  took  place,  and 
I  the  eonfhsion,  Lord  Edward  got  off :  however,  one  of 
le  party  was  taken,  but  could  not  be  identified.^  I 
Mind  my  situation  now  very  painful,  but  nothing  to  what 
was  afterwards.  In  the  course  of  the  day,  (Saturday 
Hh,)  there  was.a'guard  of  soldiers,  and  I  believe  Migor 
wan,  Mi^r  Sirr,  a  Mr.  Medlicot,  and  another,  making 
search  at  Mr.  Moore's  house,  the  Yellow  Lion  in  Thomas 
treei.  A  ftiend  came  and  mentioned  the  circumstance 
»  ne.  I  immediately  mentioned  it  to  Lord  Edward, 
id  had  him  conveyed  out  of  the  house,  and  concealed  in 
valley,  on  the  ro<^  of  one  of  the  warehouses.  While  I 
ras  doing  this,  Sam  Neilson  came,  and  inquired  of  the 
irl  if  I  was  at  home !  I  believe  she  said  not.  '  Bid 
tm  be  cautious,'  I  think  was  what  she  told  me  he  said, 
considered  that  conduct  of  his  very  ill-timed;  however, 
am  led  to  believe  it  was  well-intended. 

**  After  placing  Lord  Edward  in  the  valley,  on  the  roof 
r  the  vraiehouse,  I  oame  down  in  a  little  time  and  stood 
t  the  gate,  the  soldiers  still  at  Mr.  Moore's.  I  perceived 
»ar  persons  vralking  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  some 
f  them  in  uniform  ;  I  believe  yeomen.  I  think  Mi^or 
wan  and  Captain  Medlicot  vras  of  the  party.  Towards 
>iir  o'clock.  Lord  Edward  came  down  to  dinner;  every- 
tung  was  supposed  to  be  still.  Now,  at  this  time,  Sam 
Feilson  came  in  to  see  us.  Dinner  was  nearly  ready,  I 
sked  him  to  stay  and  dine,  which  he  accepted.  Nothing 
articular  occurred,  except  speaking  on  a  variety  of  sub- 
sets, when  Mr.  Neilson,  as  if  something  struck  him,  im- 
lediately  went  away,  leaving  us  together ;  there  was 
ery  little  wine  taken.  Lord  Edward  was  very  abste- 
lions.  In  a  short  time  I  went  out;  and  now  the  tra- 
edy  commenced.  I  wished  to  leave  Lord  Edward  to 
imself.  I  was  absent  I  suppose  about  an  hour.  I  came 
Lto  the  room  where  we  dined,  being  the  back  dravring- 
M>m  :  he  vras  not  there.  Ifwent  to  the  sleeping-room : 
a  vras  in  bed.    It  vras  at  this  time  about  seven  o'clock. 

asked  him  to  come  down  to  tea.  I  was  not  in  the  room 
bree  minutes  when  in  came  Mi^r  Swan,  and  a  person 
>llowmg  him  in  a  soldier's  jacket,  and  a  sword  in  his 
and;  he  wore  a  round  hat.    When  I  saw  Migor  Svran 

was  thunderstruck.  I  put  myself  before  him,  and 
sked  his  business.  He  looked  over  me,  and  saw  Lord 
Sdward  in  the  bed.  He  pushed  by  me  quickly,  and 
>ord  Edvivrd  seeing  him,  sprung  up  instantly  like  a 
(ger,  and  drew  a  dagger  which  he  carried  about  him, 
nd  wounded  Mi^'or  Swan  slightly  I  believe.  Bfajor 
>wanhad  a  pistol  in  his  vraistcoat  pocket,  which  he  fired 


Hobe  Coflbe-house,  and  told  him  there  vras  a  friend  of  his 
rho  -wished  to  be  out  of  the  way  for  a  few  days;  that  he  did 
ot  meotion  Lord  Edward^  name,  for  Murphy  wu  not  a 
Tnited  Iriihman :  but  as  a  personal  &vonr  to  him,  Davock, 
f  ui^y  screed  to  receive  hu  friend  ;  bnlL  lubaequently,  he 
9ld  lliti^^  who  the  person  was. — tL  R.  M. 

*  This  person  was  probably  Surgeon  Lawless. — R.  R.  M. 

ir  Sirr  was  aecompanied  by  several  persons,  amongst  whom 
rcre  Major  Ryan  and  Mr.  John  Swift  Emerson,  an  attorney. 

^  WilUsm  ranam  Macabe.— R.  R.  M. 


without  effect :  he  immediately  turned  to  me  and  gave 
me  a  severe  thrust  of  the  pistol  under  the  eye,  at  the 
same  time  desiring  the  person  that  came  in  vrith  him,  to 
take  me  into  custody.  I  was  immediately  taken  away 
to  the  yard  :  there  I  saw  Mi^r  Sirr  and  about  six  sol- 
diers of  the  Dumbarton  Fencibles. 

^  Bfajor  Swan  had  thought  proper  to  ran  as  fkst  as  he 
could  to  the  street,  and  I  think  he  never  looked  behind 
him  till  he  got  out  of  danger,  and  he  vTas  then  parading 
up  and  down  the  fiags,  exhibiting  his  linen,  which  was 
stained  vrith  blood.  Mr.  Ryan  supplied  M^or  Swan's 
place;  he  came  in  contact  vrith  Lord  Edward,  and  was 
wounded  seriously.  Migor  Sirr  at  that  time  came  up 
stairs,  and  keeping  at  a  respectftil  distance,  fired  a  pis- 
tol at  Lord  Edward  in  a  very  deliberate  manner,  and 
wounded  him  in  the  upper  part  of  the  shoulder.  Rein- 
forcements coining  in.  Lord  Edward  surrendered  after  a 
very  hard  struggle.  Now  the  work  of  destruction  com- 
menced. The  house  was  taken  possession  of  by  soldiers. 
An  old  invalid  volunteered  to  guard  me,  along  vnth  the 
man  vriio  first  held  me  in  charge.  The  old  soldier  would 
not  let  me  put  my  handkerchief  to  my  f^ce,  to  vripe  away 
the  blood.  A  neighbour  came  to  offer  me  a  glass  of 
vrine  and  water,  but  the  valiant  Major  Sirr  would  not 
allow  it.  He  was  going  to  break  the  glass,  saying,  wine 
was  not  fit  for  rebels.  There  were  Invalids  at  that  time 
in  James  Street,  and  they  were  soon  brought  dovm,  and 
took  possession  of  the  house.  I  never  had  such  a  stock 
of  wine,  before  or  since ;  I  little  thought  who  I  bought  it 
for.  In  some  time  a  carriage  came,  and  I  was  placed 
in  it,  in  company  vrith  two  soldiers  of  the  Dumbarton 
regiment,  then  stationed  in  Dublin,  and  brought  off  to 
the  castle,  and  there  placed  in  the  castle  guard-house. 
A  sad  change  for  me  1  I  was  there  perhaps  an  hour  or 
more,  when  my  friend  Major  Sirr  came  to  me,  to  bring 
me  into  the  presence  of  Mr.  Cooke,  taking  me  very 
friendly  under  the  arm,  and  telling  me  to  ^te  every- 
thing I  knew  about  the  business.  I  felt  no  inclination 
to  take  his  advice  on  that  occasion. 

**  Well  I  I  had  the  honour  of  an  introduction  to  Mr. 
Cooke.  There  was  a  gentleman  lolling  on  the  sofk,  who 
I  afterwards  learned  was  Lord  CasUereagh.  My  friend 
Cooke  looked  at  me  very  sharply,  and  now  for  question 
and  answer.  '  How  long  was  Lord  Edward  in  your 
house  f  *  He  came  there  last  night.'  '  Who  came  vrith 
him ! '  'He  came  vrith  a  lady.'  '  What  was  her  name !' 
<  I  cannot  state  the  lady's  name.' — I  declined  to  answer 
to  that '  in  Mo,*  1  mentioned  that  I  was  led  into  the 
business  very  innocently,  and  that  would  appear  on  an 
investigation  taking  place,  and  I  could  procure  sufficient 
bail.  Mr.  Cooke  laughed  at  that,  and  no  wonder  he 
might,  for  he  immediately  vrrote  out  a  Castlereagh  war- 
rant for  me;  I  vras  walked  back  to  the  guard-house,  and 
a  large  guard  was  ordered  to  prime  and  load,  whidi  was 
soon  complied  with.  Then  I  was  placed  in  the  centre, 
and  marched  off  to  Newgate — this  was  about  nine  o'clock 
at  night.  On  arriving  there,  I  was  left  to  ruminate  on 
the  situation  I  was  unfortunately  placed  in.  The  only 
consolation  I  had  was,  that  there  vrere  very  respectable 
men  at  the  time  in  the  same  place  vrith  me.     .    .    . 

^  I  have  now  to  state  the  treatment  I  experienced 
firom  the  soldiers  and  others  that  took  possession  of  the 
house.  Alderman  Archer,  who  was  one  of  the  sherift 
at  that  time,  but  since  dead,  broke  open  my  secretary 
and  book-case,  expecting,  I  suppose,  to  get  as  many 
papers  of  a  treasonable  nature  as  would  convict  a  hun- 
dred, but  was  disappointed.  Next  he  examined  the 
clothes-press,  and  Uien  a  general  search  commenced 
through  the  rooms;  the  office  desk  was  broken  open,  but 
no  papers  to  be  found  that  could  attach  criminality. 
Plundering  the  place  then  commenced.  Unfortunately, 
there  was  a  company  of  Invalids  stationed  in  James 
Street;  they  were  ordered  down ;  they  were  knovmgener- 
ally  by  the  name  of  'Old  Fogies.'  Their  wives  came 
in  great  numbers,  and  immed^tely  commenced  robbing 
the  place.  A  laige  silver  gravy-spoon,  a  plated  tea-po^ 
and  plated  goblet  were  t^en — everything  tiiey  could 
lay  tiieir  himds  on  1  They  were  quarrelling,  I  vras  in- 
formed, about  the  plunder  ;  nothing  in  the  house  could 
escape  their  Argus  eyes.    An  officer  asked  the  men  '  if 


586 


IdADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IBISHMEN. 


they  found  <mt  the  wine  oeUur !'— it  was  soon  forced.  I 
BeTor  had  tueh  a  stock  of  wine,  before  or  since.  They 
destroyed  six  dosen  of  as  fine  wine  as  ooold  be  found — 
ebret,  port,  and  sherry — I  purchased  it  in  the  wood. 
Tbe  late  iUderman  Manders  fortunately  came  in  as  a 
magistrate,  and  I  beliere  did  all  he  could  ;  but  it  had 
■0  araiL  I  had  a  respected  sister — a  married  lady — 
who  eaoM  to  the  house  and  oonducted  herself  nobly  in 
the  canse  of  her  unfortunate  brother,  by  doing  all  that 
was  possible  under  such  eiroumstances.  The  soldiers 
and  *  Old  Fogies '  fell  to  at  the  wine.  I  had  some  pickled 
beef  and  chickens  in  a  ooop;  they  were  soon  in  requisi- 
tion, and  my  new  Tisiters,  regaling  themselTos,  calling 
aload  to  the  serrant,  ^  Yon  old— this  and  that— get  us 
some  porter,'  they  wanted  it  with  the  beef  and  chickens. 
Fine  times  with  them  while  it  lasted !  They  nerer  took 
the  trouble  of  using  a  serew,  but  struek  off  the  heads  of 
the  bottles  witii  tibe  next  thing  that  came  to  hand.  I 
baTt  grounds  for  stating,  that  when  they  got  tired  drink- 
ing the  wine,  they  were  selling  it  in  die  morning  at 
aizpenoe  per  bottle,  and  buying  whisky  with  the  money. 
*<  My  losses  in  this  unfortunate  business  amounted  to 
upwards  of  two  thousand  pounds,  and  I  never  yet  re- 
osiTed  one  shilling  of  oompensation  from  any  quarter; 
and  was  confined  fifty-fiTe  weeks  a  state  prisoner,  and 
my  boose  and  eoncems  made  a  barrack  of  for  ten  months 
and  upwards,  having  ten  soldiers— some  with  wires — 
betides  Invalids,  and  some  of  the  Rea  Fendbles,  and  the 
baggage  of  the  regiment  in  the  warehouses." 

After  further  deflcribing  his  own  oonditloiiy  and 
that  of  some  other  of  his  fellow*captiyee,  hie  Te- 
tania to  Lord  Edward,  whom  none  of  the  other 
priMmers  w«re  permitted  to  iee« 

^  Two  surgeons  attended  daily  on  Lord  Edward  Fits- 
maid.  It  was  supposed,  the  evening  of  the  day  before 
he  died,  he  was  deUrious,  as  we  could  hear  him  with  a 
very  strong  voice  crying  out—'  Come  on  !  come  on  I 

d n  you,  come  on  I'    He  spoke  so  loud,  that  the 

people  in  the  street  gathered  to  listen  to  it.  He  died 
the  next  day  early  in  the  morning,  on  the  3d  of  June. 
The  surgeons  attended  and  opened  the  body :  then  he 
was  seen  for  the  first  time  by  the  prisoners.  The  bowels 
vrere  opened,  and  whatever  was  found  there  was  thrown 
under  the  grate,  and  then  the  part  opened  was  sewn  up. 
He  had  alraut  Ids  neck  a  gold  chain,  suspending  a  locket 
with  hair  in  it. 

«  Thus  died  one  of  the  bravest  of  men,  from  a  convic- 
iion«  I  believe,  that  his  projects  would  ameliorate  the 
condition  of  hjs  oountnr.  I  shall  endeavour  to  describe 
his  person :  he  was,  I  believe,  about  five  foot  seven 
inches  in  height,  and  a  very  interesting  countenance  ; 
beautiful  arched  eyebrows,  fine  grey  eyes,  handsome 
nose,  and  high  forehead— -thick,  dark-coloured  hair, 
brown,  or  inclining  to  black.  I  think  he  was  very  like 
the  late  Ladv  Louisa  ConoUy  about  the  nose  and  eyes. 
Any  person  he  addressed  must  have  admired  his  man- 
ner^ — it  was  so  candid,  so  good-natured,  and  so  im- 
pregnated with  good  feeling ;  as  playftU  and  humble  as 
»  child— as  mild  and  timid  as  a  lady — and,  when  neces- 
sary, as  brave  as  a  lion.  He  was  altogether  a  very  fine, 
elegantly  formed  man.    Peace  to  his  name !" 

Murphy  reoeived  notice  of  trial  along  with  the 
brothera  Sheares,  and  about  sixty  other  State  pri- 
aoneiB.  The  execution  of  the  Sheares  was  fol- 
lowed hard  by  that  of  M'Cann,  and  Michael 
Byrne*  Bond  died  in  prison  before  his  sentence 
could  be  carried  into  efiPect.  Murphy,  with  simple 
ptthoB,  thus  describes  those  dreadful  days : — 

^  Words  cannot  now  describe  the  feelings  of  the  state 
prisoners :  no  chance  of  aoquittal  I  an  organised  system  I 
and  the  miscreant  Reynolds  the  '  awuU-garde*  of  it ! 
I  will  not  speak  of  the  juries  of  1798 ;  I  leave  timt  for 
others  to  do. 

*^  At  this  time  there  was  a  Mr.  Dobbs  a  lawyer,  and 
»  Mr.  Oawford  an  attorney — two  very  good  men. 
There  was  a  proposition,  I  believsy  cane  to  the  state 


prisoners  through  those  gentlemen,  I  suppose  i 
by  the  government,  and  tkcU  wa$—^  That  the  sUte  par 
soners  would  give  the  government  such  infomuUien  ss 
they  required,  and  for  the  state  trials  to  terminate ;  the 
information  not  to  criminate  any  person,  and  the  pn- 
soners  to  emigrate  to  a  country  not  at  war  with  hii 
migesty.*  There  was  a  document  to  be  signed  ooofoiK- 
able  to  this  agreement.  There  was  not  a  momeat  to  bs 
lost,  as  Mr.  William  M.  Byrne  was  to  be  executed  tbii 
day,  and  Mr.  0.  Bond  on  the  day  following.  All  tks 
state  prisoners  in  our  prison  signed  the  oontrael,  and 
myself  among  the  rest.  The  privy  council,  eariy  om  that 
day,  deliberated  on  the  business,  and  the  propoaal  wai 
unfortunately  rejected.  In  the  course  of  the  darj,  wink 
it  was  pending,  my  revered  and  attached  sister  heanM 
what  I  had  done,  came  to  the  prison  in  tears,  and  adnd 
me  if  I  had  done  such  a  thing  t  I  answered,  I  had,  and 
that  I  would  go  to  any  plMe  to  leave  that  abode  of 
misery.  '  The  business  is  now,'  I  said,  'before  the  privy 
council ;  and  if  Mr.  Byrne  is  respited,  which  I  hope  he 
will,  I  will  be  satisfied  to  expatriate  myself;  hot,  I  will 
promise  you,  if  it  is  to  be  done  again,  I  will  deoUas  it' 
Well,  the  awfril  news  came ;  and  the  council  r^jeetei 
the  proposition,  and  Mr.  Byrne  was  executed.  He  was 
an  ele^nt  young  man,  and  went  to  death  with  aa  mneh 
composure  as  if  he  was  going  to  dinner.  Well,  the  next 
day,  the  same  business  came  on  for  Mr.  Bond.  I  was 
now  placed  in  a  most  unpleasant  situation ;  hm%  1  mm 
determined  to  keep  my  word.  Mr.  Bobbe,  «  goed- 
hearted  man,  was  most  anxious  for  the  prisoners,  aad 
the  same  business  was  agafan  commenced.  Whsa  it 
came  to  my  turn  to  sign,  I  requested  to  s^  a  fiiw 
words : — I  said,  that  I  was  under  great  obligatiens  U 
my  family ;  that  one  of  them  came  to  me  yeeterday ,  in 
great  trouble,  in  consequence  of  my  signing  th*  v^fmi 
and  that  I  then  promised  that  I  wonld  not  sign  it  if  it 
was  to  do  again :  however,  I  went  to  Mr.  Bond  myself 
and  stated  to  him  how  unhappy  my  fomily  was  at  miy 
signing,  and  the  promise  I  made ;  but  that  if  I  wis  at 
my  liberty,  and  walking  the  street,  I  would  sign  for 
him  if  it  served  him.  He  very  honourably  left  me  te 
myself  and  requested  I  would  do  nothing  on  hie  aneeimt, 
saying,  at  the  same  time,  *  You  know  how  you  an  aitn- 
ated.'  The  document  went  a  second  time  befove  the 
privy  oonndL  The  greatest  exdtemeni  that  oonld  he 
conceived  existed  at  this  time  in  the  prison,  to  see  Mr. 
Bond,  an  athletic  fine-formed  man,  i^m  eecnpied  the 
first  clan  of  respectability  in  Dublin,  now  heavily  inn- 
ed! — and  what  made  it  more  lamewtahle,  waa  te  see 
Mrs.  Bond  with  him,  linked  arm  to  arm.  The  coAa  in 
the  yard !  the  dreadfol  i^^paratns  rea<^ !  The  ssMa- 
tion  it  excited  could  not  be  conceived.  I  cannot  attempt 
to  describe  my  own  foeUngs  at  the  time,  ^ireo  •'dedt 
came — ^no  news  from  the  Castle.  Alternate  hopes  and 
foars  crowded  on  the  mind.  At  half-after  thrce,  the 
news  came— >ul  rupiU  during pleatwnf  The  ahevt  in 
the  street  was  the  first  thing  to  announce  it.  Them 
was  some  person  brought  into  the  prison  for  she«th^  m 
the  street.  Joy  was  now  visible  in  every  ttuntrmsnTrr 
A  great  change  took  place  in  the  prison— 4he  plane  was 
now  oomfortable  to  what  it  had  been.  The  state  trials 
now  terminated,  and  the  gentlemen  who  signed  the 
agreement  expected  to  go  to  America ;  but  y^ieiiimsnJ 
decreed  otherwise,  for  reasons  best  known  te  themselvei. 
On  the  6th  of  September,  Mr.  Bond  died  suddenly  in 
Newgate :  he  was  as  well  as  ever  he  was  en  the  eten- 
ing  before,  and  was  playing  rackets  in  the  yard,  to  my 
knowledge :  his  apartment  was  quite  detached  tnm  Ae 
rooms  of  the  other  prisoners,  being  convenieni  to  the 
yard  below  stairs.  Simpson  the  under-jailor,  Ssmiri 
Neilson,  and  himself,  spent  the  evening  in  Mr.  Bood*! 
room.  It  was  understood  Samuel  Neilson  went  to  bed 
top-heavy,  and  left  Simpson  and  Mr.  Bond  togethir. 
About  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock,  Simpson  came  Into  thi 
room  I  was  in.  Mr.  Pat.  Byrne,  Mr.  J.  6.  Keaasjf i 
and  myself,  were  in  this  room.  Simpson,  I  Hat, 
brought  with  him  two  bottles  of  wine,  (I  was  in  bed  at 
this  time :)  they  commenced  drinking  tiie  wine.  lb.  6> 
Kennedy  got  peweriess,  and  WMit  te  bed  as  weO  sihi 
could.    Mr.  Byrne  being  a  strong  mas,  ktfi  • 


^iADDEJTS  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


587 


rith  Sirapson  some  time  after.  I  was  awake  all  this 
\me,  and  peroei?ed  that  Simpson  wished  to  provoke  a 
aarrel  wiUi  Mr.  Byrne ;  Mr.  B.  acted  with  great  com- 
land  of  temper  in  the  business,  and  with  much  ado 
impson  went  awa j ;  I  then  spoke  to  Mr.  Byrne,  and 
)ld  him  I  heard  all  that  passed,  and  that  if  he  had  in 
itvre  any  intercourse  wi^  Simpson,  I  would  renounce 
is  friendship,  I  was  so  enraged  at  what  I  heard.  He 
peed  with  me  in  what  I  said«  The  next  morning, 
bout  fire  o'clock,  it  went  through  the  prison  that  Mr. 
ioad  was  dead.  I  immediately  arose  and  went  down 
talis,  and  there  to  my  astonishment  saw  Mr.  Bond, 
ring  on  his  back  lifeless,  with  exactly  the  same  dress 
I  wore  the  day  before.  I  came  and  informed  Mr. 
lyroe  and  Mr.  Kennedy  of  the  fact.  Samuel  Neilson 
bpt  in  the  room  that  night,  and  could  gire  no  account 
iMterer  of  what  happened,  or  how  it  happened.  S. 
feilson  appeared  very  much  affected,  and  cried  like  a 
tiild.  There  was  a  serious  alarm  in  the  prison,  and 
rsat  uneasiness  among  the  prisoners,  fearing  there  was 
ml  play.  Mr.  Byrne  arose  in  Uie  bed,  and  mentioned 
ith  great  empharas,  '  Our  lires  are  not  worth  an  hour's 
nrohase  T— howerer,  nothing  came  out  that  could  estab- 
ih  that  As  I  was  the  only  person  who  did  not  sign  the 
Banishment  Bill,'  the  government  was  endeavouring  to 
sve  me  brought  to  £ial ;  and  for  that  purpose,  the 
nsty  Miyor  Swan  went  to  my  house,  that  was  a  bar- 
Mk  for  three  months  at  that  time,  with  a  person  (I 
ippcse  one  of  the  *  Battalion  of  Testimony')  to  look  for 
ikes^— desiring  the  person  to  go  through  the  dormant 
indow  of  the  house,  and  if  he  found  one,  he  would  get 
ilf  a  guinea  fbr  it  A  person  who  was  in  the  house, 
u&e  to  my  brother  with  that  word :  it  was  well  the 
lUow  did  not  think  of  bringing  one.  However,  nothing 
w  found.  When  my  brother  heard  of  this,  he  went  to 
le  Castle  and  mentioned  the  circumstance,  I  believe  to 
Ir.  Cooke;  and  the  answer  he  got,  was,— ^ that  there 
^d  be  no  more  searching.'  Some  of  my  family,  en- 
•avonring  to  procure  my  liberation,  went  once,  or  twice, 
r  thrice,  to  Lady  Louin  ConoUy,  a  very  amiable  char- 
Bter,  to  interest  herself  with  Lady  CasUereagh,  and  at 
us  time,  she  gave  my  sister  a  letter  to  that  personage, 
ly  lister  went  to  Lady  Gastlereagh's  residence,  expect* 
ig  a  fikvourable  answer ;  and  after  waiting  a  consider- 
ble  time — ^  Indeed,'  Lady  Castlereagh  sai^  '  she  could 
ot  interfere  vrith  Lord  Gastlereagh's  affairs  !'  No  hope 
i  that  quarter ! — ^well !  patience  is  a  virtue,  if  we  could 
Bt  submit  to  it" 

The  remaining  State  prisoners  were  sent  off  to 
'ort-George ;  and  Murphy,  after  being  confined 
)r  upwards  of  twelve  months,  was  liberated  on 
iving  very  heavy  halL  He  found  his  house 
londered  and  dilapidated  ;  and  his  claims  for  in- 
emnification  were  treated  with  total  neglect :  nor 
id  the  Duke  of  Leinster,  though  he  appeared  to 
)el  far  the  condition  into  which  this  worthy  man 
ad  been  thrown  by  sheltering  Lord  Edward,  offer 
im  the  smallest  pecuniary  assistance ;  for  which 
is  friends  had  hoped,  when  they  urged  him  to 
itit  upon  the  Duke.  He  farther  relates— 
^  I  endeavoured  to  raise  my  trade  with  very  limited 
leans,  and  found  it  very  difficult  to  do  so.  I  felt  now 
lat  great  men  were  very  easy  about  the  misfortunes  of 
khers ;  and,  I  am  sorry  I  am  obliged  to  make  the  re- 
lark— my  case  vras  one  that  was  to  be  deplored  in 
fery  point  of  view. 

**  There  was  a  large  reward  offered  for  the  apprehen- 
Icn  of  Lord  Edwu^  and  I  fearlessly  state  that,  if  it 
i«  ten  times  the  sum,  it  would  be  no  inducement  to 
le,  as  I  fblt  myself  bound  by  every  sentiment  of  honour- 
ble  feeling,  when  he  came  to  my  house,  to  admit  him 
ad  protect  him,  as  far  the  means  were  in  my  reach — 
Qd  what  man  could  do  less  for  an  ill-fated  gentleman, 
adeavouring  to  evade  the  vigilance  of  his  pursuers !  I 
link  I  would  act  on  the  same  principle  to  my  greatest 
lemy,  uader  similar  circumstances.  However,  my 
rospeeti  U  busiiiMt  were  ia  a  great  measure  destroyed 


by  the  long  confinement  I  was  obliged  to  submit  to,  and 
the  coercive  treatment  I  experienced  &om  my  oppres- 
sors. My  trade  totally  disappeared — some  of  my  friends 
were  afiraid  to  speak  to  me,  from  the  appearance  of  the 
times.  Well,  I  breathed  the  dear  air  of  my  beloved 
country,  and  was  at  liberty ;  and  I  felt  some  satisfius- 
tion  at  the  circumstance.  I  commenced  business,  and  I 
felt  a  great  want  of  what  is  called  the  '  sinews  of  war/ 
and  went  on  as  well  as  the  circumstances  would  admit.^ 

When  Robert  Emmet  and  his  associates  were 
arrested  on  the  assassination  of  Lord  Kilwarden, 
this  good  man  was  once  more  brought  into  trouble ; 
though  he  was  quite  unconnected  with  their 
schemes,  and,  indeed,  entirely  ignorant  of  thenu 
His  description  of  his  seoond  arrest  is  even  more 
significant  of  the  tender  mercies  of  the  ''loyal" 
than  his  persecution  when  he  was  really  implicated* 
The  volunteer  yeomen  by  whom  he  was  escorted 
to  prison^  belonged  to  the  '^  Attorneys'  Corps.'*  He 
says — 

**l  could  not  help  taking  aview  of  these  military  gentry 
—many  of  them  quite  Soys,  scarcely  able  to  handle  a 
musket;  and  their  affbcted  Imowledge  of  military  tactics 
drew  from  me  a  smile  of  contempt.  On  our  way  to  the 
Castle  the  crowd  increased  immensely,  everv  one  inquir- 
ing--' Who  is  that!'  DubUn  appeared  to  be  in  a  state 
of  siege.  In  Skinners'  Row,  I  saw  Sir  John  White  com- 
ing up  against  us  on  the  other  side ;  I  knew  his  person, 
but  never  spoke  to  him.  He  came  over  to  me,  and  said 
to  me — *  Murphy,  you  will  be  hanged  to-morrow.'  I 
told  him  *  I  hoped  not  so  soon.'  He  was  fiiUy  appointed 
in  military  array.  I  was  told  he  commanded  a  corps 
known  by  the  name  of '  Sepulchres,'  and  was  going  to 
meet  them  at  the  time.  What  a  melancholy  circum- 
stance it  is,  to  be  obliged  to  remark  the  conduct  of  re- 
spectable diaraoters,  wound  up  to  a  pitch  of  frended 
loyalty,  and  making  use  of  language  degrading  to  ^ 
human  species.  However,  I  met  this  m&itary  hero  ia 
some  time  afterwards,  and  he  thought  proper  to  apologise 
for  it,  and  did  appear  sorry  for  his  mistaken  seal.  .... 
In  a  little  time  I  was  removed  to  the  Castle  guard-house, 
and  there  placed  in  a  crib,  with  several  owers,  a  place 
I  could  hardly  breathe  in,  and  there  exhibited  for  public 
curiosity.  A  soldier  of  the  d8th  said  he  wished  to  have 
a  crack  at  me.  In  the  course  of  the  day  I  was  ordered^ 
with  others,  to  the  provost-prison,  situated  in  Harbour 
Hill.  I  was  brought  there  under  escort  This  place 
appeared  to  be  a  new  building,  and  is  situated  on  a  rising 
ground.  I  was  placed  in  a  room,  with  five  or  six  other 
prisoners ;  it  was  intended,  I  heard,  as  an  hospital  fSnr 
invalided  soldiers:  there  was  not  in  it  either  table  or  chair, 
or  anything  whatever  except  the  walls,  and  they  were 
thick  enough.  I  sent  for  a  bed,  and  I  accommodated 
two  of  my  fellow  prisoners  with  part  of  it.  If  Itad  not, 
they  would  be  obliged  to  sleep  on  the  floor.  The  vrindow 
stools  supplied  the  place  of  a  table.  The  wet  was  run* 
ning  down  the  walls  in  the  most  copious  way.  There 
was  in  this  place  two  hundred  prisoners,  and  fh>m  ap- 
pearances, the  principal  part  of  them  were  of  the  humblest 
class  of  society.  It  was  a  horrible  place  fbr  any  man  te 
be  placed  in,  that  was  accustomed  to  a  respectable  situ- 
ation in  society.  It  required  great  fortitude  to  submit 
with  calmness  to  this  state  of  tilings;  however '  we  must 
bear  those  ills  we  cannot  cure.'  My  house  was  deserted, 
ray  trade  destroyed,  my  credit  ii^ured !  I  would  prefisr 
being  three  months  in  Newgate,  to  three  weeks  in  this 
place.  Sometimes  there  would  come  informers,  and  then 
the  prisoners  would  be  ordered  out  for  inspection,  two 
deep,  and  the  informers  would  view  us  all  round  with 
the  eye  of  an  Argus,  trying  to  recognise  any  unfortunate 
prisoner  in  the  crowd  to  whom  to  attach  criminality.  X 
have  seen  Majors  Sirr  and  Swan  amusing  themselves 
here,  laughing  at  the  misfortunes  of  others,  but  at  the 
same  time  taking  care  of  themselves.  I  felt  I  gave  great 
uneasiness  and  trouble  to  my  family,  and  it  caused  very 
^unpleasant  sensations  to  myself.  I  considered  this  cir- 
cmnstanee  as  a  rery  eoerdve  measure:  but  I  was  weU 


588 


MADDEN*S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


aware,  it  wai  to  please  a  certain  partj,  at  this  time  in 
power." 

He  was  at  last  liberated,  after  giving  bail  for  seven 
years,  himself  for  ;C1000,  and  two  sureties  in  £500 
each ;  besides  the  similar  amount  of  bail  still  hang- 
ing over  him  from  the  time  of  his  previous  libera^ 
tion.  Poor  Murphy's  example  affords  very  little 
encouragement  to  a  man  sacrificing  himself  for  a 
public  cause.  After  he  had  been  thus  unjustly 
punished,  ^  to  please/'  as  he  says,  *^  a  junto  of  ex- 
clusive loyalists  that  were  lording  it  overthe  people," 
he  returned  home  to  find  hb  trade  again  ruined.  He 
was  once  more  induced  to  apply  for  assistance  to 
the  Duke  of  Leinster,  who  gave  Mm  sympathy  and 
condolence,  but  nothing  more  substantial.  He  died 
at  an  advanced  age,  in  embarrassed  circumstances, 
but  with  the  rare  character,  in  those  times,  of  unim- 
peachable Integrity.  Besides  Murphy's  Narrative, 
now  first  published,  the  '^United  Irishmen"  contains 
other  accounts  of  the  arrest  of  Lord  Edward  fltz- 
gerald,  and  of  the  persons  intimately  connected 
with,  and  forming  what  was  called  his  body-guard. 
Few  as  they  were  in  number,  (besides  the  infor- 
mation of  Lord  Edward's  movements  and  places  of 
retreat  in  Dublin  regularly  communicated  by 
Reynolds,)  there  was  one  traitor  among  them ;  and 
it  seems  not  unlikely  that,  throughout  his  various 
places  of  concealment  in  Dublin,  Major  Sirr  never 
fairly  lost  sight  of  him. 

Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald,  Robert  Emmet,  the 
Sheares,  and  men  of  their  cast,  laid  themselves 
fairly  open  to  the  government ;  but  even  the  most 
wary  and  innocent  were  not  safe  in  those  treacher- 
ous and  slippery  times,  and  a  bold  attempt  seems 
to  have  been  made  to  implicate  Grattan,  who  was 
denounced  by  Lord  Clare  in  the  Privy  Council,  along 
with  the  United  Irishmen.  This,  however,  failed. 
Grattan's  accuser  was  another  Government  spy, 
named  Hughes,  who  had  been  a  bookseller  in  Bel- 
feist ;  a  person  who,  if  not  as  viUanous  as  Reynolds, 
was  a  more  fortunate  and  dexterous  deceiver.  He 
was  one  of  the  first  and  most  active  members  of 
the  Northern  Societies.  He  was  often  employed 
in  missions  to  other  places ;  and  as  Secretary  of  the 
Belfast  Society  swore  in  all  the  members.  Sub- 
sequently his  afiairs  became  embarrassed  ;  he  was 
declared  a  bankrupt ;  and  probably  became  a 
volunteer  spy,  as  the  price  of  his  liberation  when 
arrested  on  a  charge  of  High  Treason.  In  his  capa- 
city of  spy,  he  came  up  to  Dublin,  in  the  spring  of 
1798,  to  do  useful  work.  He  had  been  in  the 
capital  in  the  previous  summer,  when  the  military 
organization  of  the  different  counties  was  going 
forward,  but  he  was  not  then  in  the  pay  of  the 
Grovemment.  When  once  fairly  at  work,  we  learn 
his  proceedings  from  his  own  evidence — 

"  He  went  to  Dublin  on  the  20th  of  April,  and  remained 
there  about  nine  days.  He  called  on  Samuel  Neilson, 
walked  with  him  to  Mr.  Cormiok,  a  feather-merchant  in 
Thomas  Street.  He  was  introduced  by  Neilson  to  Cor- 
mick  in  the  offiee.  Cormick  asked  them  to  go  up  stairs; 
he  and  Neilson  went  up  stairs,  and  found  I^rd  Edward 
Fitzgerald  and  Mr.  Lawless  the  8urgeon,playing  billiards. 
He  had  been  introduced  to  Lord  Edward  about  a  year 
before  by  Teeling;  he  was  a  stranger  to  Lawless ;  so  he 
staid  about  an  hour;  no  particular  conversations;  was 
invited  to  dine  there  that  day,  and  did  so;  the  company 
were  Lord  Edward^  Lawless,  Neilson>  Cormick>  and  his* 


wife.  The  oonversation  turned  upon  the  state  of  the 
country,  and  the  violent  measures  of  government  is 
letting  the  army  loose.  The  company  were  aU  of 
opinion,  that  there  was  then  no  chance  of  the  peepie 
resisting  by  foroe  with  any  success.  He  was  also  xntro- 
duoed  by  Gordon,  who  had  been  in  Newgate,  and  Ruben 
Orr  of  Belfast,  chandler,  to  Mr.  Rattican,  the  timber 
merchant  at  the  comer  of  Thomas  Street.  Rattkai 
talked  to  him  on  the  state  of  the  country  and  of  the  otj 
of  Dublin,  and  told  him  that  they  would  begin  the  ■- 
surrection  in  Dublin  by  liberating  the  prisoners  in  K9- 
mainham.  Rattican  showed  him  a  plan  of  the  inteodei 
attack  upon  Kilmainham.  Whilst  he  was  in  DaUio,  h 
April,  he  dined  with  Neilson  at  the  Brazen  Head.  Nen 
day,  Neilson  called  him  up  at  five  o'clock,  and  they  we^ 
to  Sweetman's,  near  Judge  Chamberlaine'8,ta  bre^Cut; 
Sweetman  was  then  in  prison,  but  Neilson  lived  in  fas 
house.  Neilson  took  Sweetman's  carriage  to  Mr.  Grat- 
tan's,  and  brought  him  along  with  him.  When  they  got 
to  Mr.  Grattan's,  Neilson  told  him  he  had  something  ts 
say  to  Mr.  Grattan  in  private,  and  desired  him  to  take 
a  walk  in  the  domain.  Neilson,  however,  introduced 
him  to  Mr.  Grattan  first,  and  Mr.  Grattan  ordered  a 
servant  to  attend  him  to  show  him  the  grounds.  Ht 
returned  in  about  half  an  hour.  Went  into  Mr.  Cfrattaa'i 
library — Neilson  and  Grattan  were  there  together.  Grat- 
tan adced  a  variety  of  questions  touching  the  state  of  tte 
country  in  the  norUi :  how  many  families  had  been  drirei 
out,  and  how  many  houses  burned  by  the  government  «r 
the  Orangemen !  Grattan  said  he  supposed  he  was  a 
United  Irishman!  he  said  he  was.  Grattan  asked  hm 
how  many  United  Irishmen  were  in  the  province  f  he 
said  he  reckoned  126,000.  Grattan  asked  Um  how  naoy 
Orangemen  there  were!  he  said  about  12,000 — Grattaa 
made  no  particular  answer.  Neilson  and  he  left  Grattaa's 
about  twelve  in  the  day ;  they  walked  to  their  carria^, 
which  was  at  Enniskerry ;  he  asked  Neilson  what  ha4 
passed  between  Grattan  and  him  t  Neilson  evaded  the 
question,  but  said  generally  that  he  had  gone  down  ta 
Grattan  to  ask  him  whether  he  would  come  Ibrwaid, 
and  that  he  had  sworn  him.  That  Grattan  promised  tt 
meet  him  in  Dublin  before  the  next  Tuesday.  He  left 
Dublin  that  evening,  and  returned  to  Belfkst.  He  has 
known  the  Reverend  Steele  Dickson,  of  Portaferry,  for 
two  years  intimately." 

Neilson  afterwards  denied  that  he  had  sworn  Mr. 
Grattan,  or  that  he  had  ever  said  so ;  and  that  any 
copyofUie  constitution  of  the  society  had  been  shown 
to  Grattan.  Hughes  remained  long  unsuspected,  as 
he  was  not  called  upon  to  give  evidence  at  the  trials 
of  the  persons  whom  his  disclosures  implicated. 
According  to  our  author,  he  was  kept  in  reserve  hi 
higher  uses.  Fuller  light  is  thrown  upon  his  func- 
tions and  individual  character  by  the  narrative  of 
the  imprisonment  and  exile  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dieksoa 
of  Belfast  ;— 

Dr.  Dickson  was  airested  on  the  4th  of  Jane,  17^ 
in  consequence  of  the  disclosures  made  by  Magin  aad 
Hughes. 

During  his  confinement  in  the  house  called  the  Dooepl 
Arms,  then  the  provost-prison  of  Bel&st,  the  plan  was 
carried  into  effect,  which  had  been  very  generally  adopted 
at  this  frightful  period  in  other  parts  of  the  coontry,  tf 
apprehending  some  of  the  least  suspected  infomiett,aBid 
having  it  rumoured  abroad  that  sudi  persons  had  htm 
arrested  as  ringleaders  of  the  rebels,  who  were  sure  to 
be  conrioted,  and  then  placing  these  persona  amoog  tk 
unfortunate  prisoners,  for  the  purpose  of  makiqg  tl* 
latter  furnish  eridence  against  themselves  and  their  efla> 
panions.  This  proceeding,  which  would  hardly  be  had 
recourse  to  in  any  uncivilbEed  country,  in  these  HmtSf  is 
thus  described  by  Dr.  Dickson,  from  his  own  sad  ex- 
perience of  it : — 

'^  The  first  of  these  persons,  of  whom  I  had  any  ks^*- 
ledge,  or  by  whom  I  was  beset,  was  the  notorious  J<la 
Hughes,  a  man  some  years  before  of  consideraUt  i^ 
spectability,  but  with  whom  I  never  bad  any  partidb^ 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


589 


nnexioni  or  eyen  intimate  acquaintance.  Howeyer, 
was  fixed  on  as  most  likely  to  succeed  in  entrapping 
6  and  a  few  others.  With  a  yiew  to  this,  opportunity 
IS  taken  to  excite  our  compassion,  either  on  the  day 
» or  after  his  arrest.  We  were  entertained  with  a  fable 
aly  aifecting— '  that  there  was  no  hope  of  saying  his 
ie — that  his  mind  was  deranged— that  he  was  treated 
Ith  great  cruelty — and,  that  he  was  placed  among  a 
Dwd  of  poor  wretches,  with  whom  he  could  neither 
>ye  oonyersation  nor  comfort.'  This  pathetic  fiction 
IS  immediately  followed  with  an  obserration,  that,  *  if 
3  could  possibly  make  room  for  him,  taking  him  to  us 
»nld  be  an  act  of  the  greatest  charity.'  (Completely 
iposed  on  by  the  tale,  we  instantly  yielded  to  tiie  ap- 
ication,  and  smothering  though  we  were,  receiyed  him 
to  our  ttave.  On  his  entrance,  his  looks  and  manner 
Bre  wild,  unsettled,  and  strongly  marked  with  melan- 
oly.  Afterwards,  he  talked,  in  a  desponding  tone,  of 
e  certainty  of  his  oonyiction,  and  sometimes  of  a  secret 
nspiraoy  against  him,  in  which,  as  it  appeared,  he  con- 
lered  some  of  us  as  concerned.  At  other  times,  he 
ould  start,  with  seeming  horror,  and  exclaim  that  the 
ntinel  was  about  to  shoot  him.  On  the  whole,  though 
)  sometimes  talked  soberly,  and  generally  listened  at- 
ntiwlfi  to  our  coHvencUion,  he  acted  his  part  so  well,  at 
teryals,  that  during  two  nights,  and  the  intermediate 
by,  I  was  as  tally  conyinced  of  his  derangement  as  I 
as  of  my  own  existence ;  and  under  this  impression, 
>t  only  prayed  with  him,  and  for  him,  in  his  seemingly 
imposed  moments,  but  was  quite  delighted  with  the 
ondetfiU  comfort  which  devotwnal  exereieee  seemed  to 
ire  hm.  Some  of  our  party,  howeyer,  suspected  him 
r imposture  from  the  first;  and  their  suspicion  was  soon 
>nfirmed,  by  his  being  remoyed,  for  some  time  eyery 
%y,  to  a  distant  apartment,  and  detained  in  secret  con- 
trence.  His  total  remoyal  from  us,  a  few  days  after- 
wards, and  his  symptoms  of  insanity  suddenly  disappear- 
tg,  certainly  excited  suspicion,  and  his  name  was  con- 
gned  to  infkmy  together  with  tiiose  of  his  employers. 
"  Besides  Hughes,  other  informers  were  pUced  among 
s,  about  the  same  time.  One  of  which  was  the  Mr.  Magin 
lentioned  by  him,  in  his  deposition,  which  will  appear 
rterwards.  He,  like  the  other,  was  committed,  under 
le  most  dreadf^  denunciations  of  yengeance,  and,  as 
le  other  had  done,  expressed  the  most  liyely  apprehen- 
ons  of  his  impending  fate,  eyen  with  lamentations  and 
tars.  He  made  his  way  to  me  frequently,  and  under 
irioos  pretexts  ;  sometimes  to  complain  of  his  melan- 
M>]y  situation,  sometimes  to  borrow  trifles,  and,  at 
thers,  to  affect  confidential  oonyersation,  or  ask  adyice." 

Hughes'  sham  arrest  was  therefore  for  the  sole 
orpoee  of  forwarding  the  objects  of  his  nefarious 
£ce  ;  and  only  took  place  when  he  had  done  his 
aty  in  Dublin  ;  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  having 
een  arrested  on  the  19th  of  May  in  Dublin,  and 
[ughes  on  his  return  to  Belfast  on  the  7th  June. 
;y  official  documents  since  brought  to  light,  and 
'hich  form  an  important  feature  in  this  work,  it 
ppears  that  even  his  most  trifling  personal  ex- 
eases  while  suffering  confinement,  were  defrayed 
lit  of  the  public  purse.    He  was  long  detained 

I  prison,  it  is  not  easy  to  say  for  what  object ; 
lough  the  Grovemment  seems  to  have  had  little 
snfidence  in  its  spies  ;  and  though  not  paid  upon 
ie  magnificent  scale  of  Reynolds,  he  did  not  go 
•holly  without  his  reward.  When  discharged  from 
le  Castle,  he  seems  to  have  received  £200  "infullof 

II  demands."  This  was  but  poor  work,  though 
robably  but  a  balance. 

The  novel  infamy  of  employing  the  confidential 
kw-agentfl  of  prisoners  as  spies  upon  their  clients, 
ras  reserved  for  the  Irish  Government  of  1798.  The 
kw-agent  of  the  United  Irishmen  of  Antrim  was 
ti€  person  named  M'Gucken ;  and  the  individual  he 


employed  to  go  to  Dublin  to  engage  counsel  to  de- 
fend his  betrayed  clients  was  Hughes,  who,  like 
himself  was  then  quite  unsuspected  by  the  mem- 
bers of  the  societies.    Well  is  it  said 

Treason  upon  treason  meets  our  ejes,  at  every  step  of 
the  agents,  actors,  and  adyersaries  too,  of  this  conspiracy. 
It  is  painftil  to  trace  the  revolting  progress  of  such  per- 
fidy, but  it  is  needfrd  to  unmask  and  to  expose  its  hideous- 
ne88,in  order  to  prevent  a  recurrence  to  the  use  or  practice 
of  its  wickedness. 

It  will  be  seen,  that  M'Gucken's  ^  serrices,"  did  not 
go  without  their  reward  in  this  world. 

"  March  5, 1799.  J.  Pollock  for  M'Gucken,  sent 
to  him  by  poet  to  Belfast     .        .        .        .£60 

October  1,  1799.  M'Gucken,  Belfast,  per  post, 
by  direction  of  Mr.  Cook  .  .50 

January  2, 1800.    Mr.  Pollock  for  M'Gucken     .  100 

April  1,  1800,  M'Gucked^  per  Mr.  Marsden's 
order 50 

June  11, 1800.    M'Gucken,  per  ditto         .        .    50 

June  21^  1800.    Mr.  Pollock  for  M'Gucken        .  100 

January  1, 1801.    M<Gucken,per  post  to  Belfkst  100 

February  20,  1802.  J.  M'Gueken,  to  replace 
£100  advanced  to  him  May  16,  1801,  but 
afterwards  stopped  out  of  his  pension  .        .100 

February  12, 1803.  Mr.  Pollock  for  M'Gucken, 
an  extra  allowance 50 

June  25, 1803.    Mr.  Pollock  for  J.  M'Gucken  .  .  100 

September  19,  1803.    Mr.  Marsden  to  send 

M'Gucken 100 

December  5, 1803.  J.  M'Gucken,  per  Mr.  Mars- 
den's  note    100 

February  7, 1804.    Mr.  Pollock  for  M'Gucken    500** 

It  may  be  presumed,  for  these  large  sums  and  his 
pension,  moreover,  that  Mr.  M^Gucken  rendered  many 
and  important  services. 

Though  the  first  item  whichbears  his  initials  is  dated  the 
5th  of  March,  1799,  several  other  sums  of  a  previous  date 
are  set  down,  with  the  name  of  the  person  oidy  through 
whom  the  succeeding  payments  were  chiefly  made,  and 
one  to  the  amount  of  £300. 

The  earliest  proof  of  Mr.  M'Grucken's  serrices  that  has 
transpired,  was  given  on  the  occasion  of  the  disappearance 
of  six  brass  fleld-pieces  of  the  Belfast  Volunteer  Ck>rpe,  the 
property  of  the  town  of  Belfkst,  which  General  Nugent 
issued  a  proclamation  to  be  given  up  to  him,  the  28th  May, 
1 798.  Four  of  the  pieces  were  given  up  on  the  SOtii ;  the 
two  others,  Mr.  RobiBrt  Getty  was  held  responsible  for,  as 
the  officer  of  that  corps,  in  whose  charge  they  had  been 
originally  placed.  The  pieces  having  Iwen  carried  away 
clandestinely  long  before,  without  the  knowledge  of  Mr. 
Getty,  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  produce  ihism :  this 
gentleman  was  arrested  and  sent  to  the  provost.  This 
measure  excited  much  surprise  in  Bellist,  even  at  a 
period  when  any  outrage  on  one  of  the  old  volunteers,  of 
independent  principles,  excited  little.  Mr.  Getty  was  a 
num  of  undoubted  loyalty;  he  had  been,  however,  one  of 
the  early  advocates  of  Catholic  emancipation,  but  on 
every  political  subject,  was  of  very  moderate  opinions. 
In  those  times,  few  considerations  weighed  against  the 
secret  charges  of  a  recognised  informer. 

Mr.  Getty's  life  was  in  imminent  peril,  and  probably, 
if  the  crown-solidtor,  Mr.  Pollock,  had  not  visited  him 
in  the  provost,  he  would  have  been  hanged.  It  turned 
out  that  some  charges,  but  utterly  unfounded  ones,  had 
been  laid  against  him.  Getty's  influence,  however,  and 
high  character,  triumphed  over  the  malignity  of  the  in- 
former, and  he  was  released. 

It  was  only  in  the  year  1809  or  1810,  that  Mr.  Pollock 
told  G^etty,  that  the  informer  against  him  was  Mr.  James 
M'Gucken,  the  attorney.  He  showed  Mr.  Getty  the  in- 
formations, and  I  haye  good  authority  for  saying  there 
was  no  truth  in  them.  Mr.  Getty  never  could  account 
for  this  proceeding ;  he  had  never  given  any  offence  to 
this  man,  and  from  his  early  advocacy  of  emancipation, 
to  the  last  day  of  his  life,  was  a  fikvourite  with  his  Boman 
Catholic  townsmen,  to  which  body  IfGueken  belonged. 
The  late  General  Coulson,  an  aide-de-camp  at  that  time  to 
General  Barber,  subsequently  informed  a  member  of  bis 


590 


MADDEN'S  mSTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


fkmilyi  tiiftt  one  of  M^Gncken's  relationf  had  been  ar- 
nsied  by  him  in  1798,  of  whose  guilt  there  wm  not  the 
flUgfatest  doubt;  he  wi6  allowed,  boweyer,  to  eeoape,  but 
whj,  he  did  not  know. 

In  the  year  1802,  there  being  no  longer  a  field  for  the 
eervioes  of  Bir.  Hughes,  he  was  *  paid  off,**  and  permitted, 
like  Reynolds,  to  ^  bid  an  eternal  farewell  to  his  friends 
and  country ."  His  loss,  like  that  of  Mr.  Reynolds,  no 
doubt,  was  borne  with  Christian  fortitude. 

From  these  details  it  may  be  concluded,  that 
no  man  who  has  fairiy  entered  upon  the  trade 
of  a  hired  spy  ever  abides  by  the  mere  facts  within 
his  knowledge.  He  embellishes  the  real,  or,  if  need 
be,  creates  fictitious  circumstances  to  enhance  the 
▼alue  of  his  information. 

The  suffnings  of  the  country  during  the  Rebel- 
lion forms  a  frightful  chapter  in  this  work.  The 
use  of  torture  is,  we  believe,  no  longer  denied  by 
any  party  ;  because  the  fact  is  undeniable.  With- 
out entering  upon  the  painful  details  of  these  enor- 
mities, we  shall  cite  one  brief  notice  of  the  results. 

Throughout  the  country,  the  total  loss  on  both  sides, 
in  this  rebellion,  is  estimated  by  Plowden,  Moore,  Curran, 
and  Barrington,  at  about  70,000  ;  20,000  on  the  side  of 
Government,  and  60,000  on  that  of  the  insurgents.  It  is 
generally  admitted  by  all,  but  more  especially  by  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Gordon,  that  very  many  more  were  put  to  death 
in  oold  blood  than  perished  in  the  field  of  battle.  The 
number  of  deaths  arising  from  torture,  or  massacre, 
where  no  resirtanee  was  offered,  during  the  year  1798, 
forms  the  far  greater  portion  of  the  total  number  slain 
in  this  contest.  The  words  of  Mr.  €k>rdon  are, "  I  have 
reason  to  think,  more  men  than  fell  in  battle  were  slain 
in  cold  blood.  No  quarter  was  given  to  persons  taken 
prisoners  as  rebels,  with  or  without  anns.'^ 

It  would  be  vain  to  conceal  that  the  insurgents 
all  but  equalled  the  ^ loyal"  and  the  military  in 
acts  of  sanguinary  and  wanton  cruelty,  though  the 
actual  loss  of  life  through  their  means  was  com- 
paratively little. 

The  expense  of  this  rebellion  is  estimated  vari* 
ously  at  from  twenty-one  to  fifty-two  millions  of 
money.  The  sum  must  have  been  enormous. 
The  indemnification  of  suffering  loyalists  alone, 
is  estimated  at  about  a*  million  and  a  half ;  tliough 
there  was  no  indemnity  for  the  injury  sustained  by 
such  poor,  oppressed  men,  as  Nicholas  Murphy. 
We  do  not  pretend  to  follow  the  narrative  of  the 
civil  war,  in  Wexford  and  the  other  disturbed 
counties ;  but  a  few  isolated  facts  will  throw  some 
light  upon  the  appalling  results  of  secret  conspira- 
cies, and  attempts  at  employing  physical  force  to 
overthrow  any  established  government.  When  the 
rebels,  or  the  rabble  in  arms,  took  the  town  of 
Wexford  from  the  military,  among  other  State 
prisoners  whom  they  released,  was  Mr.  Harvey,  a 
popular  young  barrister  of  respectable  family,  and 
the  heir  to  a  good  estate.  They  immediately  made 
Mr.  Harvey  their  commander,  though  he  was  very 
reluctant  to  accept  an  appointment  for  which  he 
was  totally  unfit.  But,  though  military  talents 
were  not  to  be  expected  from  the  rebel  General  and 
his  chanoe-medley  staffs,  steady  conduct,  and  a 
moderate  degree  of  sobriety  might  have  been  looked 
for.  What  was  their  behaviour  while  leading  on  a 
force,  or  a  horde  of  from  20,000  to  30,000  men,  and 
when  preparing  to  attack  the  town  of  Boss  ? 

niey  arrived  late  in  the  evening  at  Corbet  Hill,  within 
a  mile  of  Ross,  and  there  Mr.  Harvey  and  his  principal 


officers  took  up  their  quarters  in  the  house  of  a  gentle- 
man, where  ''being  regaled  (says  Hay)  with  an  ezcelleBi 
supper  and  exquisite  wines,  they  were  so  well  plea«4 
with  their  cheer,  and  so  far  fbigot  their  pradenee  ai 
commanders,  that  they  had  scarcely  time  to  have  &Ua  | 
asleep,  when  they  were  roused,  according  to  the  otden 
they  had  given  in  their  sober  numenUf  to  commence  tiie 
attack  at  the  break  of  day."  In  plain  terms,  the  genoil 
and  his  staff,  the  night  preceding  a  battle,  on  tl^  iant 
of  which  depended  ail  their  hopes,  sat  up  all  night  drink- 
ing and  carousing,  instead  of  making  their  dlspoatiami, 
and  maturing  their  plan  of  operations.  Their  exao^ 
was  followed  by  their  troops  the  fbllowing  day :  iai 
dmnkenness  alone  was  the  cause  of  their  defeat  oa  that 
occasion.  Cloney,  an  eye-witness  of  these  scenes,  say^ 
**  the  leaders  found  more  attraction  in  Mr.  Mnx|ili7*i 
good  wines,  than  in  the  discharge  of  those  ardoona  dn^ 
tiiat  appertained  to  their  command." 

Harvey  had  formed  a  plan  of  attack  on  three  diff^rest 
parts  of  the  town  at  once  ;  which  Mr.  Gordon  tfainkis 
**  would  probably  have  succeeded  if  it  had  been  pot  ia 
execution."  **  Harrey,  (he  says,)  though  neither  destitnte 
of  personal  courage,  nor,  in  some  respects,  of  a  good 
understanding,  possessed  not  that  calm  intrepidity  tHiiek 
is  necessary  in  the  composition  of  a  military  officer,  nor 
those  rare  talents  by  which  an  undisciplined  malthnde 
may  be  directed  and  controlled." 

Harvey's  first  act  in  the  morning,  was  to  deq[>atcfa  on 
of  his  officers,  Mr.  Furlong,  with  a  flag  of  trace,  mod  a 
summons  to  the  commanding  officer  in  Ross,  to  surrender 
the  town.  Furlong  no  sooner  reached  the  ont-posti, 
than  he  was  shot  in  the  performance  of  his  miasioii.  Mr. 
Gordon,  a  protestant  clergyman,  in  relating  this  cireno- 
stanee,  says, "  To  shoot  all  persons  carrying  flags  of  tnee 
from  the  rebels,  appears  to  have  been  a  maxim  with  hii 
majesty's  forces." 

An  attack  was  immediately  made  on  the  town,  witk 
indiscriminate  Airy ;  the  plan  of  the  general  was  totally 
disregarded.  After  some  hard  fightinc,  they  gained 
possession  of  the  town  ;  but  instead  of  fbllowing  up  thdr 
advantage,  ^  they  fell  to  plundering  and  drinking  ;"  and 
after  being  some  hours  in  possession  of  the  town,  th» 
great  body  of  the  multitude  was  so  inebriated  as  to  be 
incapable  of  defending  their  new  conquest  *  Sach  of 
the  insurgents  (says  Hay)  as  were  not  too  drank  t» 
escape  out  of  the  town,  of  which  they  had  been  by  Ha 
time  some  hours  in  possession,  were  driven  out  ct  the 
town  f '  but  having  recovered  a  little  after  their  hasty 
retreat,  which  in  a  great  measure  made  them  sober,  they 
again  returned  to  the  charge,  and  their  intrepidity  was 
more  aignally  displayed  thui  on  any  former  ooGasioiL 
They  again  got  possesion  of  the  town  ;  "  but  even  aiWr 
this  (we  are  told  by  Hay)  they  soon  fell  into  the  saate 
misconduct  as  before,  crowning  their  bravery  with  dnnik- 
enness."  They  were  agun  driven  out  oif  the  town; 
several  houses  were  set  on  fire,  and  one  in  which  seventy- 
five  of  these  unfortunate  wretches  were  shut  np,  all  of 
whom  perished  in  the  flames,  with  one  exception,  who, 
in  running  away,  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  clear  of 
the  fire  of  the  soldiery. 

A  Quaker  of  the  name  of  Cullimore,  who  had  beca 
taken  up  on  the  preceding  day,  when  leaving  the  towa 
on  a  visit  to  his  family,  had  the  courage  and  hnauuuty 
to  interfere  on  behalf  of  the  prisoners  who  were  confined 
in  the  market-house  ;  a  number  of  soldiers  had  rushed 
in,  with  the  intention  of  putting  the  prisoners  to  deaA ; 
Cullimore  stood  boldly  forth,  and  cried  ont  in  an  aatiM»ri> 
tative  and  impressive  tone,  ''You  shall  not  ahooi  the 
prisoners,  there  are  some  men  here  as  loyal  aa  yon  are.' 
The  manner  and  the  spirit  of  this  single,  unarmed,  aai 
uninfiuential  man,  awed  and  overcame  the  infiniaitd 
band  ;  ''they  retired  without  perpretatang  the  honsi 
crime  they  had  intended  to  commit." 
Several  of  "  the  respectable  persons,"  of  that  class  called 
middle  men,  daring  the  engagement,  having  a  cask  d 
port-wine  which  they  had  conveyed  from  Ck>rbet  HHI  tr 
a  well-protected  spot,  under  the  shelter  of  a  high  StA, 
drinking  out  of  wooden  "noggins,"  and  occaaioiiaQf 
advancing  in  warlike  array  towards  the  gate,  and  tka 
inquiring  with  becoming  authority,  ^  How  goes  the  dayr 


MADDEN^S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHBiEN. 


501 


«yB  !^  and  then  retimiiig  to  the  wine  cask  while  the 
itile  WM  going  <m ;  which,  '^  if  it  had  saooeeded,"  (saye 
loner,)  ''onr  waj  was  open  to  Waterford  and  Dnnoan- 
on  Fort,  both  would  have  been  hafttilj  evacuated,  and 
to  pfovinee  of  Mnnster  at  onoe  in  arms." 

Harvey  was  speedily  deposed  from  his  high  post; 
ot  altogether  for  military  miioondoct,  but  for  his 
iterference  to  preserye  ibe  lives  and  property  of 
le  persons  who  fell  into  the  hands  of  his  troops, 
[e  was  afterwards  arrested  in  one  of  the  Saltee 
kndsy  where  he  had  concealed  himself  with  some 
kher  rebel  leaders  in  a  caye;  and  he  paid  with 
it  lifB  the  penalty  of  his  few  days  of  generalship, 
testimony  borne  on  his  trial  to  his  humanity,  stood 
im  in  no  stead,  but  rather  operated  unfavourably. 
Ve  are  told  that— 

The  rector  of  Killegny,  in  allading  to  this  fkct,  in  the 
ise  of  one  Redmond,  observes, "  The  display  of  hmnanitv 
J  a  rebel  was,  in  general,  in  the  trials  by  conrt-martial, 
f  no  means  regarded  as  a  cironmstanoe  in  fkvonr  of  the 
ceased ;  strange  as  it  may  seem  in  times  of  cool  refleo- 
mi,  it  was  very  frequently  urged  as  a  proof  of  guilt. 
Hioever  could  be  proved  to  have  saved  a  loyalist  from 
isassination,  his  house  from  burning,  or  his  property 
t)m  plunder,  was  considered  as  having  influence  among 
M  rebels,  c<msequently  a  commander. 

Men  became  afraid  of  being  suspected  of  generosity 
r  tenderness  to  their  enemies,  and  a  Roman  Ca- 
bolic  gentleman,  one  of  the  rebels,  under  this 
pprehension.  Is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  *'  I  thank 
ly  God  that  no  one  can  prove  me  guilty  of  saving 
be  life  or  property  of  any  one ! "  Harvey,  though 
lost  unfit  to  be  an  insurgent  leader,  seems  to  have 
een  an  amiable,  if  weak  man.  When  he  beheld 
be  horrible  scene  in  the  bam  of  Scullabogue,  where 
number  of  prisoners  had  been  foully  destroyed  in 
old  blood  by  some  of  the  rebels,  in  their  flight  after 
lie  battle  of  Boss,  he  is  said  to  have  turned  from 
tie  scene  with  horror,  and,  wringing  his  hands,  to 
ave  exclaimed  to  those  about  hiniy — 

*  Innocent  people  were  burned  there  as  ever  vrere 
Dm ;  your  conquests  for  liberty  are  at  an  end."  He 
ud  to  a  friend  he  fell  in  with,  with  respect  to  his  own 
tuation,  '  I  see  now  the  folly  of  embarking  in  this 
nMnesB  with  these  people :  if  they  succeed,  I  shall  be 
lurdered  by  tiiem ;  if  they  are  defeated,  I  shall  be 

inged.** Harvey  met  his  fttte  with  be- 

nning  fortitude  ;  even  Sir  Richard  Musgrave  acknow- 
dges,  *  he  died  in  a  very  decent  manner,  having  been 
fetMided  by  a  Protestant  clergyman,  and  having  prayed 
H>6t  fervently.*'  Hay,  in  his  account  of  his  execution, 
Ates,  that  on  the  27th,  when  he  was  brought  out  of  his 
)U,  **  he  met  Mr.  Grocan  in  the  gaol-yard,  and  accosted 
im  in  a  feeling  and  affectionate  manner.  While  shaking 
ftnds  with  him,  he  said  in  the  presence  of  an  officer  and 
)me  of  the  guards,  and  in  the  hearing  of  several  prisoners 
iio  had  crovrded  to  Uie  windows, '  Ah,  poor  Grogan  ! 
Ml  die  aa  innocent  man,  at  all  events.'  They  were  then 
Miducted  to  the  bridge,  where  they  were  hanged,  when 
le  heads  of  Messrs.  Grogan  and  Harvey  were  cut  off, 
nd  placed  upon  pikes  on  each  side  of  that  of  Captain 
leogh,  (who  had  been  some  days  previously  execoted,) 
rhile  their  bodies  were  stripped,  and  treated  with  the 
Boal  brutal  indecencies  before  being  oast  over  the  bridge, 
ir.  Coldougfa  was  executed  on  the  day  following  ;  but 
Is  body,  at  the  intercession  of  his  lady,  was  given  up  to 
er  to  be  interred.  Mr.  John  Kelly,  of  Kifian,  whose 
»urage  and  intrepidity  had  been  so  conspicuous  at  the 
attle  of  Boss,  now  lay  ill  in  Wexford  of  a  wound  which 
e  had  reeeived  in  that  engagement— he  was  taken  from 
is  bed,  tried,  and  eondemned  to  die.  His  head  was  cut 
IT,  and  his  body,  after  the  accustomed  indignities,  was 
^wtt  over  the  bridge.    The  head,  however,  vras  re- 


served for  another  exhibition— it  was  first  kicked  along 
the  Custom-house  quay,  and  then  brought  up  into  the 
town,  and  treated  in  the  same  manner  opposite  the  house 
in  which  his  sister  lived,"  &o. 

The  executioner  of  these  unfortunate  gentlemen  vras 
a  sergeant  of  the  King's-county  militia,  of  the  name  of 
Dunn — a  monster  in  Sie  human  form,  whose  brutality 
and  ferocious  cruelty  has  never  been  exceeded  in  any 
country — ^not  even  in  Franoe,  in  the  worst  times  of  the 
French  Revolution.  The  clothes  of  each  sufferer,  he  was 
accustomed  to  strip  off,  the  moment  the  body  was  cut 
down,  in  the  presence  of  the  victim  next  in  turn  for 
execution,  then  tied  up  the  eifeets  in  a  handkerchief  vrlth 
the  greatest  composure ;  and  proceeded  with  anothmr 
victim,  and  with  a  similar  disposition  of  his  perquisites. 
As  the  generality  of  those  executed  on  the  Bridge  of  Wex- 
ford were  persons  of  respectability  in  life,  watches  and 
other  valuable  effects  were  not  unfrequently  found  on 
their  persons,  and  theee  Seijeant  Dunn  vras  in  the  habit 
of  selling  to  the  yeomanry  rabble  and  supplementaries, 
as  rebel  trophies,  at  the  close  of  each  day's  business. 
The  heads  of  the  persons  executed,  he  used  to  carry  to 
his  own  house  alter  the  execution,  rolled  up  in  the  linen 
of  each,  and  in  the  course  of  the  evening  he  proceeded 
to  the  town-house,  mounted  the  roof,  and  fixed  the  heads 
onpikes. 

For  a  length  of  time,  the  Bridge  of  Wexford  was  a 
feshionable  lounge,  for  ''the  bucks  and  blades"  of  the 
Wexfordian  *^  ascendancy  f  and  Sergeant  Dunn  was  wont 
to  gather  his  evening  group  around  him,  and  regale  his 
hearers  with  ludicrous  anecdotes  of  his  official  labours. 
This  brutal  man,  like  one  of  the  ermined  jesters  of  that 
day,  enlivened  the  awfbl  scenes  in  which  he  acted  a 
foremost  part,  by  sallies  of  ribald  humour,  and  jibes  and 
jokes  in  reference  to  the  appalling  circumstances  by 
which  he  was  surrounded. 

The  arrest  of  the  brothers  Sheares^  which  took 
place  in  a  few  days  after  that  of  Lord  Edward 
Fitzgerald,  gave  the  last  blow  to  the  Societies  of 
United  Irishmen,  an  organisation  which  we  cannot 
view  in  the  same  light  with  our  author,  either  in 
its  ori^  or  progress. 

Dr.  Madden  s  work,  which  is  somewhat  ramb- 
ling and  episodical,  contains  a  very  long  and  minute 
history  of  the  brothers,  which  was  communicated 
to  him  by  a  Mr.  Davock  of  Dublin,  who  had  been 
the  intimate  friend,  near  neighbour,  and  political 
associate  of  Oliver  Bond.  The  Sheares  were  be- 
trayed by  the  notorious  Captain  Armstrong,  a  spy 
who  is  classed  by  Sir  Jonah  Barrington  as  in  a 
lower  grade  than  even  Reynolds ;  as  he  had  the 
honour  of  a  soldier,  as  wdl  as  the  integrity  of  a 
man  to  sustain ;  and,  in  fulfilling  his  odious  office, 
deliberately  sacrificed  both.  The  Sheares  had  im- 
bibed the  Republican  mania  in  Paris,  where  they 
happened  to  be  at  the  time  of  the  storming  of  the 
Bastile  by  the  populace;  and  the  younger  brother 
had  become  a  memberof  a  political  club,mostproba- 
bly  the  Jacobin  Club.  They  were  the  sons  of  a  re  • 
spectable  banker  in  Cork,  who  had  been  a  member 
of  the  Irish  Parliament.  He  left  the  bulk  of  his 
fortune  to  his  eldest  son,  Henry,  who  was  for  soma 
time  in  the  army,  though  he  afterwards  went  to 
the  bar.  He  appears  to  have  been  a  genuine  Irislb- 
man  in  his  habits  and  tastes ;  and  his  late  voca- 
tion to  patriotism  seems  to  have  been  quite  acci- 
dental, and  to  have  arisen  from  the  agency  of  his 
more  energetic  younger  brother,  John  Shearefl^ 
who  was  also  a  barrister,  and  who,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  times,  became  a  speculative  Repub- 
lican. It  is  stated  in  this  narrative,  that  the  dash- 
ing Henry  Sheares  was  the  succes^  rival  in  love 


592 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


of  Lord  Clare,  when  the  latter  was  only  known  as 
Mr.  Fitzgibbon,  a  straggling  yonng  barrister  ;  and 
that  this  long  past  circumstance  was,  in  1796,  nn- 
generooslj  remembered,  and  was  the  cause  of  that 
implacable  hostility  which  pursued  both  the  bro- 
thers to  an  ignominious  death.  However  this  may 
be,  Henry  Sheares  seems  to  have  been  both  a  more 
reluctant  and  a  less  deeply  implicated  conspirator 
than  his  enthusiastic  brother ;  though  men  quite  as 
guiltless  suffered  in  those  times.  Nor  are  we  in- 
clined to  place  implicit  faith  in  Henry's  having, 
by  the  forfeiture  of  his  life,  expiated  die  crime  of 
having  married  Miss  Swete,  an  imaginary  heiress, 
who  had  refused  the  future  great  man,  and  eloped 
with  Sheares,  sixteen  years  previously.  Fitzgib- 
bon,  it  was  as  likely,  might  have  congratulated  him- 
self upon  luckily  escaping  an  heiress  of  £50,000, 
whose  father  became  a  bankrupt  before  one 
penny  of  her  fortune  had  been  paid.  There  was, 
however,  bitter  political  animosity  between  the 
parties ;  and  Lord  Chancellor  Clare,  when  raised 
to  the  Bench,  showed  the  most  vindictive  feelings 
to  the  brothers,  both  of  a  personal  and  political 
kind.  In  Ireland  there  was  then  no  room  for  a 
tolerant  spirit  among  men  of  hostile  parties; 
there  is  but  little  now.  The  Sheares  professionally 
received  great  provocation  from  the  Chancellor, 
and  they  were  not  forbearing.  Henry  Sheares 
upon  one  occasion  challenged  tiie  Chancellor ;  and 
John  was  known  to  be  ^e  second  of  the  Hon. 
Simon  Butler,  who  also  challenged  the  great  man. 
Though  the  decorums  of  office  prevented  Lord 
Clare  from  taking  any  notice  of  these  absurdities, 
as  an  Irishman  he  must  have  been  more  than  mor- 
tal if  he  could  have  forgotten  them. 

When  the  first  arrests,  at  the  house  of  Oliver 
Bond,  deprived  the  Society  of  United  Irishmen  of 
its  more  active  leaders,  the  Sheares,  but  especially 
John,  was  induced  to  assume  the  guidance  of  its 
desperate  fortunes.  One  of  his  duties  was  writing 
intemperate  and  inflammatory  addresses  for  their 
newspaper.  The  Press. 

Besides  the  information  derived  from  Mr.  Da- 
vock's  memoranda  respecting  the  Sheares,  Dr. 
Madden  has  obtained  an  interesting  communica- 
tion, relating  to  the  brothers,  from  a  lady  named 
Steele,  to  whom  John  Sheares  was  paying  his  ad- 
dresses while  engaged  in  those  fatd  transactions 
which  cost  him  his  life.  She  died  unmarried ; 
and  never,  to  her  latest  hour,  mentioned  his  name 
but  with  tenderness  and  sorrow.  From  her  memo- 
randum, we  learn  that 

^  Both  the  brothers  had  been  United  Irishmen  more 
than  a  year,  when  she  first  knew  them  in  1794  :  and  they 
attended  the  meetings  of  that  society  as  many  others 
then  did.  A  speech  that  was  made  at  one  of  those 
meetings,  gave  Lord  Clare  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
disrespectftilly  of  them  in  the  Hoose  of  Lords,  the  conse- 
quence of  which  was  a  demand  for  an  explanation  fW>m 
the  eldest.  They  had  become  United  Irishmen  at  the 
same  time;  bnt  there  was  nothing  legally  criminal  in 
their  proceedings  till  1798. 

^  In  the  year  1797,  about  Christmas,  John  was  in- 
tensely desirous  of  going  to  America.  He  was  indeed 
very  anxious  to  leave  Ireland,  and  would  have  gone 
wherever  those  he  was  attached  to  pleased,  bnt  he  would 
not  go  without  one  particular  companion." 
Kamely,  the  fair  writer,  who,  after  mentioning 
otlier  family  circumstances,  relates — 


^  Henry's  income  was  called  twelve  hundred  s-year 
John's  fortune,  three  thousand  pounds.  At  the  tiii£  W 
joined  the  Society  of  the  United  Irishmen,  he  wu  stt 
embarrassed,  his  little  fortune  was  then  whole,  and  fillj 
satisfied  his  vrants.    He  bought  nothing  bnt  booki. 

''Henry  lived  beyond  his  income  ;  his  afiin  vm 
somewhat  embarrassed,  and  he  sold  a  part  of  his  pro- 
perty; he  also  borrowed  a  good  deal  fh>m  J<diii,wl» 
at  one  time  wished  to  reside  apart  from  his  brother,b« 
could  not,  on  that  account.  In  1797,  Henry  wu  Ut 
some  time  in  a  retired  lodging,  at  No.  5,  Mecklenbaigh 
Street,  the  house  of  a  Biiss  Halpen.  He  was  soeceaBfiil 
at  the  bar,  till  the  Chancellor  became  the  enemy  of  tiie 
brothers.  Lord  Clare's  enmity  was  chiefly  agaiut 
Henry;  John  had  no  quarrel  vrith  him ;  bnt  on  their 
conviction,  it  was  said,  he  could  not  be  spared  and  Henrj 
put  to  death.  After  Henry's  correspondence  with  &e 
Chancellor,  he  prevented  them  from  doing  basiness  in 
his  court  as  lawyers.  John  then  became  exasperated, 
and  spoke  more  severely  of  him  than  he  had  done  befim, 
on  account  of  his  politics.  He  always  thought  him  an 
enemy  to  Ireland.  When  I  Imew  the  brothers,  in  1794, 
they  had  been  at  the  bar  some  time,  and  lived  together  i 
in  Henry  Sheares'  house,  in  Baggot  Street.  { 

**  Henry's  second  wifls  was  a  Miss  Sally  Neville,  a  ! 
beautiful  and  accomplished  woman  ;  I  remember  her  ' 
well.    He  had  two  children  by  his  second  marriage. 

^  Henry  Sheares  was  naturally  high-spirited,  elo<iQeot 
in  discourse,  and  possessed  of  a  remartcably  martial  and 
noble  bearing ;  but  his  great  hauteur  and  want  of  dis- 
cretion, would  have  made  him  a  bad  leader  in  any  public 
cause.  In  his  domestic  relations,  he  was  warn,  tender, 
indulgent,  willing  to  promote  every  present  amusement, 
— ^but  wanting  cidculation  and  foresi^t  for  the  ftttme.  I 
have  always  heard  he  was  a  fkir  schoUur  ;  and  have  heard 
good  judges  say,  that  they  had  never  seen  a  libraiy  so  ad- 
mirably selected  as  that  of  the  Sheares.  Henry  was  not 
considered  so  deeply  read  as  John.  He  did  not  give  80 
much  time  to  study  ;  but  he  never  i^peared  deficient  in 
company,'either  with  the  learned,  or  with  those  whoseread- 
ing  lay  more  amongst  works  of  imagination  and  moden 
literature.  He  spoke  vrith  great  fluency  and  elegance  on 
literary  subjects,  but  not  without  a  degree  of  character- 
istic pride.  His  disposition  was  most  generous;  bat 
he  was  not  patient  or  forbearing.  He  would  have  made 
a  good  despot,  if  there  can  be  such  a  thing.  He  ^e 
vrith  much  riolence  at  times, even  in  society;  but  thoogh 
haughty,  and  sometimes  fierce,  he  was  not  of  acmel 
temper. 

^  He  used  to  talk  of  republicanism — bnt  he  was  formed 
for  courts.  He  loved  power,  and  splendour,  and  loznry. 
The  self-denying  virtues  he  knew  not.  He  wis,  how- 
ever, an  accomplished  gentleman,  fond  of  society,  and 
capable  of  adding  lustre  to  the  most  brilliant  circle. 

^  If  it  was  possible  for  either  brother  to  have  acted  on 
the  proclamation  attributed  to  John,  fbnnd  at  thehoase 
of  Henry,  it  was  more  so  for  the  latter  than  for  John, 
who  was  supposed  to  have  written  it;  but  Henry  was  as 
incapable  of  deliberate  cruelty  as  his  brother." 

The  violent  proclamation  referred  to,  was  the 
strongest  documentary  evidence  produced  against 
the  Sheares.  That  it  was  the  production  of  John, 
and  that  Henry  knew  nothing  of  it,  seems  to  be 
unquestioned.  Of  this  document^  Maria  Stede 
fiarUier  writes — 

^  In  regard  to  the  proclamation  found  in  his  desk,  I 
believe  he  was  the  writer  of  it ;  though  that  was  neTer 
fhlly  proved.  At  the  time  when  it  was  supposed  to 
have  been  written,  he  appeared  so  altered,  that  those 
who  used  to  delight  in  listening  to  him  would  searee 
know  him.  His  mind  seemed  to  have  lost  its  balance* 
Even  his  dress  was  not  the  same — ^his  hair  was  negle^ 
ed,  &c.,  &c.  In  March,  1798,  he  became  a  member  of 
the  Directory,  and  then  first  took  any  active  part  in  the 
rebellion  :  I  do  not  think  he  desired  a  revolution,  till  ai 
a  very  late  period  of  the  struggle •   •  . . 

John's  sentiments,  at  the  commencement  of  his  pob'ti- 
cal  career,  were  moderate ;  but  latterly  they  became 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


593 


less  so^  He  once  drew  np  a  plan  of  an  independent 
govemment  for  Ireland,  but  it  was  done  in  rather  a 
sportive  kind  of  manner  than  in  a  serious  mood ;  and 
when  the  mother  of  a  young  friend  of  his  spoke  with 
diipleasnre  of  it,  he  gave  it  to  her  to  bum.    .    .    . 

^  As  to  his  personal  appearance — ^he  was  tall,  and 
rather  slender  than  ftill ;  not  what  is  termed  muscular, 
but  well-proportioned  and  active. 

'^  In  his  person,  he  differed  strikingly  fVom  his  brother. 
Hid  air  was  gentle  and  unassuming,  but  animated  and 
interesting.  He  was  pale  ;  rather  light  complexioned, 
with  fiiU  blue  eyes,  and  an  open  countenance ;  well- 
formed  nose ;  large  eloquent  mouth,  and  white  teeth  ; 
his  voice  was  fine,  his  articulation  very  clear,  his  lan- 
guage rich,  but  quite  unaffected ;  he  had  much  playfhl 
wit  and  humour,  but  was  easily  made  serious.  You  ask, 
was  he  of  a  sanguinary  disposition  1  He  was  quite  the 
reverse.  He  had  a  most  tender  heart,  and  benevolent 
disposition." 

This  may  be  somewhat  partial,  but  it  is  proba- 
bly accurate  testimony.  The  lady  gives  a  genuine 
love-letter  of  Sheares,  addressed  to  herself,  breath- 
ing much  ardour  and  passion,  and  with  no  alloy  of 
fustian  ;  and  some  copies  of  verses  by  him,  also  ad- 
dressed to  herself. 

John  Sheares  devoted  himself  to  his  perilous  du- 
ties after  the  arrest  of  the  other  conspirators,  with 
redoubled  energy,  but  with  very  little  discretion ; 
if,  indeed,  the  most  desperate  counsels  and  courses 
were  not  now  advisedly  adopted  as  the  forlorn  hope 
of  the  United  Irishmen.  He  and  his  brother  were 
betrayed  by  the  Captain  Armstrong  alluded  to 
above,  who  forced  himself  upon  their  acquaintance 
through  their  bookseller,  Byrne,  who  was  one  of 
the  United  Brethren.  Armstrong  pretended  to  be 
as  violent  a  revolutionist  as  any  of  them,  and  one 
of  old  date. 

The  new  Directory  had  fixed  upon  the  23d  of 
May  for  the  general  rising  of  the  people  throughout 
the  country.  On  the  10th,  this  infamous  person, 
who  was  then  a  captain  of  the  King's-County  mili- 
tia, visited  the  bookseller  Byrne,  to  procure  some  of 
those  deistical  and  republican  works  which  he 
pretended  to  admire,  and  which  he  regularly  pur- 
chased. He  had  no  sooner  effected  his  purpose 
of  worming  himself  into  the  confidence  of  John 
Sheares,  than  he  began,  in  the  most  business-like 
nianne7,to  make  notes  of  their  conversations,  which 
he  had  the  incredible  effrontery  to  refer  to,  when, 
soon  afterwards,  giving  evidence  on  their  trials,  at 
which  he  said,  ^  I  never  had  an  interview  with  the 
Sheares,  that  I  had  not  one  virith  Colonel  L'Estrange 
and  Captain  Clibbom,  and  my  Lord  Castlereagh.'' 
This  man's  baseness  surpasses  belief. 

Armstrong,  on  leaving  Byrne's  on  the  10th  of  May, 
immediately  proceeded  to  his  brother  ofBcer,  Captain 
Clibbom,  and  informed  him  of  what  had  passed.  The 
latter  advised  him  *<to  give  the  Sheares  a  meeting." 
He  then  returned  to  Byrne's  late  the  same  day,  and  re- 
mained there  till  Henry  arrived.  Byrne  led  1dm  to  the 
inner  part  of  the  shop,  toward  a  private  room,  and  intro- 
duced him  to  Sheares,  in  these  terms  :  '^  All  I  can  say 
to  you,  Mr.  Sheares,  is,  that  Captain  Armstrong  is  a  true 
brother,  and  you  may  depend  on  him" 

They  remained  at  the  entrance  of  the  private  room  ; 
Jbut  Henry  Sheares  declined  any  conversation,  "  except 
in  the  presence  of  his  brother."  Armstrong  said,  "  he 
ha4  no  objection  to  wait  until  his  brother  came."  Henry, 
however,  declined  to  wait ;  and,  shortly  after,  John 
Sheares  arrived,  and  was  introduced  to  him  by  Byrne. 

John  Shearctt  told  Captain  Armstrong,  "  he  knew  his 
principles  very  well."    He  then  solicited  him  "  to  join 

NO.  CV. — VOL.  IX. 


the  cause  by  action,  as  he  knew  he  had  done  by  inclin- 
ation ;"  and  Armstrong  replied,  **  he  was  ready  to  do 
everything  in  his  power  for  it,  and  if  he  could  show  him 
how  he  could  do  anything,  he  would  serve  him  to  the 
utmost  of  his  power."  Sheares  then  informed  him,  he 
states,  that  the  rising  was  very  near ;  ^  they  could  not 
wait  for  the  French,  but  had  determined  on  a  home 
effort  f  *  and  the  principal  way  he  could  assist  them,  was 
by  gaining  over  the  soldiers,  and  consulting  with  him 
about  talang  the  camp  at  Lehaunstown.  John  Sheares 
then  made  an  appointment  with  him  for  the  following 
Sunday,  at  his  house  in  Baggot  Street ;  and  on  that  day 
he  went  and  found  Henry  only  at  home.  He  apologused 
for  leaving  him  on  the  former  occasion,  *'  having  had  to 
attend  a  committee  that  day."  The  informer  states,  he 
then  asked  about  the  camp,  where  it  was  most  vulner- 
able !  how  to  be  most  advantageously  attacked  t  John 
came  in,  and  spoke  about  the  necessity  of  gaining  over 
the  soldiers,  and  then  informed  Armstrong,  that  their 
intention  was  to  seize  the  camp,  the  artillery  at  Chapel- 
izod,  and  the  city  of  Dublin  in  one  night :  there  was  to 
be  an  hour  and  a  half  between  the  seizing  of  the  camp 
and  Dublin;  an  hour,  between  seizing  Dublin  and 
Chapelizod ;  so  that  the  news  of  both  might  arrive  at  the 
same  time. 

The  13th,  on  Sunday  night,  at  eleven  o'clock,  by  ikp- 
pointment,  Armstrong  had  another  interview  with  the 
brothers  at  their  house,  for  the  purpose  of  getting  the 
name  of  some  soldiers  in  his  regiment  who  were  known 
to  be  United  Irishmen. 

In  brief,  he  plied  the  brothers  night  and  day, 
for  ten  successive  days.  On  Sunday  the  20th, 
the  day  before  their  arrest,  he  said,  that  John 
Sheares,  on  the  part  of  the  Executive,  informed 
him  that  he  was  to  be  appointed  to  the  King's- 
County  rebel  regiment ;  and  that  Sheares 

Further  informed  him,  that  on  the  night  of  the  rising 
in  Dublin,  the  Lord-Ueutenant  was  to  be  seized,  and  all 
the  privy  council,  separately  in  their  own  houses.  That, 
when  the  privy  council  was  seized,  there  would  be  no 
place  to  issue  orders  from,  so  as  to  counteract  the  rising; 
and  in  case  of  a  fkilure  of  the  attack  on  the  camp,  on 
the  march  of  the  soldiery  into  town,  through  Baggot 
Street,  they  had  a  sujfioient  number  of  houses  there  in 
their  interest,  to  shoot  them  from,  so  as  to  render  them 
useless."  All  this  part  of  the  conversation  was  repre- 
sented to  have  taken  place  while  Henry  had  been  pre- 
sent. Captain  Armstrong  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
state,  that  at  his  Sunday's  interview,  he  shared  the  hos- 
pitality of  his  victims ;  that  he  dined  with  them,  sat  in 
the  company  of  their  aged  mother  and  affectionate  sister, 
enjoyed  the  society  of  the  accomplished  wife  of  one  of 
them,  caressed  his  in&nt  children ;  and  on  another  occa- 
sion (referred  to  by  Miss  Steele)  was  entertained  with 
music — the  wife  of  the  unfortunate  man,  whose  children 
he  was  to  leave  in  a  few  days  fatherless,  playing  on  the 
harp  for  his  entertainment  I  These  things  are  almost 
too  horrible  to  reflect  on 

Armstrong,  after  dining  with  his  victims  on  Sunday, 
returned  to  their  house  no  more.  This  was  the  last  time 
the  cloven  foot  of  treachery  passed  the  threshold  of  the 
l^eares : — on  the  following  morning  they  were  arrested, 
and  committed  to  Kilmainham  gaol. 

The  most  active  coadjutor  of  Shear  38,  at  this 
juncture,  was  Mr.  Lawless,  a  surgeon,  who  fortu- 
nately got  some  hint  of  danger,  or  felt  some  sus- 
picion of  the  treachery  of  Annstrong,  as  he  es- 
caped. This  man  afterwards  rose  to  the  rank  of  a 
general  in  the  French  army,  in  which  he  greatly 
signalized  himself.  To  have  done  with  Armstrong, 
of  whom  it  is  said — 

Other  informers,  when  they  have  once  wormed  them- 
selves into  the  confidence  of  their  victims,  and  have  pos- 
sessed themselves  sufficiently  of  their  secrets  to  bring 
them  to  the  scafibld,  rest  firom  their  labours,  and  spare 
themselves  the  unnecessary  annoyance,  perlu^>s  a  feeling 

3B 


594 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN, 


of  remone,  at  beholding  the  unfortimate  wretches  they 
have  deoeired,  when  they  are  fairly  in  their  toils  and 
delivered  over  to  the  proper  anthorities.  In  Ireland, 
there  is  no  snch  sqaeandslmess  in  the  breasts  of  our  in- 
formers. No  sooner  was  the  yoanger  Sheares  safely 
lodged  in  the  Castle  gnard-room,  than  he  receired  a  visit 
of  condolence  from  Captam  Armstrong,  on  the  very 
morning  of  his  arrest.  He  was  asked  by  the  prisoner,  if 
his  brother  was  taken !  and  Captain  Armstrong  answer* 
ed :  **  I  do  not  know.**  The  unfortunate  yonng  man 
then  asked  him,  if  hit  papers  had  been  seized !  Captain 
Armstrong  replied :  ^  I  do  not  know.**  John  Sheares 
then  said,  he  hoped  not,  for  there  was  one  paper  among 
them  that  ^'wonld  commit  him**  (John  Sheares.)  The 
latter  words  were  deserving  of  more  attention  on  the 
trial,  than,  nnfortnnately  for  his  brother,  was  paid  to 
them ;  for  it  pUinly  showed  the  paper  to  have  been  in 
his  possession,  and  not  his  brother's ;  and  his  own  im- 
pression to  have  been,  that  he,  John  ^eares,  only  conld 
be  injured  by  its  discovery. 

His  opening  his  mind  at  all  on  the  subject,  proves 
that  when  he  made  these  inquiries,  he  had  no  suspicion 
that  he  had  been  betrayed  by  Armstrong. 

The  same  strong  delusion  continued  to  screen  Rey- 
nolds* treachery  from  the  generous  mind  of  Lord  Edward 
Fitzgerald.  He  continued  to  receive  the  visits  of  the 
informer,  after  the  arrest  of  his  associates,  and  his  poor 
lady  was  not  even  exempt  from  the  infliction  of  his  pre- 
sence. This  mode  of  recreating  his  feelings,  for  these 
visits  were  not  essential  to  the  objects  of  his  employers, 
was  a  customary  indulgence. 

Before  the  trial  of  the  Sheares  came  on,  Mr. 
Wolfe  was  raised  to  the  Bench  by  the  title  of 
Lord  Kilwarden ;  and  Mr.  Toler,  as  a  much  fitter 
instrument  for  the  purposes  of  the  government, 
was  made  Attomey-generaL  It  is  not,  amidst  con- 
flicting stateinents,  easy  to  determine  with  what 
degree  of  fairness  the  trial  was  conducted ;  but,  so 
far  as  the  witnesses  were  concerned,  there  was  cer- 
tainly no  scrupulosity  on  any  side,  either  about 
the  forms  or  the  substance  of  justice.  It  is  be- 
lieyed  that,  had  Henry  Sheares  not  requested  to  be 
tried  along  with  his  brother  John,  he  might, 
though  the  successfol  rival  of  the  vindictive  Chan- 
cellor, have  escaped  with  a  more  lenient  punish- 
ment. 

In  the  interval  previous  to  the  trial,  the  zealous 
Captain  Armstrong  was  employed  in  hunting  re- 
bels, then  a  favourite  pastime  with  the  loyal;  and 
on  the  trial  of  the  Sheares,  Curran,  who  was  their 
counsel,  elicited  from  him  the  following  reply, 
concerning  three  inoffensive  peasants  whom  Arm- 
strong had  tortured  or  murdered  at  this  time. 

He  said,  with  respect  to  the  three  countrymen  they 
had  taken,  ^  One  was  to  be  hanged,  another  was  to  be 
flogged.  We  were  going  up  Blaokmore  HUl,  under  Sir 
James  Duff;  there  was  a  party  of  rebels  there;  we  met 
three  men  with  green  cockades.  One  we  shot,  another  we 
hanged,  and  the  third  we  flogged  and  made  a  guide  of.** 

Bffr.  Curran  asked  the  witness,  **  Which  did  you  make 
the  guide  off  Captain  Armstrong  jocularly  replied^ 
*^  The  one  that  was  neither  shot  nor  hanged." 

Lieut.  Shervington  of  the  41st  regiment,  deposed  that 
"he  was  nephew,  by  marriage,  of  Captain  Armstrong, 
and  had  known  him  since  his  childhood.  When  in 
Lord  Cork's  regiment  in  England,  had  conversations 
with  him.  Did  not  think  his  principles  exactly  such  as 
a  military  man's  should  be.  Had  a  conversation  with 
him  at  his  agent's,  Mr.  Mulholland ;  talked  of  various 
things,  the  French  Revolution,  and  he  said  he  did  not 
wish  for  kingly  government.  He  said,  that  if  there  was 
not  another  executioner  in  the  kingdom  for  Cieorge  III. 
but  himself,  he  would  be  one,  and  pique  himself  upon  being 
so.    I  told  him  he  was  a  d d  fellow  and  ought  to  give 


up  his  eommission,  and  leaw  the  etrmy,  emd  go  oeer  to 
France.'*  He  had  met  him  at  Byrne's,  the  bookadler'i, 
in  Grafton  Street ;  he  handed  him  abook,  saying  "^Resi 
this,  it  is  my  creed;"  he  (the  witness)  found  it  wis 
Paine's  ^  Rights  of  Man,"  he  thrust  it  into  the  fire,  and 
said,  he  (Captain  Armstrong)  should  be  served  so."  The 
vritness  ftirther  deposed,  that  he  did  not  know  tk 
Messrs.  Sheares,  and  never  had  seen  them  until  that 
day.  That  he  would  not  have  come  forward  to  gm 
eridence  on  this  trial,  but  had  been  summoned,  "asd 
would  not  have  appeared  for  100  guineas."  Thatoa 
meeting  with  Captain  Oibbom,  he  had  said,  ''hevns 
sorry  to  hear  that  John  Armstrong  was  finding  out  the 
secrets  of  men,  in  order  to  discover  them,  and  being  toU 
it  was  a  different  thing,  that  the  Sheares  wanted  to  se- 
duce the  soldiers,  he  had  said,  *  D n  him,  he  sboold 

have  run  them  throu|^  the  body.' " 

Soldiers,  it  would  seem,  may  have  different  ways 
of  considering  such  points.  On  the  trial.  Captain 
Armstrong  was  proved  to  he  an  avowed  Athdst, 
and  an  unbeliever  in  a  future  state ;  yet,  on  his  tes- 
timony, confirmed  by  that  of  the  Captain  Clibborn, 
to  whom  he  made  his  diurnal  reports,  and  the  do- 
cumentary evidence,  a  cobvictioa  was  obtained. 
Captain  Clibbom  received  £500  for  hif  serrices 
on  this  occasion,  and  Armstrong  had  certainly 
worked  for  much  more.  By  the  law  of  Irekod 
at  that  period,  (a  very  convenient  law  for  that 
country,)  a  single  witness  was  enough  to  convict 
a  man  of  treason.  From  the  testimony  bona 
against  both  Reynolds  and  Armstrong,  by  their 
own  relatives  and  Mends^  neither  would,  in  Eng- 
land, have  been  believed  on  their  oath. 

Some  deeply  affecting  letters,  written  by  John 
Sheares  to  his  relatives,  while  he  lay  under  sentence 
of  death,  appear  in  these  volumes.  Great  and  gene^ 
ous  efforts  were  made  to  obtain  the  pardon  of  the 
Sheares,  but  all  proved  unavailing.  When  Lord 
Comwallis  gave  way,  Lord  Clare  was  at  hand  to 
inform  the  new  viceroy,  that  if  an  example  waa 
not  made,  kycU  men  could  have  no  confidence  in 
him  ;  an  argument  still  occasionally  used  in 
Ireland  in  subduing  liberal  Lorde-lieutenant  to 
obnoxious  measures.  Of  John  Sheares,  after  his 
trial,  we  are  told — 

The  only  friend  he  saw  after  oonriction,  besides  one  of 
his  counsel,  was  Dr.  I>obbin,  a  clergyman  of  great  wortk, 
who  had  been  his  tutor  at  one  time  in  college.  He 
vm>te  three  letters— to  his  mother,  his  sister,  ind  one 
other  person.  He  seemed  indifferent  to  his  own  tik, 
but  agonised  at  that  of  his  brother.  His  speedi  in 
court,  between  oonriction  and  sentence,  exprened  his 
real  feelings.  Lord  Carleton,  who  was  the  judge  on  the 
trial,  had  been  the  particular  firiend  of  the  &ther  of  the 
Sheares.  Previous  to  passing  sentence,  he  made  a  pa- 
thetic address,  in  which  he  mentioned  the  regard  and 
respect  he  had  ever  felt  for  both  parents.  H&  consiB, 
the  late  Oliver  Carleton,  told  me  that,  on  his  reton 
home,  after  having  passed  sentence,  he  wept,  and  was 
obliged  to  go  to  bed." 

The  sister  of  the  Messrs.  Fleming,  the  friends  sod  rela- 
tives of  the  Sheares,  to  whom  I  have  abeady  refened,a0 
having  given  me  many  particulars  respecting  the  hro- 
thers,  has  communicated  the  following  dreninstttee  m 
most  moumAil  interest. 

^  The  Earl  of  Shannon  was  a  relative  and  jnHmis 
friend  of  old  Mrs.  Sheares,  and  the  day  of  her  son's  exe- 
cution, of  which  she  was  then  ignorant,  his  lordd^ 
went  to  see  her :  a  most  melancholy  scene,  as  m^JJ 
supposed,  occurred  between  them.  She  threw  hasdf 
on  her  knees  to  implore  his  mediation  fbr  her  p^s^ 
son,  at  the  time  not  knowing  that  her  son  ^^f^ 
implicated,  or  had  been  imprboned,  baring  bees  w» 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


695 


that  he  had  been  adTised  to  keep  out  of  the  way  for 
some  time,  and  was  actuary  expecting  him  home  that 
eyening.  The  earl  left  the  house,  not  being  able  to  tell 
her  the  J  had  been  both  eMouted  that  morning." 

A  more  minute  account  of  the  survivors  of  the 
SheareB  is  given  than  was  required  to  elucidate 
their  connexion  with  the  political  disturbances  of 
their  countiy ;  and  a  copious  Appendix  is  filled 
with  documents  connected  with  the  Societies  of 
United  Irishmen.  It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  in 
the  scheme  for  equal  representation,  prepared  for 
the  consideration  of  the  United  Irishmen,  that 
though  the  suffrage  was  proposed  to  be  universal, 
parliaments  annual,  and  members  paid  for  their 
services,  the  ballot  was  expressly  prohibited. 

The  Appendix  gives  an  account  of  the  private 
life,  "  the  birth  and  parentage,"  of  Major  Sirr,  who 
died  only  last  year,  and  whp  now  lies  buried  very 
near  his  mangled  victim.  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  ; 
of  Dr.  Duigenan,  who  boasted  that  his  obscure 
origin  was  like  that  of  the  Nile ;  and  of  many 
other  worthies  of  the  period.  One  of  these,  the  ac- 
count of  Hepenstal,  o/mv  the  Walking-gallows,  is 
recommended  by  its  brevity,  and  by  the  illustration 
which  it  affords  of  the  ferocious  loyalty  of  the 
**  Icyal."  Hepenstal  was,  at  the  breaking  out  of  the 
troubles,  a  lieutenant  in  the  Wicklow  militia.  He 
was^  we  are  informed — 

A  native  of  the  connty  Wioklow,  had  been  educated 
at  the  iehool  of  a  pious  Catholic  priest,  in  Clarendon 
Street,  Dublin,  of  the  name  of  Gallagher,  his  mother 
being  of  the  OAtholic  religion.  He  was  brought  up  to 
the  business  of  an  apothecary,  but,  in  1795,  renounced 
the  pestle  for  the  sword — and  halter.  Being  a  man  of 
Herculean  stature,  he  made  a  gallows  of  his  person,  and 
literally  hung  numbers  of  persons  over  his  shoulder.  The 
first  inhuman  exploit  of  this  kind  performed  by  him,  was 
at  Mysores,  in  the  county  Westmeath,  in  1796,  where  he 
entered  the  cabin  of  a  poor  man  of  ihe  name  of  Smith, 
arrested  the  old  man  and  his  two  sons,  and  put  the  latter 
to  death;  one  of  them  having  been  strangled  by  suspen- 
sion over  the  shoulder  of  this  monster. 

At  the  trial  of  Hyland,  in  September  1797,  at  the  Athy 
assizes,  under  the  White-boy  Act,  Hepenstal  being  exa- 
mined touching  the  mode  of  procuring  evidence  from  the 
witness  against  the  prisoner,  said  on  examination,  '^  He 
had  used  some  threats,  and  pricked  him  with  a  bayonet;" 
and  when  cross-examined  by  Mr.  M'Nally,  said,  "  this 
prisoner  had  also  been  pricked  with  a  bayonet,  to  induce 
him  to  confess :  a  rope  had  been  put  about  his  neck, 
which  was  thrown  over  his  (Hepenstal's)  shoulder,  he 
then  pulled  the  rope,  and  drew  the  prisoner  up,  and  he 
was  hung  in  this  way  for  a  short  time,  but  continued 
sulky,  and  confessed  nothing  :'*  whereupon  Mr.  M'Nally 
said,  ^  Then  you  acted  the  executioner,  and  played  the 
part  of  a  gallows  1"  **  Yes,  please  your  honour  ;**  was 
the  repW  of  Lieutenant  HepenstaL 

The  Solicitor-general,  Mr.  Toler,  who  tried  the  case, 
in  his  charge  to  the  jury,  regretted  the  treatment  of  the 
prisoner,  *^butU  was  an  error  such  as  a  young  and  gal- 
lant officer  might  fall  into,  itarmed  by  resentments*  Sir 
Jonah  Barrington  was  one  of  the  counsel  for  the  crown. 
The  prisoner  was  found  guilty. 

The  memory  of  this  in&mous  man  has  received  its 
deserts  at  the  hands  of  a  clerical  gentleman  of  the  name 
of  Barrett,  in  the  form  of  an  epitaph. 

**  Here  lie  the  bones  of  Hepenstal, 
Judge,  jury,  gallo-ws,  rope,  and  all.** 

The  notorious  Major  Sirr  was  the  son  of  an 
officer  in  the  army,  and  had  been  a  kind  of  wine- 
merchant  in  Dublin,  when  he  took  up  the  more 
lucrative  employment  of  acting  for  the  Crovem- 
ment  in  the  following  capacity  : — 


His  services  chiefly  consisted  in  organizing  and  main- 
taining a  band  of  wretches,  who  were  employed  at  the 
assizes  throughout  the  country,  but  especially  in  the 
vicinity  of  Dublin— as  informers.  They  were  known  to 
the  people  by  the  name  of  the  ^  Battalion  of  Testi- 
mony." 

It  is  said  on  high  authority  that  the  employment  of 
spies  and  informers  tends  rather  to  the  increase  than  the 
repression  of  crime,  and  that  a  good  government  has  no 
need  of  their  infamous  services.  One  thing  is  certain, 
that  their  services  were  thought  useful  to  a  bad  govern- 
ment; and  the  same  circumstance  that  rendered  their 
services  necessary,  made  their  infamy  a  matter  of  little 
moment  to  their  employers.  From  the  year  1796  to 
1800,  a  set  of  miscreants,  steeped  in  crime,  sunk  in  de- 
bauchery, prone  to  violence,  and  reckless  of  character, 
constituted  what  was  called  "  The  Major's  People."  A 
number  of  these  wretches  were  domiciled  within  the 
gates  of  the  Castle,  where  there  were  regular  places  of 
entertainment  allotted  for  them,  contiguous  to  the  vice- 
roy's palace ;  for  another  company  of  them,  a  house  was 
allotted  opposite  Kilmainham  gaol,  familiarly  known  to 
the  people  by  the  name  of  the  ^  Stag  House ;"  and  for 
one  batch  of  them  who  could  not  be  trusted  with  liberty, 
there  was  one  of  ihe  yards  of  that  prison  and  the  sur- 
rounding cells  assigned  to  them;  which  is  still  called 
the  ''Stag  Yard."  These  persons  were  considered  under 
the  immediate  protection  of  Minors  Sirr,  Swan,  and 
Sandys;  and  to  interfere  with  them  in  the  course  of  their 
duties  as  spies  or  witnesses,  was  to  incur  the  vengeance 
of  their  redoubtable  patrons. 

When  the  country  was  broken  down  sufficiently  in 
strength  and  spirit  to  effect  the  Union,  these  men  were 
turned  adrift  on  society.  A  great  many  of  them  took  to 
desperate  courses,  and  acting  under  the  dominion  of 
violent  passions,  they  came  to  violent  ends.  The  com- 
mon people  ascribed,  and  to  this  day  continue  to  ascribe, 
their  sudden  and  unprovided  deaths  to  the  divine  retri- 
bution. The  common  expression  is,  '^  The  judgment  of 
Grod  fell  on  them."  Perhaps  it  would  be  more  consonant 
to  a  widely  extended  knowledge  of  the  action  of  those 
general  laws  of  nature  which  govern  humanity,  to  re- 
gard the  violent  deaths  of  unjust  and  cruel  men,  as  the 
natural  consequence  of  violent  courses,  and  the  aggre- 
gate of  such  awftd  examples  as  an  evidence  of  the  action 
c^  that  law  of  nature,  in  its  extended  application,  which 
visits  even  in  this  world,  signal  violations  of  it  with  a 
general  rather  than  a  particular  retribution.  Some  of 
Sie  men  I  speak  of,  expiated  their  subsequent  crimes  on 
the  gallows ;  others  were  transported ;  several  commit- 
ted suicide :  many  of  them,  however,  whose  guilt  was  of 
as  deep  a  die  as  that  of  Crawley's  or  O'Brien's,  were 
men  who  could  not  say  like  these  unfortunate  persons 
when  the  times  of  public  commotion  were  at  an  end — 
they  had  not  the  means  to  live — but  their  superiors  in 
rank,  fortune,  and  education,  their  employers  and  ac^ 
complices,  who  superintended  their  performances  in  the 
witness-box  and  at  the  triangles,  who  witnessed  and 
directed  their  infliction  of  the  tortures  of  the  pitdi-ci^ 
and  the  taws,  still  lived  without  reproadi,  but  it  could 
not  be  without  remorse.  And  charity  would  hope  that 
the  time  that  was  given  them,  was  afforded  for  repent- 
ance ! 

The  extent  to  which  the  organized  system  of 
espionage  was  carried  in  those  days  seems  almost 
incredible.  Items  extracted  from  an  account  of 
secret  service  money,  most  of  which  passed  either 
through  the  fingers  of  Mr.  Cooke,  Lord  Castle- 
reagh's  secretly,  or  of  Major  Sirr,  and  was  ex- 
pended on  spies  and  the  Battalion  of  Testimony, 
amounted,  from  the  dOth  September,  1801,  to  the 
28th  March,  1804,  to  no  less  than  £53,647, 13s.  Id. 
A  good  deal  of  this  expenditure  is  for  the  board, 
lodging,  washing,  and  clothes  of  the  "  Major's 
people."  Some  of  these  items  are  curious  enough. 
M'Gucken,  the  treacherous  agent  of  the  United 
Irishmen  of  the  North,  comes  on  pretty  well ;  but 


590 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


Reynolds  is  the  only  man  gorged  with  gold.  It  is 
not  easy  to  comprehend  the  precise  nature  of  all 
the  services  so  liberally  rewai^ed.  Sometimes  we 
find  Catholic  priests  reoeiying  the  secret-service 
money^  and  in  considerable  sums.  It  must,  how- 
ever, be  confessed,  that  all  the  faults  of  that  dread- 
ful time  did  not  lie  on  the  side  of  the  Government. 
In  a  paper  named  the  Union  Star^  published  at 
Belfast,  which  was  the  organ  of  the  United 
Irishmen,  assassination  was  openly  advocated,  and 
the  persons  to  be  got  rid  of  denounced  in  terms  as 
atrocious  as  ever  were  employed  in  the  Jacobin 
clubs  of  Paris,  or  by  the  Mountain^  during  the 
Reign  of  Terror.  From  a  complete  copy  of  one 
number  of  this  atrocious  print,  which  seems  to 
have  appeared  only  at  intervals,  we  select  the  fol- 
lowing extract,  which  will  sufficiently  display  the 
ferocious  and  vindictive  spirit  of  the  period. 

The  Star  will  be  pablished  oocasionally,  as  new  and 
notorious  characters  appear,  which  the  committee  may 
think  proper  to  guard  the  Society  of  United  Irishmen 
against. 

The  Star  offers  to  Public  Justice  the  following  detest- 
able traitors  as  peijured  spies  and  informers  : — 

**  Perfaapi  tome  arm,  more  lucky  than  the  rest,  may  reach  his 
heart,  and  free  the  world  firom  bondage." 

William  J b,  about  six  feet  high,  corpulent,  lives 

in  William  Street,  better  known  by  the  name  of  Alder- 
man Level-low,  from  some  horrid  murders  he  committed 
in  Meath  Street,  under  the  name  of  laws,  which  are  con- 
structed to  leave  the  lives  and  properties  of  Irishmen  to 
the  mercy  of  ignorant  and  abandoned  magistrates.  This 
nefarious  upstart,  in  answer  to  a  club  of  wretches  calling 
themselves  Aldermen  of  Skinners'  Alley,  boasts  of  a  Con- 
stitution and  Protestant  ascendancy,  secured  by  the 
blood  and  treasure  of  his  forefathers.  Tis  notorious  his 
forefathers  were  a  long  line  of  bricklayers'  labourers. 
Though  not  at  the  battle  of  the  Boyne  or  Aughrim,  yet 
we  acknowledge  his  grandfather  died  about  t^t  period, 
though  he  did  not  bleed,  as  his  valuable  life  was  squeezed 
out  under  the  gallows  for  sheep-stealing.  The  Consti- 
tution and  Protestant  faith  were  rather  ungrateAil  to 
the  alderman  and  his  cousin  Nat,  for  the  blood  and 
treasures  of  the  fSunily  so  gloriously  spent,  by  suffering 
those  illustrious  young  gentlemen  to  begin  a  mercantile 
life,  as  root  merchants^  in  a  cellar  in  Bride  Street,  where 
our  alderman  often  displayed  his  loyalty  every  returning 
4th  of  November,  or  July  the  1st,  by  ornamenting  his 
vegetable  merchandise  with  a  well-placed  orange  lily. 
Thence  we  see  the  partners  emerge  from  the  subterra- 
nean apartment,  to  manage  the  nagin  in  the  whisky-shop, 
which  forwardeid  him  rapidly  to  satisfy  his  devotion  at 
the  shrine  of  the  Orangemen  in  College  Green,  when 
municipal  wisdom  made  our  hero  lord  mayor. 

William  B w,  sovereign  of  Belfast,  by  trade  a 

minister  of  the  Church  of  England.  This  infernal 
mountebank  unites  the  cruelty  of  an  Inquisition  to  all 
tlie  chicanery  of  a  ricious  priest,  under  the  patronage  of 
what  is  called  the  Head  of  the  Church,  to  whom  he  looks 
for  rewards  for  committing  every  atrocity  that  ever 
English  villany  promoted  ;  why  cross  to  the  continent 
for  a  history  of  king-craft  and  priest-craft  ;  every  crime 
that  either  is  accused  of,  is  united  in  this  gospel  magis- 
trate and  his  English  master. 

Chichester  S^ n,  high  Sheriff  of  the  county  of 

A :  This  villain  inherits  all  the  vices  of  tyranny,  as 

a  descendant  of  the  first  English  robbers  and  iuraders; 
if  assassination  was  heretofore  unknown,  his  treatment 
and  Bristow's  of  Mr.  Orr,  would  awaken  the  necessary 
invention. 

L 11,  an  infamous  name,  which  his  foither  got  hid- 
den and  disguised  under  the  name  of  C— — n.  This 
nefarious  tyrant,  among  the  crimes  that  a  military  go- 
Temn^ent  empowers  him  to  contmit,  has  had  several  men 


committed  lo  gaol  on  charges  of  treason,  that  he  might 
have  an  opportunity  of  obliging  their  wives  to  oun  a 
promise  of  the  unfortunate  men's  enlargement  by  sab- 
mitting  to  him;  thus,  the  stories  of  RhaynfSuilt, and 
other  monsters  in  power,  of  the  dark  and  barbuoss 
ages,  are  realized  in  unfortunate  Ireland,  and  is  nanied 
the  mildness  of  administration.  This  villain  is  reiiui- 
able  ill-lookmg,  about  five  feet  five  inches  high,  black 
complexion,  wears  a  uniform,  and  his  hair  in  queue. 

Stephen  Sparks,  master  of  the  Charter  School,  Cutk 
Carberry,  and  Michael  Sparks,  his  brother,  and  Gilbert 
Walker,  his  brother-in-law ;  the  tvw>  latter  were  re- 
warded by  Luttrell  with  commissions,  for  their  alaciitj 
as  spies  and  house-burners. 

Bei^'amin  Armstrong,  alias  Benjamin  Bung  the  gU' 
ger — 43  years  of  age,  large  red  features,  hooked  noose, 
lives  at  Ervey,  near  Kin^s  Court,  county  Cavan. 

Fairbrother,  about  five  feet  three  inches  lu^ 

ruddy  complexion ;  a  clothier,  in  Tenter's  Lane,  ia  the 
Liberty ;  one  of  Corbally's  jury; 

Pettigrew,  five  fieet  six  inches  high,  black  com- 
plexion, thirty-thi>9e  years  of  age ;  lives  in  Linen  Hill 
Street ;  a  sergeant  in  Dick's  company — a  jurymsn  of 
young  Hart's. 

Bobertson,  five  feet  ten  inches  high,  a  black- 
looking  fellow ;  and  car-pilot  on  the  Custom  House 
quay. 

Hautenville,  five  feet  eight  inches  high,  sixty  yew 
of  age  ;  collects  for  the  pipe-water  office  ;  formerly  kept 
a  huxter's  shop  in  Mary's  Lane. 

Rice,  silversmith  in  Capel  Street,  an  in&mooi 

rascal,  and  gambler,  known  by  the  name  of  Court 
BriUiant. 

Bartholomew  Cannan,  about  five  feet  eight  uidies 
high,  compass-knee'd ;  keeps  a  public-house  in  WOliaB 
Street,  comer  of  Castle  market ;  is  a  notorious  spy. 

These  may  serve  as  a  specimen  ;  but  other  indi- 
viduals are  denounced  in  the  same  style ;  and 
then  their  murder,  or  Lynching,  is  coolly  recom- 
mended in  thb  easy  strain : — 

We  are  constantly  witnessing  the  impudent  affecta- 
tion of  cowardly  moderation,  acting  in  putnership  whh 
tyranny,  against  the  Union  Star,  which  tiiey  accuse  of 
inculcating  principles  of  assassination. 

We  certainly  do  not  advise,  though  we  do  not  deerj 
assassination,  as  we  conceive  it  to  be  the  only  mode  at 
present  vrithin  the  reach  of  Irishmen,  to  bring  to  jastice 
the  royal  agents,  who  are  constantly  exercising  rapes, 
murders,  and  burnings,  through  our  devoted  country. 

We  appeal  to  thy  noble  and  venerated  name,  0  Brt- 
tus  I  who  bravely  assassinated  the  tyrant  of  your  cou- 
try  amidst  his  cohorts,  and  in  the  presence  of  his  pen- 
sioned senate ;  it  is  not  our  solitary  sufihige  that  bas 
attempted  to  honour  thy  name  and  worship  thy  spirit. 
The  patriot,  the  sage,  and  the  hero,  in  every  hononraUe 
state  of  life,  for  eighteen  centuries,  have  given  thy  nan* 
the  first  and  most  unequivocal  recommendation  to  the 
admiring  earth,  as  one  that  deserves  the  highest  raak 
amongst  the  benefactors  of  the  human  race. 

Yes  !  Prince  of  Patriot  Assassins,  thy  noble  aad  Ti^ 
tuous  spirit  should  pervade  our  land ;  the  inftnt  wboa 
a  British,  or  a  British-Irish,  butcher  has  left  fatherk*, 
should  be  taught,  through  his  progress  to  manhood,  that 
tliy  example  should  be  rigidly  imitated,  as  an  hoofit 
duty  to  his  parents  and  his  country.  The  Irish  seanao* 
maimed  in  the  serrice  of  his  country's  tyrant,  whose 
banners  he  often  led  to  victory — perhaps  at  the  san* 
moment  when  his  aged  mother  lived  to  sec  her  daagk- 
ter  violated  by  a  horrid  soldiery,  who  had  mingled  tb« 
ashes  of  her  husband  with  those  of  their  humble  habita- 
tion,— in  such  a  son,  assassination  would  be  a  holy  dotj, 
commanded  by  nature  and  approved  of  by  Heaven. 

Is  it  wonderful,  that  in  a  country  where  awi 
atrocious  doctrines  were  publicly  inculcated  onjf 
forty  years  since,  that  human  life  is  still  held* 
small  value,  and  party  murders  considered  no  criw' 
One  would  be  glad  to  find  relief  in  imputing 


MADDEN'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  IRISHMEN. 


597 


the  above  horrible  suggestions  to  the  license  per- 
mitted to  spies ;  bufc  truth  forbids  the  charitable 
assumption.  They  were  the  genuine  effusions  of 
what  was  then  considered  the  liberal  spirit. 

Upon  the  whole,  there  is  nothing  in  this  history 
of  Irish  espionage  to  encourage  the  Irish  Execu- 


tive to  repeat  the  experiment ;  nor  in  that  of  the 
Societies  of  United  Irishmen  to  tempt  any  sa^e 
man  to  depart  from  that  open  course  of  steady  but 
peaceful  and  continued  effort,  which  has  already  ac- 
complished so  nauch,  and  which  is  equal  to  every 
desirable  end. 


MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN 
SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 

(Concluded  from  cur  August  No.) 


We  left  our  intrepid  missionary  making  his  way 
to  the  court  of  the  renowned  African  sovereign, 
Moselekatse,  the  king  of  the  warlike  Matabeles, 
«  The  Great  King  of  Heaven,"  "The  Elephant/' 
"  The  Lion's-paw."  Moffat  was  the  first  white 
man  who  had  ever  penetrated  so  far  in  this  direc- 
tion. It  will  be  remembered  that  he  came  hither 
with  the  ambassadors  whom  Moselekatse  had  sent 
to  the  mission  station  to  examine  and  report  on  the 
wonders  to  be  seen  there ;  and  with  other  secret 
diplomatic  objects  which  were  not  avowed.  In 
his  reception  of  the  white  man,  the  representative 
of  the  powerful  race  of  whom  so  many  fables  were 
told — this  barbarous  sovereign,  the  Napoleon  of  the 
desert,  endeavoured  to  impress  him  with  a  due 
sense  of  his  own  power  and  dignity.  As  this  is 
the  most  important  of  the  native  tribes  whom  Mr. 
Moffat  visited,  and  equal  in  interest  to  any  of  the 
relations  given  by  Park  or  Clapperton,  we  must 
present  the  "  Lion's  Paw"  with  some  ceremony. 

He  came  np  to  us,  and  haying  been  instructed  in  our 
mode  of  salutation,  gave  each  a  clumBy  but  hearty  shake 
of  the  hand.  He  then  politely  turned  to  the  food,  which 
was  plaeed  at  our  feet,  and  invited  us  to  partake.  By 
this  time  the  wagons  were  seen  in  the  distance,  and 
having  intimated  our  wish  to  be  directed  to  a  place  where 
we  might  encamp  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  he  accom- 
panied us,  keeping  fkst  hold  of  my  right  arm,  though 
not  in  the  most  graceftil  manner,  yet  wiUi  perfect  famili- 
arity. "  The  land  is  before  you ;  you  are  come  to  your 
son.  You  must  sleep  where  you  please."  When  the 
'^  moving  houses,"  as  the  wagons  were  called,  drew  near, 
he  took  a  firmer  grasp  of  my  arm,  and  looked  on  them 
with  unutterable  surprise ;  and  this  man,  the  terror  of 
thousands,  drew  back  with  fear,  as  one  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  they  were  not  living  creatures.  When  the  oxen 
were  unyoked,  he  approached  the  wagon  with  the  ut- 
most caution,  still  holding  me  by  one  hand,  and  placing 
the  other  on  his  mouth,  indicating  his  surprise.  He  looked 
at  them  very  intently,  particularly  the  wheels,  and  when 
told  of  how  many  pieces  of  wood  each  wheel  vras  com- 
posed, his  wonder  was  increased.  After  examining  all 
very  closely,  one  mystery  yet  remained, — how  the  large 
band  of  iron  surrounding  the  felloes  of  the  wheel  came 
to  be  in  one  piece  without  either  end  or  joint.  'Umbate, 
my  friend  and  fellow-traveller,  whose  visit  to  our  station 
had  made  him  much  wiser  than  his  master,  took  hold  of 
my  right  hand,  and  related  what  he  had  seen.  ^  My 
eyes,"  he  said,  "saw  that  very  hand,"  pointing  to  mine, 
^  cat  these  bars  of  iron,  take  a  piece  off  one  end,  and  then 
join  them  as  you  now  see  them."  A  minute  inspection 
ensued  to  discover  the  welded  part.  "Does  he  give 
medicine  to  the  iron!"  was  the  monarch's  hiquiry. 
^  No,"  said  'Umbate,  ^  nothing  is  used  but  fire,  a  ham- 
mer and  a  chisel."  Moselekatse  then  returned  to  the 
town,  where  the  warriors  were  still  standing  as  he  left 
them,  who  received  him  with  immense  bursts  of  applause. 

Some  thousands  of  the  Matabele,  composing  several 
regiments,  are  distinguished  by  the  colour  of  their  shield?; 


as  well  as  the  kind  and  profusion  of  feathers  which 
generally  adorn  their  heads,  having  also  a  long  feather 
of  the  blue  crane  rising  from  their  brows,  all  which  has 
an  imposing  effect  at  their  onset.  Their  arms  consist  of 
a  shield,  short  spear,  and  club.  The  club,  often  made 
of  the  horn  of  a  rhinoceros  or  hard  wood,  they  throw 
with  unerring  precision,  so  as  even  to  strike  dead  the 

smaller  antelope Moselekatse  did  not  fail 

to  supply  us  abundantly  with  meat,  milk,  and  a  weak 
kind  of  beer,  made  from  the  native  grain.  He  appeared 
anxious  to  please,  and  to  exhibit  himself  and  people  to 
the  best  advantage.  In  accordance  with  savage  notions 
of  conferring  honour,  all  the  inhabitants  and  warriors  of 
the  neighbouring  towns  were  ordered  to  congregate  at 
head-quarters,  and  on  the  following  day  a  public  ball 
was  given  in  compliment  to  the  strangers.  A  smooth 
plain  a4Joining  the  tovrh  was  selected  for  the  purpose, 
where  Moselekatse  took  his  stand  in  the  centre  of  an  im- 
mense circle  of  his  soldiers,  numbers  of  women  being 
present,  who  with  their  shrill  voices  and  clapping  of 
hands  took  part  in  the  concert.  About  thirty  ladies 
from  his  harem  with  long  white  wands  marched  to  the 
song  backward  and  forward  on  the  outside  of  the  ranks, 
their  well  lubricated  shining  bodies  being  too  weighty 
for  the  agile  movements  which  characterized  the  matrons ' 
and  damsels  of  lower  rank.  They  sang  their  war  songs, 
and  one  composed  on  occasion  of  the  visit  of  the  strangers, 
gazing  on  and  adoring  with  trembling  fear  and  admira- 
tion the  potentate  in  the  centre,  who  stood  and  sometimes 
regulated  the  motions  of  thousands  by  the  movement  of 
his  head,  or  the  raising  or  depression  of  his  hand.  He 
then  sat  down  on  his  shield  of  lion's  skin,  and  asked  me 
if  it  was  not  fine,  and  if  we  had  such  things  in  my  coun- 
try  Whenever  he  arose  or  sat  down,  all 

within  sight  hailed  him  with  a  shout,  BaaiU!  or  AaiU! 
followed  by  a  number  of  his  high  sounding  titles,  such  as 
Great  King,  King  of  heaven,  the  Elephant,  &c. 

The  farther  account  of  the  court  and  the  nobles 
of  '*  the  great  king  "  is  full  of  interest.  The  his- 
tory of  an  officer  of  the  king's,  degraded  for  some 
crime,  but  who  was  saved  fit)m  death  by  the  inter- 
cession of  the  missionary,  shows  that  the  proud, 
conventional  sense  of  honour,  the  feelings  ^^of 
chivalry,"  may  glow  as  intensely  in  the  sable 
breast  of  a  barbarian  in  South  .Africa,  as  in  the 
heart  of  a  descendant  of  the  highest  Norman  nobi- 
lity. The  sable  warrior  disdained  the  poor  boon 
of  life  if  deprived  of  his  rank  and  privileges,  and 
the  badges  of  his  honours  ;  and  rejected  the  com- 
mutation of  his  sentence  which,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  other  nobles,  the  missionary  had  ob- 
tained. 

The  sentence  passed,  the  pardoned  man  was  eiqtected 
to  bow  in  grateful  adoration  to  him  whom  he  was  wont 
to  look  upon,  and  exalt  in  songs  applicable  only  to  One, 
to  whom  belongs  univei^  sway  and  the  destinies  of 
man.  But,  no  !  holding  his  hands  clasped  on  his  bosom, 
he  replied, "  O  king,  afflict  not  my  heart !  I  have  merited 
thy  displeasure  ;  let  mc  be  glain  like  the  warrior  ;  I  can- 


598       MOFFAT'S  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA- 


not  lire  with  the  poor."  And,  raising  his  hand  to  the 
ring  he  wore  on  his  brow,  he  continued  ;  **  How  can  I 
lire  among  the  dogs  of  the  king,  and  disgrace  these 
badges  of  hononr  which  I  won  among  the  spears  and 
shields  of  the  mighty  I  No,  I  cannot  Uyo  !  Let  me  die, 
O  Peioolu  !"  His  request  was  granted,  and  his  hands 
tied  erect  over  his  head.  Now,  my  exertions  to  save 
his  life  were  vain.  He  disdained  the  boon  on  the  condi- 
tions offere'd,  preferring  to  die  with  the  honours  he  had 
won  at  the  point  of  the  spear — ^honours  which  even  the 
act  that  condemned  him  did  not  tarnish — to  exile  and 
poverty,  among  the  children  of  the  desert.  He  vras  led 
forth,  a  man  walking  on  each  side.  My  eye  followed  him 
till  he  reached  the  top  of  a  precipice,  over  which  he  vras 
precipitated  into  tiie  deep  pool  of  the  river  beneath,  where 
the  crocodiles,  accustomed  to  such  meals,  were  yawning 
to  devour  him  ere  he  could  reach  the  bottom !  This  was 
a  sabbath  morning  scene,  such  as  heathenism  exhibits  to 
the  view  of  the  (Christian  philanthropist ;  and  such  as  is 
calculated  to  excite  in  his  bosom  feelings  of  the  deepest 
sympathy.  This  magnanimous  heathen  knew  of  no 
hereafter.  He  was  without  Grod  and  without  hope. 
But,  however  deplorable  the  state  of  such  a  person  may 
be,  he  vnll  not  be  condemned  as  equally  guilty  vrith 
those  who,  in  the  midst  of  light  and  knowledge,  self- 
separated  from  the  body,  recklessly  rush  into  the  pre- 
sence of  their  Maker  and  their  Judge 

Moselekatse's  conduct  in  this  affidr  produced  a  strange 
impresmon  among  his  people,  some  of  whom  regarded  me 
as  an  extraordinary  being,  who  could  thus  influence  one 
more  terrible  to  them  thiui  the  fiercest  lion  of  the  forest. 
His  government,  so  fiir  as  I  could  discover,  was  the 
very  essence  of  despotism.  The  persons  of  the  people, 
as  well  as  their  possessions,  were  the  property  of  their 

monarch Although  his  tyranny 

was  such,  that  one  would  have  supposed  his  subjects 
vrould  execrate  his  name,  they  were  the  most  servile 
devotees  of  their  master.  Wherever  he  was  seated,  or 
wherever  he  slept,  a  number  of  sycophants,  fantastically 
dressed,  attended  him,  whose  business  was  to  march, 
jump,  and  dance  about,  sometimes  standing  adoring  his 
person,  then  manoeuvring  with  a  stick,  and  vociferating 
the  mighty  deeds  of  valour  performed  by  himself  and 
Maohobane.  The  same  things  are  repeated  again  and 
again,  often  with  a  rapidity  of  articulation  which  baffles 
the  understanding  of  their  own  countrymen.  After  lis- 
tening many  times,  I  was  able,  with  the  assistance  of 
one  of  these  parasites,  to  pick  up  the  following  expres- 
sions : — ^^  O  Pezoolu,  the  king  of  kings,  king  of  the 
heavens,  who  would  not  fear  before  the  son  of  Macho- 
bane,  mighty  in  battle  !  Where  are  the  mighty  before 
the  presence  of  our  great  king  1  Where  is  the  strength 
of  the  fbrest  before  the  great  elephant !  l^e  proboscis 
is  breaking  the  branches  of  the  forest !  It  is  the  sound 
of  the  shields  of  the  son  of  Machobane.  He  breathes 
upon  their  faces  ;  it  is  the  fire  among  the  dry  grass ! 
Ifis  enemies  are  consumed  before  him,  king  of  kings  ! 
Faihtf  of  fire,  he  ascends  to  the  blue  heavens  ;  he  sends 
his  lightnings  into  the  clouds,  and  makes  the  rain  to  de- 
scend !  Ye  mountains,  woods,  and  grassy  plains,  hearken 
to  the  voice  of  the  son  of  Machobane,  king  of  heaven  !** 
This  is  a  specimen  of  the  sounding  titles  which  inces- 
santly meet  the  ear  of  this  proud  mortal,  and  are  suffi- 
cient to  make  the  haughty  monarch  believe  that  he  is 
what  the  terror  of  the  name  of  Dingaan  convinced  him 
he  vras  not ;  for,  notwithstanding  all  his  vain  boasts,  he 
could  not  conceal  his  fears  of  the  successor  of  the  bloody 
Qiaka,  against  whose  iron  sway  he  had  rebelled. 

Monarchy  was  seen  here  in  its  highest  perfec- 
tion. The  character  of  the  monarchy  the  Napoleon, 
or  the  Nicholas  of  Africa,  is  of  itself  a  study. 
We  can  only  giye  a  faint  indication  of  his  previous 
career,  whidi  is  described  at  great  length. 

Though  but  a  follower  in  the  footsteps  of  Chaka,  the 
career  of  Moselekatse,  fh>m  the  period  of  his  revolt  till 
the  time  I  saw  him,  and  long  after,  formed  an  intermin- 
able catalogue  of  crimes.  Scarcely  a  mountain,  over 
extensive  regions,  but  bore  the  marks  of  his  deadly  ire. 


His  experience  and  native  cunning  enabled  bim  ts 
triumph  over  the  minds  of  his  men,  and  made  liii 
trembling  captives  soon  adore  him  as  an  invincible  60T^ 
reign,  lliose  who  resisted,  and  would  not  stoop  to  be 
his  dogs,  he  butchered.  He  trained  the  c^tured  yotth 
in  his  own  tactics,  so  that  the  minority  of  his  army  wm 
foreigners ;  but  his  chie&  and  nobles  gloried  in  tiietr 
descent  from  the  Zoolu  dynasty.  He  had  carried  Im 
arms  tar  into  the  tropics,  where,  however,  he  had  moR 
than  once  met  with  his  equal ;  and  on  one  occaaoo,  of 
six  hundred  vrarriors,  only  a  lumdfal  returned  to  U 
sacrificed,  merely  becttuse  they  had  not  eonqnered,  or 
fallen  with  their  companions.  ....  In  his  peisoe 
he  was  below  the  middle  stature,  rather  corpulent,  with 
a  short  neck,  and  in  his  manner  could  be  exceeding 
affikble  and  cheerful.  His  voice,  soft  and  efibnunite,did 
not  indicate  that  his  disposition  was  passionate ;  ud, 
happily  for  his  people,  it  was  not  so,  or  many  woold 
have  been  butchered  in  the  ebullitions  of  his  anfer. 

The  above  is  but  a  £unt  description  of  thisNipoIeoi 
of  the  desert, — a  man  with  whom  I  oRen  oonTene^, 
and  who  was  not  wanting  in  consideration  and  kinds^, 
as  well  as  gratitude.  But  to  sympathy  and  compaadoD 
his  heart  appeared  a  stranger.  The  following  ineideBt, 
for  a  day  or  two,  threw  a  mystery  over  my  dianeter 
which  he  could  not  understand,  though  it  was  oolj  u 
illustration  of  the  principles  I  laboured  to  implant  in 
his  heart,  apparently  impervious  to  any  tender  emotioi 
which  had  not  self  for  its  object. 

The  affecting  incident  which  afforded  the  mi»- 
sionary  an  opportunity  to  display  what  arc  Chris- 
tian feelings  and  principles,  tended,  with  mm 
other  circumstances,  to  excite  MokhaUa's  cuiioaty, 
is  too  long  for  us.  The  missionary  was  to  him  & 
completely  new  specimen  of  humanity,  and  conse- 
quently a  mystery,  whose  motives  of  action  were 
incomprehensible.     Mr.  Moffat  says — 

He  asked  me  if  I  could  make  rain.  I  inferred  hin  to 
the  Grovemor  of  the  universe,  who  alone  could  giie  nis 
and  fruitf^  seasons.  'Umbate  vras  more  than  once  called 
to  bear  his  testimony  as  to  our  operations  uid  manner  of 
living  at  the  Kuruman.  Our  leaving  our  own  eomArj 
for  the  sake  of  the  natives,  obedient  to  the  wiU  of  the 
invisible  Being  whose  character  I  described,  was  to  fata 
a  bewildering  h4St ;  fbr  he  did  not  appear  to  donbt  nf 
word  ;  and  how  we  could  act  independently  of  oitr  sore 
reign,  or  vrithout  being  his  emissaries,  he  could  not  qb- 
derstand :  but  his  greatest  puzzle  vras,  that  I  had  not 
seen*my  kmg,  and  could  not  describe  his  riches,  bj  tiie 
numbers  of  his  flocks  and  herds.  I  tried  to  explain  to 
him  the  character  of  the  British  government,  the  exteit 
of  our  commerce,  and  the  good  our  nation  was  doiii; 
in  sendmg  the  Gospel  of  peace  and  salvation  to  d» 
nations  which  know  not  God  ;  and  told  him  also,  that 
our  king  too  had  his  instructors  to  teach  him  to  serve 
that  Grod,  who  alone  was  ^  King  of  kings^  and  Kin;  of 
the  heavens."  ^  Is  your  king  like  me  !"  he  admL  1 
was  sorry  I  could  not  give  him  a  satis&ctory  reply. 
When  I  described  tiie  blessed  effects  of  peace,  Hnt  p(fo- 
lousness  of  my  own  country,  the  indus^  of  the  peopte} 
the  number  of  sheep  and  cattle  daily  slaughtered  in  ^ 
great  towns,  the  reigning  passion  again  most  forth  n 
the  exclamation,  ^  Your  nation  must  be  terrible  ia 
battle  ;  you  must  tell  your  king  I  wish  to  lire  n 
peace." 

The  day  after  this  oonyersation  he  came  to  ae,  a^ 
tended  by  a  party  of  his  vrarriors,  who  remahied  at  sdwt 
distance  from  ns,  dancing  and  singing.  Their  yelU  aod 
shouts,  their  fluitastic  leaps,  and  distorted  ceetmes, 
would  have  impressed  a  stranger  witi^  the  idea  tbt 
they  were  more  like  a  company  of  fiends  than  wtt' 
Addressing  me,  he  said,  ^  I  am  a  king,  hot  yoo  v^ 
Machobane,*  and  I  am  come  to  sit  at  your  feet  ftrii- 
struction."    This  vras  seasonable ;  for  my  mind  h»d  jb4 


*  The  name  of  the  king's  ikther,  which  he  in  mftif^ 
gave  to  the  missionary.— J&.  T,  3f, 


MOFFATS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA.     599 


been  occupied  in  contemplating  the  miseries  of  the 
■»yage  state.  I  spoke  much  on  man's  ruin,  and  man's 
redemption.  ^  Why,"  he  asked,  ^  are  yon  so  earnest  that 
I  abandon  all  war,  and  not  kill  men  1"  ^  Look  on  the 
human  bones  which  lie  scattered  over  your  dominions," 
was  my  reply.  ^  They  speak  in  aw!\il  language,  and  to 
me  they  say,  *  Whosoeyer  sheddeth  man's  blood,  by  man 
also  will  his  blood  be  shed.' "  This  was  fearfhl  language 
in  the  ears  of  such  a  murderer.  **  You  say,"  he  i^ded, 
^  that  the  dead  will  rise  again."  My  remarks  on  this 
subject  were  startling  in  the  ears  of  a  sayage,  and  he 
interrupted  by  hastily  assuring  me  that  he  would  not  go 
to  war.  While  we  were  yet  speaking,  a  body  of  Maehaka 
soldiers  adyanoed,  and  bowed  behind  their  shields  at  a 
distance,  to  wait  his  awfdl  nod.  The  Entoto  (married 
man)  their  leaded,  then  addressed  him  in  language  and 
attitude  the  most  suppliant.  The  burden  of  the  peti- 
tion was,  *^  Permit  us,  O  king  of  heayens,  to  obtain  new 
shields  :"  in  other  words,  ^  Allow  us  to  go  and  attack 
some  distant  town,  to  acquire  new  spoils  and  fresh  glory." 
This  was  an  inauspicious  moment  for  these  ambitious  men. 
Turning  to  me,  the  monarch  said,  ^You  see  it  is  my 
people  who  wish  to  make  war,"  and  instantly  dismissed 
them  from  his  presence. 

As  he  was  rather  profhse  in  his  honorary  titles,  espe- 
cially in  calling  me  a  king,  I  requested  him  rather  to  call 
me  teacher,  or  anything  but  a  king.  ^  Then,"  he  said, 
«  shaU  I  call  you  my  fother !"  «  Yes,"  I  rejomed, «  but 
only  on  condition  that  you  be  an  obedient  son."  This 
drew  from  him  and  his  nobles  a  hearty  laugh.  When  I 
recommended  a  system  which  would  secure  not  only 
safety,  but  plenty  to  his  people,  without  the  unnatural 
one  of  keeping  up  a  force  of  many  thousands  of  unmar- 
ried warriors,  he  tried  to  conyince  me  that  his  people 
were  happy;  and  to  a  stranger  they  might  appear  so,  for, 
alas  !  they  dared  not  let  any  murmur  reach  his  ear;  but 
I  knew  more  than  he  was  aware  of.  I  knew  many  a 
conch  was  steeped  with  silent  tears,  and  many  an  acre 
stained  with  human  blood.  About  ten  minutes  after  the 
conyersation,  a  loyely  boy,  the  son  of  one  of  his  many 
wiyes,  sat  smiling  on  my  knee,  caressing  me  as  if  I  were 
his  own  f&ther.  As  some  of  the  king's  h^em  were  seated 
near,  I  asked  the  boy  which  was  his  mother.  He  shook 
his  little  head  and  sighed.  I  asked  no  more,  but  learned 
soon  after  that  the  mother,  who  was  the  daughter  of  a 
captiye  chief,  was  a  superior  woman,  and  took  the  liberty 
of  remonstrating  with  her  lord  on  the  multitude  of  his 
concubines.  One  morning  she  was  dragged  out  of  her 
house,  and  her  head  seyered  from  her  body. 

The  happiness  of  the  king  and  his  subjects  appeared 
to  be  entirely  deriyed  from  their  success  in  war,  and  the 
reward  of  a  wife  was  a  stimulus  to  his  men  to  multiply 
their  yictims.  Days  of  feasting  were  held,  when  they 
glutted  themseWes  with  flesh.  The  bloody  bowl  was  the 
portion  of  those  who  could  count  the  tens  they  had  slain 
in  the  day  of  battle. 

The  parting  scene  of  the  missionary  and  this 
barbarous  monarch  is  characteristic. — 

Haying  resoWed  on  returning,  Moselekatse  accom- 
panied me  in  my  wagon  a  long  day's  journey  to  one  of 
his  principal  towns.  He  soon  became  accustomed  to  the 
jolting  of  an  African  wagon,  and  found  it  conyenient  to 
lay  hS  well  lubricated  ^y  down  on  my  bed,  to  take  a 
nap.  On  awaking  he  inyited  me  to  lie  down  beside  him ; 
bat  I  begged  to  be  excused,  preferring  to  eigoy  the 
scenery  around  me.  Two  more  days  we  spent  together, 
during  which  I  renewed  my  entreaties  that  he  would 
abstain  from  war,  promising  that  one  day  he  should  be 
favoured  with  missionaries,  which  he  professed  to  desire. 
Haying  obtained  from  me  my  telescope,  for  the  purpose, 
he  said,  of  seeing  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains  if 
Dingaan,  the  king  of  tiie  Zoolus,  whom  he  justly  dread- 
ed, was  approacl^ig,  I  bade  him  farewell,  with  scarcely 
a  bope  that  the  Gi^l  could  be  succes^  among  the 
Matabele,  until  there  should  be  a  reyolution  in  the 
l^oyemment  of  a  monarch,  who  demanded  that  homage 

which  pertains  to  God  alone To  my 

solemn  exhortations  he  only  replied,  *^  'Pnj  to  your  God 
to  keep  me  from  the  power  of  Dingaan." 


Mr.  Moffat  made  a  subsequent  visit  to  this 
monarch,  who  had  in  the  interval  been  constantly 
engaged  in  wars,  and  has  since  been  driven  from 
his  conquests.  Before  he  fled,  the  influence  and 
admonitions  of  Moffat  had  this  good  eflect. — 

Oyerwhelmed  by  such  superior  and  unexpected  forces, 
he  fled  to  the  north  ;  and  it  merits  notice,  tiiat  before 
his  departure  he  allowed  all  the  captive  Bahurutd, 
Bakhatla,  and  other  neighbouring  tribes,  to  return  to 
their  own  land.  This  was  a  measure  which  astonished 
the  natiyes,  who  haye  since  congregated  on  the  ancient 
domains  of  their  forefathers  ;  and  if  no  foreign  power 
again  driye  them  from  their  natiye  glens,  they  will  ere 
long  become  the  interesting  objects  of  missionary  labour. 

By  this  time  the  tide  had  fairly  turned  in  favour 
of  the  missionaries  among  the  people  amidst  whom 
Mr.  Moffat  was  stationed.  The  progress  of  evan- 
gelizing and  civilizing,  slow  in  the  beginning,  be- 
came rapid.  The  country,  which  had  suffered 
from  several  successive  years  of  great  drought,  had, 
in  the  season  after  he  returned  from  visiting  the 
Matabele,  been  blessed  with  plenteous  fertilizing 
rains,  and  the  fields  and  gardens  teemed  with  a 
plenty  which  had  been  unknown  for  years«  The 
native  settlers  began  to  cultivate  the  new  sorts  of 
grain  and  vegetables  presented  to  them  by  the  mis- 
sionaries, and  to  plant  fruit-trees;  and  all  was 
cheerfulness  and  good-humour.  The  new  converts 
among  the  natives  soon  became  eminently  useful  in 
spreading  knowledge  and  the  love  of  improvement. 
Many  were  learning  to  read  their  native  language ; 
and  Mr.  Moffat  had  translated  the  Gospel  of  St. 
Luke,  and  Dr.  Brown's  Scripture  Texts.  A  neat 
chapel,  a  school-house,  dwellings  for  the  mission- 
aries, and  workshops,  had  been  substantially  built 
by  the  voluntary  assistance  of  the  natives  ;  and  the 
important  improvement  of  irrigation  had  been  at- 
tended to  :  the  natives,  seeing  the  uses  of  water- 
courses, imitated  what  they  saw,  and  graduaUy 
adopted  those  barrows,  ploughs,  harrows,  spades 
and  mattocks,  which  they  had  formerlyridiculed  and 
despised,  as  innovations  on  the  wisdom  of  their  an- 
cestors. Great  progress  was  made  at  the  station  dur- 
ing the  year  in  which  Mr.  Mofiat  was  at  Cape  Town 
getting  his  translations  printed,  and  acquiring  a 
knowledge  of  the  art  of  printing,  which,  together 
with  that  of  the  blacksmith,  the  mason,  the  car- 
penter, &c.,  was  now  brought  to  the  station.  A 
small  hymn-book  was  first  printed  there.  We  are 
told— 

Among  the  treasures  brought  with  us  from  the  colony, 
was  a  box  of  materials  for  clothing,  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  such  as  were  making  efforts  to  clotiie  themselyes. 
This  was  the  first  supply  of  the  kind,  and  nothing  could 
be  more  seasonable  to  a  people  just  beginning  to  emerge 
from  barbarism,  the  impoyerished  remains  of  scattered 
tribes,  but  the  first-fruits  of  the  Gospel  among  the  Beehu- 
anas.  The  needy  were  supplied,  and  many  a  heart  was 
made  glad. 

Mr.  Mofiat  contends  that  ^'  evangelization  must 
precede  civilisation."  Among  his  converts  they 
seem  to  have  gone  hand  in  hand.  It  was  either 
made  a  condition  or  was  a  decent  custom  observed, 
that  those  who  were  baptized  should  previously 
procure  decent  clothing.  How  much  of  happy 
change  to  a  whole  people  is  comprehended  in  tiie 
following  passage. 

Hitherto  a  sewing  school  had  been  uncalled  fbr,  the 


600     M0FFAr3  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 


1 


women's  work  being  that  of  building  liou80s,raising  fences 
and  cnltiTftting  the  ground,  while  the  lords  of  the  creation, 
for  their  own  conyenience  and  comfort,  had  from  time 
immemorial  added  to  their  pursuits  the  exercise  of  sewing 
their  garments,  which,  from  their  durability  and  scanty 
supply,  was  anything  but  a  laborious  work.  It  was  a 
novel  sight  to  observe  women  and  young  girls  handling 
the  little  bright  instrument,  which  was  scarcely  percep- 
tible to  the  touch  of  fingers  accustomed  to  grasp  the 
handle  of  a  pickaxe,  or  to  employ  them  to  supply  the 
absence  of  trowels.  But  they  were  willing,  and  Mrs. 
M.,  in  order  to  encourage  them,  engaged  to  meet  them 
,  as  often  as  her  strength  would  permit.  She  had  soon  a 
motley  group  of  pupils,  very  few  of  the  whole  party, 
possessing  either  a  frock  or  gown.  The  scarcity  of 
materiab  was  a  serious  impediment  to  progress ;  and 
living  as  we  did  far  beyond  the  reach  of  traders,  and  six 
.hun<&ed  miles  fh>m  a  market  town,  it  was  next  to  im- 
.possible  to  obtain  them,  at  least  just  when  wanted.  The 
same  Gospel  which  had  taght  them  that  they  were  spiri- 
tually miserable,  blind,  and  naked,  discovered  to  them 
also  that  they  needed  reform  externally,  and  thus  pre- 
pared their  minds  to  adopt  those  modes  of  comfort, 
cleanliness,  and  convenience  which  they  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  view  only  as  the  peculiarities  of  a  strange 
people.  Thus,  by  the  slow  but  certain  progress  of  Gospel 
principles,  whole  families  became  clothed  and  in  their 
right  mind.  Ornaments  which  were  formerly  in  high 
Tepute,  as  adorning,  but  more  f^quently  disfiguring  their 
persons,  were  now  turned  into  bullion  to  purchase  skins 
of  animals,  which  being  prepared  almost  as  soft  as  cloth, 
were  made  into  jackets,  trowsers,  and  gowns.  When 
opportunity  was  afibrded  by  the  visit  of  a  trader,  British 
manufactures  were  eagerly  purchased. 
»  For  a  long  period,  when  a  man  waa  seen  to  make  a 
pair  of  trowsers  for  himself,  or  a  woman  a  gown,  it  was 
a  sure  intimation  that  we  might  expect  additions  to  our 
inquirers  ;  abandoning  the  custom  of  painting  the  body, 
and  beginning  to  wash  with  water,  was  with  them  what 
cutting  off  the  hair  was  among  the  South  Sea  islanders, 
a  pubUc  renunciation  of  heathenism. 

The  garments  were,  and  probably  still  are,  awk- 
ward, grotesque,  and  incongruous  enough,  according 
to  European  ideas ;  but  what  an  advance  from 
the  grease  and  ochre  besmeared  persons  and  filthy- 
customs  of  former  times ! 

Our  congregation  now  became  a  variegated  mass,  in- 
chiding  all  descriptions,  fh>m  the  lubricated  wild  man  of 
the  desert,  to  the  clean,  comfortable,  and  well-dressed 
believer.  The  same  spirit  diffused  itself  through  all  the 
routine  of  household  economy.  Formerly  a  chest,  a 
chair,  a  candle,  or  a  table,  were  things  unknown,  and 
supposed  to  be  only  the  superfluous  accompaniments  of 
beings  of  anoUier  order.  Although  they  never  disputed 
the  superiority  of  our  attainments  in  being  able  to  manu- 
facture these  superfluities,  they  would  however  question 
our  common  sense  in  taking  so  much  trouble  about  them. 
They  thought  us  particularly  extravagant  in  burning  fat 
in  the  form  of  candles,  instead  of  rubbing  it  on  our  bodies, 
or  depositing  it  in  our  stomachs. 

A  bunch  of  home-made  candles  hanging  from  the 
wall  of  a  hut  was  now  often  to  be  seen  ;  and  af- 
forded the  missionary  more  gratification  than  the 
most  charming  picture ;  as  an  indication  that  in- 
stead of  moping  over  the  embers,  unable  to  see  what 
they  were  eating,  or  each  other,  the  inmates  could 
now  read,  work,  and  converse  by  the  steady  hght 
of  a  candle.  "  We  have  been  like  the  beasts," 
the  poor  Bechuanas  would  now  exclaim  ;  "  what 
shall  we  do  to  be  saved?" 

The  lovers  of  Natural  History,  and  j  uvenile  readers, 
will  find  much  to  gratify  their  tastes  in  this  volume, 
which  abounds  in  anecdotes  of  lions,  elephants, 
baboons,  hyenas,  buffaloes,  &c. ;  jind  of  the  dangers 
incurred  in  numerous  encounters  with  them,  while 


the  missionary  was  travelling  through  the  arid 
deserts.  The  perils  and  adventures  of  Mr.  Catlin 
among  the  Red  Indians,  and  the  bufiBEdoes  and 
bisons  of  the  "  Far,  far  west,"  are  not  nearly  go 
stirring  as  those  of  the  missionary  Moflfat,  in  the 
wilds  of  Africa,  while  bivouacking,  or  seeking  food 
for  himself  and  his  attendants  in  the  chase.  And 
he  appears  to  have  handled  a  rifie  quite  as  bravdy 
and  as  skillfully  as  a  text.  One  night,  when  sordv 
in  want  of  "  a  coUop,"  he  went  with  two  of  his 
company,  to  watch  at  a  place  where  wild  cattk 
were  likely  to  come  to  drink,  resolving  to  shoot 
whatever  first  appeared,  rather  thi^  be,  next  day, 
exposed  to  the  burning  sun,  on  an  arid  plain,  in 
hunting  for  food.  The  hunters  lay  in  a  hollow 
place,  close  by  the  fountain. 

It  was  half  moonlight,  and  rather  cold,  though  the 
days  were  warm.  We  remained  for  a  couple  of  hours, 
waiting  with  great  anxiety  for  something  to  appear.  We 
at  length  heard  a  loud  lapping  at  the  water,  under  the 
dark  shadowy  bank,  within  twenty  yards  of  as.  ^Ultat 
is  thati"  I  asked  Bogachu.  ^^Birimala,"  (be  sflent,) 
he  said  ;  ^  there  are  lions,  they  will  hear  us.''  A  hist 
was  more  than  enough ;  and  thankful  were  we,  that, 
when  they  had  drunk,  they  did  not  come  over  the  smooth 
grassy  surface  in  our  direction.  Our  next  visiters  were 
two  buffalos,  one  immensely  large.  My  wagon-driver, 
Mosi,  who  also  had  a  gun,  seeing  them  coming  diroctlj 
towards  us,  begged  me  to  fire.  I  refused,  having  man 
dread  of  a  wounded  buffalo  than  of  almost  any  otbc 
animal.  He  fired  ;  and  though  the  animal  was  severely 
wounded,  he  stood  like  a  statue  with  Bis  companion, 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  us,  for  more  than  an  hour, 
waiting  to  see  us  move,  in  order  to  attack  us.  We  laj 
in  an  awkward  position  for  that  time,  scarcely  daring  m 
whisper  ;  and  when  he  at  last  retired  we  were  so  stiff 
with  cold,  that  flight  would  have  been  impo^ble  had  an 
attack  been  made.  We  then  moved  about  till  our  blood 
began  to  circulate.  Our  next  visiters  were  two  girail^; 
one  of  these  we  wounded.  A  troop  of  qnaggas  next 
came ;  but  the  successful  instinct  of  the  principal  stallion, 
in  surveying  the  precincts  of  the  water,  galloping  round 
in  all  directions  to  catch  any  strange  scent,  and  retoming 
to  the  troop  with  a  whistling  noise,  to  announce  dangn-, 
set  them  off  at  full  speed.  The  next  was  a  huge  rhino- 
ceros, which,  receiving  a  mortal  wound,  departed.  Hear- 
ing the  approach  of  more  lions,  we  judged  it  best  to  leavv; 
and  after  a  lonely  walk  of  four  miles  trough  bushes, 
hyenas  and  jackals,  we  reached  the  village,  when  I  feh 
thankfhl,  resolving  never  to  hunt  by  night  at  a  water-pool, 
till  I  could  find  nothing  to  eat  elsewhere.  Next  day  t^ 
rhinoceros  and  buffalo  were  found,  which  afforded  a 
plentiful  supply. 

The  thrilling  adventures  of  Mr.  MoflRat,  and 
other  traveUers  in  Africa,  throw  the  feats  of  our 
lion-tamers  of  the  theatre  into  the  shade. 

In  another  place  our  hunter  relates  ; — 

When  I  had  occasion  to  hunt,  in  order  to  supply  tlif 
wants  of  myself  and  people,  a  troop  of  men  would  fbHow, 
and  as  soon  as  a  rhinoceros  or  any  other  animal  was  shot,  a 
fire  was  made  and  some  wonld.be  roasting, while  the  others 
would  be  cutting  and  tearing  away  at  the  ponderoe 
carcase,  which  is  soon  dissected.  During  these  opeiatiM& 
they  would  exhibit  all  the  gestures  of  heathenidi  ^j, 
making  an  uproar  as  if  a  town  were  on  ^re,    I  do  101 
wonder  that  Mr.  Campbell  once  remarked  on  a  simittr 
occasion,  that  from  their  noise  and  gestures  be  did  Bit 
know  his  travelling  companions.    Having  once  dwl » 
rhinoceros,  the  men  surrounded  it  with  roaring  eoa^ 
tulation.    In  vain  I  shouted  that  it  was  not  dead :  a 
dozen  spears  were  thrust  into  it,  when  up  started  tie 
animal  in  a  fury,  and  tearing  up  the  ground  wttk  ^ 
horn,  made  every  one  fly  in  terror.    JTIiCde  animals  were 
very  numerous  in  tbis  part  of  the  country  ;  they  are  wi 


MOFFArS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHER?f  AFRICA,    (?}l 


gregarious^  more  than  foar  or  fire  being  seldom  seen 
together,  though  I  once  observed  nine  following  eacV 
other  to  the  water.  They  fear  no  enemy  but  man,  and 
are  fearless  of  him  when  wounded  and  pursued.  The 
lion  flies  before  them  like  a  cat ;  the  mohonu,  the  largest 
species,  has  been  known  even  to  kill  the  elephant,  by 
thrusting  the  horn  into  his  ribs. 

On  another  occasion,  when  MoifiEit  was  traversing 
the  desert,  bound  on  a  distant  expedition,  he  re- 
lates— 

Our  journey  lay  over  a  wild  and  dreary  country,  in- 
habited by  Balalas  only,  and  but  a  sprinkling  of  these. 
On  the  ni^t  of  the  third  day's  journey,  having  halted 
at  a  pool  (Khokhole,)  we  listened,  on  the  lonely  plain, 
for  the  sound  of  an  inhabitant,  but  all  was  silent.  We 
could  discoTer  no  lights,  and,  amid  the  darkness  were 
unable  to  trace  footmarks  to  Uie  pool.  We  let  loose  our 
wearied  oxen  to  drink  and  graze,  but  as  we  were  ignorant 
of  the  character  of  the  company  with  which  we  might 
have  to  spend  the  night,  we  took  a  firebrand,  and  exam- 
ined the  edges  of  the  pool  to  see,  from  the  imprints,  what 
animals  were  in  the  habit  of  drinking  there,  and,  with 
terror,  discovered  many  avoon  of  lions.  We  immediately 
collected  the  oxen,  and  brought  them  to  the  wagon,  to 
which  we  fastened  them  with  the  strongest  thongs  we 
had,  having  discovered  in  their  appearance  something 
rather  wild,  indicating  that  either  irom  scent  or  sight, 
they  knew  danger  was  near.  The  two  Barolongs  had 
brought  a  young  cow  with  them,  and  though  I  recom- 
mended their  making  her  fast  also,  they  very  humorously 
replied  that  she  was  too  wise  to  leave  the  wagon  and 
oxen,  even  though  a  lion  should  be  scented.  We  took  a 
little  supper,  which  was  followed  by  our  evening  hymn, 
and  prayer.  I  had  retired  only  a  few  minutes  to  my 
wagon  to  prepare  for  the  night,  when  the  whole  of  the 
oxen  started  to  their  feet.  A  lion  had  seized  the  cow 
only  a  few  steps  firom  their  tails,  and  dragged  it  to  the 
distance  of  thirty  or  forty  yards,  where  we  distinctly 
heard  it  tearing  the  animal,  and  breaking  the  bones,  while 
its  bellowings  were  most  pitiful.  When  these  were  over, 
I  seized  my  gun,  but  as  it  was  too  dark  to  see  any  object 
at  half  the  distance,  I  aimed  at  the  spot  where  the  de- 
vouring jaws  of  the  lion  were  heard.  I  fired  again  and 
again,  to  which  he  replied  with  tremendous  roars,  at  the 
same  time  making  a  rush  towards  the  wagon,  so  as  ex- 
ceedingly to  terrify  the  oxen.  The  two  Barolongs 
engaged  to  take  firebrands,  advance  a  few  yards,  and 
throw  them  at  him,  so  as  to  afibrd  me  a  degree  of  light, 
that  I  might  take  aim,  the  place  being  bushy.  They  had 
scarcely  discharged  them  from  their  hands,  when  the 
flame  went  out,  and  the  enraged  animal  rushed  towards 
them  with  such  swiftness,  that  I  had  barely  time  to  turn 
the  gun  and  flre  between  the  men  and  the  lion,  and  pro- 
videntially the  ball  struck  the  ground  immediately  under 
his  head,  as  we  found  by  examination  the  following 
morning.  From  this  surprise  he  returned,  growling 
dreadfully.  The  men  darted  through  some  thoni-bushes 
with  countenances  indicative  of  the  utmost  terror.  It 
was  now  the  opinion  of  all  that  we  had  better  let  him 
alone  if  he  did  not  molest  us. 

Haying  but  a  scanty  supply  of  wood  to  keep  up  afire, 
one  man  crept  among  the  bu^es  on  one  side  of  the  pool, 
while  I  proceeded  for  the  same  purpose  ou  the  other  bide. 
I  had  not  gone  far,  when,  looking  upward  to  the  edge 
of  the  small  basin,  I  discerned  between  me  and  the  sky 
four  animals,  whose  attention  appeared  to  be  directed  to 
me,  by^  the  noise  I  made  in  breaking  a  dry  stick.  On 
closer  inspection,  I  found  that  the  large,  round,  hairy- 
headed  visiters  were  lions  ;  and  retreated  on  my  hands 
and  feet  towards  the  other  side  of  the  pool,  wlien,  coming 
to  my  wagon-driver,  to  inform  him  of  our  danger,  I  found 
him  looking,  with  no  little  alarm,  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion, and  with  good  reason,  as  no  fewer  than  two  lions, 
with  a  cub,  were  eyeing  us  both,  apparently  as  uncertain 
about  us  as  we  were  distrustful  of  thorn.  They  appeared, 
as  they  always  do  in  the  dark,  twice  the  usual  size.  We 
thankfully  decamped  to  the  wagon,  and  sat  down  to  keep 
alire  our  scanty  fire,  while  we  listeued  to  the  lion  tearing 
and  devouring  his  prey.    When  any  of  the  other  hungry 

50.  CVI. — VOL.  IX. 


lions  dared  to  approach,  he  would  pursue  them  for  some 
paces,  with  a  horrible  howl,  which  made  our  poor  oxen 
tremble,  and  produced  anything  but  agreeable  sensations 
in  ourselves.  We  had  reason  for  alarm,  lest  any  of  the 
six  lions  we  saw,  fearless  of  our  small  fire,  might  rush  in 
among  us.  The  two  Barolongs  were  grudging  the  lion 
his  fat  meal,  and  would  now  and  then  break  the  silence 
with  a  deep  sigh,  and  expressions  of  regret  that  such  a 
vagabond  lion  should  have  such  a  feast  on  their  cow, 
which  they  anticipated  would  have  afibrded  them  many 
a  draught  of  luscious  milk.  Before  the  day  dawned, 
having  deposited  nearly  the  whole  of  the  carcass  in  his 
stomach,  he  collected  the  head,  backbone,  parts  of  the 
legs,  the  paunch,  which  he  emptied  of  its  contents,  and 
the  two  dubs  which  had  been  thrown  at  him,  and  walked 
off',  leaving  nothing  but  some  fragments  of  bones,  and  one 
of  my  balls,  which  had  hit  the  carcase  instead  of  himself. 

When  it  was  light  we  examined  the  spot,  and  fuunc'y 
from  the  foot-marks,  that  the  lion  was  a  large  one,  and 
had  devoured  the  cow  himself.  I  had  some  difficulty  in 
believing  this,  but  was  ftilly  convinced  by  the  Barolongs 
pointing  out  to  me  that  the  foot-marks  of  the  other  lions 
had  not  come  vrithin  thirty  yards  of  the  spot,  two  jackals 
only  had  approached  to  lick  up  any  little  leavings.  The 
men  pursued  the  spoor  to  find  the  fragments,  where  the 
lion  had  deposited  them,  while  he  retired  to  a  thicket  to 
sleep  during  the  day.  I  had  often  heard  how  much  a 
large,  hungry  Hon  could  eat,  but  nothing  less  than  a 
demonstration  would  have  convinced  me  that  it  was 
possible  for  him  to  have  eaten  all  the  fiesh  of  a  good 
heifer,  and  many  of  the  bones,  for  scarcely  a  rib  was  left, 
and  even  some  of  the  marrow-bones  were  broken  as  if 

with  a  hammer Much  has  been  written 

about  African  lions,  but  the  half  has  not  been  told.  The 
following  trait  in  their  character  may  not  be  intrusive, 
or  partaking  of  the  marvellous,  with  which  the  tales  of 
some  travellers  are  said  to  abound.  I  give  it  as  received 
from  men  of  God,  and  men  who  had  been  experienced 
Nimrods  too.  The  old  lion,  when  in  company  with  his 
children,  as  the  natives  call  them,  though  they  are  nearly 
as  big  as  himself ;  or,  when  numbers  together  happen  to 
come  upon  game,  the  oldest  or  ablest  creeps  to  the  ob- 
ject, while  the  others  crouch  on  the  grass  ;  if  he  be  suc- 
cessful, which  he  generally  is,  he  retires  from  his  victim, 
and  lies  down  to  breathe,  and  rest,  for  perhaps  a  quarter 
of  an  hour ;  in  the  meantime,  the  others  draw  around, 
and  lie  down  at  a  respectful  distance.  When  the  chief 
one  has  got  his  rest,  he  commences  at  the  abdomen  and 
breast,  and  after  making  havoc  with  the  tit-bits  of  the 
carcase,  he  will  take  a  second  rest,  none  of  the  otheis 
presuming  to  move.  Having  made  a  second  gorge,  he 
retires,  the  others,  watching  his  motions,  rush  on  the  re- 
mainder, and  it  is  soon  devoured.  At  other  times,  if  a 
young  lion  seizes  the  prey,  and  an  old  one  happens  to 
come  up,  the  younger  retires  till  the  elder  has  dined. 
This  was  what  Africaner  called  better  manners  than 
those  of  the  Namaquas,  [who  abandon  their  aged  pa- 
rents.] 

Passing  along  a  vale,  we  came  to  a  spot  where  the 
lion  appeared  to  have  been  exercising  himself  in  the  way 
of  leaping.  As  the  natives  are  very  expert  in  tracing 
the  manoeuvres  of  animals  by  their  foot-marks,  it  was 
soon  discovered  that  a  large  lion  had  crept  towards  a 
short  black  stump,  very  like  the  human  form ;  when 
within  about  a  dozen  yards,  it  bounded  on  its  supposed 
prey,  when,  to  his  mortification,  he  fell  a  foot  or  two 
short  of  it.  According  to  the  testimony  of  a  native  who 
had  been  watching  his  motions,  and  who  joined  us  soon 
after,  the  lion  lay  for  some  time  steadfastly  eyeing  its 
supposed  meal.  It  then  arose,  smelt  the  object,  and  re- 
turned to  the  spot  from  which  he  commenced  his  firtt 
leap,  and  leaped  four  several  times,  till  at  last  he  placed 
his  paw  on  the  imagined  prize.  On  another  occasion, 
when  AfVicaner  and  an  attendant  were  passing  near  the 
end  of  a  hill,  from  which  jutted  out  a  smooth  rock  often 
or  twelve  feet  high,  he  observed  a  number  of  zebras 
pressing  round  it,  obliged  to  keep  the  path,  beyond  which 
it  was  precipitous.  A  lion  was  seen  creeping  up  towards 
the  path,  to  intercept  the  large  stallion,  which  is  always 
I  in  the  rear  to  defend  or  warn  the  troop.    The  lion  missed 

3  (" 


602      MOPFArS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA^ 


1 


Ms  mark,  and  while  the  zebra  rushed  round  the  pohit, 
the  lion  knew  well  if  he  could  mount  the  rock  at  one 
leap,  the  next  would  be  on  the  zebra's  back,  it  being 
obliged  to  turn  towards  the  hill.  He  fell  short,  with 
only  his  head  over  the  stone,  looking  at  the  galloping 
zebra  switching  his  tail  in  the  air.  He  then  tried  a 
seoond  and  a  tMrd  leap,  till  he  succeeded.  In  the  mean- 
time two  more  lions  came  up,  and  seemed  to  talk  and 
roar  away  about  something,  while  the  old  lion  led  them 
round  the  rock,  and  round  it  again ;  then  he  made 
another  grand  leap,  to  show  them  what  he  and  they  must 
do  next  time.  Africaner  added,  with  the  most  perfect 
gravity,  **  They  eyidently  talked  to  each  other,  but  though 
loud  enough,  I  could  not  understand  a  word  they  said; 
and,  fearing  lest  we  should  be  the  next  objects  of  their 
skill,  we  crept  away  and  left  them  in  council.'* 

At  an  earlier  period,  and  in  another  part  of  the 
country,  the  following  circumstance  occurred,  and 
formed  Mr.  Mofifat's  first  introduction  to  the  com- 
panionship of  lions : — 

One  night  we  were  quietly  bivouacked  at  a  small 
pool  on  the  'Oup  River,  where  we  never  anticipated  a 
visit  ftrom  his  majesty.  We  had  just  closed  our  united 
evening  worship,  the  book  was  still  in  my  hand,  and  the 
closing  notes  of  the  song  of  praise  had  scarcely  fallen 
from  our  lips,  when  the  terrific  roar  of  the  lion  was 
heard :  our  oxen,  which  before  were  quietly  chewing 
the  cud,  rushed  upon  us,  and  over  our  fires,  leaving  us 

CBtrated  in  a  cloud  of  dust  aQd  sand.  Hats  and  hymn 
ks,  our  Bible  and  our  guns,  were  all  scattered  in 
wild  confosion.  Providentially,  no  serious  iiyury  was 
sustained;  the  oxen  were  pursued,  brought  back,  and 
secured  to  the  wagon,  for  we  could  ill  afford  to  lose 
any.  A^caner,  seeing  the  reluctance  of  the  people  to 
pursue  in  a  dark  and  gloomy  ravine,  grasped  a  fire- 
brand, and  exclaimed,  Tollow  me  !"  and  but  for  this 
promptness  and  intrepidity  we  must  have  lost  some  of 
our  number,  for  noUiing  can  exceed  the  terror  of  oxen 
at  even  the  smell  of  a  lion.  Though  they  may  happen 
to  be  in  the  worst  condition  possible,  worn  out  with 
fatigue  and  hunger,  the  moment  the  shaggy  monster  is 
perceived,  they  start  like  race-horses,  with  their  tails 
erect,  and  sometimes  days  will  elapse  before  they  are 
found. 

While  trayelling  with  the  ambassadors  of  Mok- 
hatla,  the  chief  or  king  mentioned  aboye,  he  re- 
lates— 

As  we  were  retiring  to  rest  one  night,  a  lion  passed 
near  us,  occasionaUy  giving  a  roar,  which  softly  died 
away  on  the  extended  plain,  as  it  was  responded  to  by 
another  at  a  distance.  Directing  the  attention  of  these 
Balala  to  this  sound,  and  asking  if  they  thought  there 
was  danger,  they  turned  their  ears  as  to  a  voice  with 
which  they  were  familiar,  and,  after  listening  for  a 
moment  or  two,  replied,  *'  There  is  no  danger  ;  he  has 
eaten,  and  is  going  to  sleep."  They  were  right,  and  we 
slept  also.  Asking  them  in  the  morning  how  they  knew 
the  lions  were  going  to  sleep,  they  replied,  **We  live 
with  them  ;  they  are  our  companions." 

There  is  greater  bss  of  human  life  from  the  hyenas 
entering  the  towns  and  villages  by  night,  and  lying 
in  wait  at  the  pools  whence  the  women  and  children 
fetch  water,  than  from  the  "  monarch  of  the  wild/' 
Upon  one  occasion  Mr.  Mofiat  ran  more  danger 
from  what  are  considered  very  ignoble  animals— 
from  baboons,  than  he  had  ever  done  from  the  lion. 
The  whole  passage  is  fuU  of  beauty,  and  shows  the 
author  to  be  a  man  who  really  need  not  fear  to 
preach  before  the  most  cultivated  audience  that 
Cape  Town  or  any  other  town  could  fiimish. 
When  travelling  towards  Griqua  Town,  and  near 
the  Orange  River,  he  had  the  following  animating 
series  of  adventures  : — 

On  one  occasion  I  was  remarkably  preserved,  when 


9XL  expected  that  my  race  was  run.  We  had  reaped 
nie  river  early  in  the  afternoon,  after  a  dreadftdly 
scorching  ride  across  a  plain.  Three  of  my  eompanioDfl, 
who  were  in  advance,  rode  forward  to  a  Bushman  vil- 
lage, on  an  ascent  some  hundred  yards  from  the  river. 
I  went,  because  my  horse  would  go,  towards  a  litUe 
pool  on  a  dry  branch,  from  which  the  flood  or.toneat 
had  receded  to  the  larger  course.  Dismomitiiig,  I  posk- 
ed  through  a  narrow  opening  in  the  bushes,  and  Vpag 
down,  took  a  hearty  draught.  Immediately  on  raisiBg 
myself  I  felt  an  unusual  taste  in  my  mouth,  and  looking 
attentively  at  the  water,  and  the  temporary  fence  aiomd, 
it  flashed  across  my  mind  that  the  water  was  poifoned 
for  the  purpose  of  killing  game.  I  came  out,  and  meet- 
ing one  of  our  number,  who  had  been  a  little  in  Uie  rear, 
Just  entering,  told  him  my  suspicion. 

He  recovered,  after  great  suffering,  and  tell»— 

I  was  deeply  aflbeted  by  the  sympathy  of  these  poor 
Bushmen,  to  whom  we  were  ntter  strangers.  When  they 
saw  me  hiugh,  they  deafened  our  ears  with  expressioas 
of  satisfection,  making  a  croaking  and  clicking,  of  whkfa 
their  language  seemed  to  be  made  up.  And  these  bir- 
barians  to  the  letter  **  showed  ns  no  little  kindness,**  fbr 
they  gave  us  some  meat  of  zebras,  which  had  dkd 
from  drinking  the  same  water  on  the  preceding  day. 
This  was  very  acceptable  ;  for  having  ftiked  that  day, 
we  were  all  ready  for  a  meal ;  and,  though  the  poisoned 
water  had  partially  blunted  my  appetite,  I  enjoyed  s 
steak  of  the  black-looking  flesh  mingled  with  itsyeUow^ 

On  leaving  the  next  morning,  I  gave  these  poor  people 
a  good  share  of  our  small  stock  of  tobacco,  whidi  set 
them  all  dancing  like  merry  Andrews,  blessing  onr  visit 
with  the  most  fantastic  gestures.  It  grieved  me,  that, 
from  the  want  of  an  interpreter,  I  could  say  but  little 
to  them  about  Him  who  came  to  redeem  the  poor  and 
the  needy. 

These  people  had  come  down  from  the  desert  on  i^ 
north  in  search  of  water,  and  were  subsisting  by  tiie 
chase,  by  catching  a  solitary  animal  in  a  pit-fkU,  or  else 
destroying  it  with  water  poisoned  by  an  infusion  of  bulbs, 
or  other  roots.  They  were  evidently  living  in  some  fetr 
of  the  Gorannas  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  whose 
cattle  form  a  tempting  bait  to  these  hungry  wanderers. 
Thinking,  and  jviUif  too,  that  some  part  of  the  earth's 
Burfoce  mut$  be  thein,  they  naturallv  imagine  tiiat  if 
their  game  is  shot,  and  their  honey  pilfered,  they  have  a 
right  to  reprisals,  according  to  natural  law,  and  therefore 
cannot  resist  the  temptation  of  seizing  tiie  property  of 
their  more  wealthy  neighbours,  when  it  lies  within  readu 

On  the  seventh  day  we  reached  that  part  of  the  rirv 
called  Quis  or  Kwees,  from  which  we  intended  to  go  in 
a  direct  course  to  Griqua  Town,  leaving  the  Orajoge  Biver 
far  to  the  right.  We  had  previously  made  inquiries  aboat 
the  country  which  lay  between :  some  said  there  wis 
water ;  others,  that  we  should  find  none.   We  had  eaten 
a  small  portion  of  meat  that  morning,  reserving  oily 
enough  for  one  single  meal,  lest  we  should  get  no  more ; 
and  drank  freely  of  water,  to  keep  the  stomach  distended; 
and  felt  tolerably  comfortable.    At  night  we  came  to 
some  old  huts,  where  were  remains  of  tobacco  gardeo^ 
which  had  been  watered  with  wooden  vessels  from  the 
a<]Uoining  river.    We  spent  the  evening  in  one  of  these 
huts  ;  though,  fh>m  certain  holes  for  ingress  and  egress, 
it  was  evidently  a  domicile  for  hyenas,  and  other  beasts 
of  prey.    We  had  scarcely  ended  our  evening  song  ef 
praise  to  Him  whose  watchftil  care  had  guided  and  pre- 
served us  through  the  day,  when  the  di^ant  and  dokr 
ous  howls  of  the  hyena,  and  the  no  less  inharmooioie 
Jabbering  of  the  jackal,  announced  the  kind  of  company 
with  which  we  were  to  spend  the  night ;  while,  from  the 
river,  the  hippopotami  kept  up  a  blowing  and  snortinf 
chorus.    Our  sleep  was  anything  but  sweet.     On  tie 
addition  of  the  dismal  notes  of  the  hooting  oid,  one  sf 
onr  men  remarked,  "  We  want  only  the  lion's  roar  tt 
complete  the  music  of  the  desert."     **  Were  they  n 
sleepy  and  tired  as  I  am,**  said  another,  ''they  wwd 
find  something  else  to  do.^    In  the  morning  we  fbaid 
that  some  of  these  night  scavengers  had  appreached 
very  near  the  door  of  our  hut. 


MOPFArS  MISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA,     603 


Having  reft^shed  oarselres  with  a  bath  and  a  draught 
of  water,  we  prepared  for  the  thirsty  road  we  had  to  tra- 
verse ;  but,  before  starting,  a  ooan<ul  was  held,  whether 
we  should  finish  the  last  small  portion  of  meat,  idiich 
an  J  one  might  hare  deroored  in  a  minute,  or  reserve  it. 
The  decision  was  to  keep  it  till  evening.  We  sought  in 
vain  for  ixia  bulbs.  Our  only  resource,  according  to  the 
costom  of  the  oonntrj,  was  to  fill  ourselves  with  as  much 
water  as  our  bodies  could  contain.  We  were  obliged  to 
halt  during  the  day,  fearing  our  horses  would  give  up, 
from  the  excessive  heat.  When  the  evening  drew  on, 
we  had  to  ascend  and  descend  several  sand-hills,  which, 
weary  and  faint  from  two  days'  ftisting,  was  to  us  ex- 
ceedingly fktiguing.  Vanderbyle  and  myself  were  some- 
what in  advance  of  the  rest,  when  we  observed  our  three 
companions  remaining  behind  ;  but  supposing  they  staid 
to  strike  light  and  kindle  their  pipes,  we  thoughtlessly 
rode  forward.  Having  proceeded  some  distance,  we 
halted,  and  hallooed,  but  received  no  reply.  We  fired  a 
shot,  but  no  one  answered.  We  pursued  our  Journey  in 
the  direction  of  the  high  ground  near  the  Long  Mountains, 
through  which  our  path  lay.  On  reaching  a  bushless 
plain,  we  alighted,  and  made  a  fire  :  another  shot  was 
fired,  and  we  listened  with  intense  earnestness  ;  but 
gloomy,  desert  silence  reigned  around.  We  conversed, 
AS  well  as  our  parched  lips  would  allow,  on  what  must 
be  done.  To  wait  till  morning  would  only  increase  the 
length  of  our  sufi'ering, — ^to  retrace  our  steps  was  im- 
possible : — probably  they  had  wandered  from  the  path, 
and  might  never  overtake  us : — ^at  the  same  time  we 
fblt  most  reluctant  to  proceed.  We  had  Just  determined 
to  remain,  when  we  thought  we  would  fire  one  more 
shot.  It  was  answered — by  the  lion,  apparently  close 
to  the  place  where  we  stood.  No  wood  was  at  hand  to 
make  a  fire,  nothing  but  tufts  of  grass  ;  so  we  ran,  and 
remounted  our  horses,  urging  them  on  towards  a  range 
of  dark  mountains,  the  gloom  increasing  as  we  proceeded; 
but  as  our  horses  could  not  go  much  above  a  walking 
pace,  we  were  in  dread  every  moment  of  being  overtaken. 
If  we  drew  up  to  listen,  his  approach  in  the  rear  was 
distinctly  heard.  On  reaching  the  winding  glen  or  pass 
through  the  mountains,  despairing  of  escape  from  our 
enemy,  we  resolved  to  ascend  a  steep,  where,  from  a 
precipice,  we  might  pelt  him  with  stones  ;  for  we  had 
only  a  couple  of  balls  left.  On  dragging  ourselves  and 
our  horses  up  the  steep,  we  found  the  supposed  reftige 
too  uneven  for  a  standing-place,  and  not  one  fragment 
of  loose  stone  to  be  found.  Our  situation  was  now 
doubly  dangerous  ;  for,  on  descending  to  the  path,  the 
query  was,  on  which  side  is  the  lion  t  My  companion 
took  his  steel  and  flint,  to  try,  by  striking  them,  if  he 
could  not  discover  traces  of  the  lion's  paws  on  the  path, 
expecting  every  moment  that  he  would  bound  on  one  of 
us.  The  terror  of  the  horses  soon  told  us  that  the  object 
of  our  dread  was  dose  to  us,  but  on  the  right  side, 
namely,  in  our  rear.  We  instantly  remounted,  and  con- 
tinoed  to  pursue  the  track,  which  we  had  sometimes 
great  difficulty  in  tracing  along  its  zig-sag  windings, 
among  bushes,  stones  and  sand.  The  dark  towering 
clifb  around  us,  the  deep  silence  of  which  was  disturbed 
by  the  grunt  of  a  solitary  baboon,  or  the  squalling  of 
some  of  its  young  ones,  added  to  the  colouring  of  the 
night's  pioture.  We  had  not  proceeded  very  flur  before 
the  lion  gave  a  tremendous  roar,  which,  echoing  from 
preeipiee  to  precipice,  sounded  as  if  we  were  within  a  lion's 
den.  On  reaching  the  egress  of  the  defile  through  which 
we  had  passed,  we  were  cheered  by  the  wuiing  moon, 
rising  bright  in  the  east.  Descending  again,  we  would 
gladly  have  laid  our  weary  limbs  down  to  rest ;  but 
thirst,  and  the  possibility  of  the  lion's  resolving  to  make 
his  supper  on  one  of  us,  propelled  our  weary  steps,  for 
our  horses  were  completely  Jaded. 

We  oontinued  our  slow  and  silent  march  for  hours. 
The  tongue  cleaving  to  the  roof  of  the  mouth  from  thirst, 
made  conversation  extremely  difficult.  At  last  we 
reached  the  long- wished  for  ^  waterfall,"  so  named,  be- 
cause when  it  rains,  water  sometimes  fiiUs,  though  in 
small  quantities  ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  ascend  the  hill. 
We  allowed  our  poor  worn-out  horses  to  go  where  they 
pleased,  and  having  kindled  a  small  fire,  ^nd  produced  a 


little  saliva  by  smoking  a  pipe,  we  talked  about  our  lost 
companions,  who  happened  for  their  comfort  to  have  the 
morsel  of  meat,  and  who,  as  Jantye  thought,  would 
wander  from  the  position  in  which  we  left  them  towards 
the  river.  We  bowed  the  knee  to  Him  who  had  merci- 
fhlly  preserved  us,  and  laid  our  heads  on  our  saddles. 
The  last  sound  we  heard  to  soothe  ns,  was  the  distant 
roar  of  the  lion,  but  we  were  too  much  exhausted  to  feel 
anything  like  fear.  Sleep  came  to  our  relief,  and  it 
seemed  made  up  of  scenes  the  most  lovely,  forming  a 
glowing  contrast  to  our  real  situation.  I  felt  as  if  en-« 
gaged,  during  my  short  repose,  in  roving  among  ambrosial 
bowers  of  paradisaical  delight,  hearing  sounds  of  music^ 
as  if  from  angels'  harps ;  it  was  the  night  wind  foiling 
on  my  ears  from  the  neighbouring  hill.  I  seemed  to 
pass  from  stream  to  stream,  in  which  I  bathed  and 
slaked  my  tUrst  at  many  a  crystal  fount,  flowing  from 
golden  mountains  enriched  with  living  green.  These 
Elysian  pleasures  continued  till  morning  dawn,  when  we 
awoke,  speechless  with  thirst,  our  eyes  influned,  and 
our  whole  frames  burning  like  a  coal.  We  were,  how- 
ever, somewhat  less  fatigued,  but  wanted  water,  and 
had  recourse  to  another  pipe  before  we  could  articulate 
a  word. 

My  companion  then  directed  me  to  a  projecting  rock, 
near  the  top  of  the  hill,  where,  if  there  were  water  at  all, 
it  would  be  found.  I  took  up  the  gun  to  proceed  in  that 
direction,  while  he  went  in  search  of  the  horses,  which 
we  feared  might  have  been  devoured  by  the  lion.  I  as- 
cended the  rugged  height  to  the  spot  where  water  once 
was,  but  found  it  as  dry  as  the  sandy  plain  beneath.  I 
stood  a  few  minutes,  stretching  my  languid  eye  to  see  if 
there  were  any  appearance  of  the  horses,  but  saw  nothing; 
turning  to  descend,  I  happened  to  cough,  and  was  in- 
stantly surrounded  by  almost  a  hundred  baboons,  some 
of  gigantic  size.  They  grunted,  grinned,  and  sprang  from 
stone  to  stone,  protruding  their  mouths,  and  drawing 
back  the  skin  of  their  foreheads,  threatening  an  instant 
attack.  I  kept  parrying  them  with  my  gun,  which  was 
loaded  ;  but  I  Imew  their  character  and  disposition  too 
well  to  fire,  for  if  I  had  wounded  one  of  them,  I  should 
have  been  skinned  in  five  minutes.  The  ascent  was  very 
laborious,  but  I  would  have  given  anything  to  be  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hill  again.  Some  came  so  near  as  even  to 
touch  my  hat  while  passing  projecting  rocks.  It  was 
some  time  before  I  reached  the  plain,  when  they  appeared 
to  hold  a  noisy  council,  either  about  what  they  had  done^ 
or  intended  doing.  Levelling  my  piece  at  two  that 
seemed  the  most  fierce,  as  I  was  about  to  touch  the 
trigger,  the  thought  occurred,  I  have  escaped,  let  me  be 
thankful ;  therefore  I  left  them  uninjured,  perhaps  with 
the  gratification  of  having  given  me  a  fright. 

Jantye  soon  appeared  with  the  horses.  My  looks^ 
more  expressive  than  words,  convincing  him  that  there 
was  no  water,  we  saddled  the  poor  animals,  which,  thou^ 
they  had  picked  up  a  little  grass,  looked  miserable  be- 
yond description.  We  now  directed  our  course  towards 
Witte  water,  where  we  could  scarcely  hope  to  arrive 
before  afternoon,  even  if  we  reached  it  at  all,  for  we  were 
soon  obliged  to  dismount,  and  drive  our  horses  slowly 
and  silently  over  the  glowing  plain,  where  the  delusive 
mirage  tantalized  our  feelings  with  exhibitions  of  the 
loveliest  pictures,  of  lakes  and  pools  studded  with  lovely 
islets,  and  towering  trees  moving  in  the  breeze  on  their 
banks.  In  some  might  be  seen  the  bustle  of  a  mercantile 
harbour,  with  Jetties,  coves,  and  moving  rafts  and  oars ; 
in  others,  liUces  so  lovely,  as  if  they  had  Just  come  from 
the  hand  of  the  Divine  artist,  a  transcript  of  Eden's 
sweetest  views,  but  all  the  result  of  highly  rarefied  air, 
or  the  reflected  heat  of  the  sun's  rays  on  the  sultry  plain. 
Sometimes,  when  the  horses  and  my  companion  were 
some  hundred  yards  in  advance,  they  appeared  as  if 
lifted  from  the  earth,  or  moving  like  dark  living  pillars 
in  the  air.  Many  a  time  did  we  seek  old  ant  hills,  ex- 
cavated by  the  ant-eater,  into  which  to  thrust  our  heads, 
in  order  to  have  something  solid  between  our  fevered 
brains  and  the  piercing  rays  of  the  sun.  There  was  no 
shadow  of  a  great  rock,  the  shrubs  sapless,  barren,  and 
blighted,  as  if  by  some  blast  of  fire.  Nothing  animate 
was  to  be  seen  or  heard,  except  the  shrill  chirping  of  a 


^ 


e04     MOFFATS  l^IISSIONARY  LABOURS  AND  SCENES  IN  SOUTHERN  AFRICA. 


beetle,  resembling  the  cricket,  the  noise  of  which  seemed 
to  increase  with  the  intensity  of  the  heat.  Not  a  cloud 
had  been  seen  since  we  left  our  homes. 

The  hardships  of  the  missionary,  on  this  wild 
journey,  were  not  yet  ended,  nor  was  his  every  day 
course  of  life  without  severe  privation. 

We  have  been  tempted  beyond  all  due  bounds 
by  this  fascinating  narrative,  which  combines 
beauty  and  interest  of  every  sort,  divine  and  human. 
One  more  isolated  picture,  and  we  have  done,  sin- 
cerely hoping  that  tens  and  hundreds  of  thousands 
may  experience  the  same  delight  and  instruction 
from  the  perusal  of  this  narrative,  that  it  has  af- 
forded to  ourselves.  By  a  happy  suggestion,  the 
flinging  of  hymns,  which  Moffat  had  composed  or 
translated  into  the  native  language,  was  adopted, 
and  it  charmed  the  natives.  A  distant  chief,  of 
mild  and  highly  interesting  character,  named 
Mosheu,  had,  at  different  times,  visited  the  station, 
and  had  brought  his  family  to  be  instructed  ;  and 
while  out  on  a  tour,  Moffat  visited  his  village,  where 
this  animated  scene  occurred — 

The  moment  I  entered  the  village,  the  hue-and-cry  was 
raised,  and  old  and  young,  mother  and  children,  came 
running  together  as  if  it  were  to  see  some  great  prodigy. 
.  .  .  .  I  took  my  Testament  and  a  hymn-book,  and 
with  such  singers  as  I  had,  gave  out  a  hymn,  read  a 
chapter,  and  prayed ;  then  taking  the  text, "  God  so  loved 
the  world,"  etc.,  discoursed  to  them  for  about  an  hour. 
Great  order  and  profound  silence  were  maintained.  The 
scene  (so  well  depicted  in  the  vignette  in  the  title-page) 
was  in  the  centre  of  the  village,  composed  of  Bechuana 
and  Coranna  houses  and  cattle-folds.  Some  of  these  con- 
tained the  cattle,  sheep,  and  goats,  while  other  herds 
were  strolling  about.  At  a  distance  a  party  were  ap- 
proaching riding  on  oxen.  A  few  strangers  drew  near 
with  their  spears  and  shields,  who,  on  being  beckoned  to, 
instantly  laid  them  down.  The  native  dogs  could  not 
understand  the  strange-looking  bemgon  the  front  of  the 
wagon,  holding  forth  to  a  gazing  throng,  and  they  would 
occasionally  broak  the  silence  with  their  bark,  for  which, 
however,  they  suffered  the  penalty  of  a  stone  or  stick 
hurled  at  their  heads.  Two  milk  maids,  who  had  tied 
their  cows  to  posts,  stood  the  whole  time  with  their  milk- 
ing vessels  in  their  hands,  as  if  aiVaid  of  losing  a  single 
sentence.  The  earnest  attention  manifested  exceeded 
anything  I  had  ever  beforo  witnessed,  and  the  counte- 
nances of  some  indicated  strong  mental  excitement.  .  . 
When  I  had  concluded,  my  hearors  divided  into  com- 
panies, to  talk  the  subject  over;  but  others,  more  inquisi- 
tive, plied  me  with  questions.  While  thus  engaged,  my 
attention  was  arrested  by  a  simple-looking  young  man 
at  a  short  distance,  rather  oddly  attired.  .  .  .  The 
person  referred  to  was  holding  forth  with  great  anima- 
tion to  a  number  of  people,  who  were  all  attention.  On 
approaching,  I  found,  to  my  surprise,  that  he  was  preach- 
ing my  sermon  over  again,  with  uncommon  precision,  and 
with  great  solenmity,  imitating  as  nearly  as  he  could 
the  gestures  of  the  original.  A  greater  contrast  could 
scarcely  be  conceived  than  the  fantastic  figure  I  have 
described,  and  the  solemnity  of  his  language,  his  subject 
being  eternity,  while  he  evidently  felt  what  he  spoke. 
Not  wishing  to  disturb  him,  I  allowed  him  to  finish  the 
recital,  and  seeing  him  soon  after,  told  him  that  he  could 
do  what  I  was  sure  I  could  not,  that  was,  preach  again 
the  same  sermon  verbatim.  He  did  not  appear  vain  of 
his  superior  memory.  "  When  I  hear  anything  great," 
he  said,  touching  his  forehead  with  his  finger,  *^  it  remains 
there."  This  young  man  died  in  the  faith  shortly  after, 
before  an  opportunity  was  afforded  him  of  making  a 
public  profession. 

In  the  evening,  after  the  cows  were  milked,  and  the 


I  herds  had  laid  themselves  down  in  the  folds  to  chew  the 
cud,  a  congregation,  for  the  the  third  time,  stood  before 
my  wagon.  The  bright  silvery  moon,  holding  her  way 
through  a  cloudless  starry  sky,  and  shining  on  many  a 
sable  face,  made  the  scene  peculiarly  solemn  and  impres- 
sive, while  the  deepest  attention  was  paid  to  the  subject, 
which  was  the  importance  of  religion  illustrated  by 
Scripture  characters.  After  the  service,  they  lingered 
about  the  wagon,  making  many  inquiries,  and  repeating 
over  and  over  again  what  they  had  heard.  .  .  .  The 
following  day,  Monday,  was  no  less  busy,  for  though  the 
wind  was  very  high,  so  as  to  prevent  a  public  service  in 
the  morning,  I  was  engaged  luidressing  different  parties 
at  their  own  dwellings,  and  teaching  them  to  read.  .  .  . 
When  another  deeply  interesting  evening  Berric«  had 
closed,  the  people  seemed  resolved  to  get  all  out  of  me 
they  could.  All  would  learn  to  read  there  and  then.  A 
few  remaining  spelUng-books  were  sought  out,  and  the 
two  or  three  young  people  I  had  with  me  were  each  en- 
closed within  a  circle  of  scholars  all  eager  to  learn.  Some 
were  compelled  to  be  content  with  only  shouting  out  the 
names  of  the  letters,  which  were  rather  too  small  to  be 
seen  by  the  whole  cirele,  with  only  the  light  of  the  moon. 
While  this  rather  noisy  exereise  was  going  on,  some  of 
the  principal  men  with  whom  I  was  conversing,  thought 
they  would  also  try  tiieir  skill  in  this  new  art.  .  .  . 
^  Oil,  teach  us  the  A  B  C  with  music,"  every  one  oied, 
giving  me  no  time  to  tell  them  it  was  too  late.  I  foond 
they  had  made  this  discovery  through  one  of  my  boys. 
There  were  presently  a  dozen  or  more  surrounding  me, 
and  resistance  was  out  of  the  question.  Dragged  and 
pushed,  I  entered  one  of  the  largest  native  houses,  which 
was  instantly  crowded.  The  tune  of  **  Auld  lang  sync  " 
was  pitched  to  A  B  C,  each  succeeding  round  was  joined 
by  sucoeeding  voices,  till  every  tongue  was  vocal,  and 
every  countenance  beamed  with  heart-felt  satisfaction. 
The  longer  they  sang  the  more  freedom  was  felt,  and 
**  Auld  lang  syne  "  was  echoed  to  the  farthest  comer  of  the 
village.  The  strains  which  infuse  pleasurable  emotioi» 
into  the  sons  of  the  North,  were  no  less  potent  among 
these  children  of  the  South.  Those  who  had  retired  to 
their  evening  slumbers,  supposing  that  we  were  holding 
a  night  service,  came ;  **  for  music,"  it  is  said, "  charms 
the  savage  breast."  It  certainly  does,  particularly  Oa 
natives  of  Southern  Africa,  who,  however  degraded  they 
may  have  become,  still  retain  that  refinement  of  taste, 
which  enables  them  to  appreciate  those  tunes  which  are 

distinguished  by  melody  and  softness The 

company  at  length  dispersed ;  and  awaking  in  the  morning 
after  a  brief  repose,  I  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  hear 
the  old  tune  in  every  comer  of  the  village.    The  maids 
milking  the  cows,  and  the  boys  tending  the  calves,  were 
humming  their  alphabet  over  again.    .    .     .     Mosheu 
and  his  people  made  very  pleasing  advances  in  Christtan 
knowledge,  and  so  eager  were  they  to  benefit  by  the 
instructions  of  the  missionaries,  that  at  a  considmbk 
sacrifice  of  time  and  comfort,  they  made  frequent  journeys 
to  the  Kuruman.     It  was  an  interesting  spectacle  to  see 
forty  or  fifty  men,  women,  and  children,  coming  over  tbe 
plain,  all  mounted  on  oxen,  and  bringing  with  them  a 
number  of  milch  cows,  that  they  might  not  be  too  bnrdes- 
some  either  to  the  missionaries  or  the  people.    Their 
object  was  to  obtain  instmction ;  and  they  would  remiia 
at  Motito  and  the  Kurumau  for  more  than  two  months 
at  a  time,  diligently  attending  to  all  the  opportuniti^ 
afforded ;  and  Andries,  the  brother  of  Mosheu,  being  the 
more  talented  individual,  was   soon  after    appointed 
schoolmaster,  and  under  his  humble  and  devoted  labosn 
they  made  wonderful  progress.    What  they  valued  for 
themselves  they  were  anxious  to  secure  to  their  chfldren ; 
and  Mosheu  left  his  daughter  to  the  care  of  Mn.  Moftt, 
for  education,  while  An£ries  committed  his  son  to  thu 
of  Mr.  Lemue,  at  Motito,  both  of  whom  made  most  satis- 
factory progr^s,  not  only  in  reading  and  writing,  bet 
the  daughter  in  needlework,  and  in  general  doaestic 
employments. 


QOo 


FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  1842. 


It  is  easy  for  us,  however  tlie  public  in  general 
may  take  it,  perfectly  to  comprehend  the  delica- 
cies and  difficulties  which  lately  beset  our  opposite 
neighbours  of  the  pavilion  on  the  Castle  Hill.  We 
mean,  of  course,  those  gentlemen  appointed  by  the 
Highland  Society  the  other  day,  to  judge  and 
award  its  prizes  among  hundreds  of  rival  candi- 
dates, and  eager  competitors  for  glory.  Often, 
a  fellow-feeling  informs  us,  must  they  have  felt, 
that  where  only  one  fortunate  individual  could 
obtain  the  reward  of  his  achievements  in  breed- 
ing or  feeding,  there  might  be  a  dozen  almost 
equally  deserving  of  the  prize  ;  and  that  where  the 
shades  of  superiority  were  so  slight,  and  the  claims 
so  equally  balanced,  it  might  be  quite  as  just  to 
decide  by  a  throw  of  the  dice,  as  by  critical  exa- 
nxination  and  fixed  rules.  Such,  at  least,  is  our 
predicament ;  and  our  task  is  even  more  onerous 
than  that  of  our  neighbour  judges,  as,  unlike  the 
domestic  animals  and  agricultural  produce,  vei'se, 
thoagh  it  admit  of  being  scanned  and  measured, 
cannot  so  well  be  judged  of  by  its  weight  and  bulk. 
In  these  circumstances,  we  can  only  protest  that 
we  have  acted  with  due  deliberation,  and  to  the 
best  of  an  unbiassed  judgment,  in]  awarding  our 
annual  prizes  ;  an  honoured  place,  namely,  at  our 
Fbast  of  the  Poets  for  1842 — with — ^upon  certain 
conditions,  which  depend  wholly  upon  the  compe- 
titors themselves — Immortality  in  reversion.  This 
premised,  we  proceed  without  farther  observation. 

GROUP  I. 

POETRY  OF  DAY,  THOUGH  NOT  FOR  THE 
DAY  ONLY. 

THE  REVIVALIST. — A  PORTRAIT. 

And  thou  art  he  ! — I  wish  thee  joy 

Of  recent  Time's  arrivals, 
Not  the  least  strange,  the  godly  boy, 

The  preacher  of  Revivals  ! 
Thou  hast  made  nproar  great,  I  learn, 

In  this  good  town  appearing ; 
Filled  all  our  maids  with  soul-concern. 

And  all  our  men  with  sneering, 
ril  judge  thee  justly,  trust  me,  youth  ; 

Fame,  like  a  broken  mirror. 
With  twenty  faces  of  a  truth. 

Gives  twenty  shapes  of  error. 
I  find  thee  modest,  meek,  and  mild, 

With  smooth  and  boyish  braid 
Thy  hair,  as  simple  as  a  child, 

Thou  gentle  as  a  maid. 
But  pensive,  sad,  and  inly-grieved, 

Else  that  slow  utterance  why, 
That  each  fair  thought,  howc'cr  conceived, 

Must  still  be  bom  a  sigh  t 
But  even  thon  art  not  all  night. 

Thy  soul,  too,  has  its  gleaming  ; 
Mark  !  now  it  flickers  with  fair  light, 

Now  with  red  fire  'tis  streaming; 
Now  like  sea-murmur  on  the  shore, 

Soft  ripple  on  the  pebble  ; 
Now  l\\fk  the  many-surging  roar 

That  furious  scales  the  treble. 
A  wind-waked  stream  of  gospel  notes. 

Which  systematic  ears. 
Because  for  them  too  wild  it  floats, 

Will  listen  to  with  sneers. 


But  God,  who  nothing  does  in  vain, 

And  gives  to  each  his  part, 
Oft  compensates  the  feebler  brain 

By  stronger^pulsing  heart. 

Thus  He  to  thee  gave  strong  desires. 

Emotion  deep,  not  clear, 
The  power  to  wake  the  fusing  fires. 

And  urge  tl^e  softening  tear. 

And  if,  belike,  scant  wisdom  serves. 

And  weakness  be  an  ally^ 
To  witch  convulsions  from  the  nerves 

Of  Susan  and  of  Sally; 

Is  it  not  better  thus  to  hear 

The  Word,  and  wildly  feel  it, 
Than  to  receive  it  in  thine  ear, 

And  in  thy  heart  congeal  it  i 

And  were  the  preacher  very  fool, 

A  man  of  basest  note  ; 
'Tis  well,  lest  men  confound  the  tool 

With  the  high  power  that  wrought. 

This  further  mark:  whate'er  he  speaks 

Is  simplest  and  sincerest, 
As  if  for  each  lost  soul  he  seeks 

His  own  heart's  blood  the  dearest 

He'd  wring.    Who  rate  him  false  mean  this, 

That  they  cased  in  his  crust. 
To  weep  like  tears  would  act  amiss, 

Tlieir  hearts  being  dry  as  dust. 

Ye  Doctors  leam'd,  compact,  and  square, 

Of  decent  reasons  full. 
This  boy  is  rich  where  ye  are  bare. 

And  quick  where  ye  are  dull. 

Let  liim  alone  ! — with  liis  rude  creed. 

And  logic  loose  arrayed  ; 
He  is  a  workman ^  hath  sown  seed 

Where  ye  ne'er  moved  a  spade. 

Enough  with  one  gift  to  be  true  ; 

The  poise  of  all  the  powers 
Belongs  to  few,  and  very  few, 

In  such  a  world  as  ours. 

J.  S.  B. 

THE  CLEVER  YOUXO  ADVOCATE. 
[A  Parliameot-houae  Song.    Air—*' The  Watennaii.n 

And  did  you  ne'er  hear  of  a  clever  young  advocate. 

Who  in  the  Parliament-house  used  to  pace  1 
Such  a  wonderful  compound  of  strength  and  agility. 
Life  in  each  look,  and  each  motion  was  grace. 
He  walked  so  trim,  he  trode  so  trippingly. 
Hart  on  the  hill  never  bounded  more  skippingly. 
And  how  should  this  advocate  not  be  a  gainer  \ 
If  he  has  not,  he  cannot  long  want  a  retainer. 

His  eye  was  aye  flashing,  his  blood  flowing  cheerily, 
Like  a  fine-feather'd  wagtail  his  busy  tongue  goes. 
The  points  of  his  fingers  electric  with  wit  were. 
The  world  seem'd  poised  on  the  point  of  his  nose. 
He  saw  so  clear,  and  he  looked  so  steadily. 
The  writers  all  gave  him  a  brief  so  readily. 
And  how  should  this  advocate  uot  be  a  gainer  \ 
So  clever,  he  never  could  want  a  retainer  1 
His  laugh  was  aye  loudest  where  mirth  was  a-going; 
His  wit  flew  like  shuttlecock  well-play'd  and  true ; 
He  drank  aye  the  longest  where  good  wine  was  flowing. 
But  headache  or  heartache  he  never  yet  knew. 
When  he  drank  so  ftee,  and  roared  so  mellow, 
What  wonder  all  praised  him  a  *'  devilish  fine 
fellow  !" 
And  how  should  this  advocate  not  be  a  gainer. 
When  each  joke  was  a  fee,  and  each  glass  a  retainer  t 

His  brethren  in  circles  they  gathered  around  him, 
To  hear  him  discourse  of  all  possible  things — 


606 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  1842. 


Greek,  Hebrew,  and  German,  half  song  and  half  sermon, 
The  Vedas,  the  Ekldas,  Courts,  Cabins,  and  Kings  : 
And  if  for  the  nonce  he  might  make  a  blander, 
He  was  up  like  a  cork  ere  you  knew  he  was  under. 
And  how  should  this  advocate  not  be  a  gainer. 
So  cleyer,  and  never  without  a  retainer  I 

O  !  if  you  had  seen  him  bamboozling  a  jury, 

With  a  glance  to  command,  and  a  snule  to  decoy. 
While  he  fonned  his  nose  with  his  white  muslin  kerchief — 
In  truth  but  he  vras  a  most  wonderM  boy  ! 
He  tipped  his  wig,  he  looked  so  knowingly. 
The  words  came  purling  so  sweet  and  flowingly. 
And  how  could  this  advocate  no^  be  a  gainer. 
When  every  new  speech  brought  another  retainer  1 

One  day  on  the  street  the  Lord  Advocate  met  him  : 

^  To  carry  the  county,  friend,  do  what  you  can  !'* — 
He  called  and  he  canvassed,  he  jested,  he  feasted, 
He  phrased  them  and  dazed  Uiem,  and  brought  in  his 
man. 
Whoso  will  have  ease,  most  first  learn  to  drudge. 

Sir: 
The  Advocate  speedily  made  him  a  judge.  Sir. 
And  how  should  this  advocate  not  be  a  gainer. 
When  he 's  snug  on  the  Bench,  and  now  needs  no  re- 
tainer I  B. 

THE  LUSTT  FElf. 
"  Psmds homini  datis.'*->HoiL4CK. 

I  sing  the  Pen,  the  lusty  Pen, 
The  fittest  muse  for  manM  men. 
Let  courtly  poets  make  a  ftiss 

About  Uieir  Hippocrene, 
And  mount  their  vnngfe'd  Pegasos, 
My  fount,  my  steed 's  the  Pen. 
The  kindliest  muse  Parnassus  shows, 

By  brooklet,  grove,  or  glen. 
To  my  imagination  glows 
Less  brightly  than  my  Pen  1 

HurnUi !  the  lusty  Pen, 
Companion  meet  for  men ! 
I  sing  the  Pen,  the  lusty  Pen, 
The  shield,  the  sword,  of  trustful  men  I 
Once  barons  bold  at  Runnymede, 

Their  "  spiriting*'  did  well. 
Invoked  its  sanction  to  their  deed. 

While  tyrants  own'd  the  spell. 
Should  barons  bold  in  turn  oppress 

Stouthearted,  poor,  good  men. 
The  Charter  where  we  seek  redress 
Is  none  but  Her's — ^the  Pen. 
Hurrah  I  the  lusty  Pen, 
The  Champion  stout  of  men ! 
I  sing  the  Pen — the  lusty  Pen, 
Weapon  of  verong'd,  resentful  men. 
When  taxlords,  lawlords,  landlords  meet. 

In  privilege  secure, 
And  league  to  stint  the  millions'  meat, 

And  grind  in  dust  God's  poor. 
What  takes  the  Tory  clique  aback  1 

What  gives  their  chiefest  pain  I 
What  deals  them  many  a  hearty  whaek  t — 
The  flageUatmg  Pen. 

Hurrah  !  the  lusty  Pen, 
Apt  scourge  for  cruel  men  I 
I  sing  the  Pen,  the  lusty  Pen, 
Life,  liberty,  to  needftil  men. 
To  crown  and  crozier  bent  we  down 
Long  years — ^mere  slaves,  in  sooth; 
Our  crozier's  now  the  Pen  alone. 
The  crown  we  bow  to.  Truth. 
Kingcraft  and  Priestcraft,  hand  in  hand. 

Skulk  back  into  their  den; 
Not  magic  owns  more  forced  wand. 
Than  disenchanting  Pen. 

Hurrah  I  the  lusty  Pen, 
Liege  sovereign  of  men  I 
I  sing  the  Pen,  the  lusty  Pen, 
That  gives  the  heart  to  fearfUl  men. 


Pale  Ghost,  dark  Goblin,  hence,  avaunt  I 

Your  *'  occupation's  gone  f^ 
Mind's  Sun  is  risen,  nor  may  ye  haunt 

The  precincts  of  the  dawn. 
Night  visitants,  ye  gibe  and  mow 

No  more— the  monkish  chain 
Ye  cast  o'er  man  is  rent,  I  trow, 
By  dint  of  honest  Pen. 

Hurrah  !  the  lusty  Pen, 
Emancipating  men  I 
I  sing  the  Pen,  the  lusty  Pen, 
That  stills  the  feuds  of  wrathftil  men. 
The  heart  is  cure'd— the  crime  of  Cain 

Dries  up  its  kindliest  dews, 
And  Abel's  blood,  with  vengeM  stun. 

The  earth  with  slaughter  strews. 
Brother  slays  brother : — thus  no  mo 

Shall  war  shed  blood  of  men. 
No  streams  in  fight  shall  henceforth  ilow 
But  those  from  nib  of  pen. 

Hurrah!  the  lusty  Pen, 
True  peacemaker  of  men ! 
I  sing  the  Pen,  the  lusty  Pen, 
Best  oalm  for  Cupid's  wofiil  men. 
When  the  blue  eyes  of  some  sweet  girl 

Play  havoc  with  our  hearts, 
And  forth  from  every  clustered  carl 

Some  latent  mischief  darts, 
What  anodyne  may  cure  the  ill 

And  give  back  health  to  men  I 
The  virtue  of  a  grey  goose  quill^ 
The  soft  proposing  Pen. 

Hurrah  !  the  lusty  Pen, 
That  winnetii  Love  for  men ! 
I  sing  the  Pen,  the  lusty  Pen, 
The  trust  of  the  world's  hopefbl  men. 
It  ri^ts  ^he  wrong,  makes  weakness  strong, 

\^ere'er  its  flag  's  unfurled; 
And  mind  with  mind  it  links  in  long 

Enweavement  round  the  world. 
Earth's  complicated  woes  removes. 

Brings  Eden  back  again. 
Breathes  only  brotherhoods  and  loves — 
God  speed  thee,  noble  Pen  ! 

Hurrah  !  the  Insty  Pen, 
Best  friend  of  goda  and  men  ! 
Ckamben.    THnity,  DtibUm.  L.  L.  B. 

A  DECADE  FOR  THE  CHOLERA. 
**  Clap  on  tho  catapbam.**— Monsixur  Thomas. 

Toll  for  the  loved  departed 

A  glad,  though  mu£ELed  knell ; 
They  died  not  broken-hearted, 

Though  suddenly  they  fell : 
They  heard  no  sounds  of  gladness 

Mock  widows  as  they  wept. 
They  felt  not  hunger's  madness. 

But  fiiU,  and  hoping,  slept : — 
Their  thoughts,  though  sad,  vrere  holy: 

No  famine-tortured  mind 
Knew  its  own  sorrows  solely. 

But  sympathised — was  kind. 
Though  that  sad  year  proved  nngratefii], 

'Twas  welcomed  at  its  birth; 
Its  malignity  seemed  hateful. 

Yet  joy  was  at  the  hearth. 

It  came  with  summer's  presage. 

More  secure  to  strike  the  Uow^ 
Without  a  stormy  message. 

Or  island  built  of  snow ; 
From  cottage  to  the  palace. 

From  infancy  to  age. 
The  humblest  felt  its  malice. 

The  <^  noblest"  feared  its  rage. 

Fond  ties — ^the  strongest — neareei-— 

Were  broken  at  a  sweep. 
And  many  of  the  dearest 

Found  their  everlasting  sleep. 


^ 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER^  1842. 


607 


There  a  father,  or  a  mother, 

Where,  all  had  used  to  meet, 
Or  a  sister,  or  a  brother, 

Have  left  ^a  yaoant  seatf* 

The  maid  sunk  o'er  her  lorer. 

The  bridegroom  o'er  his  bride  ; 
Beneath  their  earthy  corer 

They  now  lie  side  by  side. 
For  ere  they  were  forsaken 

Whom  Love  had  tended  well, 
The  watcher's  strength  was  taken. 

And  loTed  and  loying  fell. 

AH  wept  ^ — ^bnt  now  the  harvest 

Of  ihigland's  **  surplus**  sons, 
Cries, "  Qiolera  t  thoa  starrest; 

DeVonr  the  eankerons  ones : 
Thy  phragh-share  to  the  fturrow. 

Thy  hurow  to  the  ^ain. 
Where  the  bloated  yermin  barrow, 

Who  rob  OS  of  the  grain  : 

^  Oh,  leave  ns  not  to  linger. 

Palsied  in  strength  and  mind ; 
Stretch  thy  spasmodic  finger 

And  snatch  us  from  our  kind ; 
Thy  gripe  hath  less  of  terror, 

It  breeds  no  famine-worm ; — 
Life-love  is  all  an  error 

When  Hope  can  yield  no  germ : — 

^  What  hope  for  shrunken  sinews ! 

Wealth's  mildew,  with  the  rot 
Of  purchased  Power  continues, 

Old  England's  leprous  spot — 

Destroying  Qod*3  best  blessing, 

The  yellow  harvest  fields  ; 
Drying,  while  babe 's  caressing, 

The  milk  the  bosom  yields ! 

*  Emit,  then,  jungles — Nigers — 

Contagion  in  a  flood  ; 
Fell  us,  so  Ml  the  tigers 

Who  live  upon  our  blood  ; 
Come  Plague,  with  all  thy  evils  ; 

Come  Typhus — dreadfhl  breath — 
The  human  demi-devils 

Have  power  o'er  all  but  Death ; 

''Welcome  to  us !  and  batten  ; 

Destruction  brings  no  dread 
Save  to  the  flends  who  fotten  , 

Upon  the  poor  man's  bread. 
Round  them  your  horrors  wreathing. 

Be  busy  night  and  mom. 
Leave  not  a  locust  breathing, 

To  blast  the  future  com ; 

"  For  no  pity  can  we  render 

Where  we  no  pity  find  ; , 
Is  vengeance  ever  tender  t 

De^air,  can  it  be  kind ! 
Ere  comes  the  howling  winter, 

Grod  !  change,  or  chase  ; — or  then 
Their  vintage  finds  a  vinter 

In  us,  famine-maddened  men. 

^So,  toll  for  the  departed 

A  glad,  though  muffled  tone. 
Th^  died  not  broken-hearted 

When  wom  to  wasted  bone  ; 
They  heard  no  ruler's  gladness 

While  doomed  to  starve  and  mourn. 
No  stem  revengefhl  madness 

Was  in  their  musings  borne."  J. 

THS  BMIORAirr'S  80N0. 

[Am— '<  flence  to  the  Uappy  Lftnd."] 

Cheer,  brethren,  cheer, 
We  seek  a  brighter  sky ; 
Brethren,  dry  the  fiJling  tear, 
'Tis  from  misery  we  fly. 


A.O. 


Our  Fatherland  no  more  's  a  home 

For  those  that  would  he  free; 

The  poor  are  robbed,  the  meek  oppressed. 

By  the  sons  of  Tyranny. 

Then  cheer  !  brethren,  cheer. 
We  seek  a  brighter  sky; 
Brethren,  dry  the  falling  tear, 
'Tis  from  misery  we  fly. 

The  mthless  tyrants  of  the  soil. 

The  plunderers  of  the  poor, 

The  iron  grasp  which  binds  the  land. 

Oppress  us  shall  no  more. 

Then  cheer !  brethren,  cheer  I 
We  seek  a  brighter  sky ; 
Brethren,  dry  the  falling  tear, 
'Tis  from  misery  we  fly. 

Their  pomp  and  pageantry  we  loathe. 
Their  minions  we  despise ; 
Their  prancing  cars  are  bought  vnth  blood. 
With  the  widow's  tears  and  cries. 

Then  cheer !  brethren,  cheer ! 

We  seek  a  brighter  sky; 

Brethren,  dry  the  falling  tear, 

*Tis  from  misery  we  fly. 

One  sigh  we  heave — one  tear  we  shed. 

As  we  sail  from  Scotia's  shore; 

That  sigh,  that  tear 's  for  our  Fathers'  grave» 

We  shall  visit  them  no  more. 

But  cheer  I  brethren,  cheer  I 
We  seek  a  brighter  sky ; 
Brethren,  dry  the  fiiJling  tear, 
'Tis  from  misery  we  fly. 

Each  bounding  billow  heaves  us, 

To  a  free  and  happy  home; 

The  rustling  of  the  rising  breeze 

We  hail  as  freedom's  song. 

Then  cheer  !  brethren,  cheer  I 
We  seek  a  brighter  sky; 
Brethren,  dry  the  falling  tear, 
'Tis  from  misery  we  fly. 


GROUP  II. 
POETRY  OF  THE  AFFECTIONS. 

VISITS  TO  OBAVBS. — NO.  I.      THE  STUDENT'S  OEAVE. 

'*  He  hM  outBoar'd  the  shadow  of  our  ni^t" 

I  Stood  beside  his  low  and  lonely  grave 

When  the  bright  sun  shed  noontide  beams  around  ; 
Lighted  the  grey-worn  church,  and  show'd  each  nook 

And  sheltered  spot  of  that  old  burying-ground. 

The  fresh  grass  springing,  and  the  young  buds  bursting, 
As  they  could  know  of  change  and  blight  no  more. 

But  added  to  the  grief  which  i^ook  my  bosom: 
I  had  not  stood  beside  his  grave  before. 

The  simple  stone  told  only  of  the  lineage 
And  name,  and  age  of  him  who  slept  below ; 

And  straggling  weeds  were  growing  o'er  the  inscription 
Carved  by  mde  hands  a  few  short  months  ago. 

Those  cold  sods  weigh'd  upon  a  heart  as  gentle 
As  ever  bless'd  the  weary  ways  of  earth. 

And  press'd  upon  a  brow  as  broad  and  noble 
As  ever  gave  the  thoughts  of  genius  birth. 

From  ear}y  childhood  had  his  soul  been  thirsting 
With  that  deep  fever  which  such  minds  endure  ; 

The  zeal  for  knowledge,  and  high  aspirations 
After  things  beautiful,  and  good  and  pure. 

There  was  no  grief  or  gloom  within  his  bosom: 
He  look'd  on  Nature  with  a  lover's  eye. 

And  drank  the  light  of  beauty  which  was  streaming 
From  every  varied  form  in  earth  and  sky. 

And  dreams  of  fiu*  renown  were  his  heart's  visions 
Through  years  of  studious  toil  and  weary  thought ; 

And  off'ering  up  his  fresh  youth  on  Fame's  altar, 
He  deemed  her  smile  was  all  too  cheaply  bought. 


608 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  18]^. 


No  clouds  of  dark  mistrust  camo  o*er  his  spirit 

To  mar  the  future  which  he  fondly  formed  ; 
With  Hop6*s  far  gaze  he  lookM  on  glory's  summits, 

As  heights  his  genius  had  already  stonn*d. 
And  midnight  studies  o*er  the  works  of  sages 

Had  streak'd  with  ^rey  his  locks  of  raven  hair  ; 
And  written  on  that  forehead's  glorious  surface 

The  wrinkles  of  deep  watching  thought  and  care. 
But  what  were  these  to  him  !  his  proud  ambition 

Look'd  to  the  future  for  its  guerdon  high  ; 
And  yielded  up  his  health,  strength,  youth,  and  beauty. 

For  the  ble»t  name  the  world  would  not  let  die. 
Already  had  his  early  works,  though  nameless, 

Rais'd  a  new  train  of  thought  the  nation  o*er ; 
And  anxious  minds  had  tum'd  to  that  new  teacher. 

Eagerly  asking  and  expecting  more— 
When  Death's  dread  bolt  fell  on  him,  and  the  ferer. 

Which  haunted  his  young  life,  fed  on  its  powers ; 
The  mind  which  grasp'd  infinity,  resided 

In  a  frail  form  which  numbered  o'er  its  hours. 
And  he  whose  highest  aspirations  pointed 

To  earthly  fame,  tum'd  trembling  now  to  Him 
Who  show'd  that,  to  the  mighty  future  opening. 

Earth's  highest  powers  and  proudest  names  were  diuL 
In  that  fell  hour  I  saw  him — I  had  dreaded 

The  anguish  of  that  soul  check'd  in  its  might, 
The  passionate  longing  for  ft^>sh  life,  and  horror 

Of  the  dark  coming  and  mysterious  night. 
But  all  was  calm  ;  and  deep  and  strong  reliance 

Upon  God's  goodness,  mixed  with  the  desire 
To  know  the  mighty  secret  of  our  being. 

And  to  draw  near  to  our  Eternal  Sire — 
Had  superseded  all  the  earnest  craving 

Which  once  was  his,  to  build  himself  a  name; — 
An  immortality  was  dawning  on  him. 

Which  render'd  dim  and  shadowy  that  of  fame. 
Nature  still  held  her  place — ^her  charms  undying 

Yielded  a  sense  of  rapture  near  to  pain ; 
For  waving  grove  and  murmuring  rill  repeated, 

*^  Thou  wilt  not  look  upon  my  face  again  !" 
He  died — and  rustic  hands  and  toil-bow'd  shoulders 

Consign'd  him  to  the  humble  bed, — where  sighing 
From  the  green  branches  of  the  trees  wind-shaken. 

Was  the  sole  wailing  o'er  his  grave  low  lying. 
The  shadow  of  the  church,  as  late  I  linger'd. 

Fell  o'er  its  turf,  and  gave  the  only  gloom 
Which,  in  that  day  of  summer  pomp  and  gladness, 

Seem'd  to  befit  the  sadness  of  the  tomb. 
And  though  his  lot  seems  moumfVil—  yet  in  spring-time, 

Before  one  hope  had  blossom'd  thus  to  perish, 
With  all  his  gifts  to  go  down  lone,  forgotten. 

Leaving  not  one  his  memory  to  cherish — 
Who  will  deny  that  ftrom  such  graves  are  springing 

Profounder  truths  and  lessons  more  sublime, 
Than  all  the  gifted  pens  of  bards  and  sages 

Have  sent  to  float  along  the  tide  of  Timel 
Who  has  not  caught  fVom  dying  lips  and  glances 

An  impulse  winning  him  to  thoughts  more  true. 
And  deeds  more  sacrificing,  pure  and  tender. 

Than  till  that  hour  he  ever  dream'd  or  knew  ? 
And  when  the  gifted  stand  on  Death's  dark  threshold, 

They  surely  feel  the  wish  that  fill'd  their  spirit 
To  win  a  name — to  be  a  form  more  humble 

Of  the  great  hope  that  all  live  to  inherit ! 
Peace  to  the  slumbers  of  the  early  dying  ! 

Peace  to  the  mind  that  pour'd  its  wealth  too  fast ! — 
Already  has  oblivion,  creeping  slowly, 

.  Mix'd  him  with  shadows  of  the  buried  past ! 
Sweet  may  his  rest  be,  in  that  green,  old  churchyard  ! 

ilay  children's  footsteps  lighUy  on  him  fell; 
And  the  lark's  singing,  and  the  loud  wind's  murmur. 

Steal  o'er  the  spot  soften'd  and  musical ! 
Better  that  calm,  deep  sleep  than  high  aspirings  I 

Better  its  silence  than  wide-spread  renown  ! 
And  better  far  in  bright  worlds  to  press  onwards, 

Than  wear  ou  eartU  fame's  freshest,  fairest  crown  ! 


WILT  THOU  REMEMBER  ! 

Wilt  thou  remember  me  when  I  am  gone  1 
Say,  wilt  thou  weep  when  I  am  far  from  thee  1 
Let  all  the  world  forget,  so  thou  alone 
Wilt  give  me  place  within  thy  memory. 

Remember  me,  when,  in  the  hour  of  sadness. 
Thou  fain  wonld'st  have  a  friend  to  weep  with  tbee; 
And  sometimes,  in  thy  careless  hours  of  gladness. 
Pause  for  a  moment,  and  remember  me. 


Though  smiles  aronnd  thy  beauteous  lip  be  wreathing, 
Though  thy  light  laugh  should  echo  through  the  h^ 
Though  many  round  thee  flattery  are  breathing,— 
Remember  me  !  thy  heart  will  spnm  it  all. 

Remember  me  in  the  soft  summer's  eve, 
And  let  me  be  remembered  with  a  sigh; 
The  very  fragrance  of  the  flowers  will  grieve 
Thee,  raising  sad  thoughts  of  days  gone  by. 

Remember  me  when  the  night-winds  are  sighing, 
Thinkfthat  my  name  is  echoed  in  their  tone; 
And  when  their  voice  is  slowly,  sadly  dying. 
Bow  down  thy  head,  and  weep  for  him  that's  gone ! 

Remember  me  when  thou  art  sad  and  weary, 
And  fain  would'st  weep,  although  thou  know'stnotwfaj. 
When  all  without  and  all  within  seems  dreary. 
Then  breathe  my  name,  and  breathe  it  in  a  sigh ! 

Remember  me  when,  starting  from  thy  sleep. 
And  happy  dreams  of  hopes  and  days  long  past, 
A  long-forgotten  voice  sounds  sad  and  deep 
Above  the  loudest,  dreariest,  wintry  blast. 

Remember  me  when  fnends  have  wronged,  deceired 

thee; 
When  the  cold  world  repels,  remember  me  I 
Then  think,  with  tears,  of  him  who  ne'er  had  grieted 

thee. 
Whose  heart  was  true,  although  unprized  by  thee. 

If  ever,  in  a  mirthftil,  joyous  hour. 

Some  voice  should  chance  to  sing  that  gentle  strain, 

Then,  then  remembrance  will  assert  her  power. 

And  thou  shalt  weep,  remembering  mt  again  ! 

Sadly  the  well-known  chords  will  meet  thine  ear. 

Sadly  my  voice  will  echo  in  each  tone. 

What  then,  though  bright  and  gay  thy  smiles  appear ! 

Thy  heart  will  t^b,  and  ache  for  him  that's  gone. 

Thou  shalt  remember  me  1  for  many  ties 

Will  chain  my  image  to  thy  memory. 

And  tears  unbidden  often  shall  arise. 

And  thou  shalt  find  their  source  in  thoughts  of  m! 

Thou  shalt  remember  me  !  an  aching  heart 

Must  sometimes,  in  a  joyous  scene,  be  thine; 

And  suddenly,  as  i^m  a  dream,  thoult  start. 

Thinking  thou  hear'st  a  voice  resembling  wim. 

Thou  shalt  remember  me  1  thou  canst  not  blot 

All  that  has  past  from  out  thy  memory. 

In  weal  or  woe,  whatever  be  thy  lot, 

Tliou  canst  not  choose  but  still  remember  me  ! 

M.  M. 

STANZAS  TO  A  STILL-BORN  INFA2CT. 

Oh,  bom  to  light,  though  not  to  life,  my  child— 
My  child,  sweet  sharer  of  my  wayward  fete — 

For  thee  my  harp,  in  silence  long  exiled. 
Once  more  shall  wake,  lingering  albeit  and  late 
The  lay — ^though  nought  avail  to  dissipate 

The  shadows  which  thy  destiny  enfold. 
To  fix  those  hues,  brief  even  in  fancy's  date. 

Reft  pledge  of  earliest  love— (the  heart's  hidden  gold)- 

Sealed  spring  of  thousand  hopes,  and  sympathies  ontoW. 

Thou  blighted  bud  of  being— if  to  be 

Indeed  were  thine,  (thus  dubious  all  we  deem,) 
Tears  have  been  shed,  and  pangs  endured  for  thee, 

And  thou  of  prescient  cares  wert  ceaseless  theme; 

And  these  and  thou  have  passed  alike — a  dream 
Of  tenderness,  all  dim  and  unrevealed; 

An  unformed  thought  of  love — an  orient  beam, 
Beneath  the  horizon  quenched — a  mystery  sealed— 
A  spiritual  fount  even  at  it€  Facred  source  congealed. 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBEH,  184i>. 


0*00 


Earth  has  its  due — what  certain  life  hath  more, 

Than  waits  on  thy  less  surely  quickened  clay  I 
So  the  far  waye,  too  weak  to  win  the  shore. 

Blends  pure  with  ocean's  deep  its  idle  spray, 

The  mightier  hears  the  taint  of  earth  away ; 
Imagination,  too,  of  what  had  heeu, 

Sha^  yet  her  mystic  tracery  day  by  day; 
How  like  some  lucid  lake,  where  oft,  at  een. 
Mirrors  the  illimitable  arc  its  multitudinous  sheen. 
In  tranqnil  miniature,  upon  thy  face 

And  taintless  brow  it  had  been  mine  to  gaze, 
And  watch  thy  mother's  form  reimaged  there. 

And  her  deep  eyes  in  thine  renew  the  rays  ; 

Or  how  the  head — thy  little  world — might  raise 
A  fone,  where  aspirations  high  should  dwell, 

Eyen  such  as  were  thy  sire's  in  other  days. 
Safe  flrom  the  mortal  chill  which  those  befell — 
Such  may  no  longer  be — and  thus,  perchance,  His  well. 
Pass  thou  unwept :  eyen  that  beloyed  breast 

Whence  thou  hadst  drunk  young  life,  may  now  be 
calm: — 
What  hast  thou  lost  ? — nay,  what  hadst  thou  possessed  t 

A  sea  of  bitterness — a  drop  of  balm. 

Hath  hope  no  solace  now  1 — hath  loye  no  charm  1 — 
Pain  hath  no  terror  to  a  doom  like  thine  : 

Dear  purchase  askb  the  strangely  enyied  palm. 
Few  win — who  win  yrith  life,  with  life  resign. 
Happy  thy  wakeless  rest — ah,  happier  deemed  if  mine  ! 

THE  ORJLNDAME — A  FBAG)IE.Tr. 

Eighty  summers  o'er  her  head 

Haye  passed, 

Yet  stUl  she  walks  the  earth 

With  lightsome  step. 

No  cares  harass  her  guileless  heart. 

Nor  pondered  woes,  nor  gloomy  thoughts 

Are  nourished  in  her  mind. 

By  blazing  fire  and  happy  hearth. 

She  sits  contentment ; 

And  o'er  the  youthful  &ces 

That  surround  her  seat 

Sheds  mirth  and  joyful  wonder. 

With  tales  oft  told, 

But  ever  willing  heard. 

She  feeds  their  greedy  fancy  : 

How  knights  of  old, 

3y  deeds  of  arms  and  prowess  great. 

Had  conquered  and  had  won  ; 

How  beauteous  dames. 

With  gratefhl  arms,  and  praises  loud. 

Received  them. 

Or,  sooth  to  say,  some  other  theme 

Might  charm  the  wondering  child : 

How  daring  youth, 

With  'venturous  heart 

And  eager  soul. 

Attacked  a  giant  fell. 

Whose  deeds  of  blood 

And  savage  mien 

Struck  horror  dread  and  deep. 

Or  to  some  vnld  and  mournful  tale, 

She'd  change  with  glistening  eye  ; 

And  tell  how,  on  the  foaming  deep, 

'Midst  lightning's  flame 

And  thunder's  peal, 

A  shattered  bark  was  driven  : 

How  loud  the  shriek 

And  fierce  the  yell 

That  burst  from  every  breast. 

As,  on  the  rock. 

The  trembling  ship 

Is  dashed  with  frightful  force. 

With  these  and  other  moving  tales 

She'll  pass  the  winter's  night ; 

Then,  as  the  hour  draws 

Nigh  for  rest, 

Their  minds  she'll  turn  above, 

And  paint  to  each 

The  holy  joy 

That  there  awaits  the  good. 


Her  aged  hands  shell  now  employ 
Their  simple  dress 
To  doff ; 

And  then  to  kneel 
With  fervent  mind. 
Directs  the  willing  child. 
In  lisping  accents 
Sweet,  their  prayer 
She  hears  vnth  purest  pleasure  ; 
And  in  her  arms, 
With  fond  embrace. 
Craves  blessings 
On  their  head. 
♦  ♦  ♦  ♦ 

The  child's  delight. 

The  mourner's  stay. 

The  ever  ready  friend; 

May  sweetest  bliss 

And  endless  joy 

Such  virtue  always  find  !        N. 

NOT  WOKDS,  BUT  FLOWERS. 

By  Spkmcea  Hax.1.,  the  Sherwood  Forrest«r. 
Bring  me  a  poem,  Betsy  love. 

Not  writ  in  words,  but  flowers, 
Gather'd  from  lane,  and  field,  and  grove. 

In  May's  delicious  hours  : 
For  I  full  oft  have  known  thee  show 

Poetic  taste  and  skUl, 
In  making  wreaths  of  wild-fiowers  glow 

Harmonious  to  thy  will. 
Bring  then,  a  wild,  sweet  poem  bring. 

That  to  the  heart  will  bear 
Whate'er  of  blossom-bursting  spring 

The  memory  holds  most  dear  I 
Let  its  first  verse  be  golden  broom. 

Its  next  a  white-thorn  spray. 
Its  third  a  wild-rose  in  full  bloom, 

From  some  green  bowery  way  : 
For  these  will  'mind  me  much  of  thee, 

While  from  the  fbture  turning 
To  long-gone  hours  of  ectasy, 

Ere  thou  wert  wan  with  mourning  : 
Ev'n  Hope  itself  vrill  backward  steal. 

Charmed  by  such  emblems  gay. 
And  brightlier  smile,  as  they  reveal 

Thy  own  life's  lovely  May  ! 
Betsy,  bring  daisies  from  the  hill, 

And  cowslips  fVom  the  valley — 
Primroses  from  the  wood-side  rill. 

Where  ring-doves  love  to  dally — 
And  bluebells  from  beneath  the  boughs 

That  o'er  the  warm  bank  spread; 
Where  violets  breathe  their  sweetest  vows. 

And  bine  and  bramble  wed. 
Bring  from  yon  bhickbird's  choral  shade. 

Where  gladdest  sounds  are  bom, 
A  branch  of  blossomy  crab,  array'd 

In  hues  that  mock  the  mom; 
And  fetch  the  full-orb'd  king-cup  bright. 

And  meadow-lady,  while 
I  stand  and  watch  thee  vrith  delight 

From  this  old  village  stile. 
And  hie  thee  where  broad  chestnuts  flower — 

Where  oft,  in  life's  young  day. 
We  felt  the  rapturous  evening  hour 

Melt  our  fond  thoughts  away. 
Then  pull  we  down  the  waxlike  cone. 

That  blooms  o'er  one  dear  spot; 
And  thence  bring,  too,  for  joys  far-flown. 

The  sweet  forget-me^ot. 
Betsy,  my  love  I  my  heart  of  hearts  I 

My  muse  !  my  life  of  life  1 
The  word  a  thrill  still  new  imparts. 

Whene'er  I  call  thee— Wife  ! 
There  t«  a  melody  in  flowers 

By  thy  light  fingers  strong. 
In  sunny  fields  or  shadowy  bowers. 

When  the  glad  year  is  young  \ 


610 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  1842. 


And  'tis  most  sweet  with  thee  to  tread 

Wherever  they  abound. 
And  catch  the  ectasy  they  shed 

On  eyerything  around : 
For  wide  o'er  mountain,  plain,  and  dell, 

Their  countless  little  blooms 
Are  stars,  that  sparkle  to  dispel 

Life's  sad  and  weary  glooms. 
Then  thanks  to  thee,  loyed  poetess  I 

The  wreath  by  thee  entwined 
Bespeaks,  in  words  of  blessedness. 

The  beauties  of  thy  mind  I 
For  flowers — dear  flowers — I  love  to  greet 

Their  hues  from  spray  or  sod  : 
They  are  the  language,  mute  though  meet, 

When  Nature  worships  God  ! 

GROUP  HI. 
CLASSICAL  AND  REFLECTIVE  POETRY. 

HTMN  TO  *  REASON.*' 

The  life  of  Man  were  %m»in  Death,  without  Reason. 

The  sal]||oliied  poem  will  be  better  tmdentood,  by  the  ordinary 
readers  of  poetoy,  from  the  few  words  explanatory  of  the  mative- 
p<noer  of  the  piece,  which  we  talce  Uie  liberty  to  pr^x,  although 
they  were  intended  only  for  the  e;e  of  the  Editor. 
[I  submit  to  your  Judgment  a  few  lines  which  I  wrote  upon  rising 
from  the  perusal  of  the  greatest  woric  of  the  immortal  Coleridge, — 
**  The  Fnend  " :— for  if  the  Beaton  be  the  (»ly  light  and  medium, 
in  and  through  which  alone  we  are  made  conscious  and  become 
partaken  of  the  Eternal  Truths  which  God  has  made  the  pillars  of 
the  world,— that  which  was  written  by  Coleridge,  solely  fw  the 
purpose  of  directing  men's  thoughts  and  consciences  to  this  momen- 
tous truth,  (being  in  itself  the  ground  of  all  other  tntUu,  the  true 
fountain  of  all  wisdom,)  must  surely  be  considered  his  greatest 
work.  And  the  reflections  of  others,  if  they  be  sincerely  reflec- 
tioas,  however  &int,  of  the  same  light,  so  &r  as  they  serve  to 
awidmi  the  minds  of  othen  to  this  true  knowledge  of  themselves, 
and  thus  echo  the  eternal  oracle— r»«0(  ruu)7iv— must  have  their 
uses.  And  I  have  no  doubt,  that  you  have  often  observed  the 
true  difference  between  the  doctors  of  the  true  and  the  pseudo 
ethics,  of  all  ages,  to  consist  in  thto  very  important  difference,— 
namdy,  that  the  false  ever  seek  to  draw  men  away  fh>m  the  con- 
templation of  this  divine  inward  light,  which  is  the  sole  explanator 
of  oM  other  revdatUmt  and  confusing  the  judgment  by  taxing  the 
underrtanding  alone  ;  and  thus  rendoing  them  blind  to  their  own 
powers  and  «e(/^  retpectf  ever  seek  to  make  them  dependent  upon 
the  dicta  of  others,  the  slaves  of  a  system  or  a  doctrine : — h«ioe  is 
8(n>hi«try  and  Huperstition  in  the  place  of  Philosophy  and  Religion : 
— While  all  true  Philosophy  ever  and  ever  appeals  to  aU  that  is 
tmfy  human  in  man,  seeldng  to  arouse  the  Light  that  shall  give 
birth  to  tbB  qnalltiee  tbAtelumber  rather  than  perUK  "  None  can 
nnd«-rate  his  merit :  None  can  over-rate  his  Nature  "nays  Youno, 
in  one  of  his  sublime  passages.] 

O  Life,  thou  art  a  dark  and  troubled  dream. 

Dim-shadowing  with  thy  wings  our  proper  being. 
Clouding  the  spirit  that  should  shed  its  beam 

Bright  to  the  vision  of  our  inward-seeing. 
Yet  not  the  less,  my  soul,  I  striye  to  raise 

The  film  of  matter  fh>m  thy  Grod-like  eye. 
That  thou  may'st  know  and  feel  His  glorious  rays 

That  light  thy  passage  thro'  Eternity  ! 
Alas  I  how  few  those  holy  rays  descry, — 

Crushed  by  the  Sense's  vilest  tyranny, 
The  herd's  inglorious  days  roll  vainly  by 

Darkening  the  image  of  the  Deity ; 
Tkey  never  seek  to  know  Life's  solemn  end, — 

As  they  were  creatures  of  a  destiny; 
And  the  calm  Conscience,  which  should  be  a  Friend, 

Is  alien  to  their  hearts  of  vanity  ! 
It  is  a  moumfhl  thought,  0  God  !  that  they, 

Whose  souls  are  lighted  by  Thy  smile  divine. 
Should  seek  to  shadow  that  prolific  ray. 

They  dwell  in  darkness,  who  were  bom  to  shine. 
And  to  reflect  thy  heavenly  light  on  high, 

Th'  eternal  Reason,  which  we  have  from  Thee, 
Reason  supreme,  'tis  that  alone  whereby 

We  contemplate  our  own  eternity  1 
For  ikat,  we  know,  must  aye  have  shone  supreme 

Ere  the  first  dawning  of  created  day, — 
Light  Increate  1  thou  cause  of  all  would'st  seem. 

Efflux  divine  I  thy  noiture  who  shall  say  !* 


*  iieaeoii,  being  in  its  nature  self-affirmative,  self-grounded, 
^  never  be  understood  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word  **  un- 


Ev'n  as  the  clouds  reflect  the  sun's  bright  ray, 
Difi'asing  the  glad  light  with  varied  hue. 

And  multiply  the  beams  they  cannot  pay. 
As  in  return  some  gratitude  to  show ; — 

So  should  the  soul  reflect  the  Reason's  light, 
The  precious  boon  by  Grod  to  mankind  giv^n, 

<jb»tefhl  for  that  it  neter  can  requite, 
Though  it  should  make  its  own  return  to  Heav'n  t 

Shine  inward  then,  O  glorious  ray  divine  ! — 
For  thou  hast  shone  through  all  eternity^ — 

O  !  shine  in  me — ^for  He  has  made  thee  mins. 
One  vnth  my  being  and  identity. 

O  !  rise,  my  thoughts,  in  gratitude  to  Him 
Who  hath  ordain'd  my  soul  to  dwell  in  thee^ 

O  light !  and  let  me  triumph  over  sin, 
A^d  vindicate  mine  own  divinity  ! 

For  what  1 — if  He  had  never  made  thee  mine. 
Nor  made  me  conscious  of  thy  mystery, 

My  very  life  had  crept  o'er  Earth  supine. 
The  creature  of  a  fkted  destiny  ! 

The  cattle  graasing  on  the  fsnasf  lea, 
The  herb  that  flutters  in  the  joyous  wind. 

Had  met  a  fote  as  noble  and  as  free ; — 
For  they  have  sense — have  life — but  have  not  mind ! 

And  what  is  mind  but  self  lit  up  by  thine 
Eternal  radiance  t    What  the  gift  of  ihee. 

But  that  all-living  light,  which  aye  must  shine. 
Where'er  tAow  dwellest,  in  Infinity! 

Thine  are  the  rays  that  circle  round  the  Throne, 
Whence  beams  the  glory  of  the  Arch-Unseen  ! 

Thine  are  the  smiles  He  sheddeth  on  His  own, 
Raising  the  heart  above  this  transient  scene  ! 

0  mystic  Conscience  I  thine  Arch-angel  cry. 
Heard  o'er  the  tumult  of  the  world's  vain  noise, 

1  reverence ;  it  is  thy  prophecy, 

O  Reason  !  warning  with  a  prophet's  voice ; 

The  messenger  of  His  Eternal  Will 
Of  all  that  w,  or  has  been, — ^having  povrer 

The  loudest  tumults  of  the  heart  to  still. 
And  make  e'en  Ages  seem  a  passing  hour 

**  In  the  eternal  silence  I"t — Wherefore  then 
Do  ye  still  dwell  in  darkness  heedlessly  t 

O  !  wherefore  do  ye  seek,  children  of  men. 
To  darken  down  your  own  divinity  ! 

0  I  know  the  Truth, — that  this  dark  waste  of  years. 
Which  men  call  life  ! — ^this  rock  in  Time's  vast  sea. 

Which  darkly  ft^wns  over  its  vale  of  tears, 
Is  not  the  proper  resting-place  for  ye  ! 

Your  home  is  far  away  I     Your  native  shore. 

Where  doth  eternal  summer  ever  shine. 
Is  lighted  up,  as  it  was  told  of  yore. 

With  the  primseval  smile  of  Love  Dveina  !% 
Ask  your  own  hearts  !  and  they  will  tell  ye  tme. 

Far  truer  ev'n  than  vnsdom's  golden  page. 
That  the  high  fate  which  is  designed  for  you 

Is  onward  progress  thro'  Eternal  Age  ! 

The  Conscience,  gifted  vnth  the  eternal  light 

Of  Reason  shining  thro'  Eternity, 
Is  gifted  with  its  nature,  and  of  right 

Partakes  of  Reason's  own  Infinity. 

O  ye,  who  move  with  Folly's  thoughtless  wheel, 
Yourselves  unknown,  your  own  hearts  nnezpWd, 

Could  ye  your  Grod-like  nature  truly  feel. 
No  more  would  Folly  be,  but  Self,  ador'd. 

derstand  x*"*  for,  being  spiritaal  in  its  aatore,  it  cannot  be 
subjected  to  the  sensaous  understandiiu^.  We  poneas  H,  sod 
hww  that  we  possess  it,  as  a  special  sift  of  Qod :— bat  theo^ 
that  beameth  from  His  throne,  who  wall  undentand  bat  Cw 
himself ! 

t  Wordsworth.    '*  Intimations  of  Immortaltty  ^— 
**  Our  vxAmj  yean  seem  moments  fa  the  bekig 
Of  the  eternal  sUenoe." 

:!:  See  the  beaatifdl  Greek  mythui  of  « the  Ciwtk«  M^  «^ 
chaos.'* 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  1842. 


611 


It  is  no  less  than  truths  though  it  might  i 

To  thoughtless  folly  arrogance  to  say — 
To  folly  shrinking  from  Light's  inward  beam, — 

^  None  to  himself  doth  his  due  homage  pay  1" 

Yet  pause,  and  think,— to  contemplation  grand 

Pay  your  arrear,  cast  off  your  Tanity, 
Expatiate  for  a  while  in  Thought's  mde  land, — 

Land  unexplored  and  all-unknown  to  ye ; — 

And  to  yonr  hearts  will  glide  an  holy  light. 
Won  from  Reflection's  eyer-beaming  ray. 

And  rouse  your  souls  from  their  long,  dreamless  Night, 
To  the  bright  morning  of  eternal  Day  ! 

Arise,  arise  !  the  God  within  ve  know  I 

Steep  not  the  spirit  in  dull  lethargy  : 
Tirtne's  high  path  ascend  with  lofty  brow, 

And  Tindicate  your  Immortality  I 

G.  S.  W. 

IDDRSSS  FBOM  THB  SPIRIT  OP  ANaBNT  PHILOSOPHY  TO  THE 

SIUDEMTS  OF   THE  MORAL  PHILOSOPHY  CLASS  IN  ZHE 

UHIYEBSITY  OP  ST.  AlfDABW's. 

Haste  I  oh  haste !  I  have  call'd  ye  long, 

I  shine  through  the  mist  of  years ; 
A  holy  spirit  pervades  my  shrhie 

To  scatter  doubts  and  fears : 
I  am  rich  with  the  glorious  spoils  of  Eld, 

With  the  lore  of  gifted  seers. 
I  will  strew,  as  I  tread  your  cloistered  hall, 

The  Tisions  which  Plato  drew : 
O  how  my  heart  thrill'd  with  delight — 

Perchance  they  might  be  true  I 
They  will  stir  your  thoughts  like  Music's  swell: 

Such  dreams  ye  never  knew. 
We'll  bend  o'er  the  Stagyrite's*  noble  dust; 

But  no  tear  shall  dim  our  eye ; 
A  colder  spirit  congeals  the  drop 

And  checks  the  rising  sigh  ; 
For  a  haughty  Stoic  marks  our  grief — 

Zeno  is  standing  by. 
Come,  then,  1 11  lead  your  willing  feet, 

Not  by  Castalia's  stream, 
Not  to  the  vale  where  Peneus  glides 

And  Tempo's  marbles  gleam ; 
Bnt  through  a  fresher  nobler  maze— 

The  groves  of  Academe. 
There  Epicurus,  great  and  good, 

His  mental  feast  shall  spread  ; 
Take  from  his  hand  yon  talinnan. 

Thy  cares— thy  griefs  are  fled : 
Then  pluck  that  fragrant  myrtle  green. 

And  wreathe  it  round  thy  head  ! 
And  see  !  clad  in  Egyptian  stole, 

The  Samian  sage  appears. 
It  is— it  is  Pythagoras 

His  God-like  form  uprears. 
And  bears  that  brow  where  swell  sublime 

The  gamer'd  thoughts  of  years. 
Behold — my  pride — yon  care-worn  wight ! 

No  genius  lights  hU  eye. 
But  call  to  mind  the  poison-cup — 

His  high  philosophy  ;— 
Hush  I  I  wUl  summon  Socrates, 

He'll  teach  you  how  to  die. 
Yet  kneel  not  blindly  1— would  ye  sean 

The  page  of  Destiny  t 
Ah  !  none  with  me  may  seek  to  cross 

The  dark  unhallow'd  sea 
That  rolls  before  her  gloomy  hall/— 

The  shrine  of  Mystery. 
Nor  wUl  I  tempt  your  vagrant  steps 

Where  Elean  Pyrrho  trod — 
The  man  who  doubted  e'en  his  doubts, 

Himself/— his  soul, — his  God. 
Ah  1  no^— I  ne'er  would  tempt  your  feet 

On  such  a  cheerless  road. 


*  Aristotle. 


But  when  Misfortune  rains  her  ills 

On  your  devoted  head, — 
When  Calumny's  envenom'd  web 

Around  your  fiune  is  spread, — 
When  all  the  ties  that  bind  to  Earth 

Are  rudely  severed, — 

When,  hanging  o'er  a  dying  friend. 

Thy  heart  is  chill  and  d^rear, — 
When  prostrate  o'er  his  wasted  oorpse. 

You  groan  upon  the  bier  ; — 
I  will  be  there  to  soothe  thy  grief 

And  wipe  away  the  tear. 

Shonld  pale-fiMed  Envy  raise  her  head. 

And  hiss  upon  thy  name, — 
Should  wild  ambition  fire  thy  breast. 

With  reckless,  ruthless  flame; — 
111  shield  thee  from  thyself  and  foes. 

Thy  saviour — still  the  same. 

Be  thou  my  child !  thy  head  shall  tower 

Among  thy  compeers  high. 
Sublime  as  yonder  hoary  piles 

That  i^wn  unto  the  sky ; 
Pleasure  and  Peace  thy  constant  guests,— 

0  calmly  thou  shalt  die. 

Be  thou  my  chUd !  the  priceless  mines 

Of  THOUGHT  I  will  disclose — 
A  wondrous  gem, — ^the  human  mind — 

Its  duties^ — ^all  it  owes  ; 
A  cure  for  all  its  little  pride — 

A  balm  for  all  its  woes. 

Then  haste  I  oh  haste  I  I  have  called  ye  long, 

1  shine  through  the  mist  of  years ; 
A  holy  spirit  pervades  my  shrine. 

Dispelling  doubts  and  fears  ; — 
'TIS  I  alone  can  nerve  the  heart 
And  drj  the  mourner's  tears. 

T.  C.  L. 

ALTE&I  SJBCULO  PBOSINT. 

They  slumber,  and  are  bound  and  blinded — ^they 

The  lords  of  earth — ^perchance  the  heirs  of  heaven — 

And  who  their  Dalilahs  1  doth  fiend  or  fay 

Flutter  the  vampire  wing  to  lull  and  slay  I 

Stirs  aught  around  their  couch  the  poppied  air 

Which  steals  tibe  frame  throughout,  a  subtle  leaven. 

Rendering  it  strengthless  to  resist  or  bear  I 

Lo  you— a  dsemon  triad— ever  near 

The  food  lethargic — Ignorance,  Penury, 

And  Superstition — ^that  hoar  hag,  whose  brow 

Glares  bloody  through  the  veil  of  mystery 

She  shrouds  her  hideousness  withal — ^these  three. 

Prime  progeny  of  sloth  obscene,  who  now. 

In  loathsome  interunion  linked  strong. 

Do  reproduce  their  parent  ceaselessly; 

Man  slumbers,  and  these  bind  him — God  I  how  long ! 

They  slumber,  and  are  bound  and  blinded,  who 

Draw  ease,  wealth,  luxury  from  that  vile  trance. 

The  many  slumber:  have  the  wakeful  few — 

Self-deemed  such— no  vigilant  tyrants  too, 

Whose  stem  behests  fulfil  thev  !  Speed  Thy  glance 

O'er  the  throng  universe  uid  Know  uncraved 

Still  man's  twain  destinies  om — ^to  enslave  or  be  en« 

slaved. 
Yea,  destinies  :  though  man  have  wrou^^t  them  first. 
Yet  such  the  intricacy  of  tiiie  chain. 
So  strictly  knitted  round  his  heart  and  brain. 
That  he,  albeit  self-trammelled,  cannot  burst 
His  fetters  and  be  free — be  man  again-- 
Save  by  the  laggard  Patience,  and  a  still 
Indomitable  energy  of  will. 
Defensive  warfare  he  be  taught  to  wage. 
And  bid  far-sij^ted  Prudence  forth,  a  guide 
To  pilgrim  Reason,  scattering  fax  and  wide 
(While  echoless  as  snow  her  footstep  fSeJls,) 
The  immortal  seeds  of  truth-r-reviviSSed, 
Which  may  work  marvels  to  >Hu^er  age. 
Yet  leave  the  present  hopeless,  cuSC^  thralls. 


€12 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  1842 


Must  w€  then  only  live  to  life  blaspheme. 
Poor  toys  of  destiny,  a  stricken  race  ! 
To  me  much  meditating  on  this  theme, 
Whene'er  with  aching  brow  and  heart  I  trace 
The  history  of  man  and  man's  disgrace, 
(These  OTer  one  in  deed,  and  oft  in  name,) 
Through  passiTe  ages  of  endurance  base, 
A  record  apathy  should  write  alone ; 
Or  on  the  crimsoned  page,  whose  letters  flame 
And  sword  haye  graven, — every  word  a  groan — 
The  past  brings  agony,  the  present  shame. 
Slaved  by  thyself,  whom  none  might  else  enslave. 
Nature  had  formed  thee  for  high  things — the  boon 
Thy  others  lost — hast  thou  redeemed  it  t    Knave, 
Fool,  tyrant  to  thyself  alike — thy  noon 
Of  opportunity  hath  ceased  to  shine — 
All  present  antidote  defies  thy  bane — 
Freedom  were  but  thy  malison — such  shrine 
As  thou  that  holiest  offering  would  deprave : 
Vain  are  thy  startled  slumbers — vain  the  throes 
Convulsive  of  thy  being,  ere  it  close ; 
Thy  dust  perchance  may  nurture  hope — but  vain 
Even  hope  to  thee  of  aught  beside  the  grave. 
Vain  for  thyself—oh,  not  all  vain  for  thine. 

THE  WISH. 

Oh  !  give  me  matchless  eloquence. 

And  words  of  thrilling  fire. 
And  with  the  breath  of  Poesy 

My  panting  breast  inspire  ! 
I  would  not  lay  me  in  the  grave. 

The  being  of  a  day, 
To  join  the  crowd  of  nameless  dead. 

As  nameless  as  are  they. 
Perhaps  when  I  sleep  quietly 

Beneath  the  waving  grass, 
The  passer  by  may  mark  the  spot, 

And  linger  ere  he  pass. 
I  care  not  for  the  sorrowing 

Of  those  who  knew  me  here  ; 
Ah  !  they  may  drop  upon  my  grave 

Fall  many  a  bitter  tear. 
But  e'en  the  dearest  must  forget : 

Grief  quickly  passes  by  : 
The  flower  they  planted  on  my  grave 

Will  like  their  sorrow  die  ; — 
While  if  the  world  has  heard  at  me. 

By  aught  that  I  have  done. 
My  brow  shall  wear  eternally 

The  wreath  it  may  have  won. 

GROUP  IV. 

LEGENDARY,  TRADITIONAL,  AND  SCOTTISH 
POETRY. 

THE  PSTItlPIKD  WEDDING. — A  SOMERSETSHIRE  LEGEND. 

[On  my  visitinff  the  dnildical  remains  which  ore  disposed  in  drdes 
In  a  field  or  meadow  at  Ktanton  Drew,*  and  which  druidical  remains 
no  doubt  gave  name  to  tlie  village,  I  inquired  of  mine  hostess  with 
whom  I  abode,  the  why  and  wherefore  of  these  remarkable  relics. 
Her  answer  may  be  found  in  the  following  lines ;  and  as  a  proof  that 
every  strange  story  is  not  incredible,  I  may  state,  that  the  inhabitants 
(I  mean  the  peasantry)  most  flrmly  believe,  and  strenuously  main- 
tain, the  story  of  the  Weddhig  Partv  behig  turned  into  stones  for 
their  impiety  in  profaning  the  Sabbath.] 
'      'Twas  on  a  morning  fair  and  bright 

As  ever  yet  blest  human  sight — 

A  Sabbath  May-day  mom,  when  Earth 

Looks  fresh  as  at  her  virgin  birth — 

Our  old  church  bells  sent  forth  a  sound 

That  rous*d  the  neighbouring  hamlets  round  ; 

For  well  you  know  a  marriage  peal 

Will  drooping  Sorrow's  eye  unseal. 

While  hearts  that  never  knew  a  sigh. 

And  eyes  whose  lids  are  ever  dry, 

Ope  but  to  greet,  or  heave  to  bless. 

The  candidates  for  happiness. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  Stanton  Drew 

Sent  forth  her  children  not  a  few, 

*  Stanton  Drew  is  a  small  village  between  six  and  seven 
miles  distant  from  Bristol. 


For  Time  is  different  now  and  then. 
Where  we  name  one  they  reckon*d  ten. 
So  young  and  old,  and  rich  and  poor. 
Came  trooping  round  the  old  church  door. 
And  wondering,  aak'd  impatiently — 
For  whom  that  merry  peal  might  be  ? 
Yet  none  made  answer,  save  they  knew 
They  might  not  be  of  Stanton  Drew. 

Some  baron  bold,  or  doughty  knight, 
From  Palestine's  red  field  of  fight. 
With  Syrian  maiden  nobly  won 
In  Joppa,  or  in  Ascalon  ; 
Or  doting  eld,  by  fancy  led 
With  some  young  innocent  to  wed. 
Comes  here,  ashamM  at  home  to  stay. 
To  celebrate  his  wedding  day; 
Or  spendthrift  who,  to  widow  old, 
Barters  his  name  for  brighter  gold. 

Thus  Wonder,  fed  by  faint  surmise. 
Stood  gaping  with  distended  eyes  ; 
Nor  least  when  laughter,  long  and  loud. 
Burst  on  the  sight-expecting  crowd. 
And  strange  wild  voices  raised  a  cry 
That  told  the  sight  was  drawing  nigh. 
Then  'twas  old  Age  confounded  stood. 
For  that  wild  laughter  spoke  no  good ; 
For  how  mistimed,  misplaced,  is  mirth, 
That  jests  on  consecrated  earth. 
As  they  shall  rue  in  Heav'n's  own  hour, 
Who  mock  His  name,  or  slight  His  power. 
Then  'twas  that  matrons,  wedded  there, 
Tum'd  red  with  rage,  and  pale  with  fear ; 
And  fair  young  maids,  old  Stanton^s  pride, 
Press'd  closer  to  their  lovers'  side — 
Deeming,  be  sure,  that  state  unblest. 
Whose  vows  are  followed  by  a  jest. 
Much  wondering  that  the  holy  roof 
Crush'd  not  these  objects  of  reproof. 
But,  'tis  not  ever  wilfhl  sin 
Doth  swifUy  condemnation  win  ; 
Sure  not  immediate — Vengeance  kills 
Not  as  we  deem,  but  as  she  wills. 
Hark  !  creaking  opes  the  cumbrons  door, 
Loud  grating  on  the  marble  floor  ; 
And  every  eye  is  fix'd  to  see 
Who  these  rude  revellers  may  be. 
Then  'twas  that  Elxpectation  took 
Astonishment's  bewilder'd  look  ; 
For  how  might  Reason  justly  pair 
Black  Sin  with  those  bright  creatures  there ! 
First,  fifteen  smiling  maidens  came. 
Their  age  alike,  their  looks  the  same  ; 
Each  with  a  basket  in  her  hand, 
Snow-white  the  dresses  of  the  band  ; 
Their  number  showed,  what  some  would  hide, 
The  summers  of  the  wedded  bride. 
In  threes  they  came,  in  threes  they  past. 
Sweet  singing,  as  their  flowers  they  cast, 
A  song  to  Venus — Queen  of  Love, 
Instead  of  hymns  to  God  above. 
Next  came  the  bridegroom  and  his  bride, 
All  beauty,  loveliness,  and  pride. 
In  green  and  gold  the  youth  was  drest, 
A  sword  his  luiightly  rank  confest  ; 
And  high  in  air  above  his  head, 
A  snowy  plume  vride  waving  spread. 
Lock'd  arm  in  arm,  with  stately  stride. 
He  led  his  fair  and  lovely  bride. 
His  lovely  bride  !    O  words  are  weak 
That  matchless  maiden's  charms  to  speak. 
Her  look,  her  air,  her  shape,  her  mien. 
Were  all  we  fancy  Beauty's  Queen 
Possest,  when  she,  as  poets  sung. 
From  Ocean's  foam  to  being  sprung  ; 
Or  might  appear,  if  once  again 
For  earth  she  left  the  starry  plain. 
And  stood  to  human  sight  confest 
A  goddess  as  a  woman  drest. 
Clad  in  a  robe  of  purest  white, 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  1842. 


613 


Her  beauty  took  the  ravish'd  sight ; 
So  bright,  so  spotless,  was  the  show, 
You  might  esteem  it  woven  snow  ; 
And  yet  so  soft,  so  thin,  and  clear. 
As  is  the  summer's  noon-tide  air. 
Her  hair  was  like  fuU-ripen'd  com, 
Deck'd  with  the  dew-drops  of  the  mom. 
For  there  were  laid  among  the  curls 
Rich  strings  of  glittering  orient  pearls. 

Next  came  six  maidens  two  and  two, 
All  &ir  and  comely  to  the  Tiew  ; 
Their  bosoms  bare,  their  zones  unbound. 
Their  brows  with  myrtle  blossoms  crown*d. 
These  were  the  bridesmaids, — and,  I  ween, 
A  stranger  sight  was  never  seen 
In  these  onr  days,  or  those  of  yore, 
Come  from  a  consecrated  door. 
The  sun  shone  clear,  the  sun  shone  bright : 
In  truth  it  were  a  goodly  sight. 
But  on  this  holy  day,  to  see 
So  glad  and  gay  a  company. 
They  left  the  church,  they  left  the  road, 
They  left  wherever  men  abode, 
And  as  across  the  fields  they  went 
Uprose  afresh  their  merriment. 
They  came  beneath  a  spreading  tree, 
To  them  a  welcome  canopy  ; 
And  there  they  sung  in  jocund  strains, 
A  song;  tradition  still  retains. 
To  them  all  other  themes  above 
The  wilful  waywardness  of  love. 

Let  others,  slaves  to  custom  still, 
The  dictates  cold  she  bids  fulfil : 
We  minister  to  lordly  will 

For  aye  and  ever. 

Love  knows  no  bonds  except  his  own, 
By  this  his  birth  divine  is  shown  : 
Attempt  to  bind  him,  he  is  flown 
For  aye  and  ever. 

Life  reft  of  love  is  nothing  worth — 
A  plague,  a  pestilence,  a  dearth  ; 
But  with  him,  what  a  heav'n  is  earth 
For  aye  and  ever  ! 

Love  comes  as  comes  the  morning  bright, 
Love  goes  as  goes  the  evening  light. 
And  none  may  stop  his  purposed  flight 
For  aye  and  ever. 

Twas  thus  they  snng  beneath  the  tree, 
To  them  a  welcome  canopy  ; 
Then  on  their  way  delighted  went. 
With  jest,  and  laugh,  and  merriment. 
Not  far  they  past,  when  they  espied 
A  fiddler  by  their  pathway  side  — 
A  drunken  knave  unknown  to  few. 
That  lived  in  honest  Stanton  Drew. 
Outstretched  asleep,  he  snoring  lay  : 
What  was  to  him  the  Sabbath  day  { 
Two  things  alone  he  counted  dear, 
Namely,  his  fiddle  and  his  beer. 
But  God's  commands  are  vilified 
As  much  by  drunkenness  as  pride  ; 
As  they  shall  find,  to  their  dismay, 
Who  desecrate  the  Sabbath  day  ; 
For  high  or  low,  vice  is  the  same — 
The  only  difference  is  the  name. 

"  A  dance,  a  dance  ! "  the  bridegroom  cried— 
**  A  dance,  a  dance  1"  exclaimed  the  bride — ', 
**  A  dance,  a  dance ! "  the  maidens  all 
Did  in  one  voice  together  call. 
The  word  had  magic  in  its  sound  ; 
Uprose  the  fiddler  with  a  bound, 
Amazed,  and  yet  riglit  glad  to  see 
So  fair  and  bright  a  company. 
**  What  do  you  choose,  good  sir?"  said  he, 
**  There's  scarce  a  tunc  unkno-wp  to  mc  ; 
But  name  your  choice,  and  I  will  play, 
E'en  though  it  be  the  Sabbath  day." 


^  There  is  a  tune,*'  the  bridegroom  cried. 
Which  some  may  fear,  and  others  chide  ; 
Bnt  yet,  it  matters  nought  to  me. 
Nor  to  this  goodly  company. 
We  call  it  *  Dian's  dear  delight,' 
Since  best  it  suits  the  moony  night. 
Bnt  others,  knave,  and  thou  as  well. 
Ascribe  it  to  the  Prince  of  Hell. 
Be  this  thy  task,  and  thou  shalt  win 
Onr  gold  ;  so  instantly  begin." 

The  maidens  form'd  a  circle  wide, 
Each  with  her  basket  by  her  side. 
The  bride  and  bridegroom  hand  in  hand 
Within  that  joyons  circle  stand. 
The  bridesmaids  fkir  with  myrtles  crowned. 
Their  bosoms  bare,  their  zones  unbound, 
Stand  tiptoe,  three  on  either  side. 
Beside  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride. 
The  fiddler  touch'd  his  instrument. 
And  on  and  on  the  dancers  went. 
With  graceful  step,  and  blithesome  spring. 
They  make  the  circuit  of  the  ring. 
The  circling  maids,  too,  dance  around, 
With  joy's  own  light  fantastic  bound. 
Light  as  the  clouds  upon  the  sky. 
They  seem  to  float,  they  seem  to  fly. 

The  sun  shone  clear,  the  sun  shone  bright 
In  truth  it  were  a  goodly  sight, 
Bnt  on  this  holy  day,  to  see 
So  gay  and  glad  a  company. 

Now,  mark  the  judgment^ — mark  it  well, 
That  on  these  impious  dancers  fell ! 
No  light'ning  flash'd — no  thunders  roll'd — 
To  scare  the  weak,  or  fright  the  bold  ; 
Earth  open'd  not  her  mouth,  as  erst 
She  did  on  Korah's  tribe  accurst ; 
No  tempest  howl'd  among  the  trees  ; 
No  deadly  blast  came  on  the  breeze  ; 
No  rain-storm  dread  his  stores  unbound. 
As  when  he  Noah's  neighbours  drowned. 
The  daisy  with  unmoisten'd  eye 
Look'd  upward  smiling  to  the  skj. 
The  king-cup,  in  his  vestment  bright. 
Stood  glistening  in  the  morning  light. 
The  grass  had  on  its  Emerald  sheen — 
May's  own  dear  rich  delightful  green; 
And  all  below,  and  all  aWe, 
Look'd  only  as  Love  looks  on  love. 

Tvrice  round  the  ring  they  circling  past, 
And  now  prepare  they  for  the  last. 
**  A  merrier  note  !"  the  bridegroom  cries. 
**  A  merrier  note  I  "  the  bride  replies. 
^  A  merrier  note  I "  the  maidens  all, 
In  one  loud  voice  together  call. 
The  fiddler  bows,  his  hand  is  on  ; 
There  was  a  note,  but,  lo  !  'tis  gone  : 
The  dance  that  was  afresh  begun 
Is  over  ere  the  dance  is  done. 
The  bridegroom  as  he  clasp'd  his  bride — 
The  tiptoed  maids  on  either  side — 
The  fiddler,  as  his  bow  he  sent 
Across  the  sounding  instmment — 
The  cirling  ring  that  seem'd  to  fly 
Light  as  the  clouds  across  the  sky — 
All,  all,  no  sign,  no  warning  given. 
By  outrag'd  Earth,  or  angry  Heav'n ; 
Smote  by  stem  Vengeance,  dread  and  dire, 
Whose  motion  was  as  flashing  fire  ; 
Without  a  sigh,  without  a  groan. 
Stood  still  and  stiffen'd  into  stone. 

There  are  who  may  this  tale  esteem 
As  some  craz'd  poet's  idle  dream  ; 
A  phantasy  of  madness  bom — 
A  thing  that  Wisdom  holds  in  scorn — 
A  shadowy  scene,  a  vision  caught 
From  the  vain  realms  of  vainer  thought. 
Yet,  'tis  not  bo  :  I  only  tell 
What  once  Tradition  says  befell 
1  n  ages  past.    But  false  or  true, 
The  stones  remain  in  Stanton  Drew. 


614 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  1842. 


THE  WEE  TOTAOEB. 

[On  fleeing  a  notloe  In  a  Scotch  paper,  that  a  vemA  had  discoTered  a 
bare  floating  in  the  Firth  of  Forth,  upon  a  sheet  of  ice,  to  tba 
ocean.] 

An'  what*  are  ye  gaun,  ye  wee  voyager, 

At  e'en  whan  it  'b  eae  late  t 
An*  whar*  are  ye  gaun,  ye  wee  voyager, 

On  sic  an  eerie  gate  t 
Ye're  sailin'  awa'  in  a  canld,  canld  bark. 

An'  nae  a  frien'  beside  ye; 
Ye're  sailin'  awa'  in  a  canld,  canld  bark. 

Without  ane  helm  to  guide  ye. 
Ye  ha'e  nae  a  mast,  ye  ha'e  nae  a  sail, 

Nor  Weld  frae  win'  to  hide  ye; 
The  lift  glowrs  mirk,  an'  it  threatens  a  gale, 

Sae  ill  will  snre  betide  ye. 
The  gloamin'  is  canld,  and  the  gnriy  sea 

Is  gapen  to  owertap  ye; 
The  big  pellocks  soom,  and  the  wild  maws  wing, 

Watchin'  to  entrap  ye. 
The  snn  has  now  set  in  a  blea,  blea  cloud, 

Mirkness  is  comin'  on ; 
There  's  nae  a  stem  in  its  hie,  hie  bank. 

Nor  moon  upon  her  throne. 
The  wraith  o'  the  storm  shows  her  grim,  grim  face. 

The  petrel  skreighs  aloud; 
Sea  an'  yird  look  sick— lift  gin  it  wad  fa', 

For  Nature's  ftin'ral  shroud  ! 
Then  whar'fbre  sail  ye,  in  ye're  frail,  frail  bark. 

At  sic  unseemly  hour  ! 
Come  ye're  ways  wi'  me,  (the  Skipper  then  said,) 

Frae  gnrly  Ocean's  power. 
An'  his  coggly  punt  the  Skipper  then  launch'd 

Upon  the  roarin'  wave ; 
And  stoutly  he  plied  wi'  his  stumpy  oar. 

The  wee  voyager  to  save. 
Then,  glegly  he  reach'd  the  wee  timid  puss. 

An'  snatch'd  her  ftae  the  flood; 
An  now  the  maukin  that  ance  sail'd  the  sea 

Bins  i'  the  bonny  green  wood. 

J.  L.,  New  York. 

MADGE. 

Madge  is  like  a  stately  tower 
Made  of  alabaster; 
Ne'er  without  a  cunnin'  glower 
Can  the  priest  go  past  her. 
Madge  has  aye  a  laughin'  e'e, 
Bless  the  kmdly  rays  o't ! 
Could  a  weary  wight  like  me 
But  secure  the  gaae  o't  5 
Then  let  howling  storms  afiEHght 
Sun  and  moon  to  madness  : 
Mine's  a  day  that's  ever  bright. 
Mine's  a  night  o'  gladness. 

Then  let  scores  0'  crosses  fa', 
Gloomy  cares  a  hunder  : 
Madge's  mirth  will  gleam  through  a'. 
Like  the  nightly  thunder. 
Madge  has  aye  a  laughin'  e'e. 
Bless  the  kindly  rays  o't! 
But  a  weary  wight  like  me 
Maiuma  bide  the  gaze  o't. 


J.R. 


O  STAlfEHIVB  IS  A  BONNIE,  BONNIE  TOUN  I 

O  Stanehive*  is  a  bonnie,  bonnie  toun. 

From  its  quiet  bay  bright  peeping; 
'Twixt  the  rocks  sae  hard  and  bare. 

Like  a  little  Eden  sleeping. 
There  ainoe  lived  a  bonnie,  bonnie  lass. 

And  worthy  was  the  man  that  got  her  ; 
She  was  like  the  bonnie  toun. 

He  the  rocks  of  strong  Dunottar. 

*  AngUc6,  Stonehaven. 


She  was  mine  by  rights — a'e  night 

In  the  starry  clear  December, 
She  did  squeeze  my  hand  so  warm. 

Looked  so  kindly,  I  remember. 
But  for  want  of  needfti'  cash, 

I  was  blate  to  tell  my  story  ; 
And  so  I  lost  my  bonnie  lass. 

And  anither  cam'  afore  me. 
Truth,  she  had  a  laughing  e'e. 

And  her  mou'  was  made  for  kissing; 
Light  her  step,  and  when  she  spak' 

Ilka  word  did  seem  a  blessing. 

0  she  was  a  bonnie,  bonnie  lass. 
Worthy  was  the  man  that  got  her  ; 

Ne'er  without  a  tear  I  pass 
Sweet  Stanehive,  and  strong  Dunottar ! 

J.S.R 

THE  emigrant's  REVISIT. 

Twice  twa-and-twenty  autumn  suns 

Had  clad  the  fields  in  waving  gnan, 
When  frae  fiu*  distant  lands  I  cam' 

To  see  my  youthfb'  hame  again. 
E'en  in  that  time,  but  little  change 

The  outward  fkce  o'  Nature  wore: 
There  stood  the  trees;  uid  through  the  §^eB 

The  bum  sang  sweetly  as  before. 
But  yet  there  was  an  unco  change 

Where'er  I  look'd— whate'er  I  saw; 
In  vain  the  watery  e'e  I  strained 

To  see  my  father's  ancient  ha'. 
An  auld  aik  tree,  or  aiblins  twa. 

In  spite  0'  Time,  was  still  the  same- 
Was  a'  that  stood  to  tell  the  place 

O'  my  aince  blithe  and  happy  hame. 
The  weel-kent  road  adoun  the  park 

I  looked  for,  but  couldna'  see— - 
Where  to  the  kirk,  on  Sabbath  mom, 

I've  toddled  by  my  faither's  knee  : 
That  park,  the  scene  of  childish  glee, 

Alas  !  was  noo  nae  langer  green; 
An'  e'en  the  very  kirk  itsel' 

Was  changed  frae  what  it  ainoe  had  been. 

1  speer'd  wi'  friendly,  kind  regard. 
For  youthfri'  cronies,  ane  or  twae ; 

They  led  me  to  the  green  kirkyard. 
An'  pointed  where  their  ashes  lay. 

nk  mound  o*  yirth  they  loot  me  see. 
Some  auld  acquaintance  slumber'd  there : 

I  thocht  my  heavin'  heart  wad  burst — 
For  oh,  that  heart  was  sair — ^was  sair  I 

To  see  aince  mair  my  native  place, 

I've  sail'd  across  the  stormy  main; 
An'  oh  !  I  thocht  some  auld,  kent  &ee 

Wad  bid  me  welcome  back  again  : 
But  a'  my  early  friends  are  gane. 

An'  a'  are  strangers  grown  to  me; 
An'  I  am  left  alane,  alane, 

A  sapless,  bendin',  wither'd  tree. 


W.G. 


LILT  TO  THE  BISINO  SUN. 


O  whaur  ha'e  ye  been,  sun  !   Whaur  ha'e  yebeen! 

Last  gloamin'  ye  seem't  till  ha'e  mounted  till  bem, 
As  ye  drapt,  like  El^'ah,  upon  the  pale  meen 

The  mantie  o'  glory  unto  thee  given. 

The  young  lambs  are  bleatin',  the  wild  flowers  aregnetii* 
Thy  comin',  and  gladly  the  bum-trouts  play ; 

And  the  sky  and  the  sea  stan'  like  twins  at  thy  knee; 
Then  why  leuk  sae  dim,  and  sae  dowie,  and  wm  ! 

O  what  are  ye,  sun  t  and  what  ha'e  ye  seen. 

The  lee  lang  nicht,  in  hevin  hie  f 
And  what's  a'  adee  'mong  the  starlets  keen, 

That  licht  the  lang  lanes  o'  Eternity ! 

0  thon  art  the  first  flow'r  0'  hevin  and  time, 
Plantit  by  God  not  to  fade  nor  decay  ; 

There's  nae  cauld  nor  winter  in  thy  &ir  dime- 
Then  why  leuk  sae  dim,  and  sae  dowie,  and  wae  ? 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER^  1842. 


615 


Thou  hast  traced  wi'  a  pencil  o'  licht  and  o'  flame, 

The  glory  o'  God  on  the  far  awa  sea ; 
And  neyer  a  king  had  a  choir  to  sing 

On  his  bridal  ^ast  such  as  waiteth  thee. 

Then  come  firae  thy  eastern  ha's,  come  wi'  thy  brichtness, 
The  wares  will  hand  up  yer'  lang  train  as  ye  gae  ; 

Put  on  thy  mantle  o'  beauty  and  lichtness, 
And  leuk  nae  mair  dim.  and  dowie.  and  wae. 

S.  C.  W. 

KILMAYEONAIO. 

Lines  written  at  Dunkeld  in  September  1841,  on  returning  from  a 
Yisit  to  Blair- Athole. 

[KHmaveonaig  lUie  Qaellc  etymology  of  whidi  name  I  wHI  not  at- 
tempt to  explain)  Uet  immediately  above  tbe  Paas  of  KUUecrankle, 
and  forms  part  of  the  parish  of  Blair- Athole,  but  may  here  stand 
for  the  whole  of  the  BhUr.  Its  Episcopal  chapel,  belfry  and  an- 
cient burial-ground,  lying  around  the  building,  all  form  a  singular 
memorial  ctf  the  olden  time.] 

Dear  Eilmaveonaig,  thy  braes  are  reposing 

On  Athole's  proud  bosom,  so  sunny  and  still; 
I  grieye  that  the  winding  Strathgarry  is  closing 

Their  l^ht  from  my  vision  with  forest  and  hill. 
0*er  hill  and  o'er  forest,  by  distance  decreasing, 

Schehallion  heaves  proudly  to  view  thee  below : 
O'er  hill  and  o'er  torrent,  that  rushes  unceasing. 

Look  down  the  high  summits  of  dark  Ben-y-61oe. 
Like  giants  o'erwatohing  an  infant  in  slumber, 

The  old  mighty  mountains  stand  silent  around, 
While  songs  ftom  the  streams  flowing  by  without  num- 
ber, 

At  noontide  and  midnight  thy  lullaby  sound. 
Ye  watersof  Athole— the  Tilt  and  the  Garry— 

O  ne'er  fh>m  the  banks  that  embrace  you  depart. 
Lest  danger,  and  ruin,  and  sadness  ye  carry 

On  KikuiYeonaig,  the  place  of  my  heart ! 
Ye  winds,  that  through  glen  and  in  corrie  are  swelling, 

Blow  soft  as  ye  cross  it,  or  harmless  if  shrill. 
But  chasing  the  blight  from  the  leaf,  or  dispelling 

The  cloud  with  its  tempest,  and  mists  that  would 
chill! 
And  I,  if  misfortune  befall  not,  to  wither 

The  feelings  that  spring  as  its  beauty  I  praise. 
May  often  be  journeying  joyfully  thither. 

With  heart  that  is  flresh  as  the  green  of  its  braes  ! 

N.  C. 

THE  AULD  SCOTS  SPRINGS. 

The  auld  Scots  springs,  the  dear  Scots  springs. 

That  in  my  childhood  pleasured  me  : 

How  diff(9rent  frae  the  senseless  things 

Brought  o'er  fn  France  an'  Italy  ! 

Alas  !  our  ancient  native  tunes 

Are  known  and  relish'd  now  by  few  ; 

These  foreign  follies  rule  the  hour. 

And  still  the  cry  is — Something  new ! 

The  music  played  in  bower  and  hall, 

O'er  which  our  artists  raptured  bend. 

It  seems  but  wild  confusion  all, 

Withont  beginning — ^middle— end. 

With  graoefhl  turn,  and  melting  close, 

Onr  sweet  and  simple  native  airs. 

They  lull'd  the  infEkut  to  repose, 

And  soothed  the  man  of  silver  hairs. 

Their  memory  still  is  dear  to  me, 

Fraught  wi'  the  joys  of  **  Auld  lang  syne  ;" 

My  heart  until  the  day  I  dee 

Their  lingerin'  echoes  winna  tyne. 

William  Calder. 

GROUP  V. 
MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY. 

THE  RIVALS. 

Two  rivals — ^young  and  aged — ^met 

Within  the  fhiry  bay. 
Where  Beauty  and  her  radiant  set 

Of  smiles  and  glances  play  ; 
The  one  was  Love,  so  fond  and  fair, 
The  other,  Grold,  the  millionaire. 


"  How's  this,"  cried  Gold, 
«  That  Love's  so  bold, 
A  pirate  on  the  coast 

Where  wealthy  I 
Have  sovereignty. 
As  Beauty  's  £ftin  to  boast !" 
Love  curled  his  handsome  Up  vrith  pride^ 
Said  Croldwas  base,  and  basely  lied  ; 
To  which  quoth  Crold,  ^  She  can't  endure 
The  beggar.  Love, — ^the  boy  is  poor." 
Friends  interposed,— the  duel  stay'd, 
Wisely  advising, "  Try  the  maid  :" 
So,  bending  now  in  Beauty's  bower. 
Each  ply'd  her  heart  with  f^l  his  power. 

Love  lit  the  beacons  of  his  eyes. 

And  Beauty  blushed  with  joy  ; 
Love  uttered  burning  words  and  sighs. 

Then  Beauty  kissed  the  boy  ; 
"  Ah,  Love  I "  she  said, "  come  weal  or  woe, 
With  you  alone  through  life  I  go." 
The  graceful  youth 
Believed  it  truth 

And  came  forth  gay  and  bold: 
**  Now,  Sir,  advance," 
With  haughty  ghinoe 

He  said  to  scornful  Crold. 
Love's  yellow  rival  bent  his  knee 
To  Beauty  with  a  pedigree, 
A  casket,  carriage,  laqueys  tall, 
Soiree,  and  rout,  and  fVequent  ball ; 
"  Oho  !  dear  Gold  ! "  fklse  Beauty  cried, 
**  I'll  jilt  fond  Love  and  be  your  bride." 
Crold  tied  the  knot — Love  left  the  shore. 
Now,  Love  and  Beauty  meet  no  more.       J.  A.  0. 

STANZAS  TO  FANCY. 

Seldom  is  the  enchantment  broken 

Fancy  doth  around  her  cast. 
Not  a  joy  but  leaves  its  token 
Lovely-thrilling  to  the  last; 
Why  of  paceless  bliss  complain, 
Do^  not  memory  remain  ! 

Scarcely  deeming  why — delighted 

Thought  renews  each  vanished  scene, 
Joyance  dimmed,  expectance  blighted^ 
Live  they  yet  in  what  hath  been, 
Years  remembered,  shadows  caught. 
Rising  in  the  «  light  of  thought." 
Music  of  the  childhood  hour 

Wakes  in  many  an  after  tone- 
Hopes  and  terrors,  passion's  dower. 
Never,  never  are  they  flown. 
To  the  heart  where  once  they  rested. 
Theirs  a  charm  by  time  invested. 
Silent  paths  of  peaceful  wanderings, 
Falling  leaf  and  changefiil  billow. 
Streamlet's  musical  meanderings. 
Margin  sedge  and  silvery  wUlow, 
Varied  each  and  lovely  all. 
As  the  visions  they  recall. 
On  the  gentle  brow  or  bosom 

Is  the  token  love  hath  placed. 

Wakes  not  fiintasies  that  blossom. 

Mortal  pen  hath  never  traced. 

He  who  vTreathed  it  there  is  gone. 

Lives  his  image  still  thereon. 

Small  their  source,  let  none  despise 

Feelings  "  through  the  heart  re-sent," 
Nothing  boots  it  whence  they  rise, 
'Tis  the  passion  with  them  blent. 
Pluck  the  lily  from  its  stem. 
Gaze  not  on  the  mantled  stream. 
Slumber  ye  in  fancy's  bower, 

(Rapture's  self  is  rapture's  dream,) 
Wreathing  each  phantasmal  flower 
In  her  witching  twilight  gleam, 
Vision's  brighter  glow  would  chase. 
Forms  of  light,  and  love,  and  grace. 


616 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  1842. 


Song  and  beauty  wait  ye  there, 

In  that  twilight  uniTerse, 
Hers  the  realm  whose  spell-wove  air 
Thousand  stars  in  light  imcrease, 
Realm  where  transport  erer  glows, 
Realm  of  life  without  its  woes. 

Hers  an  atmosphere  of  passion. 

Breathed  by  passionate  souls  alone, 
Hope,  the  spirit's  sole  creation, 
Lingering  where  her  first  rays  shone, 
Joy  whose  fragrant  pinions  light 
Stir  the  gale  that  tracks  her  flight. 

WRITTEN  IN  A  GLADE  IN  EPPINO  FOBEST. 
BY  CALDBR  CAMPBELL. 

The  circumstance  doth  still  endear  the  scene  ! — 

Yet,  in  these  sunny  glades,  sweet  moods  of  mind 

'Midst  fitfU  pains  of  body  do  I  find  ; 
And  gather  from  green  branches  hopes  as  green, 
That  wither  soon  as  culled  !  This  woodland  screen 

Shuts  out  a  world's  disquiet : — I  have  heard 
The  banded  nightingales,  when  there  has  been 

The  plenteous  dew-fiill  on  the  grass,  that  stirred 
With  the  cool  breath  of  eyening : — I  have  seen 

The  forest  deer,  bounding  in  liberty, — 
And  heard  the  cuckoo's  dear,  familiar  call, 
Which  whistling  blackbirds  answered  t — More  than  all, 

The  Toice  of  Friendship  hath,  in  accents  free. 
Spoke  kindness  to  my  heart : — Should  I  not  gratefbl  be  t 

SONNET. — TO  A  POET. 

Like  to  the  music  of  a  rich-toned  flute, 

Breathed  by  the  brink  of  some  unruffled  lake, 
When  all  around  is  motionless  and  mute, 

Thy  sweet  and  plaintive  melodies  awake 
Within  the  sanctuary  of  the  heart, 
A  thrill  such  sounds  and  scenes  alone  impart. 

The  recollections  of  departed  youth, — 
The  feelings  cherished  most  in  their  decline — 
Find  echoes  true  in  every  word  of  thine ; 

And  thou  hast  painted,  in  its  native  truth. 
Nature's  external  aspect — dark  or  bright. 
In  vernal  freshness  in  autumnal  blight — 
And  viewed  alike,  with  philosophic  eye. 
The  humblest  things  on  earth — the  brightest  in  the 
sky !  Anne. 

TO  A  SWALLOW. 

BiBD  of  the  restless  wing  ! 

From  what  Winter-home  on  a  distant  strand. 
Where  cold  ne'er  chills  the  glowing  Spring, 

Com'st  thou  to'  our  fair  land  ! 
Hast  thou  cross'd  the  ocean. 

And  left  behind  that  far  off  sunlit  shore, 
Again  to  please  us  with  thy  gladsome  motion. 

Till  Summer's  reign  is  o'er ! 
Didst  thou,  when  far  away. 

Thy  little  clay-built  nest  still  keep  in  sight ; 
Didst  thou  sometimes  pine  far  our  Summer's  day. 

And  its  calm  tranquil  night  ? 
And  did  my  own  sweet  home. 

When  far  away,  in  thy  memory  dwell, 
Didst  thou,  though  forced  by  Winter's  power  to  roam. 

Still  fondly  love  it  well  1 
Thrice  welcome  art  thou  then. 

Beneath  my  straw-thatch'd  roof  to  build  thy  nest ; 
Till  with  the  rose  thou  pass  away  again. 

There  undisturbed  to  rest. 
Tell  me,  who  hath  taught  thee. 

Through  the  mid  air  to  take  thy  wand'ring  way  ! 
What  kind  power  hath  hither  brought  thee. 

At  the  appointed  day ! 
Hast  thou  held  on  thy  way, 

The  earth  unseen,  amid  the  gloom  of  night  ? 
Hath  the  mystic  star,  with  its  glimm'ring  ray. 

Guided  thy  course  aright  ? 
How  knew'st  thou  that  the  flowers 

Were  springing  again  from  the  spell-free'd  earth. 
And  thine  old  friends  in  tlieir  verdaut  bowers 

Were  welcoming  their  birth  I 


Though  Reason  be  not  thine. 

Nor  knowledge  gained  in  long  and  painful  hours. 
Yet  our  great  Father-God,  thy  friend  and  mine. 

Doth  give  thee  wondrous  powers. 
He  teacheth  thee  to  tell 

The  time  when  thou  shouldst  quit  our  island  shoR ; 
He  guides  thee  safely  o'er  the  ocean's  swell. 

Above  the  wild  waves  roar. 
The  same  all-seeing  eye. 

Whose  sleepless  glance  is  ever  bent  on  thee — 
The  same  all-poweifhl  hand  is  ever  nigh. 

Watching  and  guiding  me. 
When  Life's  sun  leaves  the  land 

O'er  Death's  dark  waves,  amid  the  gloom  of  niglii, 
He  too  will  lead  me  with  a  gentle  hand 

Into  the  realms  of  light 


Is  not  this  world  a  world  all  bright 

To  souls  whose  love  and  life  are  one  ! 
Twin  sparkles  of  coeval  light. 

Twin  chords  in  mystic  unison; 

One  rude  touch  mars  of  each  the  tone. 
Of  each  one  cloud  obscures  the  sheen; 

Love  vanished,  life  but  lingers  on. 
Drear  shade  of  all  its  past  hath  been. 

Perchance  to-morrow  steals  the  rose 

Of  mortal  loveliness  away; 
Yet  why  should  he  repine  who  knows 

It  brightly  blooms  for  him  to-day  1 

'Twere  vain  to  anticipate  decay 
The  true,  fond  heart  would  break  to  see; 

Quenched  in  one  shadow,  eye  and  ray 
Can  each  for  other  mourner  be ! 

To  blend  with  each  one  other  heart, 

Blend  them  inextricably  one ; 
Lest  to  the  joy  of  life  to  impart. 

And  soothe  the  pang  it  may  not  shun; 

To  win,  and  wear  the  wreath  when  won, 
Accorded  at  thy  sacred  shrine : 

These — these  thy  boon;  beneath  the  sun 
What  palm— what  prize — 0  love  ! — like  thme ! 
How  oft  hath  given  the  midnight  deep. 

To  my  voluptuous,  vain  caress. 
One  phantom  form  of  joy,  the  lip. 

The  bosom's  thrill  and  tenderness; 

Still — still  through  waking  hours  no  less. 
For  sleep  doth  learn  of  these  its  theme; 

Sweet  spirit  of  love  and  loveliness. 
Be  thou  the  heart's  delicious  dream ! 

A  serenade. 

The  lonely  heart  divided  far 
From  all  it  lived  but  to  adore, 
Is  dark  as  night,  whose  brightest  star 
Is  seen  no  more  ! 

Alas  !  that  hopes  should  only  spring 
Within  my  soul  to  be  o'erthrown. 
Like  budding  flowers,  ere  blossoming 
All  withered  strewn. 

Tliy  perfect  form  within  my  breast 
Have  I  long  hoarded  up  in  vain  ! 
And  never  can  my  heart  be  blest 
By  thee  again ! 

Not  so— not  so — the  hour  of  need 
Thy  noble  heart  will  not  forsake. 
Thy  own  sweet  breast  the  bruised  reed 
Will  never  break ! 

Then  come  ;— -but  yet  I  fear  to  see 
My  fancied  joys  all  melt  away. 
And  faded,  as  I  gaze  on  thee, 

Hope's  dying  ray. 
To  gather  from  thy  glance  the  woe 
I  should  expect — but  yet  will  not ; 
To  see  thy  smile  of  scorn,  and  know 

I  am  forgot. 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  POETS  FOR  SEPTEMBER,  1042. 


61  r 


And  wnt  thou  dash  thfe  hopes  away 
That  to  thy  lore  Btfll  eager  cliiig, 
As  birds  that  watch  the  earliest  ray 

Of  sonny  spring  t 
And  will  thy  heart,  so  truly  loved. 
The  dearest  prayers  of  mine  repel  t 
To  gentle  pity  steeled— unmoyed— 

Loye*s  yearnings  quell  I 
When  all  around  with  gladness  own 
The  rapture  of  thy  loyeliness, 
My  heart  will  still—its  hopes  o'erthrown, 

Thy  form  caress. 
Were  endless  night  my  fhture  lot. 
Should  mom  but  wake  to  misery, 
Till  mind  was  gone— or  life  was  not, 

I'd  think  on  tliee  ! 
Again  then  let  me  see  thy  fiice, 
Thy  lip  where  smiles  should  eyer  play ; 
If  there  no  thought  of  me  I  trace, 

111  turn  away. 
The  brightest  dream  that  cheered  my  rest, 
The  sweetest  yoice  that  whispered  peace, 
llie  loveliest  form  that  iUed  my  breast, 

Will  ever  cease. 


H.  C. 


TO  kJi  ACTRBSS. 

Not  for  thy  beauty,  though  thy  fkce 

Is  very  beautiful  to  see; 
Nor  for  the  elegance  and  grace 

That  mark  thy  perfect  symmetry  :— 
I  loved  thee  when  I  saw  thee  first. 
Flower-like,  upon  my  presence  burst ! 
Not  for  the  flowers,  that  fill'd  thy  voice 

With  music — perfume's  very  sound  ;— 


Tones,  or  to  bid  green  Earth  rejoice, 

Or  formed  to  wail  deep  sorrow's  wound; 

Accenta,  that  thrilled  through  all  my  veins. 
Like  memories  of  youth-haanting  strains. 
Nor  for  the  intellect  that  turned 

All  common  things  to  things  uncommon; 
Showing  thee  all  for  which  I  yeam'd— 

Woman,  without  the  faults  of  Woman  :— 
Less  warm  than  pure,  yet  warm  and  fond; 
For  earth  less  fit  than  realms  beyond. 
Yet  not  unfit  for  earth,  and  all 

Its  duties  high,  aifoctions  chaste; 
Nor  hoarding  'gainst  its  foults  the  gall 
Which  meaner  spirits  love  to  waste; 
Nor,  in  thy  sympathy  for  Man, 
Forgetting  Him  who  life  began  ! 
For  none  of  all  thy  gracefol  ways 

I  loved  tliee;  for  I  loved  thee  ere 
Their  merits  met  perception's  gaze; 

And,  therefore,  sweet  one,  it  is  clear 
That  love  with  me  has  been  most  wise. 
In  choosing  more  by  mind  than  eyet ! 
But  if  I  taught  thee  too  to  love, 

I  taught  thee  too  to  doubt  and  dread; 
And  now  too  late  I  try  to  prove 

How  false  the  idle  words  I  said  :— 
Where  pride  is  stronger  love  is  weak. 
Yet  Love  the  strongest  pride  thovld  break ! 
And  thou  shalt  never  meet  again 

With  love  than  mine  more  pure,  more  true; 
Amidst  lifo*8  many  days  of  rain. 

Like  sunshine  shall  its  light  pursue 
Thy  memory;  whilst,  in  after  years, 
Thou'lt  bathe  its  grave  with  gentle  tears  ! 

Ma4ob  Calder  Campbell. 


LITERARY   REGISTER. 


Forctt  Lifi.  By  the  author  of  **  A  New  Home : 
who  will  follow  r  Two  volumes,  post  octavo, 
cloth.    Longman  &  Co. 

The  faur  and  Kvely  author  of  these  pleasing  volumes, 
J*nng  giyen  the  worid  nearly  all  the  cream  of  her  know- 
l«i«e  of  emigrant  Hfe  in  the  Far  West  in  her  former 
wks,  has  here  very  cleveriy  whipped  up  what  remained, 
md  made,  with  the  help  of  sundry  Uterary  gamisWngs, 
\  ""V  P»^*^We  and  dahity  dish  of  it.  She  herself 
Jleads  to  having  become  so  Westernized,  as  no  longer  to 
>B  a  competent  painter  of  Western  peculiarities.  She 
ifterefore  turns  the  forests  and  prairies  of  Michigan  into 
^  sort  of  « Our  Village,''  and  Mitfordiies  them.  She 
JKewise  labours  under  the  disqualification  of  having  be- 
'Om  too  good-natured.  There  are,  in  Michigan,  few 
^kable  changes  to  note ;  and  good-humoured  re- 
?wtches  on  slovenUness  and  want  of  taste,  and  modest 
"i«;c8tions  for  improvement,  have  an  American  and  not 
Ld'!!!^u^v*''***"  •"^^  applicability.  The  farm-house 
^  esUbUshment  of  Mr.  Hay,a  substantial  settler,  who 
r^  ««  ^^^  8*me  clearing  for  the  very  long  term  of 
^wteen  or  fifteen  years,  is  as  Far  Westish  as  anything 
r«„!!?,  *"  *^  volumes,  and  therefore  affords  a  fa- 
^»«»»ble  specimen  of"  Forest  Life." 

lis  "rt^^r"^'^?  ^®  ^""*«^  ^y  hundreds,  and 
^  ^  .  ""/  *"  ^^^«  ^"  ^•^  outnumber  them.    A 

norTi^A^  T*^'- .  J?*  "  "^^^  *^  ^«*  ^h*t  ^«  has 
NO  ^   «nc'0'»e<l  within  a  riiig-foucc  tluin  anv  man  in 

•  "•  Ct.—voL.  IX. 


the  county ;  and  he  boasts  still  louder  that  it  is  all  the 
fhiit  of  his  own  industry ;  and,  loudest  of  all,  that  it  has 
never  made  him  proud.  He  maintains,  and  insists  upon 
his  family's  maintaining,  the  simplicity  of  habits  and 
manners  that  is  usual  in  the  neighbourhood;  and  watches 
with  jealous  eye  every  tendency  towards  an  imitation  of 
those  who  attempt  foshion  and  style  among  us.  He 
goes  daily  into  the  field  with  his  men,  and  his  wife  and 
daughters  spin  and  wear  wool  and  fiax  of  home  produc- 
tion. No  imported  luxury  graces  their  daily  table.  Mrs. 
Hay,  to  be  sure,  has  her  tea,  but  she  has  it  in  the  after- 
noon, before  the  family  supper ;  and  the  sugar  (for  the 
few  who  like  "  sweet'uin* "  in  their  tea)  comes  from  no 
fhrther  off  than  the  Ikrm  ^sugar-bush."  Notwithstanding 
these  strict  sumptuary  laws,  however,  no  famUy  lives  in 
greater  comfort  and  abundance. 

Mr.  Hay's  house  is  large  enough  to  make  a  respect- 
able figure  any  where,  though  it  lacks  as  yet  the  beauti- 
fying aid  of  the  paint-brush.  His  bam  would  make  a 
hotel  of  tolerable  dimensions,  and  the  various  outhouses 
and  sheds,  and  coops  and  pens,  that  cluster  round  it, 
make  passing  travellers  fancy  they  are  coming  upon  a 
rising  village  in  the  deep  woods.  A  fine  younc  orchud 
adorns  the  sloping  bank  behind  the  house ;  whole  rows 
of  peach  and  cherry  trees  border  the  ample  door-yard ; 
hedges  of  currant  and  gooseberry  bushes  intersect  the 
garden;  thick  screens  of  wild  grape  and  honeysuckle 
overshadow  the  porch  and  drapery  the  •*  square-room  " 
windo%%"8. 

Wlien  you  enter,  you  find  bare  but  well-scrubbed 
fioors ;  the  only  exception  being  found  in  the  aforesaid 
"  square-room,"  which  is  decorated  with  a  home-mado 
carpet  of  resplendeat  colours,  large  enough  to  reach 
(almost)  the  border  of  chairs,  andl^k^n  every  morning 
on  the  grass  to  avoid  the  ratKge:>' of  the  wasteful  brooiiL 
.V  great  eight-day  clock,  witit  a  mwu  on  its  foce,  is  the 

»  3D 


ei8 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


most  eonspienoni  oniftmeiti  of  the  eommon  or  **  keepin'- 
room ;"  but  there  i»,  besides  this,  io  »  fsveared  comer 
near  the  window,  a  small  mirror,  round  which  hang 
black  profiles  of  all  the  family,  including  aunts  and 
uncles ;  pincushions  of  every  size  and  hue ;  strings  of 
little  birds*  eggs;  vials  of  camphor,  peppermint,  and 
essence  of  lemon ;  and  perhaps  a  doEen  other  small 
articles  much  prised  by  different  members  of  the  ftimily ; 
while  over  the  glass  wave  a  f^w  peacock's  (Others,  and 
a  whole  plume  of  asparagus. 

Pass  iuto  the  kitchen,  and  you  will  find  Mrs.  Hay 
kneading  bread  or  rolling  pie-erust,  to  give  her  hand- 
maid time  for  some  less  delioAte  service  ;  her  daughter 
Marthy-Ann  preparing  dinner;  her  daughter  Sophia- 
Jane  shelling  peas  ;  her  daughter  Uarrtet-'Li2y  rocking 
the  cradle,  in  which  lies  yet  another  daughter,  whose 
name  is  Appollonia, — not  quite  ApoUyon,  but  so  like  it 
that  I  almost  wonder  that  people  who  read  John  Banyan 
should  be  fond  of  tlie  appellation.  The  truth  is,  we  do 
love  high-sounding  names,  and  the  more  syllables  or 
adjuncts  the  better. 

The  kitchen  has  a  great  fire-place,  with  a  crane  stout 
enough  to  swing  a  five-pail  kettle  of  soup,  and  a  great 
oven  too,  that  will  hold  at  least  a  dozen  country  loaves. 
About  the  walls  are  disposed  all  the  conveniences  ne- 
cessary for  the  full  use  of  fire-place  and  oven,  on  the 
same  plenteous  scale.  A  rifie  and  a  shot-gun  hang  on 
wooden  hooks  driven  into  the  rafters  over-head  ;  two  or 
three  gleaming  butcher-knives  omameflt  a  leather  strap 
fixed  against  the  chimney.  A  meal-room  near  at  hand 
contains  several  varieties  of  flour;  and  a  buttery  and 
milk-bouie  supply  other  mstio  dainties  in  profusion.  Is 
it  not  to  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Hay  and  Mrs.  Hay,  and 
their  five  daughters,  and  their  **  help,"  and  Uieir  three 
hired  men,  live  well ! 

One  dinghter  we  have  not  introduced  into  the  kitchen 
because  she  was  seldom  found  there.  Caroline  Hay  was 
delicate  from  her  infancy,  so  much  so  that  even  her 
father  was  willing  to  see  her  excused  from  the  more 
arduous  part  of  domestic  duty,  and  sent  to  school  more 
constantly  than  were  her  sisters.  But  it  was  not  with- 
out many  misgivings  that  Mr.  Hay  observed  the  dis- 
tinction which  this  circumstance  made  between  his 
daughters. 

Miss  Caroline  ia  the  heroine  of  a  future  Crabbe-like 
atory,  which  ends  happily.  The  over-refined  young 
lady  comes  to  her  senses,  and  marries  the  bashful  and 
clownish  youth,  whose  exterior  was  his  Only  blemish  ; 
and  even  that  uncouth  exterior  acquires  polish.  Man- 
ners aro  supervened  on  mind  and  moral  worth.  Pass 
we  seme  years,  and  accompany  Caroline  home  from  a 
long  visit  made  to  a  wealthy  aad  luxurious,  though 
Quaker  relative  in  New  York  : 

Before  Caroline  Hav  had  been  three  days  at  home, 
she  had  become  painfully  sensible  that  her  father's  fore- 
bodings as  to  the  effect  of  a  city  residence  had  not  been 
groundless.  All  was  changed  to  her  eye,  if  not  to  her 
heart.  Much  as  she  loved  the  dear  inmates  of  the 
plentiful  farm-house, — and  she  loved  them  as  dearly  as 
ever,-^an  air  of  coarseness,  which  she  had  never  before 
observed,  met  her  at  every  turn.  Her  mother's  dress 
and  occupations,  the  liomely  phraseology  of  her  sisters, 
the  furniture,  the  style  of  living,  though  certainly  un- 
changed, or  at  least  net  changed  for  the  worse,  struck 
her  unpleasantly  and  chilled  her  feelings,  even  against 
the  pleadings  of  her  heart  and  of  her  better  judgment. 
She  saw  and  acknowledged  that  all  was  good  and  true, 
generous,  and  contented,  and  happy ;  that  her  father's 
house  was  a  well-spring  of  bounty  to  all  who  were  in 
need,  and  that  to  him  and  to  his  excellent  partner  and 
help  in  all  good  things  the  whole  neighbourhood  looked 
with  uudonbting  trust  for  sympathy  and  kindness.  She 
compared  the  simplicity  and  ease  of  her  rustic  home 
with  the  feverish  excitement  of  the  scene  she  had  left ; 
and  though  her  reason  and  her  good  sense  told  her 
whioh  to  approve,  she  found  that  habit  had  become  ty- 
riunioal,  and  likely  to  maintain  a  struggle  in  her  mind 
which  wooM  eoft  hu  bMaj  better  tean. 


The  aoquaintaaee  whidi  ehe  had  acddrataDyibiBid 
in  the  city  beyond  her  aunt's  sober  circle  bad  beet 
rather  showy  than  solid  people,  who  were,  howevo, 
possessed  of  sufficient  refinement  to  add  a  degree  of 
fascination  to  their  gay  tastes  and  habits ;  ao  that  ik 
eyes  and  ears  of  the  Inexperienced  country  girl  werett 
once  dazzled  and  delighted,  and  she  learned  to  look 
upon  elegance  as  almost  synonymous  with  (fa-tAts^,  ud 
to  find  everything  insipid  and  vulgar  which  was  chara^ 
terised  by  plainness  or  sobriety.  No  wonder  she  cos- 
templated  with  mortified  pride  the  unadorned  aspect  «f 

things  at  home  ! Unpleasant  feeliofi 

were  not  wanting  on  the  other  side.  So  prone  is  jostb 
to  extremes,  that  it  is  not  surprising  that  Caroline  shoold 
have  used  her  liberty  and  her  father's  liberal  allewute 
in  providing  herself  with  dress  which  was  rather  gudy 
than  elegant.  Her  aunt  had  felt  her  inability  to  be  i 
counsellor  on  a  subject  where  her  own  views  made  ber 
averse  to  even  the  smallest  indulgence  of  taste  or  fuej, 
and  the  dressmaker  had  been  but  too  happy  to  displiy 
all  her  art  on  so  elegant  a  form — those  artists  genenUj 
considering  their  employers  rather  in  the  light  of  eip- 
posts  than  of  rational  beings.  So  our  poor  Garolhie  vis 
very  flue.  There  were  such  loads  of  eurla  that  the  fiir 
head  reminded  one  of  a  flourishing  bed  of  Scotdi  kaO, 
or  of  the  decorations  of  some  lucky  child,  who,  haviig 
the  p€tite$  entrUt  of  a  carpenter's  shop,  makes  ns  c( 
the  opportunity  to  cover  her  eyes  and  ears  with  elegtst 
pine  shavings.  Her  fingers  were  heaped  with  iBOongn* 
ous  rings ;  and  worse  than  all  were  the  long  ei^pe- 
dants,  which  vibrated  with  every  word,  and  seemed  d^ 
termined  to  repose  their  weary  length  en  the  faiov* 
white  shoulders  below. 

But  this  is  not  ezolusitely  Amerieaa.  PataUdsti 
Caroline  Hay  might  be  fbond  in  any  eottnty  of  Englifii 
The  Sibthorpes,  a  genteel  and  estimable  email  fomilj  of 
enthusiastic  English  emigrants,  are  more  at  home  in  tk 
book,  and  quite  out  of  their  element  in  ike  ForetU  Heit 
they  are : 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sibthorpe  returned  our  viat, 
they  had  experienced  some  difficulties,  in  oonseqaenoe 
of  the  marriage  of  one  of  the  maids  with  an  exoellefil 
man-servant,  who  had  been  Mr.  Sibthorpe's  fac-toUm, 
and  who  now  bought  land  with  his  wages,  and  msnmti 
the  positiou  of  country  neighbour,  instead  of  that  cf 
faithful  domestic.  However,  as  the  ne^ly-married  coopk 
were  living  quite  near  them,  they  still  had  the  benefit  of 
their  occasional  services,  and  were,  in  the  meantise, 
making  diligent  inquiry  after  others,  who  might,  at  least, 
be  trained  to  fill  their  places.  Mrs.  Sibthorfle  was  ia 
fine  spirits,  boasting  that  she  had  learned  to  make  bnid, 
and  was  even  taking  lessons  in  making  butter ;  and  de- 
claring that  she  really  believed  the  best  thing  that 
could  happen  to  her  would  be  the  desertion  of  all  ber 
servants  in  time,  in  order  that  the  domestic  eslplo;- 
ments,  which  she  felt  to  be  so  rational  and  so  heafthf^ 
might  become  compulsory ;  at  least,  long  enoogh  to 
oblige  her  to  obtain  an  insight  into  their  mysteries.  .  • 

The  next  time  we  visited  Newton  Grange  we  foaa^ 
its  bright-eyed  mistress,  with  her  sleeves  turned  a^ 
making  an  attempt  at  a  pie.  The  only  maid  triio  sdO 
remained  with  her  was  prostrate  with  sgna  ;  aad  Mr. 
Sibthorpe  himself  had  experienced  a  shake  or  two,  sad 
sat  in  the  comer  of  the  great  kitchen  fire-place,  iookiil 
doleful  to  be  sure.  The  account  of  things  was  ww 
somewhat  shaded  :  the  bright  tints  which  had  been  eait 
upon  the  manufacture  of  bread  and  butter  were  doniseJ 
a  little ;  Mrs  Sibthorpe  had  laid  aside  ber  rings,  a^ 
left  the  papillotes  in  her  ringlets ;  a  dress  scarcely  ant- 
ed to  woodland  kitchening,  was  defended  by  an  ayna 
borrowed  fVom  the  maid.  This  said  maid,  a  devftoj 
and  excellent  creature,  had  her  little  bed  in  a  oonwr  « 
the  kitchen,  with  the  double  view  of  making  tiie  «•« 
her  chill  days  less  laborious,  and  of  aiding  her  t^^^ 
in  the  household  duties,  by  suggestions,  aad  hiaii^0> 
cautions,  which  were  delivered  with  most  am«aia|[ 
loffies ;  and  ceaseless  regrets  that  such  busiiiaBi 
fall  into  such  hands.  **  Oh,  ma'am,— if  yea  '  ' 
kettle  ia  boiling  over  I'-'dAarBe  I  tfleoold 


LITERARY  REGISTER, 


C!9 


BjMlf  f  This  hager  is  the  hoddert  thing  !  Yesterday  I 
was  quite  stoat.  Oh,  please  ma*am,— don*t  scald  your- 
self !  Oh,  ma*am  1  I  beg  your  pardon — bnt  the  nasty 
pig  has  come  in  at  the  door,  and  has  got  at  master's 
gruel  r 

Mrs.  Sibthorpe*8  spirits  were  almost  as  good  as  ever, 
and  she  found  amusement  in  all  the  vexatious  crosses  of 
her  present  lot.  Her  husband  was  far  more  disturbed  : 
be  could  not  bear  to  see  the  exertions  and  sacrifices 
made  by  bis  wife,  while  he,  only  half-sick,  but  quito  use- 
less, sat  looking  on,  **  a  sad  and  silent  cypher.** 

And,  all  this  time,  no  assistance  to  be  procured  in 
iDy  department.  Ague  is  very  impartial  in  its  visits, 
ind  often  puts  an  entire  neighbourhood  down  at  once, 
K)  that  it  not  unf^equently  occurs  that  there  are  not  able 
!>ersons  enough  in  a  whole  district  to  attend  properly  to 
the  sick. 

After  this  seasoning  was  at  an  end,  and  agae  seemed 
io  hi^ve  worn  off,  or  nearly  so,  our  English  IViends  began 
igain  to  eigoy  the  real  pleasures  of  a  country  life,  and 
a  gather  round  them  such  additional  means  of  comfort 
Ukd  convenience  as  had  been  at  first  unprovided.  The 
lew  part  of  the  dwelling  was  finished,  and  a  sweet  low- 
>rowed  many-sided  cottage  it  was.  Furniture  came, 
uid  was  placed  in  its  appropriate  positions,— that  is, 
4>propriate  according  to  Mrs.  Sibthorpe's  views,  though 
ladly  out  of  order  in  the  estimation  of  her  neighbours. 
V  fine  piano-fbrte  was  drawn  from  its  hiding-place,  in  a 
teighbonring  bam;  books,  in  copious  measure,  filled 
ivery  comer  of  the  little  nook  called  a  library.  A  rustic 
irbonr  was  constructed  hi  the  garden  for  Charlotte's 
npecial  use ;  and  here  her  school-books  and  her  '*  baby- 
hings**  were  bestowed,— the  arbour  having  been  care- 
ally  thatched  to  protect  the  treasures  fVom  the  weather. 
I  light  open  carriage,  and  a  pair  of  ponies,  were  aded  to 
he  establishment;  and  one  would  have  thought  there 
ras  little  left  for  plain  people  to  wish  fbr. 

Bat,  alaok  for  short-sighted  humanity  I  Parloars  and 
Ibraries,  and  halls  and  verandas,  require  to  be  swept 
iBd  dusted.  An  air  of  slovenliness  soon  spreads  itself 
*ver  nrdens  and  shrabberies  that  are  not  duly  cared 
^.  Horses  exact  the  most  odious  regularity  in  feeding 
nd  carrying ;  and  carriages  give  very  little  comfort  if 
re  must  use  them  muddy,  or  wash  the  mud  off  with  our 

^  hands. Certain  it  is,  that  the 

rant  of  good  domestics  is  a  sad  drawback  on  the  com- 
>rts  of  Uieir  pleasant  house  and  its  accompaniments. 
Ike  one  faithful  damsel  still  kept  her  place,  and  divided 
erself  into  as  many  parts  as  she  could,  but  she  had  had 
pe  enough  to  lessen  her  efiBoiency  not  a  little ;  and 
esides,  the  more  we  enlarge  our  bounds  and  increase 
ir  conveniences,  the  more  care  and  labour  do  we  ren- 
nr  necessary.  Many  and  desperate  efforts  did  Bir. 
ibthorpe  make  to  supply  the  deficiency.  Women  were 
•und  who  would  undertake  the  business  for  good  wages. 
It  they  were  ignorant,  and  must  be  taught— proud,  and 
nst  be  conciliated.  Some  would  flounce  out  of  doore» 
kd  insist  on  their  being  carried  back  to  their  homes,  on 
«  disooveij  that  they  were  to  liave  a  table  separate 
OB  that  of  their  employers.  Others  would  swallow 
is  mortification  for  a  while^  nntil  their  own  purpose 
as  answered — thef  price  of  a  new  dress,  or  a  smart 
»nnet  pcrhi^ps— and  then  call  up  the  latent  dignity, 
id  declare  they  «  couldn't  stan*  it  no  longer  T* 
These  vsoally  took  a  good  deal  of  pains  to  make 
town  far  and  wide  the  ground  of  their  dissatisfkction ; 
d  it  became,  after  a  while,  almost  equivalent  to  a  loss 
caste  to  endure  indignities  which  so  many  had  spnraed. 
Then  domestics  were  brought  Arom  the  city,  at  enor- 
Misly-dispTeportioned  expense,  and  these  invariably 
eame  dinalisied— some  because  they  were  taoght  by 
•y  eeighboan  te  feel  themsalTee  in  a  degraded  poti- 
to,  and  others  for  want  of  company  and  amusement, 
tor  Mr.  Sibthorpe  was  almost  in  despair,  but  his  wife 
>k  all  cheerily,  and  learned  to  be  so  good  a  manager 
It  the  dieeomfbrts  of  imperfect  arrangements  were 
iost  feigottea,  and  Mr.  Sibthorpe  acknowledeed  that 
greater  •mom^t  of  absolute  Ubomr  thaa  he  had  sup- 
ie4  himself  capable  o(  had  really  benefited  his  health 
t  spirits.    To  till  the  soil  is  tiresome  enough,  bnt  it 


was  only  pleasure  to  dig  in  the  garden  at  his  wife's  sc- 
licitatiou.  The  care  of  horses  has  its  disagreeables ; 
but  he  could  generally  hire  some  kind  of  a  biped  who 
would  attend  to  the  ponies  after  hb  own  fashion  ;  and 
fer  the  rest — did  not  the  daily  drive  with  FlorcUa  and 
Charlotte  through  the  openings  more  than  compensate 
for  all  the  personal  supervision  which  he  himself  be- 
stowed on  them  !  And  so  the  time  wore  on,  and,  for 
people  out  of  their  element,  the  Sibthorpcs  were  the 
happiest  family  I  ever  saw. 

But  difficulties  multiplied,  and  novelty  lost  its  charms; 
and  when  matters  were  eome  to  extremity  with  the 
^  genteel  **  and  refined  settlers  without  A^/pt,  some  rich 
relations  in  England  popped  off,  and  they  were  under 
the  happy  necessity  to  return  home. 

The  description  of  a  ^iUing  which  Mrs  Sibthorpe 
gives  te  her  oorrespondent  in  Bogland  is  pleasing  and 
genuine  American  ! 

It  was  held  at  the  house  of  a  very  tidy  neighbour,  a 
Mrs.  Boardman,  the  neatness  of  whose  dwelling  and  its 
outworks  I  have  often  admired  in  passing.  She  invited 
all  the  neighbours,  and  of  course  included  my  unworthy 
self,  althoueh  I  had  never  had  any  other  acquaintance 
than  that  which  may  be  supposed  to  result  from  John  and 
Sophy's  having  boarded  with  her  for  some  time.  The 
walking  being  damp,  an  ox-cart  was  sent  round  for 
such  of  the  guests  as  had  no  ^  teams  "  of  their  own,  which 
is  our  case  as  yet.  This  equipage  was  packed  with  hay, 
over  which  a  blue-and-white  coverlet  was  disposed  by 
way  of  niu$nud ;  and  by  this  arrangement  half  a  dozen 
goodly  dames,  including  myself,  found  reclining  room, 
and  were  carried  at  a  stately  pace  to  Mrs.  Boardman's. 
Here  we  feund  a  collection  of  women  busily  occupied  in 
preparing  the  quilt,  which,  you  may  be  sure,  was  a  ca- 
riosity to  me.  Thej  had  stretched  the  lining  on  a  AramSi 
and  were  now  laying  fleecy  cotton  on  it  with  much  care; 
and  I  understood,  ft^m  several  aside  remarks  which  were 
not  intended  for  the  ears  of  our  hostess,  that  a  due  re- 
gard for  etiquette  required  that  this  laying  of  the  cotton 
should  have  been  performed  before  the  arrival  of  the 
company,  in  order  to  give  them  a  better  chance  for  fin- 
ishing the  quilt  before  tea,  which  is  considered  a  point  of 
honour. 

However,  with  so  many  able  hands  at  work,  the  pre- 
parations were  soon  accomplished.  The  '^batts"  were 
smoothly  disposed,  and  now  consenting  hands  en  either 
side 

**  Induced  a  splendid  cover,  green  and  blue, 
Yellow  and  red,** 
wherein  stars  and  garters,  squares  and  triangles,  fignxid 
in  every  possible  relation  to  each  other^  and  produeed* 
on  the  whole,  a  very  pretty  mathematicaJ  piece  of  work, 
on  which  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Boardman  rested  with  no  small 
amount  of  womanly  pride. 

Now  needles  were  in  requisition,  and  every  available 
space  round  the  fhune  was  filled  by  a  busy  dame.  Seve- 
ral of  the  company  being  left-handedyor  rather  ambidex- 
ter, (no  nncommon  circumstance  here,)  this  peculiarity 
was  made  serviceable  at  the  comers,  where  common 
sempstresses  could  only  sew  in  one  direction,  while  these 
favoured  individuals  conld  turn  their  double  power  to 
double  account. 

This  beginning  of  the  solid  labour  was  a  serious  time. 
Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken,  beyond  an  occasional  re- 
quest for  the  thread,  or  an  exckunation  at  the  snapping 
of  a  needle.  This  last  seemed  of  no  infrequent  occur- 
rence, as  you  may  well  suppose  when  you  think  of  the 
thickness  of  the  materials,  and  the  necessity  for  making 
at  least  tolerable  short  stitches.  I  must  own,  that  tho 
most  I  could  accomplish  fbr  the  first  hour  was  the  break- 
ing of  needles  and  the  pricking  of  my  fingers,  in  tho  vain 
attempt  to  do  as  I  was  bid,  and  take  my  stitches  "  clean 
through." 

By  and  by  it  wras  announced  that  it  was  time  te  roll 
—and  aU  was  bustle  and  anxiety.  The  frame  had  to  be 
taken  apart  at  the  oomers^  and  two  of  the  sides  rolled 
several  times  with  much  care;  and  at  this  diminished  sur- 
face we  began  again  with  renewed  spirit.     Now  aU 


020 


PTERARY  REGISTER. 


tongiies  seeoMd  loosened.  The  evidence  of  progress  had 
raised  ererybody's  spirits,  and  the  strife  seemed  to  be 
who  ehoold  talk  fastest  without  slackening  the  indnstry 
of  her  fingers.  Some  held  tHe-i^iU  eommonication 
with  a  crony  in  an  nnder-tone;  others  discussed  matters 
of  general  interest  more  openly  ;  and  some  made  obeer- 
rations  at  nobody  in  particular,  but  with  a  yiew  to  the 
amusement  of  alL  Mrs.  Vining  told  the  symptoms  of 
each  of  her  Ato  children  tl^ugh  an  attack  of  the 
measles;  Mrs.  Ketaltas  gare  her  opinion  as  to  the  party 
most  worthy  of  blame  in  a  late  separation  in  the  Tillage: 
and  Miss  Polly  Mittles  said  she  hoped  the  quilt  would 
not  be  **  scant  of  stitches,  like  a  bachelor's  shirt.'' 

Tea-time  came  before  the  work  was  completed,  and 
some  of  the  more  generous  declared  they  would  rather 
finish  it  before  tea.  These  offers  fell  rather  coldly,  how- 
erer,  for  a  real  tea-drinker  does  not  feel  rery  good-hu- 
moured just  before  tea.  So  Mr.  Boardmaa  droTe  four 
stout  nails  in  the  rafters  orer-head,  corresponding  in  dis- 
tance to  the  comers  of  the  quilt,  and  the  frame  was 
r^sed  and  fiutened  to  these  so  as  to  be  undisturbed,  and 
yet  out  of  the  way  during  the  important  ceremony  that 
was  to  succeed.  Is  it  not  well  asid,  that  **  necessity  is 
the  mother  of  iuTention  t" 

A  long  table  was  now  q>read,  eked  out  bj  boards  laid 
upon  carpenters'  *^  hor8es,''--and  this  was  eoTcred  with 
a  Tariety  of  table-cloths,  all  shining  clean,  howoTer,  and 
carefhlly  disposed.  The  whole  table  array  was  equally 
▼arions,  the  contributions,  I  presume,  of  soTeral  neigh- 
bouring log-houses.  The  feast  spread  upon  it  included 
erery  Tariety  that  ever  was  put  upon  a  tea-table,  horn 
cake  and  preserres  to  pickles  and  raw  cabbage  cut  up  in 
Tinegar.  Pies  there  were,  and  custards,  and  sliced  luun, 
and  cheese,  and  three  or  four  kinds  of  bread.  I  could 
do  little  besides  look  and  try  to  guess  out  the  dishes. 
Howerer,  ererything  was  Tery  good,  and  our  hostess 
must  hare  felt  complimented  by  the  attention  paid  to 
her  Tarious  delicacies.  The  cabbage,  I  think,  was  rather 
the  fiiTOurite,  vinegar  being  one  of  the  rarities  of  a  set- 
tler's cabin. 

I  was  amused  to  see  the  loads  of  cake  and  pie  that 
accumulated  upon  the  plates  of  the  guests.  When  all 
had  finished,  most  of  the  plates  seemed  ML  Bat  I  was 
told  afterwards  that  it  is  not  considered  civil  to  decline 
any  one  kind  of  food,  though  your  hostess  may  have  pro- 
Tidod  a  dozen.  You  are  expected,  at  least,  to  try  each 
variety.  But  this  leads  to  something  which  I  cannot 
think  very  agreeable. 

After  all  had  left  the  table,  our  hostess  began  to  clear 
it  away,  that  the  quilt  might  be  restored  to  its  place ; 
and,  as  a  preliminary,  she  went  all  round  to  the  difitBrent 
plates,  selecting  such  pieces  of  cake  as  were  but  little 
bitUny  and  paring  off  the  half-demolished  edges  with  a 
knife,  in  order  to  replace  them  hi  their  original  circular 
position  on  the  dishes.  When  this  was  accomplished,  she 
assiduously  scraped,  flrom  the  edges  of  the  plates,  the 
scraps  of  butter  that  had  escaped  demolition,  and  wiped 
them  back  on  the  remains  of  the  pat.  This  was  doubt- 
less a  season  of  delactation  to  the  economical  soul  of 
Mrs.  Boardman :  you  may  imagine  its  effects  upon  the 
nerves  of  your  friend.  Such  is  the  influence  of  habit ! 
The  good  woman  doubtless  thought  she  was  performing 
a  praiseworthy  action,  and  one  in  no  wise  at  variance 
with  her  usual  neat  habits;  and  if  she  could  have  peeped 
into  my  heart,  and  there  haTe  read  the  resolutions  I  was 
tacitly  making  against  breaking  bread  again  under  the 
same  auspices,  she  would  hare  pitied  or  despised  such 
lamentable  pride  and  extravagance.  So  goes  this  strange 
world. 

The  quilt  was  replaced,  and  several  good  housewires 
seated  themselves  at  it,  determined  to  **  see  it  out."  I 
was  reluctantly  compelled  to  excuse  myself,  my  inexpe- 
rienced fingers  being  pricked  to  absolute  rawness.  But 
I  have  shice  ascertained  that  the  quilt  was  finished  that 
evening,  and  placed  on  &Irs.  Boardman's  best  bed  imme- 
diately  

So  much  for  the  country  chronicle  for  April,  which,  I 
dare  say,  will  find  you  in  deep  deliberation  upon  spring 
ribandF,  or  the  last  light  mantiUn.  My  preparaUons  for 
enjoying  the  spring  have  been—  a  pair  of  very  Ptout  «hoefl 


waterproof;  and  a  great  boanety  braided  of  oat  straw,by 
a  good  lady  of  my  neighbours.  These,  with  a  pair  «f 
indescribable  glovei^  will  ftimish  me  forth  for  pnlifie  ap- 
pearance fbr  some  time  to  come. 

I  wish  you  could  have  been  here  this  moniiiig  wImb  I 
had  a  Tisit  tnm  an  old  woman  who  is  mj  adrmer  ii 
perilous  emergencies,  such  as  the  contumacio<ii8  reltel 
of  a  turkey  hen  to  sit  still  on  her  eggSfOTtheobatimaeyof 
a  ealdron  of  soap,  refbsing  to  ^  come,"  and  so  justifyiag 
the  opinion  of  some  ingemous  philologist,  that  tbe  term 
soap  is  a  contraction  of  so  hs^,"  betokening  the  maas- 
tainty  attendmg  the  manufketure.  This  good  daae 
dabbles  in  half  the  circle  of  sdences :  and  when  I  vt 
for  information  on  any  particular  point,  I  ahprajs  get  \ 
Tast  deal  of  gratuitous  information.  This  momiBg  the 
matter  m  hand  was  Chariotte's  vrrist,  which  ahe  scraped 
badly  in  falling  out  of  her  svring,  a  day  or  two  ago.  The 
place  looked  so  angry  this  morning  that  I  sent  to  oM 
Bfrs.  Lettsom  in  her  surgical  capacity. 

^  Land  o'  Goshen  T'  said  the  good  woman,  holding  ep 
both  her  hands,  when  Charlotte,  vnth  doleftel  eyes,  in- 
wrapped  her  arm.  **  Why,  that  does  look  perfe^ly  aw- 
fhl !  I  never  see  sich  a  one  but  once  since  I  was  hofa, 
and  that  was  Miss  Taylor'a,  and  she  come  ni|^  hevin*  te 
hcT'  her  hand  took  off  I" 

Charlotte  looked  at  me  perfBctly  aghast,  and  began  te 
cry  sadly. 

**  Law,  me  !"  said  Mrs.  Lettsom, "  don't  yon  be  scaxt ! 
/  can  cure  ye  1  Vte  cured  worse  things  than  that !  1 
cured  Miss  Taylor's,  quick  as  wink  I  Jiat  emaA  up 
everlastin',  and  lay  on  a  good  mess  of  it,  and  itil  get  the 
information  out  on't  like  witchcraft !" 

This  sounds  like  a  stupendous  operation  ;  but  a  Bttk 
inquiry  brought  to  light  the  true  nature  of  Mrs.  Lttt- 
som's  **  everlastin',"  which  is  only  a  soft  cooling  herb, 
much  cultivated  in  these  regions. 

This  being  disposed  of,  I  had  the  usual  diacurtlTe  lec- 
ture. 

**  That  CTerlastin',"  said  the  good  woman,  <*  Is  a  prist 
thing  to  wrap  up  the  axe  in,  after  you've  cut  yourvrif  i- 
choppin'.  As  long  as  that  keeps  moist,  the  wound  "fl 
keep  cool  and  easy.  Ilie  bees  knows  the  good  of  H,  llr 
when  they've  been  a-fightin',  you'll  always  see  'esa  s 
huntin'  for  everlastin',  if  there  is  any;  and  they  go  and 
get  it  fbr  to  heal  'em  up.  But  bees  is  dreadful  knowia* 
critters;  they  understand  vrhat  you  say,  Jist  as  well  ai 
anybody.  If  there's  anybody  dies  in  the  houee,  they'H 
all  go  away  if  you  don't  take  no  notice  on  'em  ;  but  if  yva 
CO  and  talk  to  'em,  and  tell  'em  that  sich  a  one  is  detd, 
(calling  him  by  name,)  and  hang  a  black  cloth  oTer  tk 
hive,  and  tell  the  bees  if  they'll  stay  you'll  do  well  br 
'em,  why,  they'll  stay  and  go  to  work  peaceable.  Aad 
if  there's  dissension  in  a  house,  the  hives  ought  to  be  set 
a  great  way  off,  down  in  the  garden,  so  that  the  be» 
can't  hear  what  is  said.  There  was  the  Johnsons  dom 
in  Austerlitz;  there  was  a  division  in  thefhmi]y,aBdthr 
bees  began  to  grow  dreadlVil  uneasy,  and  hai^y  mad» 
any  honey;  but,  by  and  by,  one  day,  Johnson  ginhi^ 
idfe  a  whippin',  and  the  bees  all  fiew  away.  Ai%  aay 
how,  bees  won't  never  thrive  well,  unless  yon  talk  witk 
'em.  You  must  take  your  biittin'  work,  and  go  and  at 
by  'em,  and  tell  'em  things,  and  talk  about  the  neigiUbeap 
and  sich,  or  they'll  get  lonesome  and  discouraged,  a^ 
your  honey  11  be  all  bee-bread.  Now,  honey  is  one  »* 
the  best  things  you  can  have  in  your  family,  fbr  its  gosd 
sweet'nin'  for  anything,  cake,  or  eoffee,  or  anytiung." 

Much  more  do  we  admire  **  Aunty  PanhaUs,"  whs 
must  be  a  bit  of  real  and  true  womanly  flesh  and  Used. 
''Talk  of  the  Venus,  indeed  I  The  statue  that  enAaifi 
the  world  is  not  half  so  respectable  as  Aunty  Fsnhafis 
standing  on  her  dish-ketUe."  ThismiIky-boMmed,wsfs. 
and  withered  old  creature,  is  what  the  Irish  call'tbt 
willing  slave  "  of  a  pretty,  little,  useless,  doll  of  a  daaf^ 
ter-in-law,  and  of  a  fat,  surly  husband ;  whose  la^  ssll^ 
ness  devolTes  cTery  task  and  burden  upon  bar  i 
while  she,  good  creature,  excuses  all  his 
the  ground  of  his  being  <*  so  fleshy."    Wt 


LIT£RARY  REGISTER. 


C2l 


food  Aunty  PWihalli  of  her  fair  proportionB,  bat  we 
nay  pretent  her  dish-kettle.  She  belongs  to  nniyersal 
bnmaiiity,  but  the  kettle  is  exolusiTely  Amerioan  and  of 
the  Backwoods : 

One  onf  ht  to  haye  seen  Mr.  ParshaUs,  senior,  and  his 
house,  and  that  good  but  Tery  odd-looking  wife  of  his,  to 
imagine  anything  of  the  poor  little  daoghter-in-law's 
ntuation,  after  she  became  an  inmate  of  the  paternal 
establishment.  She  sat  on  one  of  the  chests  which  gar- 
nished the  sides  of  the  room,  her  white  hands  idly  rest- 
ing in  her  lap,  or  listlessly  straying  among  her  masy 
ci^s,  while  she  watched,  with  an  aspect  of  real  distress, 
the  labours  of  poor  Annty.  The«e  were  of  the  most  pri- 
mitive  kind;  Tarions  enoufh,  indeed,  but  all  performed 
with  scarcely  more  ntensils  than  would  have  been  in- 
rented  by  our  first  mother,  if  she  had  had  workmen  at 
command. 

One  article  in  particular,  which  Mrs.  Parshalls  called 
her  ^dish-kettle,"  performed  daily  a  round  of  duties 
which  would  ntterly  haye  confounded  Papier^s  Digester, 
or  the  ^  Marmite  Perp^uelle."  It  cooked  the  potatoes 
fnr  breaklkst,  and  was  then  put  on  to  heat  water  fbr  wash- 
hig  the  dishee.  When  this  same  washing  process  was 
alMut  to  commence,  the  dish-kettle  was  always  hoisted 
to  the  table,  since  where  was  the  use  of  wearing  out  a 
pan  when  the  dish-kettle  did  just  as  well,  and  kept  the 
water  hot  longer  too  t  By  the  time  the  dishes  were 
washed,  it  was  time  to  feed  the  pigs;  and  then  poor 
Aunty,  being  sadly  scanted  in  pails,  carried  this  heayy 
iron  yessel  up  the  rising  ground,  at  the  top  of  which  the 
pan  was  pla^;  then  the  kettle  was  scoured  and  put  on 
for  dinner.  After  dinner  oame  the  whole  dish- washing 
process  oyer  again;  and  then  the  fkctotum  was  cleaned 
oboe  more,  and  put  on  to  heat  water  for  moping  the  floor 
~a  daily  ceremony.  At  this  point  of  the  diurnal  round, 
I  confess  a  discrepancy  of  opinion  between  Annty  Par- 
shalls and  myself,  since  I  could  neyer  quite  like  to  see 
the  mop  going  in  and  out  of  the  dish-kettle.  But  as  she 
iaid,  in  reply  to  a  yery  sharp  remonstrance  of  her  lady 
daughter  on  this  head, — 
**  Why,  bless  your  dear  soul,  I  sca-oured  it** 
I  will  answer  for  it  she  did;  but  we  all  have  our  pre- 
jadices. 

But  the  dish-kettle  is  not  yet  at  rest  for  the  night:  it 
his  still,  after  another  ^  sca-onring**  process,  to  cook  the 
sapper,  wash  the  dishes,  carry  the  pigs*  mess  up  the  hill, 
and  come  home  to  be  cleaned  again,  in  order  that  the 
beans  may  be  put  to  soak  for  to-morrow's  porridge. 

This  is  one  of  Mrs.  Parshairs  peculiarities,  and  it  is 
one  which,  I  doubt  not,  will  cleaye  to  her  as  long  as  she 
lives,  in  spite  of  many  snappish  remarks  from  her  hus- 
band, and  the  undisguised  horror  of  Mrs.  Henry.  She 
nays  she  must  do  as  she  has  been  used  to,  and  as  her 
mother  did  before  her,  or  she  should  get  her  work  all 
*'  out  of  kelter."  And  whateyer  may  be  the  Judgment 
of  others  upon  this  coarse  estimate  of  comfort,  I  am  sure 
neither  of  the  objectors  just  mentioned  haye  any  right 
to  say  a  word,  since  neither  of  them  oyer  lifted  a  finger 
to  lighten  the  good  woman's  labours. 

As  for  fikther  Parshalls,  I  fear  he  is  too  old  to  learn. 
'The  last  time  I  saw  his  **  old  woman,'*  she  was  on  the 
top  of  the  hill  again,and  by  way  of  adding  to  her  height, 
already  passing  that  of  women,  she  had  turned  the  dish- 
kettle  upside  down,  and  was  standing  on  it,  a  skeleton 
statue  scantily  draperied — looking  roupd  the  landscape 
with  a  searching  glance. 

'^  I  do  wonder,"  she  said,  "  what  has  become  of  that 
heifer  critter  !  If  my  old  man  comes  home  afore  I  find 
her,  I  shaU  get  an  awfiil  talkin'  to!** 
TalkoftheYenns! 

The  statue  that  enchants  the  world  is  not  half  so  re- 
spectable as  Aunty  Parshalls  standing  on  her  dish- 
kettle  ! 

These  aie  not  nnfiimrarable  specimens  of  this  work, 
of  which  Ihe  nseftUness  is  surely  not  lessened  from  its  in- 
•tmetioss,andihe  hints  ezempUiyhig  its  own  philosophy, 
'  ^iof  eosyeytd  hi  a  polished  and  liyely  style. 


The  Expedition  into  Affghanietan:  Notes  and 
Sketches  Descriptive  of  the  Country^  contained  in 
a  Personal  Narrative  during  the  Campaign  of 
1839-40,  up  to  the  Surrender  of  Dost  Mahomed 
Khan.  By  James  Atkinson,  Esq.,  Superintend- 
ing Surgeon  of  the  Army  of  the  Indus,  &C.,  &c. 
I  vol.  doUi,  with  Map.  London:  Allen  &  Co. 
The  disastrous  eyents  which  haye  taken  place  in 
Aifghanistan  since  this  narrative  was  closed,  though 
they  may  in  one  sense  have  lessened  its  interest,  have 
in  another  increased  it;  as  there  is  now  a  keener  curi- 
osity to  look  into  the  causes  of  those  events.  Up  to 
March  1841,  when  his  Narrative  is  closed,  the  author, 
whatever  he  may  have  become,  was  an  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirer of  l^iah  Shoojah,  and  an  approver  of  the  British  po- 
licy for  his  restoration;  and  almost  the  personal  enemy  of 
Dost  Mahomed,  in  whom,  or  his  fiiithfnl  Afi'ghans,  he 
can  see  no  good  pohit  Viewing  the  entire  question,  it 
is  not  easy  to  get  rid  of  the  unschooled  logic  of  Jubbar 
Khan,  the  half-brother  of  the  Dost,  who,  after  Shah 
Shoojah  had  been  raised  to  the  throne,  came  from  Caubol 
to  Ghizni  to  treat  with  the  new  sovereign  for  an  adjust- 
ment between  the  contendmg  potentates.  When  Jubbar 
Khan  was  introduced  to  the  king  his  deportment  was 
not  uncourteous  ;  but  he  said — *^  If  you  are  to  be  king, 
of  what  use  is  the  British  army  here  !  if  the  English  are 
to  rule  over  the  country,  of  what  use  are  you  here  t'* 
The  Shah,  with  unrufiled  temper,  parried  this  observa- 
tion, by  soothing  his  hurt  mind  ;  and,  in  a  bland  man- 
ner, promised  him  a  confidential  situation  near  his  per- 
son. But  Jubbar  Khait  was  sulky,  and  returned  to 
Caubul.  On  seeing  the  tents  of  the  English  army  at  a 
distance,  this  proud  chief,  who  had  never  before  seen 
a  British  camp,  said  contemptuously — *^  Why,  your  amy 
consists  merely  of  camels  and  canvass — ours,  of  mounted 
ooonies,with  sharp  swords  *'--a  speech  scarcely  to  be 
forgiven.  This  Narrative  is  compiled  under  the  strong 
delusions  which  prevailed  among  the  British  up  to  the 
fo^tal  moment  when  they  were  startled  out  of  thehr  pleas- 
ing dream,  and  found  Uiemselves  betrayed. — BIr.  Atkin- 
son, on  his  journeys,  paid  that  attention  toobjects  of  science 
and  of  liberal  curiosity,  which  now  more  or  less  distin- 
guishes every  gentleman  in  the  British  service. 

Esst^s  on  the  Principles  of  MoraUty^  and  m  the 
Private  and  Political  Eights  and  Obligations  of 
Mankind,    By  Jonathan  Dymond.    Fourth  edi- 
tion. London:  Gilpin.  Carlisle :  Scott  &  Benson. 
It  gives  us  sincere  pleasure  to  meet  with  a  popular, 
cheap  edition  of  this  sterling  work.    The  book  appeared 
a  good  many  years  ago,  and  attracted  considerable  notioe, 
both  from  the  learning  and  ability  with  which  it  was 
written,  and  the  single-minded  view  taken  by  the  author 
of  every  great  question  in  morals.    He  was  a  member 
of  the  Society  of  Friends,  and  died,  we  believe,  shortly 
after  the  publication  of  his  Code.    A  Memoir  of  Jona- 
than Dymond,  however  brief,  would  have  been  desirable 
with  the  present  edition.    To  studious  readers  the  book 
is  tolerably  well  known ;  but  the  great  mass  of  casual 
readers,  whom  it  is  so  well  fitted  to  enli|^ten  and 
benefit,  may  require  to  be  told,  that  this  whole  social 
and  political  dmtjf  of  man  is  written  upon  the  principle, 
that  the  WHl  of  God  is  man's  only  rule;  and  that  to 
inquire  what  is  our  duty,  or  what  we  are  in  any  partictt- 
lar  instance  obliged  to  do,  is,  in  efi'ect,  to  inquire  wba| 


W3 


tiTERARY  REGISf  EH. 


is  the  will  of  God  in  that  instance,  which  known,  eoi|- 
aequently  hecomes  our  duty,  and  involyes  the  whole 
business  of  morality.  This  is,  in  substance,  the  princi- 
ple which  Paley  lays  down,  but  which  Jonathan  Dymond 
rigidly  abides  by.  The  standard  of  duty  in  all  cases  is 
the  Will  of  God,  and  that  Will  is  assumed  to  be  revealed 
^9  us  in  (he  Scriptures ;  and  those  who  have  no  direct 
feye)ation,  art  yet  held  not  to  be  destitute  of  all  direct 
knowledge  of  the  divine  will.  The  system  of  Jonathan 
Dymond  affbrds  no  place  to  the  doctrines  of  expediency ; 
and  his  notioQs  of  Utility  are  held  in  complete  subordi- 
nation to  the  high  standard  of  duty  that  he  assumes. 
Nor  i$  this  unqualified  respect  given  to  those  subordi- 
nate standards  of  right  and  wrong,— T^Ae  Law$  </  th$ 
liahd,  the  Lnvp  of  Nation$t  or  the  fjatr  c/Hon^vr,  unless 
where  they  are  in  perfect  accordance  with  the  higher 
ftandard  of  Christiau  morality.  The  author's  opinions 
on  some  points  are  naturally  modified  by  the  tenets  of 
the  sect  in  which  he  was  bred,  and  to  which  he  adhered, 
as  on  oaths,  death  punishments,  duelling,  offensive  war, 
limitary  Tirtue,  idle  forms  of  compliment,  and  so  forth; 
•ad  he  may  at  times,  thoqgh  not  on  these  sqbjects,  verge 
upon  ''straining  at  a  gnat;*'  but  in  every  weightier 
matter  he  is  as  sound  in  principle  ^b  he  is  unooi^promis- 
ing ;  and  in  his  reasonipg  as  acute  as  he  is  profound.- 
Two  or  three  brief,  isokted  paragraphs  will  better  ex- 
plain the  character  of  a  Code  of  Morals,  Rights,  and 
Puties,  which  we  have  formerly  recommended,  and 
would  like  to  see  widely  diffused,  than  any  laboured 
description  of  the  contents  of  the  book. 

DuBLLiNe.— We  are  shocked  and  disgusted  at  the  im- 
molation of  women  amongst  the  Hindoos,and  think  th^  if 
such  a  sacrifice  were  attempted  in  England,  it  would 
excite  feelings  of  the  utmost  repulsion  and  abhorrence. 
Of  the  custom  of  immolation,  duelling  is  the  sister.  Their 
parents  are  the  same,  and,  like  other  sisters,  their  line- 
aments are  similar.  Why  does  a  Hindoo  mount  the 
raneral  pile  1  To  vindicate  and  maintain  her  honour. 
Why  does  an  Englishman  go  to  the  heath  with  his  pistols ! 
To  vindicate  and  maintain  his  honour.  What  is  the 
nature  and  character  of  the  Hindoo's  honour  t  Quite 
fictitious.  Of  the  duellist's !  Quite  factitious.  How 
is  the  motive  applied  to  the  Hindoo  1  To  her  fears  of 
mroach.  To  the  duellist !  To  his  feara  of  reproach. 
What  then  is  the  difference  between  the  two  customs  1 
This— That  one  is  practised  in  the  midst  of  pagan  dark- 
ness, and  the  other  in  the  midst  of  Christian  light.  And 
yot  these  very  men  give  their  guineas  to  the  Missionary 
Society,  lament  the  de^adation  of  the  Hindoos,  and  ex- 
patiate upon  the  sacred  duty  of  enlightening  them  with 
Christianity  !    «  Physician  !  heal  ayte^/l" 

One  consideration  connected  with  duelling  is  of  un- 
nffUbl  interest.  In  the  judgment  of  that  religion  which 
Inquires  purity  of  heart,  and  of  that  Being  to  whom 
fhought  is  action^  ^  cannot  be  esteemed  innocent  of  this 
crime,  who  lives  in  a  settled,  habitual,  determination  to 
OOBunit  it,  when  circumstances  shall  call  upon  him  so  to 
4o.  This  is  a  consideration  which  places  the  crime  of 
duelling  on  a  diffSsrent  footing  from  almost  any  other  ; 
indeed  there  is  perhaps  no  other,  which  mankind  habi- 
tually and  deliberately  resolve  to  practise  whenever  the 
temptation  shall  occur." 

DlSTINC^^OM  MAD£  BBTWBBN  SoMft  AND  DaVOHTBRS. — 

ft  is  a  common,  though  not  a  very  reasonable  opinion, 
that  a  son  needs  a  larger  portion  than  a  daughter.  To 
be  sure,  if  he  is  to  live  in  greater  afliuence  than  ^e,  he 
does.  But  why  should  ho  i  There  appears  no  motive 
in  seaaon,  and  certainly  there  is  none  in  aflbotion,  for 
4iminisiMng  one  child's  comforts  to  increase  another's. 
4^  eon  too  has  greater  opportunities  of  gain.  A  woman 
almost  never  grows  rich  except  by  legacies  or  marriage; 
so  that,  if  her  fatheif  do  not  provide  for  her,  it  is  proba- 
Mt  tbat  she  wiU  not  bo  provided  Ibr  at  aU.    As  to 


marriage,  the  opportunity  is  frequently  not  oflbrod  te  a 
woman;  and  a  father,  if  he  csn, i^ouldso  provide  (or  hii 
daughter,  as  to  enable  her,  in  single  life,  t»  live  in  a 
state  of. comfort  not  greatly  inferior  to  her  brother'i. 
The  remark  that  the  custom  of  preferring  sons  is  gemerd^ 
and  therefore  that  when  a  couple  marry  the  ineqnahtj 
is  adjusted,  applies  only  to  the  case  of  those  who  dd 
marry.  The  number  of  women  who  do  not  is  great;  and 
a  parent  cannot  foresee  his  daughter's  lot.  Beiides, 
since  marriage  is  (and  is  reasonably)  a  great  object  to  a 
woman,  and  is  desirable  both  fur  women  and  for  men, 
there  appears  a  propriety  in  increasing  the  probalnhty 
of  marriage  by  giving  to  women  snch  property  as  shall 
constitute  an  additional  inducement  to  marriage  in  tbf 
men.  J  shall  hardly  be  suspected  of  reeomniendiBg 
persons  to  **  marry  for  money."  My  meaning  is  this : 
A  young  man  possesses  five  hundred  a-year,aod  liv«soa 
a  corresponding  scale.  He  is  attached  to  a  woman  whs 
has  but  one  hundred  a-year.  This  young  man  sees  that, 
if  he  marries,  he  must  reduce  his  scale  of  living;  and  ths 
consideration  operates  (I  do  not  say  that  it  ought  tf 
operate)  to  deter  him  fVom  marriage,  ^ut  if  t)ie  young 
man  possessed  three  hundred  a  year  and  lived  nogsrd 
ingly,  and  if  the  olyect  of  his  attachment  possease^  ihios 
hundred  a-y^ar  also,  he  would  nol  be  prevented  tnm 
marrying  her  by  the  fear  of  being  obliged  to  disaiBiah 
his  system  of  expenditure.  Just  complaints  ejpf  pa4s 
of  those  half-concealed  blandishments  by  whicb 
women  who  need  *^  a  settlement"  endeavour  |e  ] 
it  by  marriage.  Those  blandishments  would 
more  tempered  with  propriety,  if  one  great  motive  vsf 
taken  away  by  the  possession  of  a  competence  of  tbsir 
own. 

An  equal  division  of  a  father's  property  will  be  aaid  to 
be  incompatible  with  the  system  of  primo^ienitove,  and 
almost  incompatible  with  hereditary  rank.  l%eee  am 
not  subjects  for  the  present  Essay. 

Unjust  DsFSMDAim. — It  does  not  prraeni  a  ^ery  Ik- 
vonrable  view  of  the  state  of  private  principle,  that  there 
are  so  many  who  refhse  justice  to  plaipUffs,  nnleee  Uiey 
are  compelled  to  be  just  by  the  law.  It  is  indiqiutablp, 
that  a  multitude  of  suits  are  undertaken  in  order  to  ob- 
tain property  or  rights  which  the  defendant  knows  be 
ought  voluntarily  to  give  up.  Such  a  person  is  oertnin^ 
ly  a  dishonest  man.  When  the  verdict  is  given  agunst 
him,  I  regard  him  in  the  light  of  a  convicted  robber- 
differing  ttem  other  robbers  in  the  oireumstanee  tbmt  he 
is  tried  at  Nisi  prius  instead  of  the  Crown  bar.  Fbr 
what  is  the  difference  between  him  who  takes  what  is 
another's  and  him  who  withholds  it  t  This  severity  of 
censure  applies  to  some  who  are  sued  fbr  damagea.  A 
man  who,  whether  by  design  or  inadvertency,  bns  in- 
jured another,  and  will  not  compensate  him  unless  be  it 
legally  compelled  to  do  it,  is  surely  unjust.  Yet  maoy 
of  these  persons  seem  to  think  that  injury  to  property, 
or  person,  or  character,  entails  no  duty  to  make  repara- 
tion, except  it  be  enforced.  Why,  the  law  dees  net 
orttiU  this  duty,  it  only  compels  us  to  fhhil  it.  I  f  tbe  minds 
of  such  persons  vFere  under  the  ialhienee  of  integrity, 
they  would  pay  such  debts  without  compulsion.  TUi 
subject  is  one  amongst  the  many  upon  wbieh  PnUis 
Opinion  needs  to  be  aroused  and  to  be  reetlfled. 

Insurance. — It  is  very  possible  for  a  man  to  aot  ^ 
honestly  every  day  and  yet  never  to  defhiud  nno^er  sf 
a  shilling.   A  merchant  who  conducts  his  business  paitlj 
or  wholly  with  borrowed  capital,  is  not  honest  if  ht 
endangen  the  loss  of  an  amount  of  property  whidvi^ 
lost,  would  disable  him  f^m  paying  his  debts.    {I®  wbe 
possesses  a  thousand  pounds  of  his  own  and  borrows  a 
thousand  of  some  one  else,  cannot  virtuously  spMSJs^ 
so  extensively  as  that,  if  his  prospects  should  be  dinp- 
pointed,  he  would  lose  twelve  hundred.  The  fyi«|irfiifiw 
is  dishonest  whether  it  succeeds  or  not:  it  is risUil 
other  men's  property  without  their  consent,     llsder 
similar  circumstances  it  is  lu^just  not  to  insnie^  ?oi^P 
the  majority  of  uninsured  traders,  if  thq^*  lKOi|iSS  W 
goods  were  burnt,  would  be  unable  to  pay  their  i 


Tbe  injustice  consists  not  in  the  actual  bss'wlii^'iM 
be  inflicted,  (for  whether  a  Are  haBPone  ear  .*••  iM  v* 
Justice  is  the  same,)  but  in  endangering  tbs 


LITERARY  REGISTER. 


iU 


the  km.  Tbere  are  bnt  two  ways  in  which,  under  sdoh 
•irenmstanees,  the  claims  of  rectitude  can  be  satisfied — 
one  is  by  not  endangering  the  property,  and  the  other  by 
telling  its  actual  owner  that  it  will  be  endangered,  and 
leaving  him  to  incnr  the  risk  or  not  as  he  t>leases. 

**  Those  who  hold  the  property  of  others  are  not  war- 
ranted, on  the  principles  of  justice,  in  neglecting  to  in- 
form themselves  fh>m  time  to  time,  of  the  real  situation 
of  their  affairs.** 

CiTiL  Liberty. — One  great  cause  of  diminutions  of 
ciTll  liberty  is  War ;  and  if  no  other  motive  induced  a 
pe^pUi  jealously  to  scrutinise  the  grounds  of  a  war,  this 
inil^t  be  sufiioient.  The  increased  loss  of  personal  free- 
dom  to  a  military  man  is  manifest ;  and  it  is  considerable 
to  other  men.  The  man  who  now  pays  twenty  pounds 
a-jear  in  taxes,  would  probably  h^ve  paid  but  two  if 
there  had  been  no  war  during  the  past  eentury.  If  he 
now  gets  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a-year  by  his  exer- 
tions, he  is  obliged  to  labour  six  weeks  out  of  the  fifty- 
two  to  pay  the  taxes  which  war  has  entailed.  That  is 
to  say,  he  is  compelled  to  work  two  hours  every  day 
longer  than  he  himself  wishes,  or  than  is  needful  fbr  his 
snpport.  This  is  a  material  deduction  from  personal 
libeoty,  and  a  man  would  feel  it  as  such,  if  the  coercion 
'were  directly  applied — if  an  officer  came  to  his  house 
every  afternoon  at  four  o'clock,  when  he  had  finished  his 
business,  and  obliged  him,  under  penalty  of  a  distraint, 
to  work  till  six.  It  is  some  loss  ot  liberty,  again,  to  a 
nail  %6  be- unable  to  open  as  many  windows  in  his  house 
as  he  pleases — or  to  be  forbidden  to  acknowledge  the 
leceipt  of  a  debt  without  going  to  the  next  town  fbr  a 
8tamp--or  to  be  obliged  to  ride  in  an  uneasy  carriage 
dnless  he  will  pay  for  springs.  It  were  to  no  purpose  to 
say  he  may  pay  fbr  windows  and  springs  if  he  will,  and 
if  be  can. — A  slave  may,  by  the  sanie  reasoning,  be  shown 
to  be  free;  because,  if  he  will  and  if  he  can,  he  may  pur- 
chase his  freedom.  There  is  a  loss  of  liberty  in  being 
obliged  to  tubmit  to  the  alternative;  and  we  should  feel 
it  as  a  loss  if  such  things  were  not  habitual,  and  if  we 
had  not  receded  so  considerably  fh)m  the  liberty  of  na- 
ture. A  housewife  on  the  Ohio  would  think  it  a  strange 
inrasion  of  her  liberty,  if  she  were  told  that  henceforth 
the  police  would  be  sent  to  her  house  to  seiee  her  goods 
if  she  made  any  more  soap  to  wash  her  clothes. 

Now,  indeed,  that  war  has  created  a  large  public  debt, 
it  is  necessary  to  the  general  good  that  its  interest 
should  be  paid :  and  in  this  view  a  man's  civil  liberty  is 
not  encroached  upon,  though  his  personal  liberty  is 
diminished.  The  public  welfare  is  consulted  by  the 
diminution.  I  may  deplore  the  cause  without  complain- 
ing of  the  law.  It  may,  upon  emergency, be  for  the  pub- 
lic good  to  suspend  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act.  I  should 
lament  that  ftuch  a  state  of  things  existed,  but  I  should 
not  complain  that  civil  liberty  was  invaded.  The  lesson 
which  such  considerations  teach,  is,  jealous  watchfulness 
against  wars  for  the  future. 

Public  Satisfaction. — It  is  always  incumbent  upon  the 
legislature  to  prove  the  probable  superiority  of  the  existing 
institutions  when  any  considerable  portion  of  the  people 
desire  an  alteration.  That  deHre  constitutes  a  claim  to  in- 
vestigation ;  and  to  an  alteration,  too,  unless  the  existing 
institutions  appear  to  be  superior  to  those  which  are  de- 
sired. It  is  not  enough  to  show  that  they*are  at  good  ;  for 
though  in  other  respects  the  two  plans  were  equally  bal- 
anced, the  present  are  nof  jo  good  as  the  others  if  they  gire 
leas  satisfaction  to  the  community.  To  be  eatiffied  is  one 
great  ingredient  in  the  welfare  of  a  people  ;  and  in 
whatever  degree  a  people  are  not  satisfied,  in  the  same 
degree  civil  government  does  not  perfectly  effect  its  pro- 
per ends.  To  deny  satisfaction  to  a  people  without  show- 
ing a  reason,  is  to  withhold  from  them  the  due  portion 
of  civil  liberty.  .  .  .  Promises  or  Oaths  of  AlU- 
gianee  to  Governors  do  not  appear  easily  reconcileable 
with  political  reason.  Promises  are  made  for  the  ad- 
vantage or  security  of  the  imposer  ;  and  to  make  them 
to  governors  seems  an  inversion  of  the  order  which 
just  principles  would  prescribe.  The  security  should  be 
given  by  the  employed  party,  not  by  the  employer.  A 
oonununity  should  not  be  bound  to  obey  any  given  officer 


whom  they  employ ;  beeanse  they  may  find  delation  to 
exchange  him  for  another.  Men  do  not  swear  fidelity 
to  their  representatives  in  the  senate.  Promising  fidelity 
to  the  state  may  appear  exempt  fh>m  these  objections, 
but  the  promise  is  likelv  to  be  of  little  avail ;  for  what 
is  the  state !  or  how  is  its  will  to  be  discovered  but  by 
the  voice  of  the  governing  power !  To  premise  fidelity 
to  the  state  is  not  very  different  IVem  promising  il  to  4 
governor. 

Cases  op  Conscience. — A  man  who  possesses  five  then* 
sand  pounds  has  two  sons,  of  whom  John  is  well  provided 
for,  and  Thomas  is  not.  With  the  privity  of  his  sons  he 
makes  a  will,  leaving  four  thousand  pounds  to  Thomafl 
and  one  to  John,  explaining  to  both  the  reason  of  this 
division.  A  fire  happens  in  the  house,  and  the  will  ig 
burnt ;  and  the  father,  before  he  has  the  opportunity  of 
making  another,  is  carried  off  by  a  fever.  Now  the 
English  law  would  assign  a  half  of  the  money  to  each 
brother.  If  John  demands  his  half,  is  he  a  just  nian! 
Every  one  I  think  will  perceive  that  he  is  not,  and  that, 
if  he  demanded  it,  he  would  violate  the  duties  ef  bene^ 
volence.    The  law  is  not  his  sufficient  rule. 

A  person  whose  near  relations  do  not  stand  in  need  of  his 
money,  adopts  the  children  of  distant  relatives,  with  the 
declared  intention  or  manifest  design  of  providing  for 
them  at  his  death.  If,  under  such  circumstances,  he 
dies  without  a  will,  the  heir  at  law  could  not  motally 
avail  himself  of  his  leeal  privilege,  to  the  injury  of  these 
expectant  parties.  They  need  the  money  and  he  doea 
not;  which  is  one  good  reason  for  not  seizing  it;  but  the 
intention  of  the  deceased  invested  them  with  a  right ; 
and  BO  that  the  intention  is  known,  it  matters  little  to 
the  moral  obligation  whether  it  is  expressed  on  paper 
or  not. 

Possibly  some  reader  may  say,  that  if  an  heir  or  lega- 
tee must  always  institute  inquiries  into  the  tincertain 
claims  of  others  before  he  accepts  the  property  of  the 
deceased,  and  if  he  is  obliged  to  give  up  his  own  claims 
whenever  theirs  seem  to  preponderate,  he  will  be  in- 
volved in  endless  doubts  and  scruples,  and  testators  will 
never  know  whether  their  wills  Vill  be  executed  or  net: 
the  answer  is,  that  no  such  scrupulousness  is  demanded. 
Hardheartedness,  and  extreme  unreasonableness,  and 
injustice,  are  one  class  of  considerations ;  critical  scru- 
ples, and  uncertain  claims,  are  another. 

It  may  be  worth  a  paragrat)h  to  rematk,  thai  it  is  to 
be  fbared  some  persons  think  too  complacently  of  their 
charitable  bequests,  or,  what  is  worse,  hope  that  it  is  a 
species  of  good  works  which  will  counterbalance  the 
offence  of  some  present  irregularities  of  conduct.  Such . 
bequest  ought  not  to  be  discouraged  ;  and  yet  it  should 
be  remembered,  that  he  who  gives  money  after  his  death, 
parts  with  nothing  of  his  own.  I^e  gives  it  only  when 
he  cannot  retain  it.  The  man  who  leaves  his  money  for 
the  single  purpose  of  doing  good,  does  right :  but  he  who 
hopes  that  it  is  a  work  of  merit,  should  remember  tbat 
the  money  is  given,  that  the  privation  is  endured,  not  by 
himself  but  by  his  heirs.  A  man  who  has  more  than  he 
needs,  should  dispense  it  whilst  it  is  his  own. 

From  these  scraps  some  idea  may  be  formed  of  fins 
instructive  and  valuable  book. 

Letters  from  Ho/wjfly  bjf  a  Parent^  on  tk$  £iueu^ 
Honal  IngtimioM  of  th  Fellenberg,    1  roliime, 
cloth.    Pp.  W2.    Longman  &  Co. 
An  English  father  and  mother,  convinced,  by  observa- 
tion and  experiment,  that  a  home  education  was  not 
that  best  fitted  to  render  then:  sons  virtuous  men,  and 
useful  members  of  society,  and  afraid  of  the  moral  con- 
tamination  of  the  great  public  schools  of  England,  de- 
sired ''to  find   an  education  which  should  unite  the 
advantages  of  numbers  with  the  spirit  which  sanctifies 
every  home."    After  very  careful  inquiry,  and  deliberate 
reflection,  they  sent  their  elder  boys  to  Hofwyl,  where 
they  prospered  so  well,  that  it  became  a  question  whether 
''all  the  Uttle  ones  "  (all  the  boys,  we  preanme,)  should 


€U 


UTERARY  KEGISTER. 


Bot  bt  MBi  to  Um  umA  Inttttotioii.  The  lemilt  wis, 
thai  tbej  wen  taken  to  Ho6r7l  by  their  perente.  A 
■hnite  tmd  eueftU,  and  highly  enooniaetio  acooimt  of 
that  great  edneatioiial  establishmenty  written  by  tiie 
nether  of  the  fkmily,  dnriag  her  reridenoe  at  Hofwyl, 
ftiras  the  snbjeet-matter  of  tiie  book.  The  system  of 
FelWberg  is  already  well-known  from  the  writings  of 
Lord  Brongfaam  and  others ;  and  it  has  stood  the  test 
of  tiawy  and  been,  in  sereral  respects,  oompleted  and 
perfected  since  it  was  first  brought  under  the  notice  of 
the  English  poblic  abont  thirty  years  ago.  The  Letters 
we  consider  well  worthy  the  attention  of  parents  anzions 
fer  the  proper  training  of  their  sons,  and  this  whether 
they  shall  send  them  to  Hofwyl  or  not^— which  is  a  rery 
diftrent  question.— The  work  is  also  especially  impor- 
tant to  persons  engaged  in  the  edacation  of  yonth.  An 
Appendix,  more  balky  than  the  original  part  of  the 
worii,  consists  of  a  series  of  sketehes  of  Hofwyl,  written 
by  a  cleigyman  of  tiie  United  States'  Episoofwl  Chorch, 
named  Woodbridge,  and  published  by  him  in  **  The  An- 
nals of  Education,**  a  periodical  woric,  of  which  he  is 
Editor.  There  is  a  complete  concurrence  in  the  Tiews  of 
the  English  mother  and  the  American  clergyman ;  and, 
eonseqnently,  in  their  report  of  Fellenbei|^s  Sembary ; 
bat  the  lady's  descriptions  are  much  more  lirely,  pictur- 
esque, and  iuTiting. 
Tke  Art  of  CoMersaUoHy  with  Remarki  pn  Fathum 

wnd  Aidrtu.    By  Captain  Orlando  Sabertasb. 

\%m%  cloth.  Pp.  188.    London :  Nickisfion. 

A  liTcly  and  dcTer  little  work,  written  by  a  shrewd 
obeerrer,  who  understands  both  the  forms  and  essence 
of  politeness,  and  whose  hints  are  well  worth  studying. 
We  feel  infinitely  indebted  to  him  for  the  denunciation 
of  those  *^  pririleged  persons,**  whose  pririlege  comes  of 
Tenting,  at  all  times  and  plaoes,  whateTer  rude  and  disa- 
greeable imperthMnee  comes  uppermost  in  their  Tulgar 
minds;  and  his  proper  showing  up  of  another  cUss,  and 
the  eiqposuie  of  another  gross  fkllacy,  under  which  a  yet 
more  oftosiTe  order  of  persons  obtain  social  impunity. 
We  mast  qnote. 

We  sometimes  hear 'superficial  observers  say,  that 
they  would  rather  haTe  to  deal  with  quick,  hasty,  or 
▼iolent-tempered  persons — whose  outbreak  of  passion 
eaee  orer,  is  supposed  to  leave  only  sunshine  and  calm 
behind — than  with  the  rerengeftil,  rancorous,  or  mali- 
cious, of  whom  you  can  nerer  be  certain.  This  is  mere 
foolery;  the  outburstings  of  rage  are  no  security  against 
malice  and  revengeAilness ;  for  the  tendency  to  fly  into 
a  passion  about  every  trifle,  when  not  resulting,  as  it 
generally  does,  from  mere  mindless  folly,  can  originate 
in  no  very  amicable  disposition.  Besides,  men  may 
really  possess  ordinary  equanimity  of  temper,  bo  fVee 
ftvm  all  fiighto  of  fbry,  without  being  either  malicious  or 
revengefhl;  and  no  pigmy  of  a  walking  volcano  should  be 
allowed  to  shelter  itself,  after  every  half-hour's  explo- 
sion, under  the  assnranoe  that  it  never  harbours  malice. 
The  feet  is,  that  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  people  only  get 
into  a  towering  passion  when  their  avarice  is  assailed, 
some  selfish  gratification  endangered,  or  when  they 
strive  to  concMd  error  or  shabbiness  beneath  an  expli^ 
sion  of  paltry  rage. 

This  is  the  eommon-eense  of  the  matter. 


TkeCotta^mtie  Commmy  cmd LMe  Glemun. 

A  neat  jnveafle  quarto,  the  nwin  purpose  of  wUeh  ii 
to  make  tbe^Soriptnes  more  attractive  to  childrsa,  )ij 
pointing  out  to  them  the  beanttftd  allusiflos  to  OrieHsl 
customs  with  which  they  aboand. 

LBcrcmns  on  Akhull  Phtsiologt,  a9d  ow  ths  Cos- 
DinoK  OP  Mah,  as  rboauis  Life,  Health,  and  IhsASc 
By  B.  T.Lowne,of  St.  Bartholomew's  Medical  Sehoel, 
London.    Simpkin  &  Marshall. 

Thb  SeLP-l58rBi7cn!fo  Latiic  Classic.  B j  W.  JaeoK 
Private  Teadier  of  Biathematies  and  Chssiw,  2  vek 
cloth.    Brittain,  Paternoster  Row. 

E^GUsa,  on  thx  Abt  of  Conroernoir.  By  G.  F. 
Graham.    1  voL  12mo,  cloth.    Longmaa  &  Go. 


SERIAL  WORKS. 

Knight's  Pictoual  Shakspbbb:  Shafa^ere's  Bb- 
graphy.  No.  II. 

£5GLAin>  15  THE  NlKETEBlfTH  CeXT^T. — Ldmtmtkwt, 

Part  VIII.  This  completes  the  History  of  one  of  tfai 
most  important  counties  in  England,  and  »  beaatifeSj 
embellished  and  highly  interesting  volume.  The  illas- 
trations  alone  amount  in  number  to  179;  aad  the» 
are  the  least  merit  of  this  elegant  woHl. 

The  British  MiNsntEL,  Parte  I.  II.  IIL  This  is  s 
chei4»  but  neat  Glasgow  publication.  The  music  is  vciy 
well  printed  by  musical  types ;  and  each  Part  contaim 
a  popular  selection  of  soag^  duets,  and  glees,  &e^  inter- 
spersed vrith  short  extraete  conneoted  with  Maaae  and 
the  Musical  world. 

CuionirG's  Fox's  Book  of  MABrraa.  Past  XTV^ 
with  portrait  of  John  Huss. 

Can ADiAif  ScENEEY.    Part  XX. 

ScENEET  iir  lEBLAifD.    Part  XV. 

Fisher's  People's  Edition  op  HEmT*!  Comuwaruxt 
ON  the  Bible.    No.  I. 

Gabbrlunzib's  Wallet.    Part  VIII. 

Thornton's  Histort  of  the  British  Emfike  or  Inma. 
VoL  III.,  Part  IV. 

BIartin  Doyle's  Cyclopedia  of  Practicai.  Hcv 
BANDRY.    Part  IV. 

Chambers's  Information  for  the  People.  Put 
XVIIL  Management  of  Pigs,  Poultry,  Sheep,  Rahhitf, 
Pigeons,  Dogs,  ftc,  &c. 


PAMPHLETS  AND  TRACTS. 

McsEUM  OP  Mankind. — This  is  a  prqject  for  formii^ 
a  comprehensive  National  Museum,  with  wh>^  Leetara, 
&C.,  &C.,  should  be  connected. 

The  Triitne  Constitution  of  the  Mind.  A  Seima. 
By  the  Rev.  Henry  Mackenzie,  M.A.,  of  Pembroke  C^ 
lege,  Oxford.— The  three  constituents  of  the  mind,  hoe 
unfolded^  are  the  Animal,  tiie  Rational,  and  the  Spiiitad. 

True  and  False  Phbenology. 

Love  to  Man  essential  to  the  true  Knowudob  m 
God.  a  Sermon  preached  for  the  London  MiofoMiy 
Society,  by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Sortain. 


Printed  by  William  Tait,  107,  Prince's  Street. 


TAIT'S 
EDINBURGH  MAGAZINE. 


OCTOBER,  1842. 


THE  SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS, 


THE  80N0  OP  OCTOBER. — NO.  X. 


I. 


'  Now  that  September's  ftiU  feast  is  all  over, 

And  Earth  and  her  myriad  breathers  are  blest ; 
To  the  swallows  farewell,  and  the  cry  of  the  plorer 
Sweet  Nature  wonld  sink  to  repose  on  Earth's  breast: 
Unrobe  her, 
October, 
And  lay  her  to  rest. 

Lullaby,  lullaby,  lullaby." 

II. 

So  chanted  the  winds  round  my  pinnace  of  cloud, 
Syrating  tor  ever,  a  frolicksome  crowd ; 

For  they  waited  for  me,  unbounded  in  glee, 

Assured  while  I  live,  they  may  wander  forth  free. 
III. 
I  would  fain  be  a  gentle  mother. 

As  soft  as  the  dew  I  weep. 
Or  the  murmur  of  each  to  other 

As  I  hush  my  babes  to  sleep ; 
The  forester  tall. 
Who  towers  o'er  all, 

And  the  bines  that  round  1dm  creep ; 
With  the  simple  weeds  that  find  a  tongue. 
Proclaiming  God  their  roots  among ; 
I  would  close  their  wings,  and  soft  and  slow. 
Stop  their  green  pulse,  and  their  juices  flow, 
For  they  need  the  sleep  which  no  dream  may  break, 
TiU  Spring  to  her  flowers  shouts  out,  *"  Awake  f 
I  would  do  it  thus,  with  the  tender  sigh 
Of  a  loving  heart,  and  a  smiling  eye. 
While  the  winds  breathed  only  lullaby : — 


IV. 


But  hark  I  From  those  oaks  at  the  forest's  bound, 
A  mocking  comes  forth,  and  a  tittering  sound : 
What  boots  it!  I  must  strip  them  bare 
As  ever  the  boughs  of  their  fathers  were. 
I  will  take  their  proud  fall  branches 

Of  gnarled  or  dainty  form. 
Hurling  leafy  avalanches 
In  thunder  down  the  storm. 
They  have  felt  the  brand  of  my  ireftil  band. 
And  the  withering  gripe  of  my  scathing  hand. 
In  the  tempest's  roar,  'midst  their  branches  hoar. 

When  their  sturdiest  boles  I  cracked, — 
O'er  their  angry  throes  my  voice  arose 

Like  a  deafening  cataract : 
Huge  arms  I  clove  from  their  inmost  grove, 
^1  they  writhed  and  howled  with  pain. 
And  darkened  the  air  with  fragments  bare, 
On  my  ftirions  hurricane. 

V. 

I  will  do  it  again,  and  with  ftmeral  pall 

Of  a  ghastly  hue  will  envelope  them  all : 

For  my  mission's  unfilled  till  the  fast-coming  rain 

Can  creep  to  the  Earth's  covered  crannies  again. — 

When  the  vole-mouse  has  burrowed,  when  ihe  squirrers 

concealed. 
And  the  Iris-robed  snake  has  forsaken  the  field. 
And  tlie  millions  of  germens,  create  by  the  sun. 
Are  scattered  and  earthed — ^then  my  mission  is  done. 

J.  A.  0. 


THE  QUEEN^S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


Br  ONE  OF  THB  BRIEFLESS. 


LETTER  I. — THE  PR|EPARAT10NS. 

Edivbuiioh,  mk  Auguit,  1842, 
Charlotte  Square. 

Mt  dear  Campbell, — ^Doubtless  you  will  be 
Btupriaed  at  leceiving  a  letter  from  me  bearing  the 
Edinburgh  postmark;  and  still  more  so,  when  you 
l^rn,  that  for  the  last  fortnight  I  have  been  wan- 
dering m  breechless  majesty  in  the  Land  of  Cakes, 
instead  of  attending  to  my  duties  on  the  Northern 
Circuit.  These  duties,  God  knows,  are  not  very 
difficult  to  discharge  ;  for  though,  as  you  know,  I 
iwve  pursued  the  Judges  for  these  three  years  with 
all  the  stupid  pertinacity  of  a  millhorse,  my  whole 
aggregate  of  fees  has  scarcely  sufi^oed  to  pay  the 
charges  of  keeping  my  wig  in  repair.    As  ooaal,  the 

>0L.  IX.— !<0.  cvi. 


bigwigs  had  all  the  luck.  ^  I  sighed  and  looked, 
sighed  and  looked,  sighed  and  looked  again,"  at 
those  lovely  Thaises  the  attorneys ;  but  they  were 
impervious  alike  to  glances  and  to  groans.  At  last, 
finding  that  briefs  were  not  to  be  bagged,  and  hear- 
ing from  my  friend  McDonald  that  grouse  loerey  I 
pitched  Blackstone  and  Chitty  to  the  infernal  gods ; 
and  having  first  shipped  off  my  gown  and  wig  for 
the  Temple  per  rail,  I  shipped  myself  per  steam  to 
the  terra  incognita  of  SooUand. 

I  arrived  at  Glasgow  in  the  midst  of  a  dense  fog, 
accompanied  by  a  close  drizzling  rain — a  pleasant 
combination  of  the  vapour  and  shower  bath,  which 
the  waiter  at  the  hotel  assured  me  was  ^a  fine 
saft  drappin'  wather,  {Anglic^  weather,)  and  un- 
coomon  guid  for  the  craps."    Not  being  in  any 

3H; 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


way  interested  in  the  "  craps,"  however,  and  find- 
ing strong  symptoms  of  an  asthmatic  cough  coming 
on,  I  resolved  to  bid  adieu  to  the  western  metropolis 
with  all  convenient  speed ;  the  more  so  that  I  was 
informed  that  the  same  laxative  atmosphere  was 
the  staple  commodity  of  the  Glasgow  skies.  To 
obtain  a  view  of  the  town  through  the  smoke  of 
two  thousand  manufactories  condensed  in  a  woi^e 
than  London  fog,  was  about  as  hopeless  as  for  Sir 
Christopher  Hatton,  in  The  Critic^  to  have  seen 
the  Spanish  fleet,  and  for  the  same  good  and  sub- 
stantial reason,  viz.,  that  it  was  not  in  sight.  I 
was,  no  doubt,  assured  by  a  travelling  Tomkins, 
that  if  I  would  mount  a  chimney,  some  five  hun- 
dred feet  high,  erected  to  St.  Rollox,  or  some  other 
Glaswegian  divinity,  I  might  obtain  a  view  of 
certain  Elysian  fields  denominated  "The  Gorbals," 
and  a  fine  sheet  of  water,  called,  I  think,  "  The 
Gusedubs;*'  but  I  resisted  the  temptation,  and  fled 
to  join  my  friend  M*Donald  in  Blair  Athole. — 

I  had  immolated  a  hecatomb  of  grouse,  and  be- 
gan to  drink  whisky  like  a  native,  when  a  rumour 
reached  us  that  the  Queen  was  to  visit  Scotland. 
It  had  been  officially  announced  by  the  "  special 
correspondent*  of  The  Caledonian  Mercury^  that 
her  Majesty  and  her  princely  Consort,  sick  of  the 
monotony  alike  of  Windsor  and  the  Green  Park, 
had  resolved  upon  a  crusade  among  "the  Children 
of  the  Mist."  The  country  to  a  man  jumped  at 
the  intelligence.  All  the  exuberant  loyalty  of  the 
nation  began  to  effervesce.  The  fiery-cross  flew 
from  hill  to  hilL  Peer  and  peasant,  laird  and 
citizen  thought,  spoke,  and  dreamt  of  nothing 
else.  Bagpipes,  whose  drones  had  been  dumb  since 
the  Avatar  of  George  the  Fourth,  were  heard  in 
the  still  of  the  evening,  to  wheeze  an  asthmatic 
pibroch  to  the  tune  of  "Carle,  now  the  King's 
come."  Claymoresiy  that  had  rusted  in  their  sheath 
since  last  brandished  in  the  faces  of  Cumberland's 
horsemen  at  Culloden,  were  taken  down  from  the 
wall,  subjected  to  a  searching  scrutiny  of  sand, 
and  furbished  up  for  a  demonstration  of  adherence 
(this  time)  to  the  reigning  house.  Heather  and 
thistles  were  at  a  premium ;  and  the  flags  and  ban- 
ners of  the  Reform  era  of  1832  reappeared  after  a 
renovating  dip  in  the  dyer's  tub,  and  some  impor- 
tant alterations  in  the  article  of  motto  and  device. 

It  was  amusing  to  remark  the  anxiety  of  the 
populace  in  the  little  sequestered  hamlets  to  know, 
whether  their  native  place  would  not  be  selected 
for  some  special  honour  in  the  course  of  the  Royal 
progress.  Such  exclamations  as  the  following 
were  heard  on  all  hands  : — "  Will  the  Queen  no 
come  to  Lochgellie  ?"  "Shure,  she'll  bide  twa  three 
days  wi'  Sir  Jone  at  Auchtermuchty ! "  "  Hur  can- 
na  come  north,  and  no  pe  veesit  ta  Macallum- 
morel"  "Div*  ye  think,  Jock,"  inquired  a  sturdy 
burgess's  wife  of  Pittenweem  of  her  bewildered 
gudeman,  "  that  oor  Provost  will  be  knichtit  T 
"Wha's  to  gie  her  Majesty  the  keys  o'  An- 
flt'err  inquired  an  ex-bailie  of  that  disfranchised 
burgh,  in  blank  despair.  *'  DeU's  in't,  if  she  disna' 
come  to  Kilrenny !"  ejaculated  the  leading  grocer 
of  that  great  city ;  while,  I  believe,  strong  denun- 
ciations of  personal  violence  were  openly  held  out 
by  several  of  the  leading  gentry  of  Crail,  should 


her  Majesty  refuse  to  tarry  among  them  for  a 
space,  until  the  freedom  of  their  burgh  should  be 
presented  to  Prince  Albert  in  a  pewter  box.  With 
all  their  loyalty,  the  Scotch  are  confoundedly 
jealous  of  each  other,  and  ready  to  pull  caps  for 
the  possession  of  their  beloved  sovereign.  Pray 
heaven,  this  Royal  visit  may  not  prove  the  apple 
of  discord  among  the  Royal  Burghs.  Lath  and 
Edinburgh  already  look  moodily  at  each  other. 
Glasgow  sucks  its  thumb  in  disappointed  alenoe ; 
and  the  inhabitants  of  Alloa  have  all  but  dedaied 
war  against  the  ind  wellers  of  Kinross,  because  theee 
latter  happen  to  hold  their  local  habitation  on  the 
north  road  by  which  her  Majesty  must  inevitably 
pass,  on  her  way  to  Perth  and  Taymouth  Castle. 
Several  days  before  her  Majesty  was  expected 
to  arrive,  the  tide  of  population  b^an  to  set  in 
steadily  towards  the  metropolis  ;  and  the  crowded 
appearance  of  the  stage-coaches  warned  me  that  1 
had  no  time  to  lose,  if  I  Mrished  to  secure  comfort* 
able  quarters  in  Edinburgh.  Aocording^y  I  yield- 
ed to  the  stream,  and  arrived  here  two  days  ago. 
You  know  what  Edinburgh  is  in  the  summer— the 
blank  array  of  closed  window-shutters,  and  the 
desolation  of  its  untrodden  streets.  Very  different 
did  I  find  the  state  of  matters  on  my  arrivaL  The 
streets  swarmed — and  hotel-keepers,  as  somebody 
says, 

repenUng  of  their  bb, 

Declared  they  could  not  take  one  other  in. 

Beds  were  commonly  charged  at  a  g^oinea  a-night; 
and  I  was  in  some  perplexity  where  to  lay  my 
head,  when  accident  threw  me  in  the  way  erf  our 
old  friend  and  brother  of  the  bar,  M— -^  who 
kindly  offered  me  the  hospitality  of  his  loof. 

I  hardly  knew  him  at  first  nght ;  for,  instead 
of  being  arrayed  in  "  his  customary  suit  of  solemn 
black,"  he  had  converted  himself  into  the  likenesi 
of  "these  misbegotten  knaves  in  Kendal  green," 
whom  Falstaff  did  not  slay.  In  plain  langnage, 
horresco  reforms!  he  had  donned  a  cloee-fittmg 
green  tunic,  green  small-clothes,  and  green  cap 
with  a  sable  plume  therein,  and  flourished  as  a 
mighty  man  of  valour,  with  bow  in  hand,  and  half- 
a-dozen  arrows  stuck  in  his  belt,  with  the  feathers 
uppermost,  and  projecting  au  derriere  like  a  dimi- 
nutive peacock's  tail.  This,  he  tells  me,  is  the 
costume  of  the  Royal  Archers,  a  corps  whose  pri- 
vilege it  is  to  act  as  body-guard  to  her  Majesty 
while  in  Scotland;  and  I  have  since  observed 
numbers  of  them,  and,  among  others,  several  Lon- 
don men,  rushing  about  the  streets  with  an  air  of 
frantic  importance,  which  leads  me  to  conclude 
that  this  gallant  band  are  at  present  labouring 
under  a  slight  epidemic  attack  of  insanity.  1%^ 
talk  is  most  martial, — ^"  right  face,"  and  ''left 
wheeV'  being  the  most  intelligible  of  their  cirrHit 
phrases ;  and  as  they  are  called  out  to  drill  twioe 
a-day,  and  it  has  been  announced  that  none  wifl 
be  allowed  to  fall  into  the  ranks  exc^t  those  who 
are  reported  by  their  drill-sergeant  as  not  likelj 
to  fall  out  of  them,  I  have  no  doubt  they  will  cut 
a  most  distinguished  figure  in  the  ensuing  prooes- 
sions.  Undeniably,  they  are  a  fine-looking  set  of 
fellows ;  but  at  the  same  time,  it  is  equally  mde- 
niable  that  their  uniform  gives  them  semewhal 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


«2r 


tli€  aur  of  oreigrown  ehildren  in  disguise.  I  sus- 
pect I  shall  see  little  of  M— •  for  the  next  two  or 
three  days,  as  he  hints,  that  the  body-guard  will 
be  constantly  called  out  on  duty. 

I  have  been  killing  time  by  perambulating  the 
streets  in  search  of  such  fragments  of  intelligence 
as  were  to  be  picked  up.  There  has  been  talk  of 
her  Majesty  wishing  to  make  this  a  private  visit. 
The  thing  is  impossible.  There  may  be  no  pageant 
such  as  ushered  in  the  arrival  of  (jeorge  the 
Fourth.  There  can,  eheu  /  be  no  Sir  Walter  to 
marshal  the  clans,  and  give  one  impulse  to  the  as- 
sembled nation.  There  will  be  no  apparition  of  a 
Ix>rd  Lyon,  with  his  heralds  and  pursuivants  buck- 
ramed  to  the  teeth  in  stiff  tabards  of  crimson  and 
gold  ;  no  Lord  High  Constable  or  Knight  Maris- 
chal  in  panoply  of  steel,  with  metamorphosed 
aqmres  clinging  in  desperation  to  their  saddles — ^but 
likewise  there  will  be  no  privacy.  Privacy  !  The 
very  idea  is  preposterous.  Is  anybody  so  stupid 
as  to  imagine,  that  the  first  entry  of  her  Majesty 
into  her  ^  Auld  kingdom  of  Scotland"  is  to  pass 
with  as  little  notice  as  the  return  of  a  Lord  Pro- 
vost to  his  native  city,  after  presenting  a  loyal  and 
datifhl  address  ?  No,  no,  there  can  be  no  privacy. 
'Hie  dress  of  the  nineteenth  century  may  supersede 
the  older  costumes  that  variegated  the  streets  in 
1822 :  but  that  will  be  aU. 

Meanwhile,  that  "great  and  important  body"  of 
eherubs,  who  sit  up  aloft  in  the  Royal  Exchange, 
and  preside  over  the  fate  of  Edinburgh — I  mean 
the  Town  Council — ^have  been  doing  wonders  in 
the  way  of  preparation,  in  which  the  question  of 
pounds  shillings  and  pence  has,  with  singular 
good  taste,  been  continually  prominent.  Much 
fiery  debate  has  been  held  on  the  subject  of  cocked- 
hats,  and  a  new  ermine  robe  proposed  to  be  pro- 
vided for  the  provost  A  remit  to  two  of  their 
body — ^knights  of  the  shears — ^to  inquire  into  the 
state  of  the  civic  gowns,  has  ended  in  a  report  that 
they  were  in  a  fragmentary  state  of  dilapidation, 
which  no  tailor's  surgery  could  cure.  Of  course, 
a  new  supply  at  the  cheapest  rates  was  voted; 
when  again  a  fearful  difficulty  arose  in  the  item  of 
hackney  coaches,  to  carry  their  worships  to  and 
fro  during  the  ceremonies.  One  exemplary  guar- 
dian of  the  public  purse  entered  his  protest "  against 
the  old,  rotten,  abominable,  aristocratic  system  of 
entertaining  the  rich  at  the  expense  of  the  poor."* 
Most  of  the  council,  however,  with  an  air  of  lordly 
indifference,  announced  their  intention  of  scattering 
the  civic  funds  to  the  winds  of  heaven  on  this  au- 
spicious occasion  *  while  the  city  treasurer  de- 
clared, in  a  paroxysm  of  unprecedented  generosity, 
that  he  would  not  be  able  to  say  "  No"  to  any  de- 
mand on  the  burgh  funds  for  a  month  to  come. 
The  beautiful  steeple  of  St  Giles,  upon  the  sugges- 
tion of  some  of  their  number,  more  conspicuous 
than  the  rest  for  his  knowledge  of  the  Fine  Arts, 
has  been  painted  all  over  with  some  cream-colour- 
ed abomination,  that  it  might  look  spruce  and 
cleanly  in  the  Royal  eyes.  One  poetic  bailie  sug- 
gested that  the  streets  from  Granton  to  Holyrood 
should  be  strewed  with  flowers ;  but  the  proposal 
was  rejected,  after  an  animated  discussion,  as  hea- 
thenish and  prelatio ;  and  pounded  earth  (which. 


if  to-morrow  be  wet,  will  mean  mud)  having  been 
voted  a  fit  and  economical  substitute,  has  been 
liberally  scattered  over  the  causeway  along  the 
whole  line  of  her  Majesty's  approach.  Finally, 
these  deep  deliberations  have  ended  in  the  concoc- 
tion of  the  inclosed  memorandum  of  the  approach-' 
ing  procession,  in  which  provision  is  made  for  the 
Town  Council,  and  for  not  a  soul  besides.  In  fact, 
to  judge  by  the  style  of  these  worthies'  proceedings, 
one  might  suppose  it  was  themy  and  not  Scotland, 
that  her  Majesty  was  visiting. 

You  see,  therefore,  that  so  far  as  the  Council 
are  concerned,  everything  has  been  satisfactorily 
arranged.  Meanwhile,  sea-faring  Leith  lies  wn^ 
ped  in  gloomy  rebellion.  "  Five  of  your  Majesty's 
ancestors,"  said  a  soul-rending  remonstrance  for- 
warded a  day  or  two  ago  to  the  foot  of  the  throne, 
"  have  honoured  the  pier  of  Leith  with  the  pressure 
of  their  royal  toes.  Are  thy  servants  dogs,  that 
upstart  Granton  should  be  preferred  to  our  ancient 
burgh?"  But  plaintive  as  was  this  appeal,  the 
royal  soul  remained  unmoved.  Leith  boils  through 
all  her  veins.  She  murmureth  angrily  along  her 
shore ;  and  should  her  Majesty  still  disregard  her 
paramount  claims  to  dirty  the  royal  slipper,  why 
then — the  town  wont  illuminate!  Dismal  catas- 
trophe ! 

It  hath,  been  notified  that  a  Drawing-Room  or 
Levee,  or  mixture  of  both,  will  be  held  on  Friday; 
and  accordingly  every  presentable  person,  and  that 
means  half  the  population,  has  been  giving  in  his 
card  to  Sir  William  Martin's  to-day.  No  doubt 
there  will  be  enough  of  high  blood,  brilliant  talent^ 
gallant  bearing,  and  surpassing  beauty,  to  grace 
the  first  Drawing-room  in  the  woiid  ;  but  then  all 
the  town-councillors  from  Jeddart  to  Thurso,  and 
their  wives,  and  daughters,  and  sandy-haired  sons, 
and  all  manner  of  country  parsons,  and  rural 
scribes,  and  distillers  from  the  Highknds,  and  ex- 
cisemen from  the  Lowlands,  and  lieutenants  of 
yeomanry,  and  the  Lord  knows  whom  beside^ 
must  needs  be  presented,  or  otherwise  be  di^raced 
for  ever.  The  mixture,  therefore,  you  may  be 
sure,  cannot  but  prove  as  heterogeneous  as  the 
contents  of  a  pawnbroker's  shelves,  but  so  much  tha 
better.  Meanwhile  the  tailors  are  at  work  for 
dear  life— —scarce  time  allowed  for  needful  cucum- 
ber and  cabbage ;  and  Donaldson  of  the  Albion's 
whiskers  expand  in  neglected  luxuriance.  Ths 
hot  goose  runs  hissing  over  miles  of  broad  doth^ 
and  the  star  of  tape  is  in  the  zenith.  Philipps 
has  arrived  with  a  whole  Holywell  Street  of  re- 
freshed court  suits.  Men  stand  at  shop-doors,  gird- 
ing  their  thighs  vnth  every  imaginable  kind  of  ra- 
pier. Ladies  are  closeted  with  milliners,  discuss- 
ing the  hidden  mysteries  of  satin  petticoats  and 
tulle  slips.  Grandmothers  are  besieged  for  their 
treasures  of  Brussels  and  point-lace,  and  the  coun- 
try,  from  sea  to  sea,  is  ransacked  for  ostrich  fea- 
thers. I  see  an  advertisement  from  a  shop  in 
George  Street,  announcing  an  arrival  of  **  Lehnp 
diamond  Ornaments  and  Voiee^s  pearl  jewellery;* 
which  the  advertiser,amusinglyenough,pronounces 
to  be  "  necessary  to  complete  the  court  costume ;" 
so  that  a  blaze  of  Bristol  stone  of  the  purest  water, 
and  pearls  of  the  most  unimpeachaUe  paste  may 


62^ 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


be  expected  to  irradiate  the  old  walls  of  Holyrood. 
All  the  world  is  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation,  and 
I — am  confoundedly  tired.  So  good  bye,  my  boy 
— I  shall  let  yon  hear  more  of  these  doings  as  they 
progress  ;  and  now — ^to  bed,  Sir  Knight.  To- 
morrow for  fresh  fields  and  pastures  new. 

Thine  ever,  &c.,  &c. 

LETTKR  U, — ^THE  DISAPPOIKTMENT. 

Edinbusoh,  Zltt  Auffutt,  1842, 
Charlotte  Square, 

Mt  dear  Campbell,— I  said  in  my  yesterday's 
letter,  that  the  idea  of  making  the  Queen's  visit  a 
private  one  was  utterly  preposterous ;  and  I  hardly 
needed  the  spectacle  which  this  *^  romantic  town" 
has  presented  to-day,  to  confirm  me  in  what  I 
said.  Such  downright,  hearty,  holiday  abandon- 
ment I  never  witnessed.  The  Scotch,  we  are  con- 
stantly told,  are  a  cold  and  phlegmatic  people. 
My  own  experience  of  them  long  since  satisfied 
me  that  it  is  only  to  a  superficial  glance  that 
they  appear  so.  Still,  although  I  had  no  doubt 
as  to  the  strength  and  glow  of  feeling  which 
the  nation  possesses,  and  fully  anticipated  a  very 
decided  muiifestation  of  loyalty  on  the  present 
occasion,  I  was  by  no  means  prepared  for  the 
outburst  of  enthusiasm  which  surrounds  me  on 
every  side.  Never,  when  king- worship  was  at  its 
highest,  did  loyalty  indulge  itself  in  such  extrava- 
gance. The  whole  city  has  been  casting  summer- 
sets for  the  last  few  days ;  in  fact,  it  has  been 
playing  the  part  of  a  Tom  Scott,  resolutely  walking 
upon  its  head,  in  defiance  of  the  objurgations  of  aU 
radical  and  anti-monarchical  Quilps,  and  shaking 
its  heels  exultingly  in  the  air. 

^  Fair  laughed  the  mom,  and  soft  the  zephyrs 
blew,"  when  I  looked  forth  this  morning  about 
sunrise,  from  my  bedroom  window,  which  com- 
mands a  sweeping  view  of  the  whole  Firth  of 
Forth,  and  the  opposite  coast  of  Fife.  I  am  not 
going  to  infiict  upon  you  a  description  of  the  land- 
scape with  which  you  are  more  familiar  than  my- 
self. But  you  may  imagine  how  gloriously  it 
showed,  under  the  cool  deep  blue  of  the  morning 
sky.  A  few  light  clouds  hovered  upon  the  face  of 
the  heavens,  just  sufficient  to  enrich  the  beauty  of 
the  scene  by  catching  the  golden  tints  of  the  rising 
sun,  while  the  shadows  of  the  opposite  coast,  re- 
flected in  the  unruffled  mirror  of  the  sea,  lent  a 
charm  to  the  whole,  more  like  ^  the  consecration 
and  the  poet's  dream,"  than  the  common  *'  lights 
which  are  on  sea  and  land."  I  don't  wonder  at 
the  Scotch  producing  great  landscape  painters  with 
such  studies  before  them.  Your  friends,  Horatio 
M'CuUoch  and  D.  0.  Hill,  have  only  to  keep  their 
eyes  open,  and  transfer  from  nature  the  tints  that 
give  such  intense  reality  to  the  pictures  of  the  one, 
and  such  imaginative  richness  to  those  of  the  other. 

Such  a  morning  as  this  was  all  that  could  be 
wished  for ;  and  I  doubt  not  that  every  Scotsman's 
heart  beat  with  a  stronger  pulse,  when  he  thought 
that  his  Queen  was  to  behold  his  country  for  the 
first  time  under  such  an  aspect.  Their  expecta- 
tions were,  however,  doomed  to  be  disappointed. 

By  the  time  I  had  done  justice  to  our  friend 


M ^'s  cofiee,  hot  rolls,  ^gs,  and  kippered  her- 
ring, and  sallied  forth,  arrayed  in  what  ^r  me  hi  s 
a  garb  of  uncommon  gaiety,  a  blue  coat  and  white 
indispensables,  1  found  the  whole  streets  in  a  stir, 
— and  this  though  it  was  not  then  eight  of  the 
clock.  From  every  avenue  and  entrance  to  tiie 
city  thousands  were  pouring  in  to  swell  the  tide 
that  had  for  some  time  been  setting  towards  the 
streets  along  which  it  had  been  announced  that  her 
Majesty  was  to  approach.  Glasgow  threw  in  her 
myriads  by  the  railway;  and  not  a  man,  woman, 
or  child  within  twenty  miles  round,  that  could  find 
the  means  of  getting  into  town,  seemed  to  be  ab- 
sent. Almost  every  shop  was  shut— the  vm 
of  labour  was  mute,  and  nothing  but  the  ^clink  of 
hammers  knocking  scafiblds  up,"  indicated  thai 
for  that  day  any  man  was  earning  his  biead  bj 
the  sweat  of  his  brow.  But  if  not  by  the  sweat 
of  their  brow,  there  were  many  busy  in  making 
market  of  other  articles  of  their  personal  property. 
Every  soul  who  was  possessed  of  the  pemiy-wiie 
spirit  of  hisnation,and  whoalso  possessed  a  wbdow, 
or  other  "  coigne  of  vantage,"  which  could  by  any 
contrivance  be  made  to  command  a  view  of  the 
streets  along  which  her  Majesty  is  to  pass  baa 
farmed  it  out  at  an  enormous  price.  Four  and 
five  guineas  for  a  window  is  a  common  charge ;  and 
I  saw  one  advertised  in  Dundas  Street  for  nine 
guineas !  Scaffolds,  many  of  them  so  frag^e  that 
no  man  in  his  sober  senses  would  risk  his  neck 
upon  them,  have  been  erected  along  the  whole  line 
of  the  road  from  Granton  to  Holyrood ;  and  for 
the  seats,  or,  as  they  call  them  here,  ^'stanoea," 
charges  from  three  shillings  to  seven-and-sixpenoe 
are  made — and,  what  is  more,  are  readily  given. 
No  expense  is  spared  by  the  people;  but  as 
a  counterpoise  to  {heir  extravagance,  their  dric 
rulers  seem  bent  upon  doing  everything  upon  the 
cheap  and  nasty  principle.  They  have  put  up  a 
few  posts  of  wood,  painted  of  a  dirty  stone-cohw, 
and  which  look  very  much  like  one  of  the  sides  of 
a  village  pound,  with  pseudo-gates  of  the  aame 
material,  without  hinges  and  without  look ;  and 
this  they  desire  to  delude  the  public  and  her  Ma- 
jesty into  regarding  as  the  city  barrier, — a  stretch 
of  fancy  which  the  most  poetical  of  Town  Councfl- 
lors  could  in  his  honest  heart  hardly  anticipate. 
Here  the  city  keys  are  to  be  presented  by  the  provost, 
a  person,  I  am  informed,  of  very  diminutive  ata- 
ture,  and,  therefore,  a  platform  of  wood,  sligbtlj 
elevated,  very  much  like  the  spring-board  u»d  at 
Astley's,  for  aiding  the  flying  leaps  of  **  the  won- 
derful Acrobats,"  has  been  erected  for  his  Lord- 
ship's convenience  in  presenting  the  keys  to  her 
Majesty  as  she  passes.  On  the  wing  of  the  hinge- 
less  gate  immediately  in  front  of  this  platfonn, 
has  been  placed  a  knocker,  which,  in  consisteDcy 
with  the  extravagance  of  the  whole  affair,  has  been 
ingeniously  constructed  so  as  nol  to  knock,  and  in 
the  centreof  this,  wrought  in  metal,  is  the  giiDiuD; 
visage  of  a  satyr,  who  seems,  by  anticipation,  to  be 
enjoying  the  farce  of  the  whole  proceeding.  And 
certainly,  if  the  style  of  this  extraordinary  st"** 
ture  may  be  taken  as  in  any  way  symlKJical  «^ 
the  spirit  of  the  men  who  planned  it  as  the  yfO^A 
though  merely  "for  the  nonce,"  of  this  city  of 


THE  QUEEN*S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH- 


0^ 


uoble  buildingSy  and  of  the  maimer  in  which  they 
are  likely  to  perfonn  a  now  meaningless  ceremo- 
nial, then  will  these  Dogberrys  of  the  Edinburgh 
Town  Council  most  surely  afford  him  sufficient 
cause  for  merriment 

It  had  been  announced,  on  the  indubitable  au- 
thority of  the  newspapers,  that  a  line  of  signals 
had  been  established  from  St.  Abb's  Head  onwards, 
to  announce  her  Majesty's  approach  ;  and  that  a 
gun  was  to  be  fired  from  the  Castle  two  hours  be- 
fore her  landing.  None  of  these  lugnals  had  been 
given — the  thunders  of  the  cannon  still  slept ;  but 
neyertheless,  so  eager  were  the  multitude  to  secure 
a  good  sight  of  her  Majesty,  that  every  soul  was 
in  the  streets  by  ten  o'clock,  and  thousands  had 
taken  up  their  statbns  in  the  windows,  scafifold- 
ings,  and  balconies.  The  Calton  Hill  resembled  a 
huge  living  ant-hill ;  and  eveiy  species  of  telescope 
in  town,  £rom  the  genuine  Dollond  down  to  the 
vilest  spy-glass  ever  vended  by  misbelieving  Jew, 
was  plimted  against  the  horizon  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  royal  squadron.  Hour  after 
hour  wore  on,  and  still  no  speck  on  the  horizon 
quickened  the  excitement  of  the  spectators.  The 
sun  burnt  with  a  fierceness  which  no  extent  of 
Boda  water  could  allay ;  and  the  dust  converted  the 
gaudiest  of  garments  into  a  meek  and  sobered  brown. 
Still  not  a  voice  murmured.  There  was  not  one  in 
the  crowd  who  would  not  gladly  have  waited  from 
mom  till  dewy  eve,  so  that  he  had  then  caught 
but  a  glimpse  of  the  one  great  loadstar  of  attrac- 
ticm.  Never  in  a  lifetime  can  one  hope  to  see  such 
a  sight  again.  It  realized  the  picture  in  Shak- 
spere's  lines,  which  we  used  to  recite  with  such 
uncommon  emphasis  and  villanous  discretion  at 
Eton ;  and  some  future  MaruUus  may  say  to  the 
men  of  Modem  Athens,  as  his  prototype  did  to 
those  of  Rome,  should  they  ever  prove  equally 
fickle,  which  Heaven  forefend  I — "  Many  a  time 
and  oft" — ^aUow  this  for  the  poetical  license — 

Have  you  climbed  up  to  walls  and  battlements, 
To  towers  and  windows,  yea  to  chimney  tops, 
Yonr  in&nts  in  your  arms,  and  there  haye  sat 
The  live-long  day  with  patient  expectation, 
To  see  Victoria  pass  Edina's  streets  ; 
And  when  you  saw  her  chariot  but  appear — 

I  continue  the  quotation,  having  no  doubt  that  to- 
morrow will  prove  this  part  of  it  to  be  equally 
appropriate-^ 

Have  you  not  made  an  universal  shout. 
That  the  Forth  trembled  underneath  her  banks, 
To  bear  the  replication  of  your  sounds, 
Bilade  in  her  concave  shores ! 

I  walked  down  in  the  forenoon  to  Granton, 
which,  I  suppose  you  are  aware,  is  about  two 
mUes  from  Mnce's  Street,  through  such  a  crowd 
as  I  never  witnessed  in  my  life.  Temple  Bar, 
when  the  tide  of  life  is  flowing  there  at  its  fullest, 
is  nothing  to  it.  Carriages  of  every  description, 
from  the  nobleman's  dashing  London-built  chariot 
and  four,  to  the  cab  or  minibus,  as  they  call  it  here, 
built  heaven  only  knows  where,  swarmed  in  every 
direction ;  but  through  all  this  weltering  mass  of 
human  beings,  the  good  humour  and  order  that 
everywhere  prevailed  were  most  remarkable. 
There  was  no  hustling,  no  incivility,  no  blaek^* 


guardism  ;  and  persons  of  all  classes  mixed  indis- 
criminately together  without  insult  or  annoyance. 

The  scene  at  Granton  was  truly  magnifioent. 
The  noble  estuaiy,  gay  with  crowds  of  steamers 
and  yachts,  bedecked  from  stem  to  stem  with 
flags — ^the  magnifioent  coast  beyond — the  slopes 
crowded  with  a  multitudinous  sea  of  human  beings, 
all  arrayed  in  holiday  attire,  and  among  whom 
bright  eyes  and  sunny  cheeks,  believe  me,  were 
not  scarce,  presented  a  spectacle  which  can  never, 
I  am  sure,  be  foigotten  by  those  who  witnessed  it. 
I  was  hailed  from  a  carriage  by  your  friends,  the 
Gordons  : — ^by  the  bye,  Maria  is  a  deucedly  nice 
girl :  has  she  any  fortune? — and  I  lingered  with 
them,  flirting  with  the  girls,  and  partaking  the 
general  idleness,  for  several  hours,  when  the  arri- 
val of  the  Trident  steamer,  which  had  passed  the 
squadron  at  Harwich,  put  an  extinguisher  upon 
the  expectations  of  her  Majesty's  arrival  to-day, 
by  the  intelligence,  that  it  was  impossible  for  the 
squadron  to  reach  the  Firih  till  late  this  evening 
at  soonest.  It  was  long  before  this  inteUigence 
was  generally  believed.  Thousands  who  had  come 
from  a  distance,  and  were  to  return  home  that 
night,  still  clung  to  the  hope  that  the  squadron 
might  make  its  appearance ;  and  on  my  way  up 
to  the  town,  I  saw  numbers  seated  patienUy  in 
the  same  places  where  they  had  piloted  them- 
selves at  early  morning, — and  very  possibly  they 
may  be  sitting  there  stUl,  brooding,  as  Frere  says, 
^^over  the  addled  eggs  of  expectation,"  and  re- 
solved that  her  Majesty  shall  not  st^  a  march 
upon  them,  by  landing  and  driving  out  to  DalkeiUi 
over  night. 

Ridiculous  as  this  may  appear  at  first  sight, 
there  is  really  some  ground  for  it.  From  the  first 
the  whole  arrangements  at  head  quarters  as  to 
this  royal  visit  have  been  bad.  First,  it  was  said 
to  be  her  Majesty's  intention  not  to  come  through 
Edinburgh  at  all,  but  to  skulk  off  to  Dalkeith 
Palace  by  a  circuitous  road.  The  Magbtraites 
memorialized  Sir  James  Graham,  representing  the 
anxiety  of  the  whole  population  to  greet  her  Ma- 
jesty on  this,  her  first  visit,  and  praying  him  to 
conmiunicate  the  projected  line  of  proceedings  to 
them,  that  they  might  have  everything  in  readi- 
ness to  give  her  Majesty  a  fitting  reception.  To 
this  they  receive  no  answer.  The  Duke  of  Buc- 
cleuch  is  applied  to.  He  knows  nothing  but  that 
her  Majesty  wishes  to  be  as  private  as  possible, 
and  to  drive  up  to  town  at  a  quick  trot.  Upon 
this  the  Royal  Archers,  who  are  to  accompany  her 
on  foot,  grow  mutinous  to  a  man ;  and  the  Celtic 
Society,  who  insist  upon  flourishing  their  bloodless 
claymores  in  defence  of  the  royal  person,  clutch  at 
their  siene  dhuSy  and  murmur  a  multitude  of  con-* 
fused  sounds,  which,  I  am  told,  are  meant  for 
Highland  oaths.  Sir  James  Forrest,  and  the 
whole  posse  of  those  who  sit  in  Council  with  him, 
are  in  despair.  All  their  beautiful  programme  for 
the  reception  was  to  go  for  nothing ;  and  the  scene 
of  the  barriers,  the  great  light-comedy  feature  of 
the  play,  was  to  be  cut  out  of  it  altogether.  A 
deputation  was  appointed,  and  a  contract  made 
with  the  driver  of  a  noddy — which  you  must 
know  is  a  one-]iorse  shay,  far  gone  in  a  decline— 


6» 


THK  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


to  cany  the  aforesaid  deputation  to  Dalkeith  to 
remonstrate  with  her  Majesty's  ministers :  and  I 
see  the  resolt  of  the  conference  in  an  announce- 
ment  placarded  on  the  walls  in  bills  of  the  most 
minute  and  paper-sparing  dimensions,  *^  that  the 
Lord  ProYost  and  Magistrates  have  received  the 
gratifying  assurance  from  her  Majesty's  Ministers, 
that  her  Majesty  will  be  prepared  to  accede  to  the 
wishes  of  her  loyal  subjects,  in  regard  to  her  pro- 
gress through  the  city  by  the  line  already  an- 
nounced." "  Due  notice,"  add  the  city  Archons, 
**  will  be  given  of  her  Majesty's  arrival,  and  Uie 
probable  time  of  her  entrance  into  the  city."  We 
shall  see  how  things  go :  but  for  my  own  part,  as 
I  see  nothing  like  orderly  preparation — no  one 
person  taking  a  lead — and,  consequently,  a  miser- 
able indecision  and  uncertainty  in  the  whole  ar- 
rangements, I  should  not  be  surprised  if  a  screw 
turns  out  to  be  loose  after  aU. 

M returned  to-day  in  a  fever  of  excitement. 

He  had  been  startled  from  the  revisal  of  a  0(md&- 
teendenee  at  early  morning,  by  a  trumpet  call, 
sounded  at  his  doorway  by  the  trumpeter  of  the 
oorps,  to  summon  him  to  parade ;  and,  reversing 
the  axiom,  cedant  arma  togoSy  he  abandoned  his 
legal  strat^cs  for  those  of  the  tented  field— caught 
up  his  bow  and  arrows,  like  another  Robin  Hood, 
and  posted  off  for  the  Riding  School,  where  his 
troop  have  been  under  marching  orders  all  day 
long.    I  met  him,  on  my  return  to  town,  strutting 

through  George  Street,  in  company  with  A , 

another  brother  of  the  bar,  disguised  as  a  Celt ;  for 
what  reason  I  cannot  divine,  being  perfectly  cer- 
tain that  A is  not  allied,  even  by  cousinship 

fifty  times  removed,  with  any  known  sept  of  High- 
land caterans.  We  were  joined  at  dinner  by  se- 
veral of  M ^'s  friends,  all  of  whom  are  bitten 

with  the  prevailing  mania ;  and  I  left  a  parcel  of 
lawyers  and  W.S.'s  in  the  dining-room,  about  an 
hour  ago,  talking  of  ravelins,  embrasures,  and 
counterscarps,  as  though  they  were  as  familiar 
with  the  outworks  of  a  fortress  as  they  are  with 
the  greasy  precincts  of  a  Lord  Ordinary's  bar. 

Meanwhile  the  preparations  for  an  illumination 
on  Friday  are  proceeding  with  great  vigour.  In- 
vention has  been  racked  for  devices ;  and  Vs 
and  A*s  of  gigantic  proportions — a  very  Gemini  of 
variegated  lamps — are  destined  to  illuminate  the 
hemisphere  of  every  crescent  and  street.  The 
directors  of  the  Roy  si  Bank  have  very  appropriate- 
ly covered  the  face  of  their  mansion  with  a  trans- 
parency, wherein  her  Majesty  b  represented  as 
standing  upon  a  cloud  of  ingots,  '^  turning  up  a 
iilver  lining  to  the  night;"  at  which  her  royal 
consort,  who  is  dimly  seen  in  the  background,  is, 
Ixion-like,  ineficctually  grasping;  while  some  half 
dozen  of  corpulent  cherubs — angelic  Daniel  Lam- 
berts— flutter  around  the  picture,  waving  Titanic 
"  Promise  to  Pays"  in  the  face  of  a  penniless  pub- 
lic. Edinburgh  is  seen  beneath  the  aerial  group — 
a  sarcastic  hint  that  the  wealth  of  ^^  the  gude  town" 
is  all  in  nubibus.  Prince  Alberts  in  kilts,  and  Vic- 
torias in  tartan  scarfs,  like  the  hero  and  heroine 
of  a  Scottish  melodrama  at  Bartlemy  Fair,  with 
brown  patches  of  dirt  for  mountains,  and  blue  ditto 
lot  skies,  are  the  favourite  devices.     In  short,  all 


the  usual  manifestations  of  High  Ait,  prevalent 
on  similar  occasions,  are  to  be  seen. 

It  is  rumoured  that  there  is  to  be  no  drawing- 
room.  And  why,  think  you  ?  Some  unfortauUt 
urchin  belonging  to  some  namelees  occupant  of 
the  royal  halls  has  had  measles,  or  fever,  or  gripc^ 
or  some  other  infantine  complaint ;  and  the  Gft- 
lens  of  the  city  declare,  that  they  do  not  consider 
the  palace  free  from  infection.  Marie  yon,  thii 
discovery  is  made  after  all  the  state  ^Mtrtmenti 
have  been  newly  fitted  up  ;  so  that  the  exquisita 
skill  of  '*  her  Majesty's  Superintendant  of  Wotks, 
Mr.  Nixon,"  in  the  disposition  of  crimson  dr^oj 
and  gold  leaf,  which  the  penny-a-liners  have  duo- 
nided  so  faithfully  for  the  last  ten  days,  gees  ibr 
nothing.  But,  horror  of  horrors !  What  is  to 
become  of  the  aspirants  to  a  kiss  of  the  royil 
hand  %  Dismay  sits  gibbering  in  the  bouMr  ;  and 
Philipps  talks  darkly  of  prussic  acid.  But  there  is 
balm  in  Gilead.  Dalkeith  Palace  hath  ample  hsUi, 
and  there  shall  Majesty  do  honour  to  the  beauty 
and  the  chivalry  of  Scotland.  Thus  whiqpent 
voice  of  comfort;  and  again  the  doiMlMr  smiks,  and 

prussic  acid  is  foigotten  in Moet's  ehampagm. 

One  naturally  inquires,  what  the  deuoe  sickly  biati 
have  to  do  in  the  palace?  And  as  the  change  of 
locality  will  touch  the  pockets  of  nine-tenths  d  the 
people  going,  I  hope  they  will  see  to  a  reformation 
in  the  fature  tenancy  of  Holyrood.  The  hacknej- 
coachmen,  with  great  public  spirit,  had  fixed  thm 
guineas  as  the  minimum  charge  for  a  fare  to  Hdj- 
rood ;  nine  will,  on  the  same  ratio,  be  the  ^priees 
current"  for  a  fare  to  Dalkeith. 

What  the  procession  to-day  was  to  have  been, 
or  what  it  is  to  be  to-morrow,  nobody  seems  to 
know.  The  High  Constables  are  to  muster,  I  be- 
lieve.— The  Incorporation  of  Tailors  have  ^la^ 
shalled  under  their  convener — 

"  Their  hearts  are  a  thousand,  their  numbers  are  aiiu.'' 

The  Cordiners,  or  Knights  of  the  Awl,  have 
sworn  to  be  faithful  to  the  last ;  and  the  Ga^ 
deners  have  been  weaving  crowns  of  dahlias 
and  sun-flowers  for  a  week.  Shrubberies  hare 
been  plundered  of  their  laurels ;  and  it  is  whispered 
that  sundry  damsels  of  excelling  beauty — ^the  Eves 
of  the  Mid-Lothian  Paradises — are  to  precede  the 
royal  chariot-wheels,  scattering  flowers.  Leigh 
Hunt  should  be  here  to  see.  What  is  of  most  im- 
portance, however,  vis.,  a  provision  for  keefnsf 
the  carriage-way  clear  from  the  pressure  of  the 
crowd,  has  no^  to  all  appearance,  been  made. 
But  of  course,  the  Magistrates  are  too  much  taken 
up  with  themselves  and  their  procession  to  think  of 
this. 

I  have  just  returned  fipom  the  Calton  Hill,  when 
I  have  been  to  see  the  bonfires  blazing  a  welcome 
to  her  Majesty.  Arthur  s  Seat  sent  forth  a  hnge 
volcano  of  flame  that  lighted  up  the  faces  of  the 
crowds  upon  the  Calton  Hill,  and  flung  a  radiance 
upon  the  distant  battlements  of  the  castle.  ET«ry 
peak  and  promontory  along  the  shores  of  the  Fortfc, 
and  far  inland  as  the  eye  could  reach,  had  its  o^ 
of  flame.  I  counted  twenty  of  these  twinklinf 
pointsoffire.    The  effect  was  superb;  and  by  w»j 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


cf  wind-up  to  this  prosaie  epistle,  1  feel  strongly 
tempted  to  oommit  a  bit  of  Terse  upon  the  occadon. 
As  that  mn  Friar  John  of  the  Funnels  in  Rabe- 
lais Buth— ^  Hie  devil  a  bit  do  I  know  the  way  to 
go  about  iU    Howerery  the  spirit  of  fustian  pos- 


631 


us  all,  I  find.  By  St.  John,  TU  poetize, 
since  everybody  else  does.  But  I  pray,  pardon  me 
if  I  don't  rhyme  in  crimson.  'Tis  my  first  essay," 
since  I  bade  adieu  to  the  Muses^  eight  years  agone, 
at  the  gateway  of  Lincoln's  Inn.  Heregoes, then,  for 


THE   GATHERING. 

It  was  as  bright  a  mom,  as  e'er  brought  in  a  glorious  day, 
And  bright  and  many  were  the  eyes,  that  hailed  its  earliest  ray. 
The  flocks  were  left  all  shepherdless  upon  the  lonely  hill. 
The  plough  within  the  ftirrow  slept,  and  silent  was  the  mUl, 
Among  the  yellow  grain  that  day  no  reaper  might  be  seen. 
No  maiden  singing  with  her  pail  upon  tiie  gowan'd  green ; 
For  ere  the  lark  hsA  left  her  nest,  ftdl  many  a  youth  and  maid, 
And  sire,  whose  heart  beat  youthfully  beneath  his  belted  plaid. 
Had  brushed  the  heavy  dews  away  from  mountain  and  f^om  down. 
For  they  by  daybreak  were  to  be  within  Dunedin's  town. 
And  wherefore  stirs  Dunedin  now  through  all  her  lofty  streets. 
And  why  these  glances  that  proclaim  how  high  each  bosom  beats ! 
See  on  her  castle's  battlements  how  yonder  banner  swells, 
And  hark,  within  her  crested  spires  how  gaily  dance  the  bells  t 
Ay,  proudly  may  yon  banner  swell,  and  bells  may  gaily  dance, 
And  high  may  every  bosom  beat,  and  joy  be  in  each  glance. 
And  well  may  stirring  crowds  along  her  lofty  streets  be  seen. 
For  in  her  ancient  wiJls  shall  she  to-day  receive  her  Queen. 
Then,  clansmen,  let  your  pibrochs  sweU  !    Ye  cannoneers,  prepare 
Your  thunders,  to  reverberate  a  welcome  through  the  air  ! 
Blow,  trumpeters,  a  louder  peal !   and  you,  fait  maidens,  string 
Fresh  garhmds  of  all  brightest  flowers  to  grace  her  welcoming  I 

The  sun  rose  up  into  the  sky— unclouded  was  his  ray^^ 
And  town  and  tower  and  citadel  beneath  it  smiling  lay. 
The  Firth  of  Forth  gave  back  its  sheen  from  waves  of  sheeted  glass, 
A  mirror  of  pellucid  blue  from  Cramond  to  the  Bass ; 
And  gallant  vessels  numberless  along  its  bosom  glide. 
With  white  sails  glancing  in  the  sun,  and  stroamers  floating  wide, 
And  in  them  countless  multitudes  are  borne,  a  noble  train, 
Gone  forth  to  greet  the  Ocean  Queen  within  her  own  domain. 
Still  echoing  o*er  the  silent  wave  is  heard  the  distant  cheer. 
Still  on  they  glide,  and,  one  by  one,  grow  dim  and  disappear ; 
And  still  f^m  tower  and  steep  is  bent  taU  many  a  straining  eye. 
Bat  still  no  sail  looms  up  between  the  ocean  and  the  sky : 
And  when  the  sun  had  dropt  behind  Ben  Lomond's  misty  crest, 
Unweariedly  they  gazed  along  the  ocean's  shadowy  broast. 
But  still  no  sail  might  they  descry — night's  shadows  thicker  grow, 
And  hill,  and  bay,  and  purple  wave  were  hidden  fh)m  the  view. 

Yet  spread  the  news  ftom  lip  to  lip— it  flew  from  post  to  post, 
The  Royal  Fleet  is  steering  on  by  Scotland's  iron  coast ! 
A  watcher  on  the  heights  had  seen  the  sunshine's  parting  smile 
Gleam  on  its  canvass  as  it  swept  by  Cuthbert's  Holy  Isle. 
The  joyftil  tidings  reached  Dunbar — to  Berwick  town  they  came, 
And  firom  its  pjrramidded  hill  arose  the  warning  flame. 
Anon  a  blase  frx>m  Arthur's  Seat  gleamed  redly  o'er  the  plain ; 
The  couching  Lion  shook  the  &e  in  flashes  from  his  mane  ; 
The  city  at  Im  feet  with  cheers  received  the  signal  fire. 
And  reddening  in  its  light  shone  out  dome,  pinnacle,  and  q>ire ; 
The  Pentlands  with  a  triple  blaze  gave  answer  from  afar. 
And  'Hntoek's  distant  peak  was  seen  like  a  resplendent  star. 
From  crag  to  crag  along  the  coast  the  fiery  henlds  sped. 
They  fired  Dunnottar  as  they  passed,  they  fluned  on  Dunnet  Head  ; 
The  warder  lit  his  beacon  blaze  on  Stirling's  Castle  wall. 
And  over  tower  and  battlement  loud  pealed  his  bugle  call ; 
The  shepherd  resting  on  the  hill  the  ruddy  signal  blew. 
That  rose  serenely  through  the  night  firom  rocky  Ben  Venue; 
And  on  it  sped,  that  fiery  sign,  fh>m  peak  to  mountain  crest. 
Till  old  Ben  Nevis  gleamed  along  the  waters  of  the  west. 
In  town,  and  holm,  and  hamlet  was  that  sign  with  rapture  seen. 
And  sire,  and  son,  and  maiden  blessed  their  young  and  beauteous  Queen, 
And  ever  shades  of  lofty  thought  would  deepen  o'er  their  mirth, 
As  Scotland's  pridefU  memories  were  told  around  the  hearth. 
To-morrow  should  her  footsteps  press  Old  Scotland's  rugged  strand. 
To-morrow  she  should  learn  to  love  their  own  beloved  land. 
Then  rose  the  song  of  ancient  faith,  of  kingly  grace  and  truth. 
Of  days  when  Holyrood  was  bright  with  beauty  and  with  youth; 
When,  glancing  on  by  tower  and  town,  rode  king  and  noble  peer. 
And  royal  mote  through  greenwood  rung,  a-chaeuig  of  the  deer. 
On  rood  the  night  with  song  and  dance,  and  music's  merry  strain, 
The  fisher  heard  the  sounds  of  mirth  come  stealing  o'er  the  main. 
And  all  night  long  the  hum  of  life  was  heard  fh>m  sea  to  sea. 
Such  ni^t  in  Sootlaad  ne'sr  hath  been,  nor  e'er  again  shall  be. 


632 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


At  least  I  suppose  so.  But  if  not,  I  wanted  a 
rhyme  to  close  my  rhapsody,  and  this  serves  the 
turn  to  a  nicety.  So  wishing  her  Majesty  pleasant 
dumbers,  under  the  cliffs  of  Inchkeith,  where, 
doubtless,  the  royal  squadron  is  by  this  time  safely 
moored,  I  shall  deposit  myself  forthwith  in  the 
arms  of  Morpheus.     Vale!  sis  memor  mtif 

LETTER  ni. — THE  ENTRY. 

Edinbuboh,  Id  S€ptemb€r,lSA2. 

Mt  dear  Campbell, — Yesterday  Edinburgh  was 
the  most  loyal  of  cities — ^to-day  it  is  in  a  state  of 
almost  total  disaffection.  Manchester  is  dutiful 
in  comparison,  and  Sheffield  may  be  said  to  re- 
verence authority  in  high  places.  Scotland's 
blood  is  on  fire — her  thi^e  bristles  through  all 
its  points.  The  horizon  looks  louring  and  revolu- 
tionary, and  '*  Pistol's  cock  is  up,  and  flashing 
fire  will  follow," — or  rather  it  will  not  follow,  for 
there  are  vehement  threats  of  **  No  Illumination !" 
And  now  for  the  explanation  of  this  most  strange 
reverse. 

As  I  told  you,  everything  as  to  the  time  and 
manner  of  her  Majesty's  landing  down  to  yester- 
day night  was  in  the  utmost  uncertainty.  The 
Provost  and  Sheriff— jpor  nobilejratrum — had  is- 
sued a  bulletin,  that  due  notice  of  the  great  event 
would  be  given  to  the  citizens.  They,  good  easy 
souls,  lulled  by  the  Syren  song  of  these  civic  Circes, 
tumbled  into  bed  to  dream  of  to-morrow's  pa- 
geant, and  satisfied  that,  come  when  she  might, 
the  Queen  could  not  steal  a  march  upon  the 
Arguses  of  the  City  Chambers.  Put  not  your 
trust  in  Toi/vn-councils,  however,  will  henceforth 
be  the  Edinburgh  reading  of  the  preacher's  admo- 
nition. The  Queen  landed,  passed  through  the 
city,  and  the  Town  Council  were — at  their  break- 
fasts. 

The  morning  broke  heavily  and  with  clouds. 
Rain  had  fallen  over  night,  and  the  magistrates' 
road-way  of  pounded  earth  was  converted  into  most 
glutinous  mud — ^undeniable  "  glaur."  Loyalty 
woke  with  a  headache,  after  the  revels  of  the  pre- 
vious night,  as  at  seven  o'clock  two  of  the  castle 
guns  announced  to  the  inhabitants  that  the  royal 
flotilla  was  in  motion  in  the  Firth.  This,  the 
only  signal  that  could  be  relied  on — ^for,  pre- 
vious to  .the  Provost  and  Sherifi^s  bjoUetin,  it  had 
been  distinctly  intimated  that  her  Majesty  would 
land  two  hours  after  the  firing  of  these  guns — 
set  the  more  active  in  motion.  Countless  were  the 
chins  scarified  by  reckless  razors— countless  the 
throats  scalded  by  rashly-swallowed  tea.  By 
eight  o'clock  the  streets  were  thronged ;  and  win- 
dows, story  above  story,  held  forti  their  eager 
thousands.  Still  no  announcement  from  Provost 
or  Sheriff  came  forth — not  a  Bailie  revealed  him- 
self in  the  glory  of  ruffles  and  cocked-hat — the 
procession  to  the  barriers  was  looked  for  in  vain — 
and  each  man  asked  hb  neighbour,  who  was  sim- 
ply as  wise  as  himself,  what  had  become  of  the 
signal  from  Nelson's  Monument?  The  crowd 
wandered  confusedly  to  and  fro,  and  the  prevail- 
ing impression  seemed  to  be,  that  her  Majesty 
would  breakfast  at  Mrs.  Clark's,  or  the  Granton 


Hotel ;  give  the  Magistrates  fall  Idsoie  to  enjor 
their  rolls  and  marmalade  in  peace ;  and  oome  sp 
to  town  about  noon,  in  a  state  carriage,  Mni 
after  the  fashion  of  Chalon  s  well-known  pictue. 
About  nine  o'clock,  a  murmur  ran  through  tk 
crowd  that  her  Majesty  had  landed,  and  was  on 
her  way  to  town.  It  could  not  be.  It  was  not 
five  minutes  since  the  royal  body-guard  hii 
passed — they  could  not  be  hiJf-way  to  GrantoD— 
and  the  royal  person  could  not  poedbly  trust  it- 
self on  Scottish  ground,  save  under  the  protectkn 
of  their  bows  and  arrows.  The  Provost's  carritg« 
paraded  its  new  hammerdoth  and  liveries,  and  the 
brawny  limbs  of  his  Lordship's  **  flunkies,"  along 
admiring  streets :  but  where  was  the  Provost  him- 
self ?  Still  no  procesaon  to  the  barriers— no  efc- 
vation  of  the  city  keys — ^no  signal  from  the  Monn- 
ment.  The  Queen  could  not  be  coming,  and  still 
the  murmuring  crowds  moved  to  and  fro.  The 
balconies  were  nearly  empty. 

The  royal  body-guard  had  reached  Howard 
Place  on  their  way  to  Granton,  when  they  were 
met  by  a  troop  of  dragoons,  in  tiie  centre  of  whom 
was  an  open  carriage,  with  her  Majesty  and  Prince 
Albert.  On  dashed  the  Toxophilites  to  daim  their 
poet  of  honour.  Heedless  of  their  claims,  and 
doubtful  of  the  intentions  of  such  a  strange-looking 
body,  the  dragoons  received  their  charge  manfuUr, 
and  plume  and  quiver  gave  way  before  helmet  and 
sabre.  Many  a  gallant  squire  was  rolled  otct  b 
the  mud  ;  and  by  the  time  the  royal  body-gnani 
were  recognised  by  the  officers  of  dragoons,  and 
had  their  claims  allowed,  the  corps  was  in  ntter 
confusion,  and  glad  to  follow  the  royal  carriage 
as  best  they  might.  On  it  went  at  a  quick  trot 
The  barriers  were  reached.  Where  w  now  the 
Provost  with  city  keys,  and  courtly  speech  ?- 
and  echo  answei^ — In  the  Council  Chamber! 
The  gates  would  m4  close,  and  her  Majesty  wooki 
not  wait.    Forward  went  the  royal  baroudie* 

The  glitter  of  the  soldiers'  helmets,  as  thejr 
stormed  the  barriers,  proclaimed  to  the  crowds  that 
filled  the  windows  of  Pitt  Street  and  Dundas  Street, 
that  the  Queen  was  at  hand.  The  cry  spwt^ 
through  aU  the  avenues  of  the  city,  and  people 
flew  from  street  to  street,  as  from  before  a  punn- 
ing foe.  Breathless  with  surprise,  the  multitodes 
saw  the  carriage  pass.  Those  in  the  windovi 
could  not  see  her  Majesty  for  very  amaxcmait, 
and  those  in  the  streets  had  enough  to  do  to  get 
out  of  the  way  of  the  crowd  that  swept  onwaitb 
with  the  royal  carriage.  Still  along  the  line  there 
rose  a  deafening  shout  that  pealed  along  from  booie 
to  house,  as  the  pink  bonnet  of  her  Majesty  «« 
recognised  ;  and  hats  and  handkerchiefr  umunw^ 
able  fluttered  from  every  window.  The  greets 
were  like  a  billowy  sea.  Confusion  worse  con- 
founded prevailed  on  every  side.  Carriages  drore 
furiously  along  by  cross  streets  to  overtake  the 
cortege  at  some  distant  turning,  pursued  by  maj- 
titudes  on  foot,  running  as  if  for  life.  The  rojil 
carriage  moved  onwards  at  a  quick  trot,  ^^ 
body-guard,  panting  like  driven  deer,  "toiW 
after  it  in  vain."  One  by  one,  some  archer,  £M^ 
than  the  rest,  dropped  offj  and  might  ^  «^  ^ 
ing  wildly  for  ginger-beer  or  lemonade  in  »  v»V^' 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIt  TO  EDINBURGH. 


633 


bouriog  restaurateur's,  Ever3rwlieTe  the  people 
were  taken  by  surprise.  The  Celtic  Society,  who 
had  mustered  at  the  Royal  Hotel  in  Prince's  Street, 
and  were  to  have  escorted  the  Royal  train  from  the 
barriers,  had  barely  time  to  rush  out  into  the  street, 
and  wiUi  buttered  roll  in  one  hand,  and  claymore 
in  the  other,  to  salute  it  as  it  passed.  Some  were 
e?en  unable  to  accomplish  this,  and  one  enthusi* 
astic  Celt  was  seen  leaning  over  a  bed-room  win- 
dow of  the  hotel,  with  one-half  of  his  chin  covered 
with  lather,  and  waving  a  razor  with  loud  and  ex- 
ulting cheers. 

The  crowd  that  pressed  onwards  with  the  royal 
carriage  had  by  this  time  become  a  mob,  which  it 
would  have  required  a  stronger  force  than  the 
Royal  Archers  to  keep  at  bay.  I  hear  that  they 
pressed  so  close  upon  the  carriage,  that  they  were 
even  able  to  accost  her  Majesty.  If  so,  I  presume, 
she  was  regaled  with  such  expressions  of  Scottish 
loyalty,  as,  ^  I  hope  yer  majesty's  nane  the  waur 
o' the  fleg  that  chiel Oxford  gae ye!"  ^^ Gin  I  had 
Maister  Francis  by  the  scrufF  o'  the  neck,  my  sang, 
if  1  wadna  gar  his  hafiets  dirl ! "  '^  Ye'U  hae  been 
sick  for  a  chance :  them  east  winds  maks  an  unco 
potch  in  the  water."  "An'  hoo's  the  bits  of 
bairns  1"  &c.  &c.  &c. ;  a  species  of  conversation, 
that  must  have  made  her  Majesty  doubt,  whether 
the  Scotch  populace  did  not  speak  some  foreign 


By  the  time  her  Majesty  reached  the  Waterloo 
Bridge,  the  spectacle  had  assumed  a  very  imposing 
aspect  The  long  line  of  Prince's  Street  was  alive 
with  gaily  dressed  figures.  Immense  crowds  were 
clustered  on  the  balconies  in  front  of  the  Register 
Office  and  Theatre,  while  the  Calton  Hill,  which 
closed  the  vista  on  the  east,  was  covered  with  a 
motley  throng.  Cheers  filled  the  air,  and  the 
booming  of  the  Castle  guns  gave  grandeur  to  the 
whole.  At  the  entrance  to  the  Waterloo  Bridge, 
a  festoon  of  flowers  and  shrubs,  was  suspended 
across  the  street,  from  the  centre  of  which  hung  a 
huge  crown  of  flowers,  that  seemed  almost  to  touch 
the  royal  carriage  as  it  passed.  The  effect  of  this 
really  fine  device  was  admirable — ^indeed  it  was 
the  only  device  upon  the  occasion  that  showed 
any  imagination.  On  went  the  train.  The  cheer- 
ing reverberated  along  the  Calton  Hill,  and  the 
last  of  the  troopers'  sabres  disappeared  from  my 
sight. 

Meanwhile,  dire  dismay  had  spread  through  all 
the  Chambers  of  the  Town  Council,  where  the 
civic  dignitaries  were  waiting  the  signal  to  proceed 
to  the  barriers.  Their  speculations  on  the  figure 
each  was  to  make  in  the  eyes  of  royalty  upon  the 
occasion  were  interrupted  by  a  messenger  "  bloody 
with  spurring,  fiery  red  vdth  haste,"  dashing  in 
among  them  with  the  tidings  that  the  Queen  was 
in  Prince's  Street. — Forth  rushed  the  provost: 
bailie  and  councillor,  chamberlain  and  clerk,  kilt- 
ed up  their  robes,  sallied  after  him  to  the  street, 
and  jumped  into  the  carriages,  that  were  placidly 
waiting  to  convey  them  to  the  barriers.  "  A  For- 
rest to  the  rescue !"  was  the  cry,  and  away  clat- 
tered the  municipal  chariots  down  High  Street 
and  Canongate,  followed  by  the  High  Constables 
At  the  top  (rf  th^ir  speed.    Such  hwrry-skurry  the 


old  gables  of  the  Netherbow  have  not  witnessed, 
since  the  days  when  the  alarm  of  Prince  Charles' 
Highlanders  at  the  gates  startled  the  shop-keep^ 
ers  of  the  Luckenbooths  from  their  propriety. 
The  Raid  of  Coltbridge  was  a  trifle  to  it.  Ven- 
geance unutterable  was  denounced  by  every  ple- 
thoric High  Constable,  as  he  gave  up  the  ineffec- 
tual chase.  Their  Moderator  waved  his  silver 
baton  in  desperate  defiance.  Peel,  like  the  premier 
of  King  Darius,  was  to  close  his  career  in  an  aerial 
fSandango,  and  Buccleuch,  like  Lord  Soulis,  to  be 

boiled  in  lead ;  while  Majesty  herself But  if 

others  forgot  their  respect,  I  sha'n't  forget  mine. 

Sorely  spent  in  wind,  the  rabble  rout  reached  the 
Regent  Terrace,  in  time  to  see  the  royal  carriage 
sweep  past;  so  unconscious  was  her  Majesty  of 
the  presence  of  kindred  greatness,  that  even  the 
Provost  received  no  beck  of  salutation ;  and  dis- 
comfited, but  not  crest-fallen,  the  party  returned 
to  their  hall  of  Council.  Deep  and  angry  was  the 
consultation  that  ensued.  The  city  stormed — 
barriers,  reared  at  ruinous  expense,  despised — no 
procession — ^no  dutiful  surrender  of  keys — no  speech 
— no  glimpse  of  royal  grace ;  Heavens  and  Earth, 
it  was  not  to  be  endured !  Scotland,  in  the  person 
of  her  metropolis,  has  been  insulted — explanations 
must  be  given,  or  I  have  not  heard  what  was  the 
alternative. 

Meantime  the  crowds  are  clamouring  with- 
out. The  Magistrates  must  themselves  explain. 
Why  came  no  signal  from  the  Monument,  no 
warning  to  go  forth  into  the  streets?  Thousands 
from  distant  Greenock  and  the  fragrant  banks  of 
the  Molendinar  Bum,  have  seen  no  vestige  of  the 
royal  person.  The  incorporated  trades, — Tailors, 
Cordiners  and  all, — ^have  re-painted  their  banners, 
the  Gardeners  have  devastated  their  flowerbeds — in 
vain.  Everybody  b  disappointed,  and  somebody 
must  be  to  blame.  Some  revile  the  Council,  some 
execrate  Peel  and  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch,  and  not 
a  few  mutter  against  our  gracious  Lady  herself. 
The  contention  waxes  louder.  The  Council  are  not 
to  blame,  said  one.  Long  ere  dawn  they  despatched 
a  messenger,  one  of  their  own  bailies,  to  give  sig- 
nal of  the  royal  approacli.  No  signal  came  :  the 
bailie  has  not  since  been  seen,  and  the  prevailing 
opinion  is,  that  he  must  have  been  borne  off  by 
some  sea  nymph,  to  eat  oysters  and  make  love 

In  the  caves  of  Domdaniel, 

Under  the  roots  of  the  sea. 
Besides,  was  not  her  Majesty  to  do  in  aU  things 
according  to  the  wishes  of  her  faithful  people  ?  in 
other  words,  to  wait  till  it  pleased  the  Magistrates 
to  receive  her?  Peel  and  Buccleuch,  argued  an- 
other, are  not  to  blame.  Nihil  ncverurU  in  causor-^ 
they  promised  nothing— could  promise  nothing. 
And  the  Queen  was  innocent,  contended  a  third. 
She  knew  nothing  of  the  crowds  that  panted  to 
behold  her — of  the  Town  Council's  procession— of 
the  ceremony  of  the  barriers, — that  not  having 
formed  a  topic  of  her  constitutional  studies  under 
Lord  Melbourne.  She  was  heartily  sick  of  the  sea, 
and  thought  only  of  a  good  cup  of  tea  and  a  steady 
couch  at  Dalkeith ;  and  if  the  Magbtrates  were  so 
unreasonable  as  to  wish  her  to  delay  her  progress, 
they  ought,  at  l^ast,  tp  have  made  th?  request  in 


634 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBtmOH. 


penon.  Tot  homines^  tot  Mntmtice,  But  all  agreed, 
that  somebody  was  to  blame,  and  all  grmnbled 
exceedingly. 

For  my  own  part,  I  consider  the  blame  to  rest 
with  the  Magistrates,  or  those  of  their  nnmber 
who  were  deputed  to  make  the  arrangements.    It 
was  quite  clear  that  the  Queen,  after  a  protracted 
Toyage,  would  land  as  soon  as  she  possibly  could. 
Her  early  habits  are  well  known.     To  have  re- 
quested her  to  delay  would  have  been  discourteous ; 
nor,  so  far  as  the  people  were  concerned,  was  any 
delay  necessary.    Had  her  landing  taken  place  at 
five,  in  place  of  nine,  in  the  morning,  they  would 
hare  cheerfully  turned  out  to  give  her  greeting. 
All  that  they  wanted  was  reasonable  warning ;  and 
scarcely  this;  for,  if  the  unfortunate  announcement 
that  such  would  be  given  had  not  been  issued,  no 
warning  would  have  been  required.    They  would 
all  have  been  in  their  places  long  before  her  Majesty 
could  have  landed.    And  what  shall  be  said  of  the 
demeanour  of  the  Town  Council  towards  the  "  Queen 
of  England  V  Had  they  possessed  the  impulses  which 
are  supposed  to  actuate  educated  men,  they  would 
have  been  the  foremost  to  salute  our  gracious  Lady 
when  her  foot  touched  Scottish  ground,  in  place  of 
loitering  in  their  Council  Chamber,  thinking  only  of 
their  own  dignity.    Who  cared  a  ^^  for  the  mum> 
mery  of  their  procession,  and  the  eflFete  symbol  of 
surrendering  the  city  keys,  that  seems  to  have  gone 
between  them  and  their  wits?    Edinburgh  looked 
to  her  civic  rulers  to  show  the  Queen  the  courtesies 
that  a  stranger  shows  to  his  guest,  more  especially 
when  that  guest  is  a  female ;  and  these  should  have 
been  shown  upon  the  pier  at  Granton.     This  done, 
they  might  then  have  played  off  the  farce  of  the 
barriers  if  they  liked.     Had  they  acted  in  this 
spirit,  there  would  have  been  no  want  of  signals. 
The  countless  thousands  that  were  burning  to  give 
their  Queen  a  true  Scottish  welcome,  and  have 
now  lost  the  opportunity  of  doing  so,  would  then 
have  been  gratified  in  the  indulgence  of  an  amiable 
curiosity,  and  not  a  murmur  of  disappointment 
would  have  been  heard.    As  it  was,  do  not  imagine 
that  the  reception  given  to  her  Majesty  by  the  in- 
habitants was  anything  but  magnificent.    But  how 
much  more  magnificent  it  might  have  been,  had 
the  arrangements  of  the  public  authorities  been 
what  they  ought  to  have  been !   I  confess  I  shared 
in  the  common  disappointment.     The  entry  was 
not  what  the  entry  of  the  first  Queen  of  the  world 
into  one  of  the  most  picturesque  of  cities  should 
have  been — not  what  the  people  of  Scotland  wished 
it  to  be.  It  needed  not  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  processions  and  cavalcades  to  have  made  the 
spectacle  one  to  fill  the  memory  for  a  lifetime.  The 
Queen  herself,  bearing  with  her  that  divinity  which 
the  least  imaginative  acknowledge,  yet  by  the 
graces  and  virtues  of  the  woman  claiming  a  house- 
hold interest  in  every  heart,  was  all  that  the  people 
cared  to  see.    But  she  should  have  been  seen  ad- 
vancing with  the  dignity  and  reverence  due  to  a 
Queen,  through  long  lines  of  uncovered  thousands, 
not  jostled,  as  she  was,  by  a  tumultuous  mob. 
Herald  and  pursuivant  in  blazoned  surcoat,  paladin 
and  peer  vdth  golden  rigol  and  cloak  of  crimson, 
the  fanfare  of  trumpets  and  **the  measured  tread 


of  marching  men,*— these  are  what  should  henU 
royalty  entering  triumphantly  into  a  noble  dtj. 
But  what  was  the  escort  of  to-day?  A  bnoe  of 
supemumeraiy  policemen  in  greasy  fustian— oot 
even  members  of  the  regular  staff — ^led  off  tibe 
procession,  followed  by  a  rabble  of  dirty  boys.  A 
score  of  dragoons,  wiUi  a  panting  handfiil  of  tbe 
Royal  Archers,  completed  the  cortege,  and  tlies 
were  so  hemmed  in  by  a  weltering  mob  of  elImo^ 
ous  artisans,  that  a  few  red  coats  and  glittering 
sabres  was  all  that  was  visible  to  ^any  thick  sight" 
Well  may  the  cheek  of  every  Scottish  man  han 
with  indignation  at  the  thought  of  such  a  q)ectac]e! 
And  for  this  they  have  to  thank  the  Edbtbnr^ 
Town  Council ! 

Great  was  the  wrath  which  these  mighty  poten- 
tates, however,  affected  to  feeL  An  insult  had 
been  done  to  them,  forsooth ;  and  away  posted  Sir 
James  Forrest  and  some  of  his  right-hand  men  to 
Dalkeith,  to  demand  an  explanation.  By  tbe 
time  they  arrived  there,  I  presume  their  valonr 
had  oozed,  like  Bob  Acres',  out  at  the  pahni  of 
their  hands;  and  their  demand  for  explanation,  I 
hear,  dwindled  into  an  apology  for  their  own 
supineness.  By  this  time  the  Queen  had  beoi  is- 
formed  of  the  disappointment  her  sudden  appea^ 
ance  had  occasioned — ^indeed,  the  vacant  beneha 
of  the  balconies  along  the  line  of  her  appTt)ach 
must  have  satisfied  her  Majesty  that  something  wu 
wrong — and  she  graciously  intimated  that  she 
would  make  a  progress  from  Holyrood  to  tbe 
Castle,  and  thence  through  the  city  upon  Satunkj. 
Again  smiles  lit  up  the  fine  and  benevolent  coun- 
tenance of  the  Lord  Provost,  the  wrath  of  tbe 
Council  was  appeased,  and  the  city  has  been  re- 
stored to  sometiiing  like  tranquillity.  It  wiD 
illuminate  after  all !  But  Saturday's  progress  vill 
be  nothing  to  what  to-day's  might  have  been.  Re 
one  will  be  a  formal  procession  to  obliterate  a  dis- 
appointment— ^the  sugared  bun  to  a  fractious  child; 
— ^the  other  would  have  been  the  spontaneous  buist 
of  universal  enthusiasm.  So  far  as  Edinburgh  is 
concerned,  the  disappointment  will  be  wiped  awav; 
but  it  will  be  carricMl  back  to  the  provinces  by  thw- 
sands.  The  city  is  still  moody  and  out  of  humonr  ; 
it  is  ashamed  of  itself,  and  does  not  see  very  dcarir 
where  to  lay  the  blame.  But  its  eyes  ^nH  be 
opened  by  degrees.  It  will  perceive  the  lamentable 
indecision  and  imbecility  of  its  rulers,  and  repudiate 
their  entire  proceedings  with  di^ust.  ITicir  ar- 
rangements throughout  have  been  puerile  sod 
absurd.  So  admirable,  for  instance,  was  their 
selection  of  a  signal  master,  that  it  is  now  under- 
stood, that  the  Bailie  who  had  been  despatched  to 
Granton,  to  watch  and  intimate  the  approach  of  the 
Royal  Yacht  to  his  brethren,  coolly  saw  her  Majestj 
land ;  and,  after  she  had  driven  off,  got  info  i 
minibus  and  followed  the  royal  party  to  town.  I 
suppose  he  expected  the  Queen  to  summon  him  to 
her  knee,  like  the  little  foot-page  in  thebaM 
and,  after  knighting  him  on  the  spot,  send  him  ^ 
to  town  with  her  compliments  to  the  Bailiei^  "aai 
would  be  glad  to  know  when  she  might  be  pennitfrf 
to  approach!" 

Fri^^  %i  8eptmh9r^  1S42.    People  aw!*!*- 


THE  QtJEEN*S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


635 


ling  to  get  into  good  humour  again,  and  to  langh 
It  the  lidkulons  exhibition  the  Magistrates  made 
if  themsehrefl  yesterday.  The  wags  are  at  work, 
ind  Sir  James  Forrest  and  his  coadjutors  haye  be- 
»me  the  burden  of  numerons  ballads,  "sung 
hrough  the  streets  to  filthy  tunes."  A  strong 
)ody  of  ruffians,  with  voices  of  thunder,  bellow 
hek  praises  through  every  street ;  and  under  my 
mdow,  one  of  those  fellows  that  infest  the  streets 
n  the  garb  of  sailors,  singing — 

^was  in-a  the  year-a  of  ninety-eight 
We  Bailed  firom-a  Portsmouth-a  downs, 

las  been  rasping  out  the  following  canticle  for  the 
ast  five  minutes,  to  the  delight  of  a  group  of  maid- 
servants and  grinning  urchins — 

Hey,  Jamie  Forrest,  are  yo  wankin'  yet! 
Or  are  year  Bailies  snorin'  yet  t 
If  ye  are  waukin'  I  would  wit, 
YeM  hae  a  merry,  merry,  momin'. 

The  fUgate  guns  they  loud  did  roar, 
But  loader  £d  the  Bailiee  snore, 
An'  thought  it  was  an  unco  bore 
To  rise  up  in  the  momin'. 

Hey  Jamie,  fto. 

And  syne  the  eattle  thnnder'd  lond ; 
Bnt  kipper  it  is  saToury  food. 
And  that  the  Bailies  understood, 
Sae  early  in  the  momin'. 

Hey  Jamie,  fto. 

The  Qneen  she 's  oome  to  Qranton  Pier,— 
Nae  ProTost  and  nae  Bailie  here : 
They  're  in  their  beds,  I  muckle  fear, 
Sae  early  in  the  momin'. 

Hey  Jamie,  &c. 

The  Qneen  she 's  eome  to  Brandon  Street^ 
The  Provost  and  the  keys  to  meet; 
And  dir  ye  think  that  she 's  to  wait 
Yonr  wankin'  in  the  momin' ! 

Hey  Jamie,  dco. 

Hy  Lord,  my  Lord,  the  Queen  is  here|l 
— And  vow  !  my  Lord  he  lookit  queer : 
''And  what  sets  her  so  soon  asteer! 
It 's  barely  nine  in  the  momin'  1" 

Hey  Jamie,  &c. 

^  Gae  bring  to  me  my  robes  o'  state ; 
Come,  BaiUes,  we  will  catch  her  yet  :** 
"  Ron,  ran,  my  Lord,  ye  are  ower  late. 
She 's  been  through  the  town  this  momin' T 
Hey  Jamie,  &o. 

'^  Avra'  to  Dalkeith  ye  maun  hie, 
To  mak  your  best  apology: 
The  (^een  she'll  say,  O  fie!  O  fie ! 
Ye  're  lazy  loons  in  the  momin'." 

Hey  Jamie,  &o. 

1  have  it  on  the  best  authority  that  these  lines 
rere  sung  to  her  Majesty  at  the  Palace  to-day,  and 
hat  she  enjoyed  them  heartily.  She  can  have  no 
onbt  about  the  stupidity  of  the  Magistrates — and 
nil  not  impute  their  fault  to  her  good  citizens  of 
luld  Reekie !  Adieu !  I  am  going  off  to  dine  with 
he  Grordons,  and  to  accompany  them  through  the 
own  in  the  evening,  to  see  the  flare  up  of  loyal 
andles — a  display  which  nu^  be  very  beautiful, 
rut  must  be  very  wick-ed.  Under  the  shelter  of 
his  hideous  pun  I  retreat,    Thino  ever. 


LBTTER  rr.— THB  ILLUMINATIOlf— -THB  PBOOR: 
THB  RBCSPnON. 

Edinburgh,  5tk  September,  1842. 

Mr  dbjlb  Campbell, — Though  I  have  under- 
taken to  give  you  a  sketch  of  the  doings  here,  ex- 
pect not  that  I  shall  chronicle  for  you  all  the  de- 
tails. For  these  consult  the  newspapers.  They 
will  tell  you  the  colour  of  the  royal  bonnet,  the 
woof  of  the  royal  shawl.  Not  a  smile  upon  the 
royal  lips  shall  want  its  chronicler — ^not  an  excla- 
mation of  royal  wonder  pass  without  its  record* 
Her  Majesty  on  landing,  it  seems,  silenced  the  re- 
monstrances of  her  affectionate  consort  by  stating, 
that  she  would  go  to  Dalkeith  in  an  open  carriage^ 
**  unless  it  rained  more."  Marvellous  fortitude ! 
She  actually  smiled  as  she  chatted  with  Sir  Robert 
Peel  and  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch,  on  the  deck  of 
the  Royal  yacht.  *^  What  noble  river  is  this  V 
she  inquired  of  an  attendant  archer,  as  she  passed 
the  Water  of  Leith.  "  Which  of  the  Scottish  no- 
bility  inhabits  this  splendid  mansion?"  she  again 
inquired,  as  she  passed  the  JaiL  '^  Has  Edinburgh, 
then,  no  Lord  Mayor,  or  Aldermen?"  asked  her 
Majesty,  with  affectionate  solicitude,  as  she  was 
about  to  bid  good-morning  to  her  body-guard.  The 
Prince,  again,  as  he  ascended  Arthur's  Seat  on  Fri- 
day last,  was  heard  to  exclaim,  with  singular  origi- 
nality, "  Gad,  this  tries  a  fellow's  wind!"  And 
he  was  actually  detected  this  forenoon,  by  another 
vigilant  penny-a-liner,  in  the  startling  act  of  pull- 
ing up  his  shirt  collar.  People  are  surprised  that 
royalty  should  do  anything  like  anybody  else ;  and 
these  valuable  contributions  to  history  are  eagerly 
devoured. 

Commend  me  to  Edinbuigh  above  all  cities  for 
an  illumination  I  Everywhere  else  it  is  generally 
a  very  paltry  affair.  Half-a-dozen  blazing  mut- 
tons in  a  window  are  not  the  noblest  sight  ima- 
ginable ;  but  let  a  street  like  Heriot  Row,  or  the 
High  Street,  be  lighted  throughout  in  this  way, 
and  the  effect  is  excellent.  The  declivity  on  which 
the  town  is  built,  and  the  fine  areas  formed  by  the 
gardens  of  the  different  streets  and  squares,  afford 
those  points  of  sight  which  other  towns  want ;  and 
I  can  assure  you,  the  peering  of  these  thousand 
twinkling  eyes  of  fire,  from  out  the  dusky  shadows  of 
the  vast  pile  of  buildings  that  overhang  the  Prince's 
Street  gardens,  gives  l^e  imagination  a  fillip  of  un- 
common strength.  Looking  on  the  town,  wiUi  its 
spires  standing  out  in  the  blaze  of  light  against 
the  clouded  sky — its  streets  glimmering,  tier  upon 
tier,  like  huge  carkanets  of  burnished  gold  upon 
the  bosom  of  Night — I  felt  as  if  I  saw  before  me  an 
embodiment  of  some  vision  gathered  from  the  Ara- 
bian Nights,  of  Bagdad^* 

In  the  golden  prime 

Of  good  Haroun  Alrasehid. 

Although  the  night  was  wet  and  unpleasant,  all 
the  town  was  in  the  streets.  The  crowd  was  im* 
mense — ^the  pressure  in  some  places  anything  but 
comfortable — and  as  a  Dandie-Dinmont  looking- 
fellow,  who  was  elbowing  his  way  along,  and 
crashing  a  rib  at  every  step,  exclaimed,  **  Lord ! 
this  is  waur  nor  St,  Boswell's  fair  yet ! "  Every- 
body, however,  was  in  good  humour.     People 


«3^ 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGU. 


stared  with  pleasure  at  the  everlasting  lady  with 
the  tartan  scarf,  and  squeamish-looking  gentleman 
with  the  moustache  ;  and  devoutly  received  them 
as  *'  lively  effigies"  of  the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert, 
without  comment  upon  the  palpable  squint  of  the 
one,  or  fearfully  ill-built  coat  of  the  other. 

Next  morning,  about  ten  o'clock,  I  found  myself 
perched,  like  a  crow,  upon  a  gable  end,  in  the  High 
Street,  with  "  an  aidd  wife"  closely  clasped  in  my 
embrace.  I  see  you  marvel  at  my  selection  of  a 
locality  for  my  amours — ^but  be  not  alarmed  either 
for  my  virtue  or  my  taste.  "  An  auld  wife,"  Edin- 
burgie^y  means  only  a  peculiar  species  of  chimney- 
pot, to  which  I  had  clambered,  to  obtain  a  view  of 
her  Majesty's  progress  up  the  High  Street.  Airy 
and  cool  as  was  my  seat,  I  was  by  no  means  sin- 
gular. Others  as  adventurous  as  myself  were  clus- 
tered over  every  house-top  in  the  street.  The 
steeple  of  the  Tron  Church,  and  the  broad  roof  of 
St.  Giles,  had  each  its  complement  of  spectators, 
and  there  was  not  a  window  within  sight  but  was 
full.  The  dirty  cap  and  whiskified  visage  of  the 
Dianas  of  the  close-heads  no  longer  appeared  over 
the  tottering  window-sills  of  their  chamber  win- 
dows :  but  in  their  stead  were  seen  the  lace-trim- 
med bonnet  and  blooming  face  of  damsels  of  gentle 
blood.  High  up  in  attics,  next  the  sky,  were  the 
best  in  the  land,  glad  of  any  loophole  from  which 
a  view  could  be  obtained. 

The  folks,  I  knew,  were  passing  rich  and  fiiir: 
So  wondered  how  the  devil  they  got  there. 

The  Magistrates  had  transplanted  the  far-famed 
barriers  from  Brandon  Street,  and  thrown  them 
across  the  High  Street,  about  fifty  yards  below  the 
City  Chambers  ;  resolved,  at  whatever  sacrifice  of 
common  sense,  to  have  their  play  played  out.  The 
provost's  speech  must  be  spoken,  and  the  bailies 
must  display  their  court  suits ;  and  for  this  the  city 
must  have  its  gate  of  defence  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  town,  where,  of  all  places  in  the  world,  it 
should  least  have  been.  It  is  really  high  time  this 
ridiculous  ceremonial  were  as  utterly  exploded  as 
thatbranchof  it,long  since  abolished,  which  consist- 
ed of  presenting  majesty  with  a  "  propine"  of  its  own 
current  coin,  which  majesty  was  mean  enough  to 
pocket  without  a  blush.  Nothing  is  so  contempti- 
ble as  a  superannuated  symbol. 

Of  course  to  me,  to  whom  the  Queens  pleasant 
countenance  is  wellnigh  as  familiar  as  the  gate  of 
Buckingham  Palace,  the  sight  of  her  to-day  was 
a  matter  of  considerable  indifference.  But  I  would 
not  have  lost  the  sight  which  presented  itself  as 
she  advanced  up  the  High  Street  for  the  heaviest 
fee  that  ever  crossed  Sir  William  Follett's  palm. 
I  know  nothing  to  which  it  could  be  compared. 
Figure  to  yourself  the  immense  piles  of  building 
on  either  side,  towering  six  and  eight  stories  high, 
picturesque  at  any  time,  and  now  covered  to  the 
roof  with  people — ^the  fine  old  cathedral,  with  its 
eager  crowds  bending  over  buttress  and  spiracle, 
the  streets  thronged,  the  array  of  mounted  cavalry, 
handkerchiefs  and  flags  waving  at  every  poin^ 
cheer  succeeding  cheer,  and  the  roar  of  cannon 
from  the  castle  in  the  background  deepening  but 
not  drowning  the  huzzahs.  Where  in  the  world 
yride  will  puch  a  scene  be  wit|fie9se4  in  our  <Jay8  ?  ^ 


All  that  was  picturesque  to  the  eye,  all  that  wasmoit 
touching  to  the  imagination,  were  there  combined. 
'<  The  Majesty  of  England  ! "  The  ineaiBatkffi  i 
that  proud  idea  was  swelling  in  every  heait^aad 
rung  through  these  deafening  cheers ;  and  viu 
the  band  struck  up  '^  God  save  the  Queen,"  tk 
noble  air,  which  never  fails  to  stir  the  heutlike 
a  trumpet,  there  was  not  one  breast  but  echoed  u 
the  strain— one  eye  that  was  not  dimmed  by  tk 
depth  of  its  emotion. 

I  was  so  much  engrossed  by  the  grandeur  of 
the  scene,  that  it  was  some  time  before  I  obsemd 
that  the  Queen  had  gone  at  least  fifty  yaidsJ^wJ 
the  barriers  before  ^e  was  stopped  by  the  Ld 
Provost,  who  at  length  was  safely  delivered  of  bii 
speech.  The  city  keys  were  presented  and  le- 
turned  in  the  usual  form  ;  and  if  her  Maj^jdid 
not  feel  the  hollowness  and  farce  of  the  proceed- 
ing, breaking  in  as  it  did  upon  a  spectacle  of  sodi 
magnificence,  I  shall  be  content  to  forego  mj 
hopes  of  a  silk  gown.  This  done,  her  Majesty  po- 
ceeded  to  the  Castle,  and  by  the  time  I  hadeffiecud 
a  descent  from  my  perch,  and  got  down  to  our  friead 
Tait's  balcony,  die  was  standing  on  the  highest  (f 
the  batteries,  alongside  of  the  famous  Mens  M^ 
and  receiving  the  cheers  of  the  crowds  in  Princt't 
Street.  The  sky,  which  had  hitherto  been  heATj 
and  louring,  now  broke  up  for  a  little,  and  a 
gleam  of  sunshine  irradiated  the  old  battlementocf 
Dimedin.  A  nobler  view  than  that  commanded 
by  the  spot  where  her  Majesty  stood  it  were  diffi- 
cult to  conceive  ;  and,  with  the  added  effect  of  the 
enthusiastic  multitudes  at  her  feet,  who  can  doubt 
that  our  youthful  queen  received  from  it  highind 
ennobling  impulses  fit  for  a  queenly  heart? 

The  progress  from  the  Castle  down  Bank  Street, 
the  Mound,  and  along  Prince's  Street,  was  ooe 
continued  triumph,  with  the  usual  ingredients  of 
waving  hats,  handkerchiefs,  and  huzzahs.  The 
provost,  buried  under  a  cocked  hat,  and  hisbailief 
covered  with  scarlet  gowns  and  immortal  ridicule, 
added  dignity  to  the  processioiL  The  Arched- 
such  of  them  as  had  not  been  irrecoverably  brokeo 
in  wind  by  the  chase  of  Thursday — were  in  their 
places  round  the  royal  carriage  ;  and  things  veal 
as  smoothly  as  could  be  expected,  considering  tkit, 
from  the  High  Street  onwards,  no  provision  bid 
been  made  for  keeping  the  streets  clear ;  a  precau- 
tion which  the  coi^sion  of  Thursday  would  bAv^ 
forced  upon  any  civic  authorities  but  thoee  of 
Edinburgh.  After  visiting  Lord  Rosebeny  t 
Dalmeny  Park,  the  Queen  returned  to  Dalkehli 
by  way  of  Leith,  in  an  open  carriage,  althoogb  it 
rained  pretty  stiffly  most  of  the  time.  Eveiybodr 
has  seen  her,  and  even  irate  Leith  no  longer  sneki 
its  thumb  in  moody  wrath. 

Peel,  who  rode  in  an  open  carriage  behind  tbit 
of  her  Majesty,  was  received  with  amazing  oorda- 
lity.  The  cheers  were  numerous  and  hearty— «^ 
the  ladies,  bless  their  Conservative  hearts!  flatteied 
their  handkerchiefs  to  the  smiling  Premier  vit^ 
true  woman's  fervour.  By  the  bye,  some  of  thffl 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  a  white  handle 
chief  is  hardly  presentable  on  a  second  day.  H^ 
and  there  a  hiss  or  two  was  audible.  Ba^  Cooa^ 
vative  as  i;  fun,  I  wa?  si^rprised  at  the  cordiil»» 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH^ 


637 


Jl  but  muTenal  hnzsahs.  Of  coune,  common 
M)litene88,  and  the  gratulations  due  to  high  and 
nccessfdl  intellect,  prompted  many  a  political 
•pponent  to  doff  his  hat  and  join  in  the  general 
ilute.  Peel  received  these  tributes  with  asmiling 
onkommie  that  told  well;  and  surrendered  his 
lands  to  the  shake  of  numbers  of  the  great  un- 
rashed  with  a  disregard  of  dirt  highly  politic,  but 
rhich,  considering  Uie  national  cutaneous  irritabi- 
Itj,  must  have  required  no  common  fortitude. 
By  the  bye,  the  wild  men  of  the  Kirk,  eager  to 
eed  hi  their  ancient  grudge  on  Peel,  have  been 
ilipoiding  him  for  what  ^y  please  to  call  the 
insult"  done  to  the  Scotch  people  upon  Thurs- 
lay.  They  may  try  to  divert  the  obloquy 
rom  their  friend.  Sir  James  Forrest,  in  this  way ; 
lut  it  vrill  not  do.  Their  abuse  of  Peel  is  just  as 
•reposterous  as  the  howl  they  have  set  up,  because 
he  Queen  preferred  having  the  service  of  her  own 
liurch  performed  to  her  yesterday  at  Dalkeith 
'alace,  to  being  made  the  conunon  stare  of  every 
ariousfool  in  ^eir  High  Church.  But  the  Kirk 
s  in  affliction,  forsooth ;  and  the  light  of  the  royal 
oQDtenance  would  be  exceeding  comfortable  to  it. 
)red(a  Judams  !  Such  paragons  of  reverence  for 
onstitutional  law  as  Gordon,  Cunningham,  &  Co., 
kie  most  fitting  suitors  for  the  grace  of  her  who  is 
ts  principium  et  fona!  Away  with  such  cant  I 
^hat  care  they  for  Kings  or  Queens,  so  they  might 
stablish  their  own  spiritual  despotism  ?  Let  them 
emember  their  weekly  revilings  of  that  church, 
Mxx>rding  to  whose  standards  her  daily  worship  is 
Ibected.  But  were  the  conceited  brawlers,  who 
tyle  themselves  '^  The  Kirk,"  dutiful  as  they  are 
cbellious,  catholic  as  they  are  higoted,  what  are 
hey  that  they  should  dictate  to  her  Majesty  where 
od  how  she  should  worship?  Surely  the  Pro- 
estant  Queen  of  England  may  exercise  the  freedom 
f  choice  which  they  claim  for  themselves.  Of  a 
mty,  the  arrogance  of  these  privileged  railers  is 
nly  paralleled  hy  their  want  of  breeding. 
Bat  while  the  ^^  orthodox,  orthodox,  wha  be- 
eve  in  John  Knox,"  have  heen  raising  the  snivel 
nd  whine  in  their  own  narrow  circles,  all  Uie 
rorld  and  his  wife  have  been  more  pleasantly 
Dd  quite  as  profitably  employed  in  studying 
oortly  genuflections,  and  crahlike  retreats  from 
le  sunshine  of  the  royal  glance.  Instead  of  the 
rawing-room  at  Holyrood,  her  Majesty,  in  pity 
r  the  wasteful  outlay  upon  lace  and  ^^  Voizet's 
Barl  jewellery,"  in  anticipation  of  that  hirth- 
«mgled  gala,  announced  that  a  Reception,  which 
a  compound  of  drawing-room  and  lev^e,  with- 
it  the  privileges,  I  believe,  of  either,  would  be 
sld  to-day  at  Dalkeith  Palace.  Again  the  sds- 
»n  flew  through  acres  of  satin ;  and  milliners^ 
iantuamakers,plumassier8,and  tailors,  became  the 
leatest  creatures  upon  earth.  Mrs.  Drumtonstie, 
le  provost's  wife  of  Clartyhole,  lay  awake  for 
ights  thinking  of  the  sensation  the  ^'  huirdly" 
irson  of  her  lord  in  his  court  suit  would  make  in 
le  royal  presence.  ^  Save  us ! "  she  exclaimed,  as 
was  brought  home  to  their  lodgings  fresh  from 
ieyer  and  Mortimer's ;  *^  Geordie,  man,  ye'll  no 
m  yoursel'  in  a'  that  paraffle  o'  purple  an'  fine 
icn.    Satin !  as  I'm  a  sinfu'  woman,"  she  ex- 


claimed, holding  up  the  vest  In  consternation; 
^^  and  sprigged  vd'  red  and  blue  flowers  frae  collar 
to  lappets,  nae  less,  like  auld  Leddy  Tumtippet*s 
stamadger,  {Anglic^  stomacher,)  up  bye  at  the 
Place.  Lord!  what's  this?  A  three-neukit  hat, 
and  silver-hilted  swurd  1  Set  ye  up !  My  certies, 
lad,  it's  weel  ye're  amang  as  big  fules  as  yersel' ; 
for  gin  the  bairns  and  wives  o'  Ckrtyhole  were  to 
see  you  makin'  a  play-actor  o'  yersel*  in  siccan 
gear  as  that,  ye  wadna  hear  the  end  o't  a'  your 
bom  days !"  But  the  worthy  goodman  heard  her 
not ;  for  he  was  speculating  how  he  was  to  convey 
the  digits  of  majesty  to  his  lips  on  the  fast  ap- 
proaching Monday.  He  had  akeady  worn  out  the 
knees  of  two  pairs  of  breeches  in  practising  a 
graceful  drop  upon  his  knee,  besides  unexpectedly 
embracing  the  floor  more  than  once  in  consequence 
of  his  sword  getting  between  his  1^  as  he  walked 
backwards  to  an  imaginary  door  in  an  imagi- 
nary presence-chamber  from  the  feet  of  an  ima- 
ginary sovereign.  But  having  heard,  that  to  touch 
the  royal  fingers  with  the  hand  was  against  all 
rule,  his  agitation  reached  its  climax;  for  how 
otherwise  he  was  to  get  them  brought  into  contact 
with  his  lips  was  a  matter  far  beyond  his  compre- 
hension. An  important  personage  was  now  the 
man  or  woman  who  had  previously  gone  through 
the  ordeal  of  a  presentation,  and  could  expound  its 
complex  ritual  to  the  uninitiated.  In  every  draw- 
ing-room,  rehearsals  were  going  forward;  and 
kneeling,  and  bowing,  and  kisdng  of  visionary 
fingers  has  been  the  engrossing  occupation  of  the 
"nobility  and  gentry"  here  for  the  last  week. 

M y  who,  ever  since  Thursday,  has  been  as 

sulky  as  a  universal  philanthropist — ^indignant,  no 
doubt,  though  he  won't  say  so,  at  the  very  non- 
chalant way  in  which  the  royal  body-guard  have 
been  treated— departed  this  morning  in  somewhat 
better  humour,  to  join  that  sombre  body,  to  whom 
the  illustrious  privilege  had  been  accorded  of  lining 
the  staircase  at  Dalkeith  Palace  during  the  Recep- 
tion. He  has  returned  radiant  with  smiles.  The 
scars  of  wounded  pride  have  ceased  to  gall;  for 
he  and  his  friends  have  been  permitted  to  officiate 
— as  lackies  of  the  outer  chamber ! 

You  should  have  seen  the  vehicles  that  whirled 
by  hundreds  to  the  gates  of  the  palace  to-day. 
Such  a  collection  of  broken-down  locomotives 
never,  I  dare  say,  lumbered  along  a  road.  The 
cattle  were  of  a  piece  with  Uie  carriages ;  and  if, 
occasionally,  they  indulged  in  the  faint  reminis- 
cence of  a  canter,  the  freak  must  have  equally 
surprised  their  Jehus  and  themselves.  Conceive 
the  vehicular  force  that  must  have  been  necessary 
to  convey  fifteen  hundred  persons,  all  bending 
under  a  load  of  frippery  and  gold  lace, — ^for  such 
was  the  Armageddon  that  defiled  through  the 
drawing-room  of  Dalkeith  Palace  between  two  and 
five  o'clock  this  afternoon, — and  you  may  fancy 
the  number  of  hcgi-rooets  which  must  have  been 
dislodged,  before  the  requisite  amount  of  leathern 
conveniences  could  be  got  together.  Anything 
served.  But  the  incongruity  of  waving  plumes, 
and  glittering  epaulettes,  beMnd  the  dirty  glass  of 
a  dilapidated  cab,  was,  as  you  may  suppose,  highly 
conducive  to  mirth,  and  a  philosophical  appreci- 


688 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


ation  of  the  splendowf  of  court  pageantry  in  gene* 
laly  and  of  a  Scotch  lev^  in  particular. 

Of  course,  where  so  many  were  presented,  the 
company  comprised  some  very  equiyocal  elements, 
— ^persons,  indeed,  who,  you  would  think,  could 
hardly,  in  their  wildest  dreams,  have  aspired  to 
such  an  honour.  The  ceremony  was  despatched 
with  railroad  rapidity — and  not  a  few  were  sur- 
prised to  find  themselves  out  of  the  presence  hefore 
they  were  conscious  of  having  heen  in  it.  Our  good 
friend  Provost  Drumtoustie  was  so  lifted  off  his 
feet  by  the  magnificence  of  all  he  saw,  that  he 
fairly  grasped  the  royal  hand  in  his  iron  fist,  and 
planted  upon  its  jewelled  fingers  a  kiss  that  woke 
up  two  of  the  lords-in- waiting  from  a  dream  of  a 
rise  of  salary;  whereupon  he  was  handed  along  from 
page  to  equerry,  and  from  equerry  to  groom,  with 
such  celerity,  that  in  somewhat  less  than  no  time 
he  found  himself  projected  into  the  lawn  by 

the  f ary  of  a  foot, 
Whose  indignation  commonly  is  stamped 
Upon  the  Mnder  quarters  of  a  man. 

The  Queen  was  observed  to  smile — graciously,  of 
course — whenever  a  member  of  the  Edinburgh 
Town  Council  was  announced  ;  and  so  enraptured 
were  some  of  them  at  the  obvious  delight  with 
which  she  extended  her  hand  to  them,  that  serious 
fears  were  entertained  for  their  intellects.  **  Weel, 
now,  the  likes  o'  yon !  Her  Majesty  smiled  as 
gracious  an  pleasantlike,  whan  I  stappit  up,  as  if 
she  had  kent  me  for  years  and  mair.  She'll  hae 
read,  Tm  thinkin',  my  speech  on  the  Irrigation 
question, — or  maybe  seen  the  doonsettin'  I  gied 
Bark-at-a'  about  the  Seat  rents  ?  "  said  one.  ^  Gae 
wa'  man !"  argued  another ;  "  it  was  easy  seen  she 
wanted  to  mak'  up  for  the  affront  that  was  put  upon 
us  by  Peel  an'  the  Duke  the  ither  day.  It's  my 
notion,  ane  o'  thae  flunkies  will  be  round  pre- 
sently, to  ask  us  to  stap  in  by  an'  take  a  check  o' 
wine  an  cake  wi'  her  Majesty,  when  the  Recep- 
tion 's  over.  She'll  need  it,  puir  thing,  for  yon's 
weary  wark.  Deed,  I  feel  as  if  the  wing  o'  a  fowl 
wadna  come  amiss,  after  a'  this  bobbing  and  beck- 
ing." I  don't  vouch  for  the  ipsisnmaverboy  mind  ; 
but  the  main  features  are  correct ;  and,  as  the 
Italians  say — si  non  ^  vero,  ^  ben  trovato. 

But  I  must  conclude — ^for  I  see  that  it  is  time 
to  dress  for  the  Assembly.  It  is  expected  to  be 
very  fuD,  as  hundreds  are  sure  to  come  for  the 
sake  of  showing  off  their  own  court  suits,  and  cri- 
ticising their  neighbours'.  There  will  be  lots  of 
"bonnie  lassies"  too — all  cogent  reasons  for  a 
young  fellow  repairing  to 

The  gav  and  festive  scene, 

The  halls,  the  halls  of  dazzling  light. 

But  I  have  another  reason  more  cogent  still.    I 

hav«  promised   to   meet 1  shan't  say  whom, 

there.  If  you  don't  hear  from  me,  therefore,  for  a 
week,  suppose  that  I  have  been  sent  for  to  ex- 
pound Feam  <m  Chvitingent  Bemaindera  to  her 
Majesty,  or — ^that  I  have  broken  my  leg  in  exe- 
cuting a  Highland  reel, — suppose — anything,  in 
riiort,  but  that  I  have  been  flirting  with  an  heiress. 


LBTTBB  v.— *THB  Hl6HLiyDS« 

EniNBiraoH,  15ih  SepUmhtTf  1842. 

Mr  BKAB  Campbell, — My  last  left  me  on  tbi 
point  of  starting  for  the  Assembly  Rooms,  ivfaen 
I  dbtinguished  myself  by  dancing  reels  like  Fox 
Maule,  waltzes  like  D'Orsay,  and  quadrilles  with 
the  finish  of  Perrot.  The  room  was  crowded,  the 
dresses  brilliant,  the  women  pretty,  the  champagne 
unexceptionable,  the  dancing  spirited,  and  Msxii 
gracious.  What  more  could  heart  of  man  desire  I 
We  left  the  rooms  at  two,  and  by  six  o'clock  I  fonnd 
myself  trotting  briskly  towards  Queen8ferry,dBtk 
high  road  to  Perthshire.  Think  not  I  was  on  bt 
way  to  Breadalbane  Castle.  No.  The  Marqmshid 
unaccountably  overlooked  me  in  his  invttttiooi. 
Think  not  I  had  been  put  upon  the  staff  of  Tk 
Times  to  minute  the  small  talk  of  the  royal  pro- 
gress, as  "  our  correspondent ;"  or  that  Loid  Lhw- 
pool  had  commissioned  me  to  time  ^e  rojil 
luncheon  at  Dupplin,  or  to  r^ulate  the  roart  it 
Scone.  On  no  such  high  vocation  was  it  thail 
perilled  my  neck  upon  such  spavined  Rosinaota 
as  the  post-houses  might  afford.  No  !  The  That' 
derer  might  have  showered  gold  upon  roe,  tike 
Danae,  and  the  Lord  Chamberlain  promised  )» 
the  good  things  of  Amphitryon,  and  yet  I  wtniH 
not  have  gone  one  step  towards  the  north,  fiit 
Maria  had  whispered  at  the  close  of  our  last  qu- 
drille,  that  the  family  were  to  be  off  next  dayfe 
their  seat  near  Aberfeldy ;  and  I  suddenly  disco- 
vered that  I  had  some  geological  researches  to  cod- 
plete  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  family  mansiga, 
and  might  very  possibly  take  an  opportunitj  rf 
renewing  our  acquaintance  there.  To  tills  the  U^ 
seemed  no  ways  averse ;  and,  accordingly,  at  I 
have  said,  I  found  myself  trotting  along  the  gitit 
North  Road  on  Tuesday  last  by  six  o'clock  aji. 

In  this  way  I  preceded  the  royal  train  by  sow 
hours ;  so  that,  like  the  Scotsman  newspaper  9  ii- 
genious  **  own  reporter," — an  Irishman,  obvioaalT, 
— "I  could  only  gather  her  Majesty's  rtee^ 
along  the  roads  by  the  marks  of  preparatim  I  o^ 
served  in  passing."     Fear  not,  therefore,  that  I 
shall  furnish  you  with  a  catalogue  of  all  the  tn- 
umphal  arches  of   faded  laurel  and   exanimale 
dahlias  which  spanned  the  entrance  to  eveiy  sti^ 
gling  village  through  which  her  Majesty  paeeei 
The  papers  will  have  informed  you  how  midd«- 
steads  were  cleared  away  from  tiie  streets ;  hov, 
from  the  wooden  chimney  of  every  thatched  iw^ 
a  Paisley  bandana  fluttered  in  the  breeze ;  bov 
yeomen  huzzaed,  and  cottars  cheered,  and  hjmen, 
on  their  yauds,  pursued  the  royal  pair,  that  thif 
might  afterwards  tell  their  neighbours,  over  a  b<^ 
of  tippeny  in  the  change-house,  that  **  Theyin^ 
crack  about  queens  as  they  liked,  but  I  rade  de» 
beside  her  a'  the  time ;  and  she's  a  real  pleamt- 
lookin'  creatur."    The  villages  were  just  a  rqitfr 
tion  of  what  I  have  described  in  Edinbuigh,  m^ 
tie  mutandis.    Instead  of  the  cherubims  rf  4* 
hospitals  chanting  the  royal  anthem,  as  I  b^r* 
they  tried  to  do  somewhere  in  the  High  fti«* 
during  the  progress  to  the  Castle,  the  hamkt  ^^ 
its  crowder  perched  upon  a  barrel  or  other  «^ 
nenoe,  and  quickening  the  general  enthuaiaim^ 


THE  QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  EDINBURGH. 


<^Weloome9  royal  Charlie!"  or'^Carle,  now  the 
King's  come  V*  Other  difierences  of  the  same  kind 
might  easily  be  multiplied  ;  but  in  Tillage  as  in 
metropoliSy  the  same  hearty  loyalty  was  apparent. 

Dunfermline — weaving,  democratioal,  insurrec- 
tionary Dunfermline— rmade  no  assault  upon  the 
royal  person,  notwithstanding  the  forebodings  of 
The  Globe,  Inrerkeithing  indeed  has,  I  believe, 
shown  symptoms  of  disaffection,  in  consequence  of 
her  Migesty^s  want  of  taste,  not  to  say  politeness, 
in  driving  at  a  brisk  trot  through  her  picturesque 
street.  The  town  has  but  one.  But  except  that 
some  of  the  loudest  of  its  politicians  have  in- 
dulged in  *'  a  swap  of  drink"  extra,  and  been  cuffed 
by  their  suffering  vrives  therefor,  I  have  not  heard 
of  any  more  serious  consequences.  I  do  not  know 
whether  this  good  burgh  had  any  keys  to  present, 
or  whether  they  have  long  since  been  melted  down 
into  silver  chains  for  its  civic  rulers.  If  it  had,  it 
was  really  too  bad  in  her  Majesty  not  to  take  thb 
opportunity  of  informing  the  municipal  authori- 
ties that  articles  so  utterly  useless  could  not  be  in 
better  keeping.  Most  gratifying,  by  the  way,  it  is 
to  find,  that  the  municipal  government  is  so  beau- 
tifully faultless  in  all  the  counties  her  Majesty  has 
risited.  A  rotten  burgh,  or  an  incapable  council, 
must  be  a  figment,  a  chimera  of  the  dark  ages. 
From  the  provost  of  Edinburgh,  who,  in  the  mat- 
ter of  the  barriers,  acted  in  the  spirit  of  Richard 
the  Second's  exclamation,  when  summoned  to  the 
deathbed  of  John  of  Graunt, 

Pray  God  we  may  make  haste,  and  come  too  late  I 
to  him  of  Linlithgow,  who  was  swept  away  by  an 
tvalanche  of  his  own  burghers  from  his  post  at  the 
gates,  long  before  her  Majesty  reached  them,  they 
are,  one  and  all,  the  most  vigilant  of  warders,  the 
most  astute  of  councillors,  the  most  loyal  of  sub- 
jects. Indeed  their  loyalty  is  perfect.  Differ  from 
each  other  as  they  may  in  all  things  else,  on  this 
they  are  all  agreed ;  and  "  when  these  gentlemen 
h  agree,"  as  Puff  says,  "  their  unanimity  is  won- 
ierful."  Their  addresses  seem  to  have  been  all 
turned  on  the  same  loom.  Only  in  one  instance 
tiave  I  observed  any  deviation  from  the  beaten 
irack,  and  this  was  at  Stirling,  where,  after  firing 
)ff  the  usual  declaration  of  "  ancient  burgh— de- 
wted  attachment — throne  and  government — long 
tpared — ^loyal  and  happy  people,"  and  receiving 
he  usual  answer,  the  provost,  like  Richie  Moni- 
)nes  thrusting  his  "  bit  sifflication"  into  the  royal 
lands  along  with  his  master  s  petition,  informed 
ler  Majesty,  that  "  it  gave  him  great  pleasure, 
hat,  as  provost  of  this  town^  he  had  had  the  honour 
o  receive  her  Majesty,  under  whose  father  he  had 
he  honour  to  serve  for  twenty  years."  Exquisite 
antithesis !  The  old  subaltern,  "  as  provost  of 
his  town,  has  great  pleasure  in  receiving* — ^mark 
he  phrase ! — the  Queen  of  England,  who  happens 
0  be  the  daughter  of  his  old  officer.  The  Queen 
nust  have  been  sensibly  touched  by  the  compli- 
ttent.  One  of  those  sharp-sighted  dogs  of  the  press, 
^hom  her  Majesty  kept  constantly  beside  her,  de- 
leted a  tear  in  her  eye.  I  should  say,  that  a 
oung  female,  well  known  by  the  endearing  epi- 
fiet  of  Betty  Martin,  was  more  likely  to  have 
een  there. 


I  managed  to  reach  Perth  in  time  to  see  her 
Majesty's  entry,  and  a  very  striking  contrast  it 
formed  to  the  scene  at  Edinburgh,  so  far  as  the 
public  arrangements  went.  Here,  the  keys  were 
presented  at  a  most  elegant  triumphal  arch,  that 
gave  something  like  dignity  to  the  ceremony ; 
which  suffered  nothing,  as  you  may  suppose, 
from  the  elegant  robes  of  the  officials,  and  the 
good  order  in  which  the  streets  were  kept  by  the 
public  bodies.  As  for  the  rest,  it  was  a  repetiticm 
of  the  old  story — huzzahs,  hats,  and  handkerchiefs, 
till  the  royal  pair  leachJed  Scone.  The  Queen 
was  no  doubt  reminded  by  some  judicious  friend, 
that  the  last  monarch  who  made  a  similar  entree 
to  Perth  was  Charles  the  First ;  a  circumstance 
which,  taken  in  connexion  with  the  incident  of 
his  reign  recorded  in  the  pithy  distich — 
Traitor  Scot,  traitor  Scot, 
Sold  his  king  for  a  groat, 

must  have  given  a  very  pleasant  turn  to  her  Ma- 
jesty's evening  meditations.  By  the  bye,  that  dis- 
tich came  with  a  peculiar  grace  from  us  English  ; 
for,  if  the  Scots  sold  Charles,  who  beheaded  him  ? 

I  can't  say,  that  I  am  a  devout  admirer  of  the 
Gael.  He  is  very  well  to  read  about  in  books,  and 
makes  no  bad  figure  in  Landseer  s  pictures.  I  can 
even  admire  him  careering  through  the  Reel  of 
Ilullachan,  snapping  his  fingers,  and  hallooing  like 
a  Red  Indian.  But  beyond  this  my  respect  for 
"  ta  Heeland  shentlemans  "  does  not  go.  I  have 
diversexcellentreasons  forthis.  But  Highland  blood 
is  hot,  and  your  skene  dhu  is  an  awkward  blood- 
letter.  As  for  their  single-hearted  and  devoted 
loyalty,  that  so  much  is  talked  about,  I  would 
take  an  even  bet,  that  if  it  came  to  the  pinch,  your 
Lowland  Radical  would  rally  round  the  throne, 
and  fight  for  it  as  stoutly  as  any  Mac  of  them  all. 
The  Highlander  follows  his  leader,  as  sheep  do 
their  bellweather.  If  their  chief  goes  out  for  the 
King,  they  go  out  too ;  if  he  declares  for  the  Pre- 
tender, the  Pretender  has  their  swords.  A  fico 
for  such  loyalty,  say  I. 

But,  be  this  as  it  may,  bring  some  hundreds  of 
them  together,  as  Lord  Glenlyon  and  the  Marquis 
of  Breadalbane  have  done,  and  set  them  marching 
with  claymore,  Lochaber  axe,  and  pennon. 

All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array, 
under  the  shadows  of  their  heathy  hills,  and  a  picture 
is  presented  that  is  very  agreeable  to  the  eye,  and 
may  very  reasonably  inspire  a  sonnet,  or,  mayhap, 
a  canto  of  octosyllabics.  Both  at  Dunkeld  and 
Taymouth,  the  appearance  which  they  made  was 
splendid  ;  and,  as  a  relic  of  the  old  feudal  grandeur 
in  days  when  the  links  of  vassalage  and  clanship 
are  f^  untwining,  the  muster  of  so  many  fine- 
looking  mountaineers  around  their  chiefs,  had  a 
romantic  interest  which  heightened  even  the  effect 
of  the  noble  scenery  around.  All  this  was  in  good 
taste  and  keeping.  Not  so  the  variegated  lamps^ 
and  other  littlenesses  of  Vauxhall,  which  were  in- 
troduced along  the  lawns  and  under  the  oaks  at 
TajTnouth.  Torches,  as  many  as  you  please,  with 
Highlanders  for  candelabras,  and  bonfires  on  every 
Ben  a  tar-barrel  can  be  trundled  up  to  ;  but 
illumination  other  than  this  amid  such  scenery  is 
ridiculous. 


640 


THE  QUEERS  VISIT  TO  EDINBUIWH. 


1 


An  Athole  hunting  has  been  famous  from  the 
days  of  Pitscottie  downwards.  Scott,  in  a  few  of 
his  magical  touches,  has  described  one  in  Waver- 
ley,  chap,  24,  where  he  cites  a  passage  on  the  sub- 
ject from  Taylor  the  Water  Poet,  which  shows 
how  even  a  Thames  boatman  could  be  carried  away 
by  the  excitement  of  the  scene : — 
Through  heather,  moss,  'mong  frogs,  and  bogs,  and  fogs, 

'Mongst  craggy  cliffs,  and  thnnder-battled  hills. 
Hares,  hinds,  bucks,  roes,  are  chased  by  men  and  dogs. 

Where  two-hours'  hunting  fourscore  fat  deer  kills. 
Lowland,  your  sports  are  low  as  is  your  seat ; 
The  Highland  games  and  minds  are  high  and  great 

A  specimen  of  the  thing,  in  a  small  way,  was 
given  on  Thursday  last,  forthe  Prince's  amusement. 
At  nine  o'clock  he  turned  out  with  the  Marquis, 
and  some  thirty  or  forty  Highlanders,  whose  busi- 
ness it  was  to  drive  the  deer  and  other  game  into 
a  narrow  circle  for  the  Prince  to  blaze  away  at. 
The  Prince  having  planted  himself  with  the 
keepers  on  the  summit  of  Tullohvule,  the  Highland- 
ers commenced  operations;  and  in  due  time  the 
roe -deer  came  scampering  past ;  with  the  Highland- 
ers at  their  heels,  scrambling  through  copse  and 
over  crag,  clapping  their  hands,  and  making 
the  woods  ring  with  their  loud  halloos.  I 
don't  mean  to  disparage  the  Prince's  sportsman- 
ship ;  but  there  were  two  or  three  M.P.'s  at  Tay- 
mouUi  that  day  that  would  have  done  more  exe- 
cution than  his  Highness.  Three  roe-deer  is  no 
great  triumph.  A  second  circle  was  formed,  and 
the  Prince  had  better  luck  this  time  ;  so  that,  when 
he  returned  to  the  castle,  sixteen  roe-deer,  and  a 
score  or  two  of  hares  and  wild-fowl,  had  measured 
their  length  upon  the  heather.  I  confess,  the  sight 
of  the  Prince  taking  all  the  sport  to  himself  was 
too  King  Jamie-like  for  my  taste.  Had  he  car- 
ried half-a-dozen  of  the  sportsmen  at  the  castle 
with  him,  and  had  each  peppered  away  for  his  own 
hand,  he  would  have  found  the  sport  far  more  to 
the  purpose.  Not  that  this  sort  of  thing  is  true 
sportsman's  work  at  the  best.  In  tlie  far  glen,  and 
with  a  herd  of  wild-deer,  there  would  be  something 
to  try  a  man's  mettle.  But  driving  tame  deer  in  a 
well-stocked  preserve  is  to  deer-stalking  proper 
what  decimating  the  Chinese  is  to  fighting  hand  to 
hand  with  the  AfFghans  ;  and  this  the  Prince  will 
find  out  when  he  comes  to  try  it. 

Whilst  the  Prince  was  astonishing  the  natives 
by  his  condescension  in  not  shooting  the  Highland- 
ers in  place  of  the  deer,*  the  Queen  was  studying 

*  <*  It  is  particularly  worthy  of  remark,  that  the  Prince, 
though  affbrding  proofs  of  the  superiority  of  his  capabi- 
lities as  a  sportsman,  was  uncommonly  careful,  and  lost 
many  a  fine  roe  because  he  would  not  fire  when  he  heard 
the  voices  and  clapping  of  hands  of  the  Highlandmen 
on  their  near  approach,  where  he  could  not  distinguish 
their  exact  position  when  crouched  amongst  the  trees. 
The  Highlanders  were  very  shrewd;  and  though  they 
did  not  appear  to  know  what  fear  was,  they  observed 
this  trait  in  his  Royal  Highness's  character,  and  spoke 


dairy  production  through  the  medium  of  silver 
chums  and  china  milk-pails.  Of  course,  she  mmi 
have  imbibed,  in  this  way,  the  most  correct  notuns 
upon  the  manufacture  of  cheese  and  butter.  Oat 
upon  such  foppery !  A  story  was  current  at  Ken- 
more,  however,  that  she  went  in  upon  the  dairy- 
maid one  day  by  herself  and  the  Celtic  'PbSJk 
being  asked  to  show  something  which  was  not  in 
the  way  at  the  time,  went  for  it,  telling  her  Ma- 
jesty to  ^  ca'  the  kirn  "  till  she  came  back,  which 
her  Majesty,  say  the  gossips,  did.  The  story  is,  I 
fear,  too  good  to  be  true. 

But  I  grow  tired  of  these  royal  exhibitions.  The 
dancing  of  delirious  Highlanders  upon  platfecms 
before  the  castle  on  Friday  mornings— the  ball  ta 
the  castle  in  the  evening — the  embarkation  oo 
Loch  Tay  next  day — all  were  noble  sights ;  but 
they  were  for  the  brush,  not  for  the  pen  to  paint. 
Besides,  are  not  these,  and  much  more  that  b  gk^ 
rious  and  grand,  written  in  the  books  of  the  chro- 
nicles of  TA«  Times? 

Re&eshed  in  health  and  gladdened  in  heart  did 
our  gracious  young  sovereign  appear  as  she  stepped 
on  board  the  Trident  at  Granton  yesterday  morn- 
ing. She  had  gathered  many  fair  and  elevating 
thoughts  among  the  varied  scenes  and  glowing 
hearts  of  Scotland ;  and  beyond  all  question^  t* 
use  the  noble  language  of  Wordsworth, 

When  the  stream. 
That  overflowed  the  sool,  hath  passed  away, 
A  consciousness  remains  that  it  bath  left, 
Deposited  upon  the  silent  shore 
Of  memory,  images,  and  precious  thoughts. 
That  cannot  die,  and  shall  not  be  destroyed. 

Her  visit  to  Scotland  has  done  much  good.  It 
has  riveted  and  given  vitality  to  its  loyalty.  The 
Queen  b  no  longer  merely  ike  Queen — she  b  the 
wife,  the  mother,  whom  all  have  seen,  whom  all 
insensibly  love.  "  A  canty  body" — ^^  A  bonny 
body,  and  sae  bashfu',  and  humble  like,  too.'* 
These  were  phrases  that  often  fell  on  my  ear- 
homely,  but  sufficiently  indicative  of  the  hold  her 
Majesty  has  upon  many  an  honest  heart.  She  has 
taught  a  lesson,  too,  to  the  ladies  of  the  conntiT, 
by  the  activity  of  her  habits,  and  the  simplicity  of 
her  manners,  which  will  spread  its  influence,  and 
be  felt  in  every  home. 

But  these  things  be  for  the  philosophers  and 
married  men.  I  am  neither,  although  things  do 
look  prosperous  in  a  certain  quarter.  Tie 
Birks  of  Aberfeldy  could  prate  of  certain  love- 
passages.  But  thou  art  of  the  profane.  Barnwell 
and  Cresswell  are  thy  Dulcineas — ^Adolphns  thr 
Lindamira.  Therefore  no  more  upon  this  sacicd 
theme.  Expect  me  in  town  on  Monday  week :  dU 
then  adieu.    Thine  de  profundis. 


in  the  most  unmeasured  terms  of  approbatio&  of  ^ 
amiable  manners  and  demeanour  of  the  Prinee  oa  ttii 
occasion."— 7tiii«5  CorretpondetU,  IdA  Sq)tewUfer,  lUS. 


eu 


THE  LIFE  OF  AUGUSTUS  VISCOUNT  KEPPEL  * 


This  work  completes  the  Lives  of  the  more  emi- 
nent of  British  Naval  Commanders ;  works  of  which 
the  last  twenty  years  have  been  fertile. 

The  memoirs  of  Admiral  Keppel  have  a  two-fold 
interest.  He  was,  for  a  time,  the  most  iUustrious  of 
England'snaval commanders,  and  he  was  an  enlight- 
ened and  liberal  statesman,  qnite  as  capable  of  direct- 
ing the  maritime  interests  of  his  country  by  his 
sound  views  in  the  cabinet  as  of  fighting  her  battlesat 
sea.  Keppel  was  descended  of  an  ancient  and  dis- 
tingniahed  family  of  Gnelderland.  His  grandfather, 
Arnold  Joost  van  Keppel,  Lord  of  Voorst,  accom- 
panied the  Prince  of  Orange  to  England  at  the 
period  of  the  Revolution  ;  and,  as  Earl  of  Albe- 
marle, is  known  as  William  the  Third's  favourite 
companion,  and  most  confidential  and  trusted  friend. 
He  was  the  very  reverse  of  what  is  usually  imagined 
of  a  phlegmatic,  unwieldy  Dutchman,  and  in  many 
points  the  antipodes  of  his  royal  master ;  and  tliough 
a  foreigner,  at  a  time  when  the  English  were  pecu- 
liarly jealous  of  the  Dutch  followers  of  their  foreign 
sovereign,  Albemarle  became  very  popular,  and  a  ge- 
neral favourite.  His  son,  the  second  earl,  and  father 
of  the  Admiral,  if  a  less  able  man,  even  exceeded  him 
in  every  polite  accomplishment  and  fascinating  qua- 
lity. He  was  a  refined  dandy  of  the  old  school,  as 
dandyism  was  understood  before  the  cliaracter  had 
been  debased  and  vulgarized.  Of  him  Walpole  sar- 
castically says — 

^  His  figure  was  genteel,  his  manner  noble  and  agree- 
able; the  rest  of  his  merit,  for  he  had  not  even  an  estate, 
was  the  interest  my  Lady  Albemarle  had  with  the  King, 
through  Lady  Yarmouth,  and  his  son,  Lord  Bury,  being 
the  Duke's  [William,  the  great  Duke  of  Cumberland] 
chief  favoarite.  He  had  all  his  life  imitated  the  French 
manners,  till  he  came  to  Paris,  where  he  never  conversed 
with  a  Frenchman,  not  from  partiality  to  his  own  oonntry- 
men,  for  he  conversed  as  Uttle  with  them.  If  good 
breeding  is  not  different  flx>m  good  sense.  Lord  Albe- 
marle, who  might  have  disputed  even  that  maxim,  at 
least  knew  how  to  distinguish  it  from  good  nature.  He 
would  bow  to  his  postilion,  while  he  was  ruining  his  tailor.*' 
Lord  Chesterfield  thus  writes  of  the  Earl  to  his  son, 
Philip  Stanhope,  who  was  attached  to  Lord  Albermarle's 
embassy  : — **  Between  you  and  me,  (for  this  must  go  no 
farther,)  what  do  you  think  made  our  friendLordAlbemarle 
colonel  of  a  regiment  of  guards,  governor  of  Virginia, 
groom  of  the  stole,  and  ambassador  to  Paris — amounting 
in  all  to  sixteen  or  seventeen  thousand  pounds  a-year ! 
Was  it  his  birth !  No  ;— a  Dutch  gentleman  only.  Was 
it  his  estate  {  No ;— he  had  none.  Was  it  his  learning, 
his  parts,  his  pohtical  abilities,  and  application  1  You 
can  answer  these  questions  easily  and  as  soon  as  I  can 
make  them.  What  was  it  then  ? — Many  people  wonder- 
ed, but  I  do  not.  It  was  his  air,  his  address,  his  man- 
ners, and  his  graces.  He  pleased,  and  by  pleasing  be- 
came a  favourite ;  and  by  becoming  a  favourite,  became 
all  that  he  has  been  since.  Show  me  any  one  instance 
where  intrinsic  worth  and  merit,  unassisted  by  exterior 
accomplishments,  have  raised  any  man  so  high." 

This  popular  nobleman  died  rather  suddenly  in 
Paris,  where  he  was  long  an  ambassador  of  pa- 
rade. Admiral  Keppel  was  his  second  son,  and 
one  of  fifteen  children.  Keppel's  mother  was  a 
daughter  of  the  first  Duke  of  Richmond.    At  the 

*  "The  Life  of  Augustua  Viscount  Keppel,  Admind  of  the 
White,"  &c.  &.C.  By  the  Hon.  and  Rev.  Tliomas  Keppel. 
2  vols.  «vo,  cloth.     With  Portrait,  &c.  &c.    Colhum. 

NO.  CVI. — VOL.  IX. 


age  of  ten,  Keppel  entered  the  navy ;  and  at  fifteen, 
he  was  appointed  to  the  CenturioHy  then  Command- 
ed by  Anson,  whom  he  accompanied  in  his  secret 
expedition  against  the  Spanish  settlements  on  the 
coast  of  Soutii  America,  and  in  his  famous  voyage 
round  the  world.  Keppel  was  thus  bred  in  an  excel- 
lent, hut  severe  school.  Among  his  early  compan- 
ions were  the  future  Admirals,  Saumarez,  Parker, 
and  CampbeU,  who  all  remained  his  steadfast  friends 
throughout  life.  Anson,  and  Sir  Charles  Saimders, 
both  afterwards,  like  himself,  First  Lords  of  the 
Admiralty,  though  of  much  longer  standing  in 
the  service,  were  among  his  warmest  friends  and 
patrons;  and  the  former,  at  an  early  period,  is 
said  to  have  foretold  his  future  professional  emi- 
nence. 

The  most  minute  narrative  of  Anson's  memor- 
able circumnavigation,  which  forms  an  era  in 
British  naval  history,  can  never  want  interest  with 
English  readers.  Keppel's  kinsman  and  affectionate 
biographer  has  certainly  not  been  able  to  impart 
much  novelty  to  an  affair  so  well  known ;  yet  a  few 
facts  and  anecdotes  have  been  gleaned  &om  the 
young  seaman's  journal  and  from  that  of  hb  friend 
Saumarez.  At  the  storming  of  Payta,  Mr.  Keppel 
had  a  very  narrow  escape  for  his  life,  the  peak  of 
his  jockey-cap  having  been  carried  off  by  a  musket 
shot.  A  little  prize-money  was  some  solace.  In 
the  action  with  the  Spanish  galleon,  Neustra  Se- 
nora  de  Cava  Danga^  he  acted  as  Anson's  aid-de- 
camp, and  behaved  so  gallantly,  that  the  Commo- 
dore immediately  gave  him  a  lieutenant's  conmiis- 
sion,  the  vacancy  being  occasioned  by  the  promo- 
tion of  his  friend  Saumarez  to  the  command  of  the 
captured  galleon.  He  was,  after  his  return  to 
England,  appointed  to  the  Dreadnoughty  and  made 
Commander  and  Post-Captain,  probably  fuUy  as 
rapidly  as  if  he  had  been  the  son  of  an  obscure  family, 
though  not  more  rapidly  than  hb  merits  deserved. 
When  cruizing  in  the  Channel^  and  while  very 
successful  in  making  prizes,  he  had  the  misfortune 
to  he  shipwrecked  on  the  French  coast,  and  was 
made  prisoner.  He  was  kindly  treated,  and  soon 
permitted  to  return  to  England  on  his  parole, 
and  almost  immediately  appointed  to  a  sixty-gun 
new  ship.  Anson,  hb  friend  and  patron,  and  the  god- 
father ^the  new  ship,  was  now  a  rising  man,  and 
Keppel  partook  the  gale  of  professional  prosperity* 
It  was  only  about  this  period — 1747 — ^Umt  a  uni- 
form was  first  adopted  in  the  navy,  the  ofiKcersand 
men  till  then  dressing  as  they  pk^sed.  Instead  of 
the  ''blue  jacket,"  now  so  dear  to  English  asso- 
ciations, the  naval  uniform  was  at  first  in  some 
danger  of  being  grey,  faced  with  red.  Shortly 
after  Keppel's  appointment  to  the  Ansofty  peace 
was  made  by  the  treaty  of  Aix-la-Chapclle,  and  his 
ship  was  turned  into  a  guard-ship ;  but  loving  active 
service,  and  longing  for  an  opportunity  to  distingubh 
himself,  by  the  kindness  of  Lord  Anson  he  was 
appointed  to  his  old  Centuriany  a  "  crack  man-of- 
war,"  rendered  famous  by  her  previous  voyage 
round  the  world.    During  the  general  European 

3F 


642 


LIFE  OF  AUGUSTUS  VISCOUNT  KEPPEL. 


1 


war  the  Barbaiy  pirates  had  been  even  more  active 
than  in  later  times,  and  were,  moreover,  the  allies 
of  christian  England  ;  but  when  the  Algerine 
rovers  violated  the  maxim  of  "honour  among 
thieves,"  and  captured  and  plundered  an  English 
packet-vessel  on  her  voyage  home  from  Lisbon, 
the  government  resolved  upon  an  expedition  to  the 
Barbary  coast ;  and  Captain  Keppel,  then  only  in 
his  twenty-fourth  year,  was  appointed  at  once  am- 
bassador and  commander  of  the  squadron.  One  of 
his  midshipmen  on  this  expedition  was  Adam, 
afterwards  Admiral  Lord  Duncan  of  Camperdown, 
between  whom  and  the  young  Commodore  there 
arose  the  warmest  and  most  steadfast  regard. 
Keppel  took  another  shipmate  at  this  time,  des- 
tined to  reach  equal  fame  in  his  own  walk.  When 
the  Centurion  put  into  Plymouth  for  repairs,  before 
sailing  on  the  expedition,  Keppel,  at  the  seat  of 
Lord  Mount  Edgecumbe,  became  acquainted  with 
"  Mr.  Reynolds,"  afterwards  the  celebrated  **  Sir 
Joshua,'*  with  whom  he  was  so  much  pleased  that 
he  offered  him  a  passage  in  the  Centurion.  Rey- 
nolds' portrait  of  Keppel,  painted  on  this  voyage, 
and  with  which  he  took  very  great  pains,  is  still 
reckoned  one  of  hb  best  productions.  A  good  en- 
graving from  it  forms  the  frontispiece  to  the 
Memoirs. 

Reynolds  accompanied  the  Commodore  to  Algiers, 
visiting  by  the  way  Lisbon,  Cadiz,  and  several  in- 
termediate places,  before  going  to  Rome.  Among 
those  most  deeply  interested  in  the  issue  of  Admiral 
Keppel's  memorable  trial  (or  persecution)  many 
years  after  this,  was  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  then 
grown  into  high  celebrity  in  his  profession. 

Keppel  conducted  his  negotiations  with  the 
Barbary  States  in  a  way  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  sage,  grey-headed  diplomatist  of  three 
times  his  years,  and  brought  the  affair  to  a  satis- 
factory and  honourable  settlement. 

When  the  rupture  with  France  of  1754  was 
impending,  Keppel  was  appointed  Commodore  of  a 
squadron  to  North  America,  where  he  was  to  act  as 
the  coadjutor  of  the  unfortunate  General  Braddock. 
On  the  same  day  that  he  put  to  sea  with  his  pro- 
tege Duncan,  the  unexpected  death  of  his  father 
occurred  in  Paris.  Walpole  details  the  following 
remarkable  circumstance  in  connexion  with  the 
Earl's  decease,  in  a  letter  to  his  friend.  Sir  Horace 
Mann — 

I  shall  relate  the  following,  only  pre&cin^,  that  I  do 
believe  the  dream  happened,  and  happened  nght,  among 
the  millions  of  dreams  that  do  not  hit.  Lord  Bory  was 
at  Windsor  with  the  Dnke,  when  the  express  of  his 
fitther's  death  anived  ;  he  came  to  town  time  enough  to 
find  his  mother  and  sisters  at  breakfiut.— '  Lord !  child,* 
said  my  Lady  Albemarle,  '  what  brings  you  to  town  so 
early  V  He  said  he  had  been  sent  for.  Says  she, '  You 
are  not  well !'  *  Yes,'  replied  Lord  Bory,  *  I  am ;  but 
a  little  flastered  with  something  I  have  heard.'  *  Let  me 
feel  your  pulse,' said  Lady  Albemarle.  '  Oh  I'  continued 
she, '  your  father  is  dead  ! '  '  Lord,  Madam,'  said  Lord 
Bury, '  how  could  that  come  into  your  head !  I  should 
rather  have  imadned  that  you  would  have  thought  it 
was  my  poor  brother  William,'  (who  is  just  gone  to  Lis- 
bon flor  his  health.)  ^  No,'  said  my  Lady  Albemarle, '  I 
know  it  is  your  father ;  I  dreamed  last  night  that  he  was 
dead,  and  came  to  take  leave  of  me !' — and  immediately 
swooned. 

Lord  Bury  succeeded  to  the  peerage,  and  the 


absent  Commodore  was  elected  in  his  stead  for  the 
vacated  borough  of  Chichester.  After  Braddock  s 
disasters,  Keppel,  who  had  not  been  able  to  ac- 
complish much  in  the  campaign,  returned  to  Eng- 
land, and  war  being  now  formally  declared,  he  was 
appointed  to  the  Swiftsure  of  seventy-four  guns. 
In  a  subsequent  cruise  in  the  Torbay,  off  Cape 
Finisterre,  he  captured  three  merchant  vessels  and 
a  French  frigate,  and  came  home  in  triumph  witk 
his  prizes.  At  this  time  he  was  a  member  of 
the  court-martial  held  on  Admiral  Byng.  In  thit 
disgraceful  and  most  unhappy  affair  he  behaved 
in  the  manner  which  might  have  been  anticipated 
from  a  man  of  high  professional  honour,  and  hu- 
mane feelings.  A  long  account  is  given  of  Byng'i 
trial,  which  remains  one  of  the  fbuleat  blots  of  tiK 
reign  in  which  it  took  place. 

Keppel  was  subsequently  attached  to  the  abor- 
tive expedition  against  Rochfort,  commanded  by 
Sir  Edward  Hawke,  and  Greneiil  Conway ;  and 
afterwards  he  commanded  a  small  squadnm,  ap- 
pointed to  cruise  in  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  where 
he  made  some  captures.  His  next  brilliant 
achievement  was  the  capture  of  Gorce  by  his 
squadron,  and  in  which  his  own  ship  bore  a  con- 
spicuous part.  Duncan  was  wounded  in  that  action. 
After  Keppel's  return  to  England  at  this  time,oneof 
those  periodical  panics  of  dread  of  a  French  invasioii, 
to  which  John  Bull  seems  liable,  seized  Uie  country, 
and  Keppel  was  employed  in  blockading  the  French 
ports,  and  shared  in  Hawke's  action  off  Ushant 
As  an  animated  specimen  of  the  Memoirs  of  a  grest 
naval  chief,  we  would  fain  copy  out  this  narratiye 
of  a  sea  engagement,  but  it  is  too  long  for  our  space. 

This  fight  was  a  brilliant  affair  in  its  own  day, 
and  an  important  triumph  for  England.  The 
mighty  armament  which  had  caused  so  mudi 
alarm  was  effectually  disabled,  if  not  annihilated, 
and  that  by  the  comparatively  small  force  of  eight 
ships.  In  this  decisive  victory  Keppel  reaped  his 
full  share  of  glory.  Among  the  many  illustntife 
anecdotes  thrown  into  the  notes,  whidi  the  biogra- 
pher has  culled  with  care  and  judgment^  and  whidi 
add  very  much  to  the  entertainment  of  the  reader 
of  the  Memoirs,  is  a  trait  of  Keppel's  friend,  Camp- 
bell, who  had  volunteered  into  the  aervioe  ^shen 
an  apprentice  on  board  a  small  Scottish  coaster; 
gallantly  volunteering  to  go  in  place  of  the  matc^ 
who,  when  seised  by  the  press-gang,  wept  bifct«^ 
ly  at  being  torn  from  his  family.  In  the  action  off 
Ushant,  Campbell  was  Hawke's  flag-captain,  and 
was  sent  home  with  the  account  of  the  victory.  He 
reached  London  just  as  the  mob  were  still  bunuAg 
his  commander,  Hawke,  in  effigy  for  the  failure  of 
the  expedition  to  Rochfort ;  but  promotions  were 
already  talked  about  as  the  reward  of  the  brillisnt 
victory ;  and  Lord  Anson,  in  carrying  Campbell  to 
the  levee,  told  him  the  king  would  Imight  hisL 

**  I  ken  nae  use  that  it  will  be  to  me,"  was  the  rep^- 
"  But  your  lady  miffht  like  it,**  said  Anson.  "  W«d, 
then,**  rejoined  Campbell,  **  his  Miy'esty  may  knight  bffi 
if  he  pleases.** 

Keppel  had  gained  the  esteem  of  Mr  Pitt,  (tbe 
great  Earl  of  Chatham,)  who  employed  him  in 
examining  the  defences  of  Belleisle,  when  la  ^ 
tack  was  first  meditated  upon  that  iaUnd.    When 


LIFE  OF  AUGUSTUS  VISCOUNT  KEPPEL. 


643 


the  siege  was  sometime  afterwards  undertaken,  he 
was  appointed  Commodore  of  the  squadron,  and  he 
galiantiy  supported  the  land  force.  KeppeFs  next 
important  service  was  at  the  Harannah,  an  expe- 
dition marked  alike  by  glory  and  disaster,  in 
which  national  triumph  was  hardly  repaid  by  the 
vast  amoimt  of  individual  suffering.  The  Earl  of 
Albemarle,  Keppel's  brother,  was  Commander-in« 
chief  of  the  land  forces  on  the  expedition.  In  the 
gmeral  promotion  of  flag-officers  which  followed 
this  barren  and  dear-bought  conquest,  Keppel  wiu 
made  Admiral.  He  had  previously  captiu«d  part 
of  a  fleet  of  French  merchantmen,  which,  with 
their  convoy,  were  nearly  all  secured  ;  and  what 
was  secured  proved  a  valuable  prize.  He  returned 
to  England  in  time  to  see  his  sister.  Lady  Eliza- 
beth, married  to  Francb  marquis  of  Tavistock, 
the  only  son  of  the  Duke  of  Bedford.  The  Mar- 
quis died  in  a  few  years  afterwards,  in  consequence 
of  a  fall  from  his  horse,  universally  lamented. 
Walpole  gives  a  charming  account  of  the  wedding 
of  this  young  pair,  and  the  author  of  the  Memoirs 
a  pathetic  relation  of  the  early  death  of  the 
widowed  Marchioness,  who  did  not  long  survive 
her  husband.  Thus  the  marriage  is  announced, 
and  the  death  follows  too  soon : — 

'"To  be  sure  you  have  beard  tbe  event  of  tbis  last 
week  !  Lord  Tavistock  has  flung  his  handkerchief,  and, 
except  a  few  jealous  sultanas,  and  some  sultanas  Tolides, 
who  had  marketable  daughters,  eyerybody  is  pleased 
that  the  lot  is  fallen  on  I^y  Elizabeth  Keppel.  The 
house  of  Bedford  came  to  town  last  Friday.  X  supped 
with  them  that  night  at  the  Spanish  ambassador's.  Lady 
Elizabeth  was  not  there,  nor  mentioned.  On  the  con- 
trary, by  the  Duchess's  conversation,  which  turned  on 
Lady  Betty  Montague,  there  were  suspicions  in  her 
&Tour.  The  next  morning  Lady  Elizabeth  received  a 
note  from  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  insisting  on  see- 
ing her  that  evening.  When  she  arrived  at  Marlborough 
House,  she  found  nobody  but  the  Duchess  and  Lord 
Tavistoek.  The  Duchess  cried, '  La  !  they  have  left  the 
window  open  in  the  next  room  1'  went  to  shut  it,  and 
shut  the  lovers  in  too,  where  they  remained  for  three 
hours.  The  same  night  all  the  town  was  at  the  Duchess 
of  Richmond's.  Lady  Albemarle  was  at  a  tredUle ;  the 
Duke  of  Bedford  came  up  to  the  table,  and  told  her  he 
must  speak  to  her  as  soon  as  the  pool  was  over.  You 
may  goess  whether  ahe  knew  a  card  more  that  she  plav- 
ed.  When  she  had  finished,  the  Duke  told  her  he  should 
wait  on  her  the  next  morning,  to  make  the  demand  in 
form.  9ie  told  it  directly  to  me  and  my  niece  Walde- 
grave,  wiio  was  in  such  transport  for  her  friend,  that  she 
promised  the  Duke  of  Bedford  to  kiss  him,  and  hurried 
home  directly,  to  write  to  her  sisters.  The  Duke  asked 
no  questions  about  fortune,  but  has  since  slipped  a  bit 
of  paper  into  Lady  Elizabeth's  hand,  telling  her  he  hoped 
his  son  would  live,  but  if  he  did  not,  there  was  sometldng 
for  her ;  it  was  a  jointure  of  three  thousand  pounds 
a-vear,  and  six  hundred  pounds  pin  money,  ^e  has 
bdiaved  in  the  prettiest  manner  in  the  world,  and  would 
not  appear  at  a  vast  assembly  at  Northumberland  House, 
on  Tuesday,  nor  at  a  great  hay-making  at  Mrs.  Pitt's, 
on  Wednesday.  Yesterday  they  all  went  to  Wobum, 
and  to-morrow  the  ceremony  is  to  be  performed." 

After  the  death  of  her  husband  the  Marchioness 
was  attended  to  lisbon,  for  the  recovery  of  her 
health,  by  her  brother,  Admiral  Keppel,  and  one 
of  her  sisters.  The  Admiral  had  just  been  returned 
for  Windsor,  which  he  represented  in  several  par- 
liaments.   Thus  writes  Keppel's  biographer, — 

When  we  had  last  occasion  to  mention  the  name  of 
this  lady,  it  was  in  reference  to  her  intended  union  with 


one  of  the  most  amiable  and  accomplished  noblemen  of 
his  day.  But  a  few  years  had  passed  away,  and  she 
was  now  a  heart-broken  widow,  rapidly  sinking  into  the 
grave  from  grief  at  her  irreparable  loss. 

The  accident  which  caused  this  bereavement  occurred 
on  the  22d  of  March,  1767.  The  fiill  extent  of  the 
calamity  which  had  befrJlen  Lady  Tavistock  was  eon- 
siderately  kept  from  her  till  farther  concealment  was 
impossible.  Throughout  the  anguish  that  fbllowed  this 
sudden  wrench  from  happiness  the  most  unclouded,  she 
was  sustained  by  nature,  as  thou^  in  pity  for  the  post- 
humous infant  to  which  she  gave  birth  on  the  20th  of 
August.  [This  infknt  was  the  late  Lord  William  Rus- 
sell, who  was  murdered  by  his  servant  Courvoisier.] 
The  settled  melancholy  of  the  widowed  mother's  heart 
appears,  after  the  birth  of  the  child,  to  have  given  way 
to  keen  sensibility  and  inconsolable  sorrow.  Change  of 
air  and  scene  was  proposed,  and  Lisbon  fixed  upon  as 
the  spot  most  likely  to  restore  the  unhappy  suflTerer. 
The  seeds,  however^  of  an  incurable  disease  were  too 
deeply  rooted  for  human  skill  or  human  means  to  eradi- 
cate. Her  companions  on  the  voyage  to  Lisbon  were 
her  sister  and  brother.  Lady  Caroline  Adair  and  Admiral 
KeppeL  The  following  affecting  incident  is  said  to  have 
occurred  previously  to  Lady  Tavistook's  departure  frcnn 
England  : — *^  At  a  consultation  of  the  fiicnlty,  held  at 
Bedford  House,  in  August,  one  of  the  physicians,  whilst 
he  felt  her  pulse,  requested  her  to  open  her  hand.  Her 
reluctance  induced  him  to  use  a  degree  of  gentle  videnot, 
when  he  perceived  that  she  had  dosed  it  to  eoaceal  a 
miniature  of  her  late  husband.  '  Ah  I  Madam,'  he  ex-  ■ 
claimed,  'all  our  prescriptions  must  be  useless  whilst 
you  so  fatally  cherish  the  wasting  sorrow  that  destroys 
you !'  ^  I  have  kept  it,'  she  replied, '  either  in  my  bosom 
or  my  hand,  ever  since  my  dear  Lord's  death  ;  and  thus 
I  must,  indeed,  continue  to  retain  it,  until  I  drop  off 
after  him  into  tiie  welcome  grave.' " 

The  Marchioness  died  about  a  fortnight  after 
landing  at  Lisbon,  and  in  little  more  thim  a  year 
after  the  decease  of  her  husband,  *^  the  victim  of 
exceeding  love.'' 

Admiral  Keppel  was  a  decided  Whig  in  his 
politics,  and  from  this  and  various  other  causes  he 
fell  into  great  disfavour  at  Court.  One  cause  may 
have  been,  voting  against  the  expulsion  of  Wilkes 
from  the  House  of  Commons,  which  was  a  sin, 
above  all  others,  hard  to  be  forgiven. 

The  Earl  of  Sandwich  was  now  at  the  head  of 
the  Admiralty,  and  Keppel  felt  himself  neglected, 
and  ventured  to  make  those  remonstrances  whiohy 
with  ungenerous  offiolials,  oftener  aggravate  bad 
feelings  than  obtain  justice.  His  decided  and 
avowed  disapprobation  of  the  unnatural  and  un- 
wise conflict  with  the  American  colonies,  could  not 
tend  to  recommend  him  at  head-quarters.  It  was 
carried  so  far,  that  while  numbers  of  officers,  when 
war  was  apprehended,  flocked  to  the  Admiralty, 
offisring  their  services,  Keppel  kept  aloof,  openly 
declaring,  ^*  that  if  the  necessities  of  the  times  called 
for  his  services,  and  he  knew  that  it  was  the  king's 
desire,  he  was  ready  to  do  his  duty,  hut  net  in  the 
line  of  America,"  No  sooner  had  the  revolt  of  the 
colonies  assumed  a  definite  character,  than  prepar- 
ations of  a  warlike  nature  b^;an  to  be  made  by 
France  and  Spain ;  and  the  formidable  armaments 
mustering  in  the  French  ports,  at  length  roused  the 
English  government  from  its  lethargy.  The  Hrst 
Lord  of  Uie  Admiralty,  the  Earl  of  Sandwich,  sent 
his  friend.  Sir  Hugh  Palliser,  with  a  message  to 
Vice- Admiral  Keppel,  requesting,  in  the  name  of 
the  king,  to  know  whether,  in  case  of  a  continental 
war,  he  would  accept  the  command  of  the  fleet. 


644 


LIFE  OF  AUGUSTUS  VISCOUNT  KEPPEL. 


Keppel  was  already  well  aware  of  the  petty 
jealousy  and  animosity  of  which  he  was  the  ob- 
ject, and  he  prodently  replied, — 

That  he  was  ready  to  attend  and  give  his  answer 
in  person  to  his  Majesty.  He  was  accordingly  ad- 
mitted to  a  priyate  audience,  and,  at  the  personal 
solicitation  of  the  King,  consented  to  assume  tiie  com- 
mand of  the  Channel  fleet.  It  was  not,  howeyer,  without 
some  misgivings  that  he  found  himself  about  to  trust  his 
hard-earned  fame  to  ministers  whom  he  knew  to  be  un- 
friendly towards  him,  and  in  whom  he  placed  not  the 
slightest  confidence.  These  feelings  were  not  confined 
to  his  own  breast.  His  fHend  and  cousin,  the  Duke  of 
Richmond,  seems  to  have  had  a  presentiment  of  the 
treatment  he  was  afterwards  to  receive. 

In  a  letter  from  the  Duke  of  Richmond  to  his 
cooein  and  friend,  it  is  remarkedr— 

I  cannot  wish  you  joy  of  having  a  fleet  to  command, 
prepared  by  the  Earl  of  Sandwich,  with  new  men  and 
ofllcers,  unacquainted  with  each  other,  to  risk  your  re- 
pntation  and  the  fate  of  your  country  upon,  against  a 
French  and  Spanish  fleet,  who  are,  I  fear,  much  better 
prepared.  At  the  same  time,  I  confess  X  do  not  see  how 
you  could  reftise  your  service.  Let  me,  however,  ad- 
vise you  to  insist  upon  your  own  terms.  No  one  can  be 
surprised  that  you  should  suspect  a  minister,  whom  you 
have  constantly  opposed,  of  not  giving  you  all  the  help 
he  might  do  to  a  friend,  without  suspecting  him  of 
treachery.  If  he  has  but  a  bad  fleet  to  send  out,  His 
doing  Lord  Sandwich  no  injustice  to  suppose  he  would 
be  glad  to  put  it  under  the  command  of  a  man  whom  he 
does  not  love,  and  yet  whose  name  will  justify  the  choice 
to  the  nation. 

But  Keppel's  services  were  not  for  a  considerable 
time  called  for.  He  felt  the  neglect,  and  in  a 
letter  to  his  friend  and  party-chief,  Lord  Rocking- 
ham, written  from  Bath,  to  which  Keppel  often 
resorted  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  he  says, 
January,  1777, — 

Most  probably  the  K—  will  have  no  want  of  my  ser- 
vices, and  the  seeming  indiff*erence  of  his  M towards 

me,  since  the  first  moment  of  my  having  been  given  to 
understand  I  might  be  called  upon,  I  think,  makes  it 
advisable  for  me  to  keep  out  of  town,  which  may  help 
to  show  my  indifference  towards  them  in  return. 

The  Bishop  of  Exeter  is  at  Windsor,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Miller  will  be  got  to  town  by  a  note  flrom  any  of  our 
friends  known  to  him,  or  a  civil  line  flrom  yourself. 

If  the  Duke  of  Manchester  should  be  in  town  you 
will,  of  course,  see  him.  You  know  he  is  tolerably  in- 
formed upon  foreign  matters.  I  wish  he  may  not  think 
that  on  those  subjects  you  don't  attend  enough  to  his 
intelligence.  I  know  you  will  excuse  my  taking  the 
liberty  to  hint  this.  . 

Now  for  a  word  for  your  lieutenant ;  as  to  his  bemg 
in  the  Victory,  should  I  hoist  my  flag,  I  do  assure  you 
that  your  wishes  would  have  the  preference  to  every 
other  person,  and  you  should  not  have  had  the  trouble 
of  asking  it ;  but  I  thought  it,  of  all  others,  a  situation 
very  unfit  for  the  young  man,  greatly  too  inactive  ;  and 
in  regard  to  advancement,  not  very  promising.  He 
cannot  do  better— he  cannot  do  so  well— as  by  depend- 
ing upon  Sir  Hugh  Palliscr  to  put  him  forward.  Per- 
haps he  means  him  for  one  of  his  own  officers.  Should 
he  be  placed  with  me,  Sir  Hugh  will  have  done  with  him  ; 
now,  should  Sir  Hugh's  interest  fiul,  and  ours  get  bet- 
ter, he  will  be  sure  of  help  in  a  proper  way,  which  is 
having  a  double  chance.  As  I  have  now  engaged  my- 
self, I  cannot  take  him ;  but  if  I  could,  I  should  re- 
commend his  not  accepting  my  offer.  Employment  in 
an  active  ship  is  the  most  proper  for  him,  on  his  first 
advancement  to  a  commission.  I  fiatter  myself  my 
reasons  will  convince  his  friends  so  as  to  give  them  con- 
tent. I  am  sure  your  Lordship  will  not  imagine  I  am 
making  excuses  that  are  not  shicere,  because  to  your- 


self  beyond  every  other  friend  I  always  spenk  f;iraigfat- 
forward. — I  am,  my  dear  Lord,  mobt  foiithrully,  your 
sincere,  humble  servant, 

A.  Keppel. 

Surely  the  matters  on  the  American  side  of  the  water 
wear  a  black  and  dismal  aspect.  Loss  of  men,  money, 
and  credit,  seem  to  be  all  that  has  hitherto  been  the  hit 
of  this  once  proud  and  fiourishing  nation ; — bnt  yet  it 
does  not  seem  felt  by  the  generality  of  people.  The. 
country  is  in&tuated. 

The  session  of  parliament  opened  with  mem 
than  usual  acrimony.  Lord  Chatham  vehemently 
condemned  the  war,  and  mercilessly  exposed  the 
weakness  of  the  Navy.  On  this  sore  point  tbs 
Opposition  put  forth  Admiral  Keppel  as  their  great 
battle-horse.  He,  it  was  averred,  had  no  confidence 
in  the  existing  naval  force  being  found  equal  to  the 
defence  of  the  country.  Immediate  steps  were 
taken  to  place  the  navy  on  a  more  effective  foot- 
ing ;  but  the  blind  or  obstinate  pride  of  the  go- 
vernment allowed  Keppel,  who  was  destined  to 
the  command  (to  which  he  had  in  every  way  the 
best  claim,)  to  draw  his  own  conclusions  as  to  the 
probability  of  services  being  required,  which  they 
would  fain  have  dispensed  with  had  they  dared. 
The  government  of  the  day  possessed  the  happy  ait 
— not  peculiar  to  it— of  disgusting  whoever  was  best 
qualified  to  servo  the  country.  Keppel  wrote  to 
Lord  Rockingham, — 

I  have  been  told  that,  although  every  hour  may  be, 
nay,  is,  productive  of  matter  not  to  be  neglected,  that 
the  different  Ministers  are  separated  at  their  different 
villas.  The  long  recess  of  Parliament  seems  now  pro- 
ductive of  every  evil,  and  is,  in  my  poor  opinion,  a  man 
impeachable  matter. 

With  this  letter  went  an  able  memorial  on  the 
state  of  the  navy,  and  the  dangers  which  threatened 
the  commerce  and  colonies  of  the  country  from  the 
attacks  of  France  and  Spain,  and  from  the  alli- 
ance which  France  had  formed  with  the  revolted 
colonies.    In  a  few  months  afterwards,  Keppel  re- 
ceived his  instructions  and  commission  as  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  Channel  Fleet;  which  he 
was  disappointed  to  find  in  a  very  ineffective  state. 
Only  six  ships  were  fit  for  service  ;  seamen  were 
scarce ;  and  provisions  and  stores  deficient.    He 
found,  in  short,  tliat  he  had  been  grossly  deceived, 
or  betrayed,  by  the  Admiralty  ;  and  he  submitted 
in  silence  to  obloquy  which  ought  to  have  been 
laid  upon  those  who  had  placed  him  in  this  onerous 
situation.    Under  these  circumstances  the  action 
off  Brest  was  fought,  and  the  result  is  matter  of 
history.     This  engagement  also  involves  the  most 
memorable  event  of  Keppel's  life — ^his  trial  and 
triumphant  acquittal.    Xot  merely  his  numerous 
personal  friends,  hut  nearly  the  whole  service,  and 
the  great  majority  of  the  nation,  deeply  sympa- 
thized with  a  brave  and  able  man,  whom  it  was 
attempted  to  victimize,  ^m  previous  ill-will,  and 
in  order  to  conceal  the  incapacity  and  mal-adminis- 
tration  of  the  Admiralty.    The  ostensible  instni- 
ment  in  this  persecution  was  Sir  Hugh  Palliser, 
who  commanded  a  division  of  the  Channel  Fleet, 
and  who  failed  to  do  his  duty  in  the  action ; « 
charge  which  he  endeavoured  to  throw  off  himself 
by  retorting  it  upon  Keppel ;  and  which  he  brougii^ 
forward  in  the  newspapers,  before  any  compliiat 


LIFE  OF  AUGUSTUS  VISCOUNT  KEPPEL. 


645 


ad  been  made  of  his  conduct — taking  the  first 
rord  in  the  controversy.  Sandwich  was  the  friend 
f  PalliseTy  and  the  personal  and  party  enemy  of 
idmiral  Keppel  ;  and  upon  the  vague  and  mvidi- 
as  charge  of  PaUiser,  a  court-martial  was  ordered. 
ls  soon  as  this  was  known,  Keppel's  friends  in  the 
fouse  of  Commons  moved  an  address  to  the  King 
)  order  a  court-martial  upon  Palliser  also.  An 
oimated  debate  ensued,  in  which  Keppel  de- 
lared 

Hia  readiness  to  meet  inquiry,  and  in  conclusion  said, 
Thank  Grod  I  am  not  the  accuser,  but  the  accused.  I 
ns  called  out  to  serre  my  country  at  a  very  critical 
eriod ;  I  have  performed  my  duty  to  the  b^  of  my 
bilities,  and  whatever  the  issue  may  be,  I  have  one  oon- 
Dlation — that  I  have  acted  strictly  to  the  best  of  my 
ndgment.  I  shall  decline  saying  a  syllable  to  the  ques- 
bn,  and,  as  I  cannot  think  of  voting,  shall  quit  the 
louse." 

At  each  period  of  this  speech  he  was  greeted  with  the 
oadest  applause,  and  retired  amidst  the  cheers  of  the 
rhole  House,  accompanied  by  a  large  body  of  the  mem- 
bers. 

Sir  Joseph  Mawbey  thought  the  whole  matter  had 
he  appearance  of  a  preconcerted  scheme  to  ruin  the 
Vdnural.  He  hoped  and  trusted  that  so  black,  malig- 
uut,  and  treacherous  a  step  to  strip  one  of  the  brightest 
isTal  characters  this  country  could  ever  boast  of,  would 
neet  with  the  honest  indignation  it  merited,  and  finally 
M  to  the  detection  of  the  authors  of  so  Infamous  a 
project. 

In  the  course  of  this  debate,  Burke  emphatically 
u^ked,  "Was  this  the  return  Admiral  Keppel  was  to 
Beet  with,  after  forty  years*  painful  and  laborious  service, 
and  after  being  in  ten  capital  engagements,  or  important 
eonjBicts,  in  every  one  of  which  he  had,  either  as  pos- 
sessed of  the  sole  command  or  acting  in  a  subordinate 
character,  acquitted  himself  with  the  highest  honour  and 
reputation !  Was  it  an  adequate  return  for  a  person  of 
bis  rank  and  consequence,  standing  forth,  as  the  &vourite 
selected  champion  of  his  country,  in  the  moment  of  dan- 
ger and  difficulty  I  He  desired  no  return  but  that  which 
he  had  already  earned,  and  was  sure  of  receiving  with- 
out dimmution — a  return  which  it  was  not  in  the  power 
of  the  Admiralty  to  bestow  or  withhold — an  inward  con- 
sciousness of  having  performed  his  duty." 

With  some  little  difficulty,  Keppel's  friends  car- 
ried a  bill  for  the  court-martial  being  held  on  shore, 
instead  of  in  the  usual  manner.  This  was  one 
gi^t  point  gained  for  justice.  At  the  same  time, 
twelve  Admirals,  at  the  head  of  whom  was  Hawke, 
sent  an  address  to  the  King,  complaining  loudly 
of  the  conduct  of  the  Admiralty  in  ordering  this 
court-martial  five  months  after  the  alleged  offence 
had  taken  place,  and  upon  the  charge  of  a  person 
in  the  position  of  Palliser.  The  address  received  a 
cold  and  barely  civil  answer  from  the  King,  and 
the  trial  proceeded.  The  state  of  the  public  mind 
niay  be  gathered  from  Walpole's  correspondence, 
^ho,  in  alluding  to  the  impending  trial,  says  of 
Keppel's  mother, — 

"Poor  Lady  Albemarle  is  indeed  very  miserable,  and 
loU  of  apprehensions,  though  the  incredible  zeal  of  the 
^*^  for  Admiral  Keppel  crowns  him  with  glory;  and 
^e  indignation  of  mankind,  and  the  execration  of  Sir 
Hngh,  add  to  the  triumph.  Indeed,  I  still  think  Lady 
A.'b  fears  may  be  well  founded  :  some  slur  may  be  pro- 
^red  on  her  son ;  and  his  own  bad  nerves  and  worse 
coDstitation  may  not  be  able  to  stand  agitation  and  sus- 
penae." 

The  public  zeal,and  indignation  too,  exceeded  any- 
thing that  could  have  been  anticipated.  The  court- 


martial  was  held  at  Poilsmouth,  and  thither 
flocked  Keppel's  friends  and  political  allies  of  all 
degrees.  Among  this  phalanx  were  the  royal 
Dukes  of  Cumberland  and  Gloucester ;  the  Dukes 
of  Bolton,  Richmond,  and  Portland,  with  other 
leading  Whig  noblemen  ;  and  what  was  more  im- 
portant. Fox,  Burke,  and  Sheridan,  with  a  great 
many  naval  officers.  The  counsel  were  Erskine, 
Lee,  and  Dunning.  The  memoir  gives  an  elabo- 
rate and  minute  account  of  the  trial,  which  lasted 
for  many  days.  Much  transpired,  in  its  progress^ 
honourable  to  the  integrity  and  honourable  feelings 
of  the  profesfflonal  witnesses,  who  must  have  be^i 
aware  that  to  do  justice  to  the  accused  was  not  at 
this  time  the  path  to  promotion.  In  his  able  speech 
in  his  own  defence,  Keppel  probably  had  good  help. 
His  acquittal  was  confidently  foretold  before  the 
verdict  was  given  in. 

Gibbon,  the  historian,  at  that  time  a  Lord  of  Trade  in 
expectancy,  writes  to  Mr.  Holroyd,  on  the  6th  of  Feb- 
ruary, five  days  before  the  sentence  was  declared: — 
"  Portsmouth  is  no  longer  an  object  of  speculation.  The 
whole  stream  of  all  men  and  all  parties  runs  one  way. 
Sir  Hugh  is  disgraced,  ruined,  &c.,  &c.,  and  as  an  <Ad 
wound  has  broken  out  again,  they  say  he  mnst  have  his 
leg  cut  off  as  soon  as  he  hzA  time.  In  a  night  or  two  we 
shall  be  in  a  blaze  of  illumination,  from  the  zeal  of  naval 
heroes,  land  patriots,  and  tallow-chandlers :  the  last  are 
not  the  least  sincere.** 

When  the  verdict  was  pronounced,  acclamations 
of  joy  burst  forth  in  repeated  peals  *'  from  the  Duke 
of  Cumberland  to  the  meanest  mechanic."  The 
following  touching  anecdote  is  related — 

Among  the  general  acclamations  of  joy  on  the  Admiral's 
acquittal,  an  instance  is  recorded  of  a  poor  negro  who 
had  been  liberated  from  slavery  on  the  reduction  of  Goree, 
and  had  followed  Keppel  to  England.  In  order  to  obtain 
a  view  of  his  deliverer,  he  placed  himself  at  a  window, 
close  to  which  the  procession  had  to  pass.  No  sooner 
did  he  see  Keppel,  than  he  burst  forth  into  the  most 
extravagant  rapture,  exclaiming  **  Gor  A'mighty  knows 
my  heart, — I  do  love  a  dear  Admiral !  Grod  bless  the 
Admiral!'*  These  expressions,  simple  and  artless  as 
they  were,  attracted  the  attention,  says  the  narrator, 
^  of  the  whole  procession,  and  coming  firom  one  so  disin- 
terested were  the  greatest  eulogy  virtue  could  receive." 
The  public  rejoicings  spread  from  Portsmouth  to 
London,  where  the  mob  testified  their  delight  and 
exultation,  by  gutting  a  few  of  the  houses  of 
"  little  Keppel's "  supposed  enemies ;  and  break- 
ing a  great  many  windows,  when  the  people  of  the 
house  did  not  illuminate,  or  did  not  illuminate  so 
often  as  was  required.  It  was  said  at  the  time 
that  many  of  the  mob  on  this  occasion  were  not  of 
the  lower  class ;  and  one  lady  affirmed  that  she  saw 
Mr.  Pitt  break  her  windows.  The  Duke  of  Ancaster 
was  caught  among  the  rioters,  and  other  noble 
persons  long  afterwards  boasted  of  the  share  which 
they  had  in  the  assault  on  the  Admiralty.  The 
theatres  made  their  own  use  of  the  prevailing  feelings 
and  the  public-houses  assumed  **  Admiral  Keppel" 
for  their  figure-head.  There  were  Keppel  buttons, 
and  Keppel  cockades  for  the  men ;  and  Keppel  caps 
for  the  ladies.  The  bells  rung,  and  the  ships  fired ; 
and  the  House  of  Lords  and  that  of  Commons,  with 
the  city  of  London,  and  many  other  towns,  voted 
addresses  of  congratulation.  More  marvellous  still, 
the  Admiral's  counsel.  Dunning,  returned  the  hand- 
some fee  enclosed  to  him,  (two  hiUs  for  £500  each,) 


646 


LIFE  OF  AUGUSTUS  VISCOUNT  KEPPEL. 


and  another  professbnal  gentleman,  Mr.  Lee,  wonld 
accept  of  nothing  save  a  portrait  of  the  Admiral,  to 
preserve  asarelic  or  heir-loom  in  hig  family.  Ersldne 
did  accept  his  ^1000,  bat  he  was  pooj  at  this  time, 
and  he  wrote  a  most  grateful  and  affectionate  letter 
to  his  client,  and  was  ever  afterwards  his  friend, 
his  retained  advocate,  and  warm  panegyrist.  At  the 
next  general  election  Keppel  lost  his  seat  for  Wind- 
sor: the  court  notorioudly  interfering  to  defeat 
him,  and  to  add  to  his  triumph ;  for,  no  sooner  was 
the  result  known,  than  the  freeholders  of  Surrey 
invited  him  to  stand ;  and  though  ^  government," 
he  says,  ''moved  heaven  and  earth,"  he  carried  his 
diction  over  their  candidate,  Mr.  Onslow.  Keppel 
wrote  to  Lord  Rockingham  upon  this  occasion — 

''The  Surrey  voters  that  came  from  Windsor,  and 
about  that  place,  returned  with  the  utmost  speed  to  an- 
nounce my  victory  to  the  inhabitants  of  Windsor.  The 
cannon  were  soon  firing,  and  the  bells  ringing :  and  al- 
most every  house  was  l^hted.  I  have  been  told  that  Mb 
M^'esty  had  ssid,  '  It  would  possibly  be  a  busy  night,' 
and  had  recommended  a  sergeant,  and  twelve  privates, 
with  loaded  arms,  to  patrole  the  streets.  There  was, 
however,  no  riot;  decency  with  quiet  joy  prevailed.  The 
noise  of  the  eannon  disturbed  the  Queen,  which,  as  soon 
as  known,  the  well-bred  citizens  of  Windsor,  caused  that 
part,  which  was  among  other  marks  of  joy,  to  cease.  The 
following  day,  the  Prinoe  of  Wales  and  Prince  Frederick 
took  the  most  undisguised  pains  to  express  to  every 
friend  of  mine  their  extreme  satisikotion  upon  my  success, 
and  to  one  friend— I  believe  more  than  one — they  said, 
'iM  have  had  a  most  complete  victory.' " 

In  an  eloquent  letter  of  congratulation  ftom 
Burke  it  is  said — 

"  The  people  of  England  have  risen  in  my  estimation. 
It  is  a  great  event  for  them;  because  it  is  a  substantial 
encouragement  to  all  those  who  in  fbture  shall,  like  you, 
serve  them  with  ability,  courage,  and  honour,  without 
regard  to  cabal  and  the  little  politics  of  a  Court." 

Keppel  had  long  been  identified  with  the  Whig 
party,  both  by  his  opinions  and  the  personal  dislike 
of  the  King ;  and  when,  on  the  resignation  of  Lord 
North  in  1782,  the  Rockingham  Administration 
was  formed,  he  was  appointed  First  Lord  of  the 
Admiralty,  and  was  immediately  afterwards  crea- 
ted a  Viscount,  and  promoted  to  the  rank  of  Bear 
Admiral  of  the  White.  Rodney's  splendid  vicUnry 
over  Count  de  Grasse  shortly  afterwards  lent  lustre 
to  the  naval  department  of  the  new  government. 

After  the  death  of  Rockingham  had  broken  up 
the  Administration,  Keppel  continued  in  office,  and 
alao  his  friend  the  Duke  of  Richmond,  though  all  of 
tha  party  besides  resigned.  Keppel  appears  to  have 
had  good  political  reasons  for  his  adhesion,  and 
the  party  must  have  been  of  the  same  opinion ;  for 
on  the  formation  of  the  short-lived  coalition  ministry 
in  1788,  he  again  returned  to  the  Admiralty.  Of  the 
coalition  Administration  it  has  been  said  by  Moore 
in  his  Life  of  Sheridan,  "  that  its  death  was  worthy 
of  its  birth."  It  fell  through  its  inherent  weakness, 
and  the  contempt  universally  felt  for  the  motives  on 
which  it  was  formed ;  though  the  actual  or  apparent 
stumbling-block  was  Fox's  India  Bill.  It  is  here 
stated  that. 

By  an  extraordinary  interference  of  the  Sovereign, 
who  said  that  he  should  consider  any  man  his  enemy 
who  voted  for  the  bill,  it  was  rejected  in  the  House  of 
Lords  by  a  majority  of  nineteen. 

The  same  night,  Keppel  had  an  audience  of  the  King. 
He  had  previously  appointed  Mr.  Adair  to  sup  with  him 


at  ten  o'clock.  It  was  past  twelve  before  Kmel  n- 
turned  home.  "Why,  Admiral,**  said  Adair,  "where 
have  you  been?  Here  have  I  been  waithig  for  my  sup- 
per these  two  hours.**  Keppel  replied— >*  I  have  btea 
with  the  King;  I  thou|^  I  should  never  have  got  away. 
His  Mi^esty  has  been  most  kind  to  me ;  be  inqoiicd 
about  our  prospects  and  plans,  and  treated  me  with  w 
much  openness  and  honesty,  that  I  entered  ftilly  into  the 
state  of  affairs,  with  which  he  seemed  highly  pleased.** 
"  And  you  believe  him  I"  drily  asked  lir.  Adair.  Kep- 
pel felt  hurt  at  the  doubt  Adair  contented  himsdf  with 
saying—"  Well,  we  shall  see.'*  Before  they  parted,  a 
note  arrived  from  Lord  Temple,  to  inform  lK»id  Keopel 
that  his  Majesty  had  no  further  occasion  for  his  servieea. 
This  was  one  "  of  those  apparent  marks  of  Undoess 
which  tiie  King  knew  so  well  how  to  practise." 

This  is  no  bad  specimen  of  the  art  called  King- 
craft, in  which  Geoige  the  Third  was  a  tolerable 
"  proficient"  Keppel  was  succeeded  at  the  Admi- 
ralty by  his  friend  and  oompanion  in  arms,  Lord 
Howe ;  and  he  never  afterwards  mingled  in  pnUic 
life.  Severe  hardships  in  his  early  service,  and  at 
different  periods  of  an  active  prof esdonal  life  of  forty 
years,  had  undermined  his  health,  which  for  many 
years  had  been  precarions.  He  was  adviaed  to 
spend  the  winter  of  1785  at  Naples,  but  returned 
in  the  following  spring  to  his  seat  in  Suffolk,  where 
he  died  in  the  autumn,  in  the  sixty-third  year  of 
his  age.  The  annals  of  the  British  Navj  have 
since  been  enriched  with  iUustrions  names,  and 
surpassing  achievements ;  but  Keppel  also  was  a 
great  sea  captain,  and  well  merits  to  be  kept  in 
honourable  remembrance,  among  the  long  liat  of 
England's  Naval  Heroes.  In  summing  up  the 
work  the  biographer  thus  notices  his  iUuBtrious 
kinsma 


The  epithet  "little,"  fondly  given  by  the  saUcn  to 
Keppel,  denotes  him  to  have  been  low  of  stature.  la 
his  early  manhood,  a  blow  received  fh>m  the  butt -end  «f 
a  pistol,  in  a  scuffle  with  foot-pads,  fhMtnred  the  biidgt 
of  his  nose.  His  foee,  by  this  accident,  was  sarioesly 
and  permanently  disfigured ;  yet  the  foscinatioe  oC  his 
smile,  and  the  lively  and  benevolent  ezpresnoa  of  fail 
eyes,  redeemed  the  oounteaanee  from  extreme  pUiiBeas. 
'Die  "hereditary  charm  '*  of  hie  demeanour  has  beo 
mentioned  already.  It  combined  a  profsssional  honesty 
and  frankness  with  the  ease  and  simplicity  of  addrMf 
which,  if  not  altogether  acquired,  are  certainly  oonfinMd 
and  perfected  by  intercourse  wi^  the  best  societr.  .  . . 
The  political  opinions  of  Keppel  were  inherited  from 
ancestors,  who  for  centuries  had  been  citizens  of  a  tnt 
state,  and  whose  descendants  shared  in  our  own  revohi- 
tion  of  1688.  Reason  tani  experience  eonilnned  then 
sentiments  in  him  ;  and  he  was,  throughout  his  life,  the 
steady  and  fearless  supporter  of  civil  and  religious  free- 
dom, even  when  an  opposite  course,  or  neutruity  alone, 
would  have